In France during the 18th century, more erotic literature was produced than in all countries and previous periods combined. And the quality was usually of a high standard. As a matter-of-fact, most classics of erotica come from this time, including the notorious Carthusian Porter, which one contemporary wit said was so obscene that it could be read only with one hand.
Among the authors engaged in this writing activity, Andrea de Nerciat stands out. As one critic pointed out, he carried to perfection the art of leaving nothing to the imagination.
When the young Stendhal came across a copy of Nerciat's Felicia in his rakish uncle's library, he declared that the work made him mad with excitement and that the possession of a mistress like the heroine became the object of all his desires.
More is known about Nerciat's work than his life, which included professional soldiering throughout Europe. It is apparent that he participated in the decadent pleasures of the time which he so faithfully depicted. His output includes the abovementioned Felicia; Monrose, whose protagonists are prone to giving plays on the order of Oh! Calcutta!; Lolotte, the life of a harlot; and The Aphrodites, an account of a Parisian club devoted to exotic amorous pursuits.
But Nerciat is best known for his delightfully obscene The Devil in the Flesh, which can be counted among the four or five greatest classics of erotic literature. The edition with the twelve drawings by Felicien Rops is one of the most sought after works in this realm of literature.
What distinguishes Nerciat is his imagination, which is rich and inventive, and he always offers an element of surprise. One just does not know what to expect next. Then there is humor. One is tempted to compare The Devil in the Flesh with Candy.
Finally, Nerciat was a writer of ability, if not of the first water. In the field of erotica, literary competence is only too rare.
This classic novel revolves around the erotic adventures of the Marquise and her friend, the Countess. When there are no men available, they amuse themselves with Lesbian games in which their maids, Nicole and Felipe, are invited to join. The Countess is insatiable. She is not above using a dildo and copulating with a donkey. On one occasion, she satisfies the entire brotherhood of a monastery.
The Marquise's hairdresser is Belamour, who gratifies both his mistress and Nicole. But his preference is for boys, and when a mendicant priest of amazing virility appears with a fresh-faced novice, Belamour takes up with the latter. Nicole consoles herself with the friar. When Belamour discovers them in each other's arms sound asleep after having reached bliss no less than twelve times, he ties together the priest's beard and the girl's pubic hair and invites the Marquise's guests to witness the amusing spectacle of their trying to disengage themselves.
The close friend of the Marquise and the Countess is the Prelate, an enormously wealthy libertine who is always at their service, including his luxurious mansion with a bed large enough to accommodate five amorous couples at the same time.
Here is held the orgy arranged by Couplet, the most famous madame in Paris, for ten pairs.
Among the events is the competition between the Englishman who enjoys young virgin girls and the Italian who has sworn by all that is holy that he will have only the bottoms of young boys. Ten of each are provided by Couplet. Who will be the first to deflower his ten? The tiny Countess engages in combat with the Junoesque Princess who has three followers with masculine organs so strong that one can sit on them. Taking champions on one after the other, each comes to climax thirty-two times. Calling it a tie, they give themselves up to Sapphic pleasures while the Countess is being had from behind by the Prelate. Miss Nimmer-nein has an aperture so cavernous that it can lodge two members at once, and there is accomplished a feat unequalled in the annals of love.
After this revelry, the devil is no longer in the flesh of our protagonists, who retire to more or less tranquil existences.
Howard Nelson
* * *
PART ONE
(It is still dark in the bedroom as the Marquise awakes and draws open the bed drapes. When her lapdog gives her a morning kiss, she throws off the covers and lets the little animal lick the mound where her legs meet. Now she rings.)
Felipe: Heavens, Madame. What are you doing up so early. It's barely ten o'clock.
Marquise (yawning): Good morning, Felipe. I slept very badly last night and I know that I shall be hateful today. I'll be in such a foul mood that nobody will be able to stand me.
Felipe: I doubt that. You are so lovely that everybody will understand and forgive you.
Marquise: But, really, I did sleep very poorly.
Felipe: I can imagine. That means you had a very enjoyable night.
Marquise: Oh, be quiet. I am still furious. You have no idea of what a vexing experience I had.
Felipe: Are you going to tell me the story? I'm talking about that handsome nobleman whom you brought here last night. I had never seen him before. Who was he?
Marquise (ignoring the question): How's the weather?
Felipe: Chilly but clear. It is a beautiful day.
Marquise: Good. I have a few things to do near the Palais Royal and I was afraid I would have to give up my walk in the gardens.
Felipe: Here are a few letters, Madame. Also there is a rather heavy package from Monsieur Patineau along with an envelope.
Marquise: From Patineau. That'll be interesting....(Laughing): It's money, Felipe. I can feel it by the weight.
Felipe: Money, Madame? What nice friends you have.
Marquise: Patineau still does not know how to make a gift. But he is generous and a fine fellow.
Felipe (to herself): Yes, a good sheep....(Aloud): I'll open the package. (She tries to undo the cord.) It's tied like a Gordian knot.
Marquise (reading the letter): Three hundred gold louis. Also, he mentions that he will be calling on me this afternoon. I suppose I have to put up with it....(There is a knock on the door.) See who it is, Felipe.
Felipe: It's the servant to make the fire.
Marquise: Let him in, but tell him to hurry.
(After the fire is burning merrily in the hearth and the servant has left, the Marquise and Felipe are alone again.)
Marquise: Where are the other letters?
Felipe: On your bed, Madame.
Marquise: Bring them to me, please.
Felipe (running her fingers through the heaps of coins): Just look at this beautiful collection of medals, Madame.
Marquise: You can take the basket away. But first count the money and then lock it in my strong-box. Just a moment! I owe Dupeville sixty, so put that amount aside. Also forty more. I want to do some shopping at Couplet's.
Felipe (counting the money): She was here yesterday as usual. Didn't I mention it to you, Madame? She said it was very important, and so I sent her...
Marquise: Yes. She caught me right in the act with that husky musketeer. I promised to go and see her today, but I can't now that Patineau is coming.
Felipe (still counting the coins): You can find some excuse for not being here when he appears.
Marquise: I'll think about it. The Countess said she knows a young foreign prince to whom she wishes to introduce me....(Smiling): If he is young, Felipe.
Felipe (still piling the coins): I heard some talk that he is very good looking. You can find out for yourself. Ten louis are missing.
Marquise: I heard the same thing. Put the money away now. Here is a note from Limefort. I wonder why he bothers to write; he just can't put things into words. He should be satisfied with pantomime, for he is magnificent at that....Oh, here's one from Viscount Molengin. (She holds the letter unopened in her hand.) There is a lot of gossip about him, but I have a soft spot in my heart for him. One of these days, I'll probably make a fool of myself over him.
Felipe: That I can't believe, Madame.
Marquise: Why not? As an intimate friend of the Marquis, he has free run of the house. He can see me any time without attracting attention. He is handsome, unbelievably so, amiable, and very amusing. He'll take advantage of an opportunity any time now.
Felipe: No he won't, Madame. I can guarantee you that.
Marquise: The story goes that he is impotent, that I know. But I would like to find out for myself.
Felipe: Monsieur de Molengin [soft prick] fully lives up to his name. I know.
Marquise (her interest aroused): You sound as if you have first-hand information. But you have to admit that women find Molengin attractive.
Felipe: But his weapon doesn't fire, Madame. And that is not the mark of a gentleman.
Marquise (laughing): You are so adorable when you are angry, Felipe. So his gun misfired with you, did it? Tell me what happened or what did not happen. I would like to have him misfire with me. That's something I never experienced in my life, and it must be diverting.
Felipe: One failure like that is enough for a lifetime, Madame. But we are wasting our time in such idle talk when I have such important things to tell you. I beg you to listen carefully.
Marquise: Well?
Felipe: Monsieur de Molengin, whom we were just discussing, came here last night with the Marquis. Your husband was very drunk and the Viscount was rather tipsy.
Marquise: That's not unusual with my husband. Go ahead.
Felipe: The gentlemen went right up to your bedroom. I saw them for I was on the staircase.
Marquise: Now you're frightening me.
Felipe: You can imagine how scared I was. Your husband was insisting that he was going to sleep with you. I got in front of him at your door and resisted him with all my strength. The Viscount said that the Marquis's craving was the most natural thing in the world. I told him that it was inconsiderate of a husband to disturb his wife who was sound asleep. You have no idea what state they were in. Both stank of wine and your husband was belching loudly.
Marquise: Brrr! Just hearing about it makes me shudder.
Felipe: I got rid of them, but at a price.
Marquise: What do you mean, my dear?
Felipe: The Marquis was cursing and swearing that he was not going to sleep alone. The Viscount thought he was right.
Marquise: Ha, ha! I bet they wanted to pay me the compliment of both getting into my bed.
Felipe: That's exactly what they had in mind. The Marquis knows that the Viscount is harmless. They were hoping you would make room for both of them.
Marquise: That's a nerve. Can you imagine me letting those two sots in my couch. There would have been room enough if I didn't have somebody else with me.
Felipe: Since I wouldn't let them into your room, the Marquis told his friend that the only solution was to sleep with me. The Viscount was so happy at the idea that he threw his arms around your husband's neck.
Marquise: You must have been touched at the mark of their friendship.
Felipe: I was embarrassed. They ordered me to be in the Marquis's room at five. It was just a little after three, then. I was sure that there was no way for me to get out of it. Not only were they two, but with several hours of sleep, they would have sobered up enough to keep after me until I gave in.
Marquise: What did you do?
Felipe: When I went to my room to get a little sleep before going to them, they accompanied me and wouldn't leave me. They pestered me so much that I finally let them get into bed with me.
Marquise: It sounds as if you did not put up much of a fight for your honor.
Felipe: Please hear me out, Madame. Your husband told the Viscount to behave himself between his belches. He then turned his back to me and began to snore like a pipe-organ.
Marquise: I gather that here begins the interesting part of your recital.
Felipe: The Viscount didn't have the slightest intention of acting as a gentleman should. On the contrary, he became very forward and bold. Naturally, I defended myself until I. . . accidentally...touched his...
Marquise: His prick. Come out and say it. You know how I dislike it when you beat around the bush.
Felipe (laughing): Well, just as you wish. On his prick. But, Madame, what an instrument! Since I have had the pleasure to see and feel such things, thanks to your kindness, I have never come across anything like it. ; Marquise (enviously): Tell me about this prodigy. 1 Felipe: Just picture to yourself, Madame, a rod nine or ten inches or longer. It could have been a foot.
Marquise (vehemently): What a fortunate fellow that Molengin is! He is witty, handsome, young, and rich, and to top everything off, he has a prick that is a foot long.
Felipe (with a sigh): Restrain yourself for a moment, Madame. Such a natural gift is not worth the price Monsieur de Molengin has had to pay for it.
Marquis: What do you mean by that? It stands up, doesn't it?
Felipe: Please let me tell the story in my own way, Madame. At first, I nearly fainted with fright at the sight of the monster. It throbbed in my hand as if it had a life of its own. But, that's all. The only thing he uses it for is to pee. As soon as it touched my...
Marquise: It went soft and wouldn't go in.
Felipe: Such is the sad truth, Madame.
Marquise: I am disappointed in Monsieur de Molengin. But with a little patience and skill, there must be a way....
Felipe: Will you permit me to speak openly? I'll be quite honest with you. When I am in bed with two men, I get hot and excited and I need satisfaction. The Viscount's fingers running over my body set me afire. I finally let him know that I was not unwilling. And I did everything, Madame, even some things that you never taught me.
Marquise: With a prick that size, I can well believe you. You did everything and then what happened?
Felipe (taking a deep breath): Nothing, Madame.
Marquise: He's no gentleman. How sorry I feel for you, Felipe.
Felipe: I was going out of my mind. But nothing I did succeeded in raising those ten inches of limp sausage. Finally, and this was the worst insult of all, I suddenly felt a few drops dribble on me. I wasn't even...
Marquise: Fucked! Will you ever learn to call a spade a spade? You stammer like a school girl who i doesn't know her lessons. But what a shattering experience for you, my dear. And my husband, didn't he awaken?
Felipe: Two or three times he turned over in his sleep. Once he was in a position that was most tempting to me. He was on his back with his obelisk, as Madame refers to it, standing up. I felt a strong urge to mount it just to spite the Viscount but I was afraid your husband would start belching again. Well, I just forgot about the whole thing. You know how bashful iV am when somebody is looking.
Marquise: What a ninny you were. That shouldn't have stopped you. When I want it, which is often as you know, the whole world could be watching. I never hold myself back, and I keep on until I have had enough. It's only the timid ones who have such scruples. I am convinced that within a few years a respectable woman will be able to ask for a fuck with as little embarrassment as a man requests a pinch of tobacco.
Don't forget that every need has to be satisfied. And what craving can be more imperious than the one we have been discussing? When one is famished, one snatches the first food at hand.
Felipe: Your preaching is never boring, my dear mistress, and you practice what you preach. But I am not finished with my story yet. Monsieur de Molingin finally fell asleep. I wished I could have done the same...but I couldn't.
Marquise: I understand. My dear husband was awake.
Felipe: Indeed he was. I was forced to tire him quickly before he started belching again. To get him back to sleep was the main thing...for your sake.
Marquise (sardonically): Naturally. And out of devotion to me you sacrificed yourself. I see it all now. Afterwards, the Marquis was sleeping the sleep of the dead, for whomever you fatigue, Felipe, he becomes fatigued indeed.
Felipe: Now you're making fun of me. But I don't mind. Just before five I crawled out of bed as noiselessly as I could, went to your room, and woke up your companion. He got dressed in a thrice, and I led him out through the garden gate.
Marquise: Did you say that it was around five o'clock that you let him out?
Felipe: Yes, Madame.
Marquise: Are you positive?
Felipe: It was exactly five, I assure you.
Marquise: But it is still dark at five if I am not wrong.
Felipe: I know that, Madame.
Marquise: You're joking. The Chevalier left here scarcely two hours ago.
Felipe: Which Chevalier, Madame?
Marquise: The Chevalier whom I brought home with me last night, the most stubborn and ungallant scoundrel the Garonne ever sent to Paris.
Felipe: The man I saw you with last night, the one who was in bed with you, is the very one I let out through the garden gate at five o'clock this morning.
Marquise (becoming angry): And I am telling you that it hasn't been two hours since I was fucked, for I saw the daylight through the crack in the curtain.
Felipe (turning pale): You must have been dreaming, Madame. Please believe me. Since your Chevalier left at five o'clock, he could not have fucked you two hours ago.
Marquise (in a rage): I'm starting to have enough of this tomfoolery. Now let me tell you, Mademoiselle. It was broad daylight when this uncouth chevalier awoke me and penetrated me like Satan himself. Why I didn't put up any resistance, I don't know. I told him he could do it just once, but he immediately began a second time without pausing for breath. I became angry and protested, but he paid me no attention. I ended up by making the best of it.
Felipe: Something is wrong, Madame. I have another little thing to tell you. (She hands her a letter.)
Marquise: What's that?
Felipe: Perhaps I had awakened Monsieur de Molengin when I got out of bed. He must have followed"' me without my knowing it and saw me let the Chevalier out. When I returned, he came up to me and simply said: "Felipe, it's up to your mistress and I shan't say anything more. You can tell her that for me."
Marquise: That's most unpleasant. What can he Bt-writing me about? (She opens the letter and reads it.) Just as I thought. He's gloating over the trick he played on me. I see the whole thing now. I thought I had him under my thumb, but I am under his. He turned the tables on me.
Felipe: Madame, would you be so good as to tell me where you met this new suitor?
Marquise: Through the most curious circumstances. It was at the gambling salon run by the German baroness.
Felipe: I know who you mean.
Marquise: I have been going to that gambling hall for some time now. It is very stupid of me for I lose so much there. Yesterday, although I was only playing for very low stakes, I had an incredible run of bad luck. In less than an hour the hundred louis I had with me were gone. I would have left in debt if Dupeville who was winning for a change had not lent me sixty louis. I paid what I owed and lost what was left in a twinkling.
Felipe: Unlucky at cards, lucky in love.
Marquise: After dinner, the game began again. My carriage had not yet arrived. As I was waiting, I noticed fat Madame President Corbanal [ordinary cunt] sitting by the fireplace talking with some gentleman whom I did not recognize. I know her very well. She can talk about one subject only and so I kept my distance. But she noticed me and called me over. "Marquise, I am having an argument with this gentleman over a matter about which you can give an expert opinion." Then she bent to the man and remarked: "We don't have to worry about our language with the Marquise. She is one of us and she is called Fern."
Felipe (puzzled): One of us? Fern? What does all that mean, Madame?
Marquise: One of these days I'll tell you. In the meantime, I'll just say that Fern is my name in a certain club I belong to. It's such a wonderful club. I wouldn't give up my membership in it for anything in the world. I'll take you to the next meeting and you'll be grateful to me for the rest of your life.
Felipe: How could a humble servant like myself mingle with people as elegant as you?
Marquise: Don't be a little fool. We need...But no, it is better not to tell our secrets to anyone who has not been accepted for membership.
Felipe: I'd give anything to know. Oh, I can guess. You belong to the Freemasons.
Marquise: The activities of our organization are completely different from the Freemasons'. Just to satisfy your curiosity, I'll tell you that the members of our happy group are ranked according to their physical charms and the skills in the art of lovemaking. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you reached one of the highest ranks shortly after your initiation. Your voluptuous figure, the freshness of your skin...
Felipe (slightly bewildered): Oh, please stop making fun of me.
Marquise: I swear it is true. I have never seen such an adorable creature as you. And you know it yourself. You know how many suitors I have turned away just to be with you. It is a lucky thing for you now that I am so exhausted. Otherwise, I would show you again how infatuated I am with you. (One hand slips under Felipe's blouse and the other raises her skirt.)
Felipe (giving her a kiss): Another time, Madame. We have so much more to talk about.
Marquise (releasing her): Yes. I want to tell you the rest of the story. Now, Madame President, the silly ass she was talking with, and I, we all three were members of the club.
Felipe: But you just said that you didn't know him.
Marquise: That's right. I didn't know him. We have about a thousand members all through France and even in other countries. We have a password and a secret grip so that we can identify one another.
Felipe: Just like the Freemasons. But I still don't understand.
Marquise: You're not going to worm any more information out of me. But I promise you'll find out at the right time and place. But to continue. After I had made sure that he was a brother by saying the password, I asked Madame Conbanal what the argument was about. She said she claimed that there weren't any six-shooters any more.
Felipe: What did she mean by that, Madame?
Marquise: I asked that same question myself. When I said I thought it had something to do with poetry, she laughed in my face and the gentleman coughed so hard that I thought he was going to choke.
Felipe: That wasn't very polite of them.
Marquise: Then I thought she was making a pun, so I gave up trying to guess what she meant. "Six-shooters, Marquise. Don't you understand yet? Do you think there are any six-shooters left?" she asked me. Now the stranger broke in. "Ladies, ladies. I don't want to disparage your Parisian cavaliers, but in my part of France, every man, even the humblest peasant, is at least a six-shooter, if not a seven, eight, or nine."
(Felipe whistles in amazement.)
Marquise: We were stunned. We were about to say that we didn't believe him when a friend of Madame's appeared to take her back to the tables. I was left alone with the braggart. With mock modesty, I told him that if he were not a fellow member of the society, I would ask him to change the subject.
Felipe: But you know how you love to talk about that, Madame.
Marquise: Naturally. But with a man whom you have never before seen in your life? Take my advice, Felipe. No matter how great a whore a woman may be, she must be able to command respect until the moment when she lifts her skirts.
Felipe: That's exactly what I think, too.
Marquise: Back to what I was saying. I told him straight to his face that I didn't think there were any six-shooters, let alone seven, eight, or nine. He was insulted, and he claimed his right as a club brother to prove his statement. And he wanted to do it right away.
Felipe: Why, that's outrageous! He should have been thrown out of the window.
Marquise: You are wrong. One of our most important rules expressly permits such demands.
Felipe: Oh, I didn't know that. What did you say?
Marquise: I simply told him no.
Felipe: You must not have liked him.
Marquise: On the contrary. I was rather taken with him.
Felipe: Well, you don't seem to care for him now. Did he do something to displease you?
Marquise: I'll tell you about that later. "Madame," he said to me with that conceit that irritated me, "I am a Gascon and not an idle boaster. I wouldn't ask you take part in anything that I could not accomplish. Let's make a wager on it. In this purse are a hundred louis that I won tonight and I'll give you a chance to win them. You will be good enough to permit me to spend the night with you. All I ask is six or seven hours. After you have granted me your favor the first time, I shall have lost fifty louis." Keep good count, Felipe.
Felipe: Don't worry, Madame. So, fifty louis for the first "favor." That means...
Marquise: The first time.
Felipe: I understand.
Marquise: Then he said I would win thirty for the second.
Felipe: Wonderful. There's eighty already.
Marquise: Exactly. And after the third, I would get another twenty.
Felipe: Now you have the whole hundred.
Marquise: For the fourth time, I would get nothing.
Felipe: So that's free. But you still keep the hundred louis, Madame?
Marquise: Naturally. But for the fifth time, the cavalier said he would get twenty back.
Felipe: That's nothing to worry about. You still have eighty.
Marquise: You do figures in your head very well, Felipe. Then he went on to say that for the sixth time, he would receive thirty.
Felipe (astonished): There's still fifty left, Madame.
Marquise: Precisely. But for the seventh time, he would get back the remaining fifty and we would be quits.
Felipe: Quits?
Marquise: That's what I said. Felipe: Hmmm.
Marquise: I accepted because I wanted to make up for what I had lost gambling. That fat purse fascinated me. Besides, he was a fine figure of a man.
Felipe: That's what I gathered.
Marquise: I noticed he had shapely legs and a clear complexion....
Felipe: Yes, and broad shoulders...a handsome fellow.
Marquise: Also, I took him on because there was no risk whatsoever involved.
Felipe: Bets like those are as good as money in the bank.
Marquise: When Madame President rejoined us, we told her about our wager. And do you know what? She wanted to go halves.
Felipe: I don't blame her.
Marquise: Just then, my carriage was announced. I drove home together with my opponent, and, as you know, we got right into bed.
Felipe: If I recall correctly, both of you were in a great hurry.
Marquise: That I won't deny. Well, I earned eighty louis just like that. And I won them honestly. I gave him as much pleasure as he gave me.
Felipe: I believe you.
Marquise: We rested about ten minutes and chatted, and then we started again. Now the whole hundred louis were mine.
Felipe: Dear me! That Gascon was a fast worker.
Marquise: I have to admit that I hadn't been so well served in a long time. But he didn't know any variations or refinements. He went at me like some peasant pumping his wife. But you can't have everything. At least, he didn't stink or sweat. And God, he did set me on fire.
Felipe: If you ever want me to take your place with him, I shall be more than happy to do so.
Marquise: That's very kind of you. Although we were in a hurry the fourth time, our movements were in perfect harmony. I swear that his prick never did get limp.
Felipe: How I envy you.
Marquise: The fifth encounter was well worth the twenty louis I lost. We were both enjoying ourselves so much that we forgot about the wager. But the sixth time, I was getting uncomfortable.
Felipe: Were you tired?
Marquise: Are you out of your mind? From such a little exercise like that? Of course not. I was starting to worry about the final outcome. Naturally, I was not about to cheat, but I started to move my body in such a way.--. .
Felipe: Just as I rocked the Viscount last night? Please go on, Madame.
Marquise: Any normal man would have become discouraged at the tempo I was going. Twice I threw him off the saddle with my violent upward thrusts. But that didn't do any good. He got right back on without missing a beat.
Felipe: So your passion was not real. That was not honorable of you at all.
Marquise: I suppose not. Well, there was another thirty louis gone. Finally, I asked for a moment's rest and said to him: "My dear six-shooter, I surrender. I am utterly exhausted and worn out. It was foolish of me to have doubted your prowess. Let's go to sleep. You don't owe me anything. Too much is not good for you, and if you got sick, I would never forgive myself."
Felipe: Why this sudden burst of magnanimity?
Marquise: Don't you understand, you little simpleton? I was trying to appeal to his sense of generosity. If he were a gentleman, he would have accepted and gracefully lost his fifty louis. But he didn't even listen to me. All he had on his mind was getting his money back.
Felipe: Wasn't there anything you could do?
Marquise: No, I had to go through with it. But I didn't want to. I moaned and sighed as if I were in great pain. I told him he was killing me and that if he would stop, I would give him back his fifty louis. But he kept right on.
Felipe: Madame, that was most unwise of you. If he had taken you at your word...
Marquise: I regretted it as soon as I said it, because there was still a chance of keeping the money. But it was like talking to a brick wall. He just kept his regular pace. I didn't help him in the slightest, even though I was wild with excitement. And he did it for the seventh time.
Felipe: He didn't cheat, did he?
Marquise: I should say not. When he withdrew, he showed it to me and it was still running out.
Felipe: What a prodigy. So Madame didn't win anything.
Marquise (in a disagreeable tone): Not a centime. Felipe: Does Madame...intend to ask for revenge? Marquise: No, certainly not. Why do you ask such a question?
Felipe: If I were you, I wouldn't give up. Sometimes things go wrong with a man's weapon. And (with downcast eyes) if you feel like trying again, I'll do all I can to help you win.
Marquise (kissing her): Bravo, Felipe. I see that not only are you devoted to me, but that you are an apt pupil. I predict that you will do our club honor.
Felipe: I don't have the faintest idea of what is expected of me, but if Madame is gracious enough to recommend me for membership, I'll do my best not to disappoint you.
Marquise: The duties are not onerous. I already told you that. With your temperament and body, you are ideally suited to participate in our pleasures. That old nurse and your two maiden aunts from whom I rescued you with so much difficulty could have easily ruined you with their bigotry and hypocrisy. What they had in mind for you was a virtuous marriage with some dolt of a farmer or tradesman. Household chores and the raising of children are to be left to the ugly and unwanted. It's a beautiful woman's duty to devote herself to the delights of love, and it makes no difference whether she is of high or low birth. Everybody has to yield. That will be our rallying-cry. At least, that is my philosophy, and I would like to make it yours, too. Thanks to the principles I acquired early in life, I am the happiest woman on earth. Down with prejudices! Let us enjoy ourselves as long as we can, no matter where, when, or how.
Felipe: An attractive code of morals, Madame. Nevertheless, I am afraid that your system, tempting as it is, can lead one too far. Forgive me for saying this, but if you do things to excess, you run the danger of losing your beauty and forces. Moreover, you are very careless, and I am worried that one of these days, the Marquis will...
Marquise: You mean my husband? If that scum ever dares to pass judgment on my actions, I'll...I conduct myself far more properly than he. Besides, I am better born and wealthier. He was a hungry loafer on the Paris boulevards when I was foolish enough to fall for his handsome face. You won't believe this, but I couldn't wait until I had him. Once we were in bed, he was treacherous enough to get me pregnant. My parents were forced to let us get married. It was he who introduced me to the most depraved people. It was he who instructed me in the most refined variations of making love. Because of him, I came to savor the delights of orgies. And I am not ungrateful. But he has caused so much scandal. He is a wastrel, throwing my money around, and he is calfous to every decent feeling. Please, let's not talk about him any more.
Felipe: Still, it is wise to remember that legally he is your master and he can misuse his power if he wishes.
Marquise: Thank you for your warnings. I was so young and stupid then. If I had only known that I would lose my parents so soon, I certainly never would have married him. And I could have given out the child for adoption. Didn't my own sister secretly give birth to twins? And how about Baroness X, Countess Y, and Princess Z?
Felipe: Also, Madame, he still wants to make me his mistress with my own apartment and an allowance of thirty louis a month.
Marquise: If he weren't such a swine, I'd say go ahead and accept. But you wouldn't be happy with him.
Felipe: I have a better reason for refusing it. It would mean I would have to give up being with you. But don't you hear something outside?
Marquise: Go and see what it is.
Felipe (returning from the entrance hall): Madame, there is a flower-seller who says that you told him to come here this morning.
Marquise: That's so. But he is early. Little Countess Mottenfeu [cunt-on-fire] pointed him out to me in the Palais Royal. She said he is very amusing. Show him in.
Felipe: Do you want to be alone with him?
Marquise: The very idea! Of course not. Propriety demands that you stay here with me.
Lackey (announcing with a smile on his face): Monsieur Bricon [break-cunt], Madame.
Marquise: What are you laughing at, you idiot? (The servant does not budge, but keeps looking at Bricon who is busy arranging his flowers.) What are you standing there for? Get out! (The lackey leaves.) Felipe, I swear I'll have to let him go. He is a fine-looking youngster, but he doesn't have a brain in his head.
(In one hand, Bricon has a basket with very lovely blossoms and in the other, a little box. He enters the room with many scrapes and bows.)
Bricon: I beg Madame a thousand pardons if I have come too early. I hurried lest I be late for the hour you had set.
Marquise: It doesn't matter, my friend. I was already up. (To Felipe in a low voice): The fellow isn't too bad.
Felipe (to herself): I'll say he isn't. He looks as strong as a young bull.
Marquise: You have lovely flowers for this time of the year, Monsieur Bricon.
Bricon: Madame, since I faithfully worship beauty, nature works wonders for me.
Marquise (softly to Felipe): He is not stupid. (She makes her choice.) How much for this bunch?
Bricon: Whatever you wish, Madame. Usually, I sell flowers only to gentlemen. I would be more than happy...I hope I am not being too forward...if you would accept them as a gift from me.
Marquise (again in a low voice to Felipe): The young fellow has excellent manners. (Aloud): Give him six francs, Felipe.
Felipe: Yes, Madame.
Marquise (to Bricon): If you are so generous towards all women, you'll never have any money.
Bricon: Selling flowers is not very profitable, Madame. I handle other little items with which I make my living.
Marquise: What sort of things? Bricon: Perfumes, lace, candy, pills, hairnets, and so forth.
Marquise: But the Countess never mentioned a word about those.
Bricon: Madame, I always request my customers to be discreet. Otherwise, I might get into trouble.
Marquise: Yes, I understand. (In a low voice to Felipe): What wonderful eyes he has!
Felipe (to herself): The chap has more than one iron in the fire.
Bricon: Also, I sell trained dogs, canaries, parrots, monkeys...
Marquise: Monkeys! Bring me one tomorrow.
Bricon: With pleasure, Madame. Also, I handle fans, opera glasses....In other words, I attempt to fill the needs of my clients. Also, my prices are known to be reasonable. On some of my articles, I make no profit, but on others, I do quite well. On the whole, my business is not too bad.
Marquise: That doesn't surprise me, for you seem to be quite intelligent. Where do you live?
Bricon: Everywhere, Madame. Mostly at the address on this card. Perhaps you will keep it in the event you wish to reach me. I can supply artificial hair, feathers, and other fashionable items. Jewelry, too, both new and second-hand. Carriages and horses. All the latest literary works, even those that are not commonly carried in the bookstores.
Marquise: So you deal in forbidden objects, too, do you?
Bricon (with a shrug of his shoulders): One has to, Madame. One does not make enough on the other things.
Marquise: What do you have in that little box? That one there. Answer me.
Bricon (feigning embarrassment): Madame, those are items of no possible interest to you...they are, ah, medical articles.
Marquise: What? Are you a doctor, too?
Bricon: Unfortunately, I cannot claim that honor.
Marquise: Well, you could say that you are one.
(Bricon acts as if the presence of Felipe, who understands the situation, makes him uncomfortable.)
Felipe: Heavens, Madame. I have forgotten all about your chocolate.
Marquise: That's right. I'm starting to feel a few pains in my stomach. Hurry to the kitchen. The chocolate has to be just right. Don't stir it too much.
Felipe: I'll see to it myself. (She turns to the door.)
Marquise: I am not in to anybody. Do you understand? Felipe: Perfectly.
Marquise: While you are at it, you can order my carriage. I'll be leaving shortly.
Felipe: I'll take care of it.
(The Marquise is now alone with Bricon.)
Marquise (eagerly): Now, Monsieur Bricon, let me see what is in that box right away.
Bricon (still feigning reluctance): I beg your pardon, Madame, but...
Marquise: What are you trying to say?
Bricon: Madame's request was so unexpected...and I took the liberty of telling a little lie...it is very hard for me...but I have to tell you the truth...but do forgive me, Madame...but I can't show you what's in the box.
Marquise: I never heard of such a thing. We women are curious, and I insist on looking... and buying.
Bricon: If that is the case, I suppose I have to obey your command. But before I open it, please do not think too badly of me. You can be sure that I never dreamed of showing or selling you the trinkets you insist on seeing. I just happened to have them with me, because when I leave here, I have to go to a customer who is interested in them. It would have been inconvenient for me to return to my house and then come back out here again, for my client lives not too far from here.
Marquise: Hurry up and show me your wares.
Bricon: At your service. (Now he pretends that he cannot find the key to the box.)
Marquise (irritably): Open it! Break it open, if you have to. I'll buy everything that's in it.
Bricon: Madame, there are items that are very expensive. Ah, here's the key, finally. It doesn't work.
Some dirt must have got in it (He blows in the hole and tries again.) Now it goes, Madame. (He produces a piece of folded paper which he lays on the bed.)
Marquise (regarding the items he places on the paper): What are those?
Bricon: Those are men's items. You wouldn't be interested in them.
Marquise (trying to read some printing on a wrapper): That looks like English. The only thing I can make out is the name of Phillips.
Bricon: Those are seamless stockings to be used for...(He takes one out of the package and blows it up. The Marquise immediately recognizes what it is.)
Marquise: I'm acquainted with them. Madame Phillip's products have the reputation of being the best, but I don't need any. Keep on unpacking.
Bricon (bringing out a dildo): Madame, this is not a particularly good model, but you have to have something for every age and size.
Marquise (smiling): The workmanship is not bad. Just about right for a recently confirmed girl.
Bricon (displaying another): This one is better.
Marquise: You have an excellent selection, Monsieur Bricon. How much for that toy?
Bricon: For you, Madame, eighteen francs. That is just about what I had to pay for it.
Marquise (picking up another): This one seems a little thicker. How much?
Bricon: Only one louis. That is a bargain.
Marquise: Magnificent. I'll soon be on friendly terms with that.
Bricon (displaying still another): I'll let you have this one at the same price.
Marquise (inspecting it carefully): This one looks even thicker and longer.
Bricon: If you are willing to go to thirty-six pounds, ll have a real masterpiece. Do you see this ring? ' Marquise: Yes, what is it for?
Bricon: It is connected with a duct. The tube can be unscrewed at this ring. You fill it with a warm liquid and screw it back on. Then, at the right moment...Ssssst. It works just like a human....
Marquise: I heard that this ingenious contrivance was invented by pious nuns. I tried to find one before I was married, but I couldn't. I'll take two of them. Now on with the rest of your wares.
Bricon: This is the only one of this model that I have with me. But I have more at home, and I'll be glad to bring another tomorrow along with the monkey. If you will permit, I'll show Madame something even more interesting....(In an undertone): But please, I beg of you. Don't breathe a word. If it comes out, I risk my entire livelihood.
Marquise: You need have no worries on that score. Just show it to me, my dear fellow.
Bricon (in a whisper): I nearly went to jail, because I delivered one of these to a convent. I won't tell you which one. Two sisters-the deuce take them-were surprised when they were diverting themselves with it. There was a terrible scandal. I was named as the supplier and arrested. If I didn't have some influential friends, I shudder to think what would have happened to me.
Marquise: Hurry up, Bricon. I can't wait to see such a rarity. (Bricon displays the instrument.)...Now, what can that be? I admit that I haven't the faintest idea. It has two prongs. And then there is this bush of natural hair. It looks awful. I'm almost frightened of it.
Bricon (slyly smiling): Monstrous yes, but a marvel of ingenuity. You know the story of Y, Gaudeant bene nati? ("May the well-born rejoice.")
Marquise: Of course I do. I'm not an innocent young girl. For every hole there is a stopper. It is a good joke.
Bricon: The most respectable people still use these today.
Marquise: Well, come and tell me what it is. Bricon (hesitatingly): The use of these two... Marquise: These two artificial pricks, naturally. Go on.
Bricon: You put it on this way...so. (He holds the contrivance for a moment at the fly of his trousers.) The upper prong serves, as you can see, for the satisfaction in a normal way.
Marquise: Very good. And the other goes into the adjoining...now it is becoming clear.
Bricon: Madame will notice that the lower-the lower prick, if I may use that expression...
Marquise: I prefer things to be called by their right names.
Bricon: You see that this lower one is slimmer and longer.
Marquise: I was just about to ask you the reason.
Bricon: If it is longer, it has superior penetrating qualities. The entrance to the pertinent opening is tighter than the other.
Marquise: I see that everything was carefully thought out in advance. If it weren't fashioned that way, it could cause a wound.
Bricon: It is always a pleasure to show such scarcities to clients who can appreciate them. (Noticing a frown on the face of the Marquise, he quickly corrects himself.) I mean, who so readily understand their purpose.
Marquise: That's better.
Bricon: As soon as one prong is inserted, the other automatically finds its way into the other hole. The hair is to enhance the illusion that it is a real male organ. This plaything was devised for two girls who were more than just intimate friends.
Marquise: I can see that it is admirably suited for its purpose.
Bricon: Now, look carefully, Marquise. The upper prong is removable. (He screws it off.) Now, the natural member can be substituted. It is perfect for a gentleman who has exhausted his resources and wishes to conceal his incapacity.
Marquise: I have never seen anything so clever. How much is it?
Bricon: Only three louis, and that is a special price for you.
Marquise: Three louis, agreed. And for this thirty-six pounds. With this single-pronged one, it makes six louis in all. What's wrong? I'm not cheating you. (She notices that Bricon has become very upset.) Why are you rolling your eyes so. Aren't you feeling well?
Bricon (very agitated): Oh...it's nothing. Just don't pay any attention to it, Madame. (He hastily packs up his things.)
Marquise: Why are you in such a hurry, Bricon? You're making me uncomfortable.
Bricon (moaning): Oh, Madame!
Marquise: What's wrong with you?
Bricon: I have to get out of here as quickly as I can.
Marquise: You must have an attack of vertigo. I'll ring for a servant.
Bricon: No, not that, Madame. That will ruin me. (He snatches the bell cord from her hand and locks the door.)
Marquise: I have heard of temporary insanity. (Bricon hurls himself face down on the bed.) This has gone too far. (As she tries to retrieve the cord, he covers her hand with hot kisses.) Monsieur Bricon, I'm going to have my servants throw you out of the house.
Bricon (apparently beside himself from agitation, becomes bolder.) Oh, miserable wretch that I am to...
Marquise: Your insolence is outrageous!
Bricon (clutching at her breasts): Am I not just a mortal with feelings like other men? (He presses her more tightly to him.)
Marquise (nervous, or at least pretending to be): That damned curiosity of mine! Bricon. Be a good fellow. (He throws off the blankets on the bed.) You villain! How dare you behave like this with me? Why, you're even trying to undress me. I'll have your head for this impertinence! (Bricon has reached his goal.) You scoundrel. That tender morsel of roast is not for the likes of you.
Bricon (panting heavily): Cost what it may, I'll...(He strives with all his might to have his way with her.)
Marquise (still struggling): But really, Bricon...a woman of my standing...cannot forget herself...not completely. (Bricon gives a sudden lunge and is in ) Oh ho, I knew there was a rat in the manger...Br -con, I order you to...take that damned thing out. Please behave yourself. Don't be so stubborn. Heavens! He is a superman. He is driving me out of my mind! (She ceases to resist.)...Don't hurt me, please. Oh...(Her lips meet his in a fiery encounter. The act is accomplished with the enthusiastic cooperation of both parties. When it is over, they remain several moments in a frantic ecstasy.
Next to the bed on the wall is a little door leading to the boudoir. From it appears Abbe Boujaron [mud], whose reputation is as dirty as his body.)
Abbe: Good morning, my friends.
Marquise (startled out of her wits): Good heavens! (Bricon springs out of the bed.)
Abbe: What's wrong, my children? I'm not here to disturb you at your games, but the devil take me if I am not going to take part in them.
(The Marquise creeps up all the way under the blankets and sheets, which the priest abruptly tears off.)
Abbe: What is wrong with you? Don't be so childish. You rise like the sun on the horizon. I don't....But I know something of life. And don't we all have a little...
Marquise: That's the limit!
Abbe: Why such panic over such a minor thing? Bricon is a good friend and I assure you that everything will remain confidential.
Bricon: How in the devil did you get in here, Monsieur Boujaron?
Abbe: Haha! I've been hiding in there for some time, but I was by no means bored. No, don't get all upset, my adorable queen.
Marquise (furiously): What are you doing here? And how long have you been in my room? You wretch!
Abbe (crinkling his forehead as if thinking deeply): Is it necessary to insult me that way? I was already in there, you little gambler, when you were with...
Marquise (clapping her hand to his mouth): If you say one word more. I warn you. Bricon!
Bricon: Yes, Madame.
Marquise: If you get that dagger out of your box and stab this blackguard in the heart, I'll make you a rich man.
Bricon: Oh, I'm not that eager for money, Madame. Besides, Abbe was quite right when he said that we two are good friends.
Abbe (calmly producing two pistols from beneath his robe): Just to show you that I have something to protect myself with. (He puts the weapons back.) Now shall we have peace?
Marquise (moaning): I'm lost. Dishonored. Oh, how unfortunate I am.
Abbe" (sarcastically): You, unfortunate....Just the opposite. You are the luckiest of women. But you must have your little joke, Madame. Just add it up. Seven and two make nine, and one makes ten. And right now you are going to get one more, and then this little misunderstanding will be completely forgotten. And who knows what will happen before the end of the day?
Marquise (in a rage): You bandit! My dream...as; Felipe called it....
Abbe: Keep on dreaming such sweet dreams, for; those are the only reality. Yes, when you saw the ray of light, you have your humble servant to thank for the distraction.
Marquise: If I had only known that, you reprobate.
Abbe" (in a gently chiding, jesting tone): Still more slurs. But you have to admit, Marquise, that I know how to prepare delightful dreams.
Marquise: I shall never forgive myself for this blunder.
Abbe" (turning to Bricon): And it was she who robbed me of my Parisian virginity. When I say virginity, all I mean is...
Bricon: For God's sake, Monsieur Abbe. Don't talk about it any more. You can see how hard Madame is taking it. Don't upset her any more with your filthy talk and horrible jokes.
Abbe: Who in his right mind would ever want to cause anguish to this ravishing young woman? Marquise, let us forget about it. Besides, I haven't the slightest interest in your cunt. I make no secret of it.
Bricon: Psst. Psst.
Abbe: Let me finish, you stupid boor. (To the Marquise): Now I have this devilish taste. That's the reason why I acted so discourteously toward you on numerous occasions.
Marquise (shattered): Monsieur, please leave me alone, I beg of you.
Abbe (with a malicious smile): Just a few words more and then I'll be finished. I soon realized that it was very wrong to prefer the behind of such a lovely woman as you to her cunt...
Marquise (enraged): Monsieur Abbe, where do you think you are, in a brothel or in your seminary?
Abbe (with the same sly smile): Please, Madame. But you always said you liked blunt language. I wanted yon so badly that I accommodated myself to your tastes...I secretly got into your room here.
Marquise: What? Did you spend the entire night in my pressing-room?
Abbe: Indeed, I did. And it was a night that would have tortured Tantalus. I heard the spit turn and I realized that the roast was not for me for the time being. Twice you came very near to me when you entered to wash yourself. You revealed yourself to me in such an appetizing way that I cursed the lascivious urge that brought me here. But the agonies were sweet. I was trying to make up my mind which of your rear cheeks was the more enticing. (He kisses his fingers with a dreamy look in his eyes.) Dear God in Heaven!
Marquise (to Bricon): What do you make of that? Did you ever hear such drivel? Just like a thief, he enters the house and then freezes and starves in an uncomfortable hiding-place.
Bricon (fervently): For a woman like you, Madame, a man would look death straight in the eyes.
Abbe: I found two jars of conserved fruit and a big bottle of Spanish wine. They were most welcome. So I didn't worry about starving. And the temperature. How could one be cold being right next to a pair bucking about like you two?
Marquise (turning her face aside): That's enough Abbe. Not another word.
Abbe: So you think we are through, eh? Why, we have barely begun. What took place last night doesn't count.
Marquise: I'll get back at you for your arrogance. Phooey! What man who prides himself on being a man would take advantage of a woman while she is asleep? Who would be so shameless to have her when she mistakes him for somebody else?
Abbe: Only simpletons and dolts have such scruples. I don't give a damn about honor or decency. Consequently, I have always been able to amuse myself. Well, I had just about given up hope that the Gascon would ever go and I made myself as comfortable as I could. I was even able to fall asleep. You can imagine my surprise and delight to find that he was gone when I awoke. Well, you know the rest. But I swear to you that there is no bottom in the universe to compare with yours, Madame. I mean, naturally, of your sex.
Marquise: Now there's a compliment for you. But, gentlemen, the incident is at an end. You have to leave now. Discretion is the keyword. Remember that. Discretion, if you have a spark of decency in you.
Abbe: So you don't trust us? Well, I'll vouch for Bricon.
Bricon: And I'll do the same for him.
Marquise: I do hope you keep silence. I see that it is very late. Any moment now my chocolate will be brought to me. Please leave, both of you.
Abbe: Just a moment more. I just had an idea....
Marquise: Give it up lest I put into execution the idea that just entered my head, namely, calling my servants and having you thrown out of the door.
Abbe: Brr! Just think of the racket that will make.
Bricon: Oh, Madame, be good enough to let him tell you what he has in mind.
Abbe: My head is in a whirl just because of you. (The Marquise disappears into the dressing-room.) Because of me, she is leaving, but we won't let her out of our sight. When she returns, she will see....(Abbe to Bricon): Don't pay any attention to her anger. Listen, we have to...you understand, just like the other day with the Baroness de Breitheim....
Bricon: I'm agreeable. Besides, the Baroness...
Abbe: Yesterday she gave me three louis for you. (He takes the money out of his pocket.) Here.
Bricon: That is generous of her. Thank you.
Abbe (stroking Bricon's cheek): When are you coming to visit me?
Bricon: Next Monday. For sure. About eight in the morning. Oh, here's the Marquise back. (The Marquise lies on the bed.) t Marquise: Now you will have to admit how obliging J am. I permit you, Monsieur Boujaron, to tell me what you wanted to say. Speak your piece. I am positive that it is something unseemly. But what else can one expect from you? But I don't care.
Abbe: It didn't take you long to understand that double dildo Bricon sold you.
Marquise: Hmmm.
Abbe: Admit it. Now is the perfect time for you to try something that the thing you just bought can give you only a feeble idea of.
Marquise (utterly disconcerted. Regards Bricon as if asking him to take her side against the Abbe): Did you hear his monstrous proposal? (Bricon casts down his eyes and does not answer. She turns to the Abbe):
What colossal nerve you have to imagine that a woman like me...
Abbe (coarsely): A woman like you. The devil take me! A woman like you was low enough to buy a dildo, which I do not think you intend to place in your curio cabinet.
Marquise (casting a baleful glance at the priest and beseeching Bricon with her eyes): Am I really awake? Or am I in a dream?
Bricon: Permit me, Madame, to say to you that I think that Monsieur the Abbe is speaking very sensibly. I fully understand that a lady might look upon such an experiment with distaste. But what is wrong with trying it? If you don't like it, basta.
Marquise (coquettishly): Oh Bricon, Bricon. I am getting a very poor opinion of you. Now you want somebody else to have the pleasure I just gave you.
Abbe: Let her tell that to somebody else. If something doesn't happen right away, I'm going to take this dildo and tell everybody in Paris that. . .
Marquise: So you're a blackmailer in addition t( your other virtues.
Bricon (feelingly): In a moment, you'll be in seventh heaven. Have the courage and let us indulge ii our caprices. Already I feel your arms around m; again.
Marquise (hesitating): If only this damned Abbe; weren't...he has bungled the whole affair from the; very beginning. That's the trouble.
Abbe: I did the best I could. But what difference does it make to you if I take care of you from behind while you breathe out your soul on the breast of your devoted lover? (This is said with the deepest sarcasm.) For God's sake, let's make up our minds. And you, you blockhead. What are you doing there, sighing and panting through your nostrils? Why don't you have a hold on her and start fucking her? (Bricon springs on the bed, lies on his back, and reveals himself in a state well calculated to arouse certain desires in the Marquise.) That's perfect.
Marquise (quivering): Everything seems to be spinning. Bricon! Can two men...really...at the same time...
Bricon (holding out his arms to her): You'll see for yourself. It'll be something you'll never forget.
Marquise (rests one leg over him, but withdraws it): No, I don't wish to become crippled just for a...
Bricon: You don't have to worry about that. You're not the first woman who thought it would be impossible. Now, if you will be good enough to lie on top of \me.
Marquise (to herself): That little wizard has put a spell on me. (She mounts him.) I am too kind...or I lave taken leave of my senses.
Abbe: Talk it out of your system. That way, you won't have anything to reproach yourself for later. (As the Marquise's last defenses crumble, the Abbe , preparing himself. She does not perceive that the inveterate "anuist" is smearing himself with a salve without which he never leaves his house. As the Marquise rests on Bricon, the Abbe gets on the foot of the bed in order to come in right on cue. Bricon follows with his eyes all his movements. When everything seems in order, Bricon speaks to the Marquise.) Bricon: Please, a kiss.
(Because of the motions she has to make in order to comply with his request, she raises the cheeks of her bottom. At this moment, Bricon clasps her with both arms, forcing her into a position which is perfect for the Abbe's evil intentions. Quickly seizing the opportunity, he carefully drills her in the backside.)
Marquise: It was written in the stars that this should happen. How curious!
Bricon: And now, my angel, stick this inside of you. (He presses his penis into her hand.)
Marquise (entering into the spirit of things): With all my heart! (She guides it into her.) It's so. Both of you are in me. I never would have thought it possible. Shove and push with all your might and main, my friends. I don't know what is happening to me, but it is marvelous. Heavens! What a ravishing game! Bricon, fuck me harder! Oh, what bliss! The joy is killing me. Stop, oh stop!
(All three slow their movements. Then the Marquise begins to buck and thrash around. The only sounds in the room are the sobs and grunts of passion. The Abbe is finished, but he remains at his post in order not to disturb the other two. The convulsions of the Marquise increase in violence. Bricon is holding back to come to enjoyment with her simultaneously the second time. When he senses that she is on the verge of her climax, he gives such powerful thrusts that the Abbe is dislodged. Running into the toilet, he cries out triumphantly: "There's another one I have converted!"
The Marquise is still lying impaled on Bricon. Her lust rises gradually to a form of frenzy. When she notices the Abbe is absent, she cries out):
Marquise: Goddamn it! He's escaped me. Both of you are miserable varlets if you don't finish me off! Come on, Bricon. Fuck! Fuck! Keep on fucking and never stop!
(Her buffetings become more unbridled and licentious. Bricon has finished in a satisfactory manner without her noticing it. He lets her continue on him without making any further exertions. She kisses and nibbles him-and finally she flows. "Spurt!" she begs him. "Look at that little dachshund that failed me!")
Bricon (disengages himself and presses into her hand his damp penis from which a few drops are still dribbling): So you think I failed you? Take a look at this.
Marquise: That doesn't prove a thing, you scoundrel! I don't know what you were doing with the Abbe while I was gone. (But she regards with deep interest the stem she has in her hand.) How pretty it is! What a shame I can't give it a kiss. Admit it, Bricon. I'm not the first woman of standing whom your obscene merchandise has set on fire. You have done with more than one what you did with me.
Bricon (innocently): I, Madame? I have known other women, but never anyone like you.
Marquise: From the way your engine is standing up, I am positive that with a little rest, you could reach number six like a certain cavalier whom I happen to know.
Bricon: I have done that more than once, but only, of course, with women of my station. The respect due a lady like you prevents, naturally...
Marquise (angrily): You are nothing but a boor!
(She separates from him and turns her back. When the Abbe reappears, Bricon slips into the toilet. The Abbe has no suspicion that during the short time he has been absent the atmosphere has completely changed; the delirium of ecstasy had turned into the vexation of gratification.)
Abbe (jokingly): Well, now, my dear, are your explosions over? Are you dead? You don't answer me?
Marquise (shortly): Leave me alone.
Abbe: You seem so different.
Marquise (raising herself): Listen to me carefully, Monsieur Abbe, for what I have to say I am going to say just once. Never again will the like happen with you. Do you understand?
Abbe: I'm not deaf.
Marquise: The only reason why it happened was that you took me by surprise. In the future, my door is shut to you. Now you can go around telling tales as much as you want, but not a soul will believe you. Naturally, what you say will be repeated to me. In that case, I'll see to it that you'll get into a jail that you'll never get out of.
Abbe (somewhat bewildered): What's wrong, my lovely Marquise? There is no need to get so worked up. What the devil. I am an old friend of the house. You don't throw somebody out just because of a fit of temper. I admit I am a bit of a pederast, but people respect me. I'm no blackguard, and what is more important in our philosophic times than to be admitted into good society?
(Bricon returns. Immediately, the Marquise runs into the toilet, locking the door behind her.)
Abbe: Really, she is the moodiest bitch I ever came across.
Bricon (mildly): I know a little song about a woman like that.
Abbe: What happened while you were away? You weren't gone long, but in that time, we've already had a squabble. You have no idea of the things she called me.
Bricon: Don't complain. She did the same to me. She even accused me of being a boor who cheated her in coitus.
Abbe: Confound it! How does she like to be fucked?
Bricon: All upper-class women like her are the same way. Once you are in them, you are a sort of god, but no sooner are you out of them than, you are nothing but a common dog. But as long as we have a good time and get paid in addition, what does it matter? But whatever one may say, Monsieur Abbe, you have to admit that the Marquise is indeed a morsel.
Abbe: Delicious. Her big lackey was so enthusiastic about her that in spite of my dislike for cunts, I decided to try hers. It was certainly worth the effort. But that Joujou's bottom is something out of this world.
Bricon: Who is Joujou?
Abbe (reverently): Her little page. A divine young boy. A real Cupid.
Bricon: What? That bewitching lad I met on the steps as I was coming up? Did you have him, too?
Abbe (in a whisper): Listen, my dear Bricon, with the exception of the Swiss, the steward, the old laundress, and Felipe, the Marquise's personal maid, I have had the entire household....But let's not talk about that. Tell me how you came to be so intimate with the Marquise.
Bricon: Didn't you find that out while you were hiding in there?
Abbe: I was so tired that I wasn't listening. From time to time, I was almost unconscious. At first, I was planning to escape without being noticed, but your fucking excited me, and so I put in an appearance.
Bricon: Countess Mottenfeu was kind enough to recommend me to the Marquise.
Abbe (all ears): Countess Mottenfeu: That pretty little redhead who comes here so often? So you know her, too, my little friend?
Bricon: Very well, indeed.
Abbe: It is said that she...has unbelievable staying powers.
Bricon: The rumor is quite correct.
Abbe: Naturally, you have enjoyed her favors?
Bricon: Who hasn't? The hairdresser, the servants, the coachman, the cobbler-anybody with whom she comes into contact. I don't think there is a man who comes near her whom she doesn't try to seduce. Before he can say a word, she has him.
Abbe (with an approving nod): A woman to my taste. We need more like her.
Bricon: Perhaps, but I wouldn't like a dozen like her around my neck.
Abbe: Can I inquire if she likes it in the rear as well as in the front?
Bricon: Any hole is the same to her.
Abbe: Cunt? Ass-hole? Mouth? It doesn't make any difference?
Bricon: Just as you like. It seems that her greatest ambition is to get as many pricks into her as possible. Having her derriere corked is as necessary to her as a pipe is to an old sailor. When she doesn't know what else to do, she pays me to tongue her. But I only do it when I really am hard up for money.
Abbe: The woman should be placed on a pedestal and worshipped.
Bricon: I agree with you. But to have her in any of those ways, you have to do at least once what you don't like to do. She makes that a rule.
Abbe: Well, I suppose I can when it is absolutely necessary. As you know, redheads are my passion.
Bricon: I'll do what I can for you, but it will be at your own risk. Write your address here in this notebook. I guarantee that she won't cause you any trouble.
Abbe: That's good to know. When women start getting difficult, it is sheer hell. Women! When you try to seduce them, they yell for help, but once they have acquired a taste for sex, they are like demons, a hundred times worse than us men.
Bricon: Did you really have a spat with the Marquise?
Abbe: Yes. She even threatened to have me sent to prison. It is so easy for women of her rank to get all kinds of favors from people in power. If an elegant woman asks for a lettre de cachet and lifts up her skirt, she is sure to get it. Perhaps I'll have to head her off.
Bricon: Nonsense, my Italian sir. You're not a Frenchman, for you still possess the knavery, the spitefulness, and the cunning of your countrymen. Why don't you just live and let live?
Abbe: Here's something alive that it is not too bad. Just turn around a bit. (He tries to lower Bricon's trousers.)
Bricon: What's got into you? I tell you, leave me alone. The Marquise will catch us.
Abbe (unruffled): What do I care? She knows how it is with me. (He continues his efforts.)
Bricon (vigorously shaking himself loose): I won't stand for it. Monday, yes. I promised you. (Steps are heard.) There. Somebody is coming. Just imagine what would have happened if I had let you!
(There is a knock on the door. Bricon draws back the latch while the Abbe buttons up his trousers.)
Felipe (with the chocolate): What's all this? I didn't know you were here, Monsieur Boujaron. Where is Madame?
Abbe (calmly): Probably in the toilet.
Felipe: Who laid out her morning dress?
Abbe (peevishly): I didn't even know she had one. I was looking at Monsieur Bricon's merchandise.
Bricon: I have pack up my things now.
(He covers with a sheet the dildoes the Marquise has purchased. Felipe is kneeling before the fireplace, fanning the flames. Suddenly, the Abbe grabs her under her skirt. She turns around slowly and smacks him soundly on the cheek.)
Felipe (making a little curtsey): Oh, I beg your pardon, Monsieur Abbe.
Abbe (with a slight bow): Don't mention it. (To himself): You just wait, you little she-devil. You'll pay for that. (She laughs at him in the face.)
Bricon (after putting back his wares in his box and locking it, offers Felipe a bouquet): Permit me, lovely young lady, to lay these flowers at your feet. Indeed, the blossoms will be envious of you because they are not so fresh and beautiful as you.
Felipe (accepting the bouquet): You are too kind. A thousand thanks. Before I forget, here are the six francs Madame told me to give you.
Bricon: I don't want the money. All I ask is that you recommend me to your kind mistress. Tomorrow I shall come again as she requested. I'll bring the little monkey with me.
Felipe (amiably smiling): I can't help but say complimentary things about you to the Marquise. But a gentleman with your manners does not need my help. (Bricon leaves.)
Abbe (alone with Felipe): Now, my little vixen, you and I are going to have a little talk. (He tries to kiss her.)
Felipe (grasping the poker): If you dare lay a finger on me, I'll split your skull, you detestable pederast!
Abbe (sarcastically): I see that you are your usual gentle mild self, Mademoiselle Felipe. But at least listen to what I have to say.
Felipe: I suppose it has something to do with me. Well, what is it?
Abbe: On my honor...
Felipe: Your honor. Don't make me laugh!
Abbe: May lighting strike me if there ever has been a woman who has reason to complain of me. You remember what I asked so urgently of you, my sweet?
Felipe: So that's what is on your mind, is it? You didn't get what you wanted, did you? Be off! You're nothing but a dirty old bugger. Besides you have red hair and you stink to the high heavens. I can't stand the sight of you, so why don't you just stop bothering me?
Abbe: But you promised...
Felipe: I did my best.
Abbe: Just once.
Felipe: You mean that I should give in to your disgusting sodomy?
Abbe: Of course not, my child. Just one little fuck in the regular way. Take a look. (He exposes to her his superb prick.) See what you are missing.
Felipe (holding her nose): God, how it smells!
Abbe (in a threatening voice): You'll kiss it, you little tart.
Felipe: Ugh!
(Quickly she picks up a glowing coal with the tongs and throws it into Abbe's opened fly. He snatches it out with his fingers, burning them in the process.)
Abbe: I'll see to it that you roast in hell!
Felipe (gaily): One has to get used to being scorched.
Abbe: You vicious Jezebel! I ought to...
(He menaces her with one of his pistols. Emitting a piercing shriek, Felipe beats the door of the toilet with her fists.)
Abbe (glancing at the clock): Exactly twelve. Good-bye. I have to leave and hold Mass.
Marquise (coming out of the toilet): With whom were you arguing, Felipe? And I smell something burning.
Felipe (mirthfully): It's nothing, Madame. The Abbe just had a little fire in his trousers.
(She recounts the Abbe's untoward conduct towards her and how she got back at him. The Marquise reclines again on the bed, castigates the priest, and declares that she will never again admit him into her house. She sips her chocolate, and because she is in a disagreeable mood, states that it was not prepared right. At her order, Felipe brings her a casket in which the Marquise places the dildoes without letting her maid see them. Felipe asks her all sorts of ticklish questions about the Abbe, to which the Marquise gives only vague answers. What particularly puzzles Felipe is how the Abbe came to be in the bedroom. The Marquise does not mention that he spent the night in the dressing-room and she omits also the other events of the night. When Felipe starts to praise the appearance and manners of Bricon, the Marquise, whose feelings for the vendor have cooled, says nothing. Finally, the Marquise breaks into Felipe's reverie by complaining that the whole morning has gone by.
The Marquise rises, arranges her hair, and orders her carriage. Taking with her only the lackey and Joujou, she drives to Dupeville's. There she pays back the borrowed sixty louis, although he suggests that she can repay him in another form. The Marquise is not interested. His torrent of eloquence, a blend of old-fashioned gallantry and current philosophy, fails to seduce the emancipated and unprejudiced woman. From Dupeville's, she has herself driven to Couplet's where she buys silks and satins for several gowns and, at the same time, accepts an invitation to the party given in honor of the foreign prince, whose natural equipment and generosity the proprietress praises fulsomely.
Finally, she proceeds to the Palais Royal where she is immediately surrounded by a swarm of admirers, to many of whom she has granted her favors. There she finds the Viscount de Molengin who is having tea and pastries with the tiny Countess Mottenfeu. She takes the pair with her home where guests are waiting.)
End of the First Part
PART TWO
Marquise: Here we can chat without being disturbed.
Countess: What memories this room has for me! As long as I live, I shall never forget the delicious hours you and I spent here together. Here on this very couch on which we are sitting you yielded to my amorous importunities, my dear Marquise. It was an act of the greatest charity on your part, for if it had not been for your tender compassion, I would have been consumed by my own flames. Indeed, I was nearly dying from the craving I felt for you.
Marquise: Every time I come in here, I recall our sweet wantonness. I have called it "My Delight."
Countess: But God only knows how many infidelities you commit here.
Marquise: Does it matter where I do them? And why such a reproach? And am I any less of a friend to you because of them?
Countess: Confound it. I'm not talking about friendship. That is of no importance. But you are no longer to be had, and, to tell the truth, I am as jealous as can be. Now you have Nicole and Felipe. They are the reason why you no longer have time for me, the little bitches. And I detest them, even though I have to admit that they are adorable. Just because of them, Countess Mottenfeu no longer counts.
Marquise (laughing): Really, you sound just like Dupeville whom everybody in Paris calls "jealous Jeremiah."
Countess: Dupeville. Now that you mention him, I might as well tell you the gossip. Marquise: What about him?
Countess: Although it is supposed to be a secret, everybody knows that he was carrying on with the wife of the farmer-general, that pretty little thing with the dancing eyes.
Marquise: I heard about it. .Go on.
Countess: Well, she really peppered him.
Marquise: Not Dupeville?
Countess: The same. The lady is rotten through and through. The men fell for that innocent face and she infected them one after the other, including Dupeville. He's in danger of becoming a eunuch. There's even talk that it is going to have to be amputated. I am not exaggerating. We have the same doctor, and he told me that this morning.
Marquise: Just a little while ago, he wanted me to pay him back with my body for the sixty louis I owed him. He said that he had been madly in love with me for a long time. And how he can talk!
Countess: Yes, I know. It was the same with me. Not too long ago, he was in my drawing-room when my jeweler came, reminding me of the money I owed him. I was at a loss as to where to get it. Dupeville noticed my distress as the jeweler left, warning me to have the money the next day or he would go to court. Dupeville got down on his knees before me and told me not to worry about such a trifle. He would be glad to let me have the sum in exchange for a slight favor.
I naturally knew what he meant, and before I knew it, my arms were around his neck. Then, and I don't know how it happened, but my skirt was up to my waist.
Marquise: Of course you didn't know how it happened, my dear. Your skirt is always lifted. You can't even sit down without revealing your legs all the way up to your Venus mound. The other day when we were at Madame Y's, you sprawled all over on the chair with your feet up on the pouffe. I was sitting opposite you, and I couldn't help but see your rosy cunt covered with the golden curls. The Prior couldn't keep his eyes off it.
Countess: Ah, so that's it. I was sitting at the gaming table, losing naturally, for I am under a jinx, when the Prior stuck a piece of paper under my nose. It was some poetry he had just composed, he said. It was about Jason and the golden fleece and other nonsense. I accepted it, thanking him, and when I got home, I wiped my ass with it. The paper was of very good quality.
Marquise: There's no doubt that you have lovely legs. But go on with your story about Dupeville.
Countess: I wanted to be nice to him, so I squeezed him very affectionately. He knew what it meant. Still, he was hesitant. He even seemed embarrassed. Then an awful suspicion crossed my mind, which I don't like to say even to you.
Marquise: You mean you thought he was impotent.
Countess: Worse than that. But I made up my mind to see it through because of the difficulties with my jeweler. I threw myself on the couch, crying that he had set me a good example and that I would give up my wanton ways. I covered my face with my hands, but you can be sure that I peeked through my fingers. Imagine my surprise when I saw him take a condom from his pocket. His prick, although slightly bent downwards, was aimed directly at me and you know where. Don't forget that my position was most provocative.
Marquise: You were taking a risk. Don't you know that such sheathes are for venereal diseases?
Countess: Naturally. One part of my brain was thinking of gonorrhea and the other of the hundred louis. I soon made up my mind. "Dupeville," I cried to him, "of what avail is my modesty against your seductiveness? I thought you never would see how I am burning for you."
Marquise: You little devil. And I bet the simpleton went for the bait.
Countess: Right you are. When he sees my gem, he screws up his nerve and lets go. When I join him, my thoughts are that the jeweler is paid.
Marquise: You certainly have a practical turn of mind.
Countess: When he was in me, I just closed my eyes and thought of Limefort. That made it easy for me. And I am proud to say that I brought my rubber-sheathed partner to the peak of bliss.
Marquise: But it was still a roguish trick that you played.
Countess: What else could I have done? Besides, that's the way I am. I am just telling you all this to convince you, you could have paid off your debt in the same way if you wanted to. He would have been as considerate about your health as he was with me.
Marquise: How I abominate those overcoats! I'll never let one of those get into me.
Countess: I don't mind them too much. Day in and day out, I am drenched, and a change is refreshing. But let's change the subject. (Laughing): I have something to ask of you. It is very important and urgent.
Marquise: You know I cannot refuse you anything if it is in my power to give it to you.
Countess: Well, this morning I made you a magnificent present.
Marquise: Did you? What was it?
Countess: When you got up this morning, didn't you find the divine Bricon?
Marquise (with a chill in her tone): Oh, that clod. The chap who deals in flowers and dogs and all sorts of odds and ends.
Countess (grasping the hand of the Marquise): Ah, that superb fucker. That is his real vocation. Why are you blushing? (With a malicious smile): Don't be so silly.
Marquise (in confusion): Did the scoundrel tell you any lies about me?
Countess (slyly): From your embarrassment, 1 gather that he probably can tell me some interesting true stories about you. I know for a fact that Bricon is never with a woman without taking the most audacious liberties with her.
Marquise (annoyed): Listen, my dear Countess, if he ever tried to take any liberties with me, I would have had my servants break every bone in his body.
Countess: You're in a foul mood today, my dear friend. Maybe because Bricon was not a real gentleman, or perhaps your lackey...
Marquise: That's enough. The conversation is taking a turn that could lead to unpleasantness.
Countess (hilariously): I'll steer it back to the right path. Have you forgotten the precepts of our organization? Are you going to break your vow and make distinctions among birth, rank, and wealth? We've had all kinds of men, and so we can hardly look down on those of modest backgrounds. The seed of a sturdy porter is no less divine than that of a king.
Marquise: Much as I dislike to, you're making me laugh.
Countess: I'm not finished yet. Did anybody see you with Bricon? Or was there anyone else with him? Marquise (amused): Well... yes. Countess: Well, then, you were fucked. Marquise: Yes, I admit it.
Countess: You're honest, for he already told me about it. Now, what do you have to say about him? Isn't he a dream?
Marquise: I would say that he is not exactly my cup of tea.
Countess: I am somewhat surprised to hear that. My guardian, Monsieur de Sourcillac, left at dawn for his country estate, and I was all alone in bed. And I was out of sorts because I only had one number during the night. When Bricon showed up, it was rather like a gift from heaven. But I used him only once before sending him on to you. He agreed to tell me everything that happened between you two. You can't deny that I am ready to share my choicest portions with my friends.
Marquise: Many thanks. But I won't utilize Bricon too often. He is a nice-looking fellow, that I grant. I'll even go as far as to believe in your good intentions. But a bird of passage like that is not for me. But tell me, what is it that you want?
Countess (with a deep heave of her bosom): I can't help myself, but I want to try out your Joujou.
Marquise (in surprise): Joujou? My page? He's just an innocent young boy.
Countess: I am mad about him.
Marquise: But you don't realize that that stripling is only fifteen years old. I have never done anything serious with him. He's just a plaything like my dog.
Countess: The lad is in your service and you haven't initiated him yet?
Marquise: I strongly suspect that he is receiving secret instruction from my husband, but I swear to you that he has never laid a finger on me.
Countess: Heavens, you certainly treasure that scamp far more than I would ever have dreamed. But that merely sharpens my yen for him. Couldn't you let me have his virginity? (She regards her friend beseechingly.)
Marquise (smiling): The virginity of Joujou. Is it that important to you?
Countess: When my vanity and caprices combine, I can't restrain myself.
Marquise (ringing the bell): Well, you'll see what a good friend I am. (She looks out of the window.) Oh, there he is. I'll leave you with him alone. I hope he lives up to your expectations, my dear.
(The Marquise presses a button on the wall, and a part of the paneling opens, revealing a concealed recess. When the Marquise enters it, the paneling closes without revealing any trace of an aperture.)
Countess: Oh, that is clever.
Joujou (enters the room and shyly asks): Did Madame ring? Or was it you, Countess?
Countess: Yes, Joujou. It was I who rang. Where is your mistress?
Joujou: How should I know?
Countess: What sort of an answer is that, you blockhead? Don't you love your mistress?
Joujou: Of course I love her. She feeds me well, gives me good clothing, and enough money. I would be very ungrateful if I didn't love her.
Countess: Do you love me, too?
Joujou (confused): But I don't know you, Madame.
Countess: What did you say, Joujou? You don't know me?
Joujou: Of course, I know you. I know that you are the wife of your uncle, Monsieur de Sourcillac.
Countess: Are you out of your mind, you little monster? I am not my uncle's wife! Joujou: What are you then? Countess: His niece.
Joujou: But I saw you in bed with him when I brought you a letter from the Marquise.
Countess: You idiot, that was my husband.
Joujou: You go to bed with corpses? I heard that you are a widow.
Countess: That's just gossip. But listen. If I tell you something, can you keep it a secret?
Joujou: Wild horses couldn't drag a secret out of me. All you have to say is, "Joujou, not a word," and I am as silent as the grave.
Countess: Here is a double louis. Do you see it?
Joujou: Certainly.
Countess: I'll give it to you on the condition that you promise not to breathe a word.
Joujou: Of course. That's easy. Thank you very much.
Countess: Now come over here. (She points next to her on the couch where she is sitting.)
Joujou (with a worried expression): Oh, I couldn't do that. Sitting next to a Countess on the same sofa.
Countess (solemnly): I command you to. (He obeys, but he is obviously uncomfortable.) I am going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer them honestly. Do you understand?
Joujou: Gladly, but only if they are about other peoples' secrets.
Countess: So you know about the affairs of other people.
Joujou: Just what I overhear here and there. Countess: What did your mistress do today before lunch?
Joujou: I don't know.
Countess: Who came to visit her? Joujou: Don't know.
Countess: Did she sleep with her husband?
Joujou: Don't know.
Countess: Or with Felipe?
Joujou: Don't know.
Countess: Or with...?
Joujou: Don't know. Don't know.
Countess: But I didn't ask you anything. ^ .
Joujou: Don't know.
Countess: You certainly are thick-headed. Give me a kiss and then clear out.
Joujou (astounded): Do you mean it? Do you really want me to kiss you?
Countess: Don't you want to?
Joujou: Of course I do, but how do you do it?
Countess (chuckling): You're a funny fellow. Why, just like everybody else does.
Joujou: Oh, now I know. (He stands up and starts to undo his trousers.)
Countess: What are you doing that for?
Joujou: Well, that's way you kiss, and I want you to get your money's worth. And that's what you want don't you? You gave me two louis to kiss you, didn't you?
Countess: Who was it that taught you to kiss that way?
Joujou: Mademoiselle Felipe. I'm telling it to you because she didn't say that I shouldn't say anything.
Countess: So Felipe taught you how to kiss? And you kissed her back, naturally?
Joujou: Of course. I kiss her every chance I get. For months now.
Countess (coughing loudly): And what do you kiss her with?
Joujou (pointing to his trousers): With this. (It is standing up right prettily. As soon as she has it in her hand, it becomes as stiff as a shaft.)
Countess (caressing the organ): But you can't kiss with this. You're making fun of me.
Joujou: Maybe you don't kiss a fine lady like you with this, but it's just the thing for Felipe, who is just a maid. At least, that is what she tells me. She also said that when I get bigger, it'll get bigger, too.
Countess: That's interesting. So you think that women have to be served according to their social standing?
Joujou: Of course. Madame, my mistress, does not ask me to kiss her. I think that it isn't big enough for her.
Countess: Why do you believe that? Joujou: I just... feel it.
Countess: How about myself? Do you think you have enough for me?
Joujou: I would have to see first.
Countess: If I let you look, you won't tell anyone?
Joujou: How can you even dream of such a thing? I never say a word about what I have been forbidden to talk about. For example, there is the Marquis...and Abbe Boujaron...but I would rather die than...Madame, are you unwilling? (He buttons up his trousers.) Here's your money back. I don't need it.
Countess (fervently): Give me a kiss. Your innocence is entrancing. Come, my darling, and prove to me if Mademoiselle Felipe has instructed you well.
Joujou: Well, I'll show you what she taught me. (Gently he lays the Countess on her back and enters into her.) Tell me if you like me to tickle the top or bottom part.
Countess: Get as high as you can...don't spare me...go ahead....No, that's not right! Right up here...fine!
(The paneling in the wall noiselessly opens enabling the Marquise to witness the entire scene.)
Countess: What a little scamp you are! Why are you rolling your eyes so? I...oh...not so quickly now...together...harder...we're in perfect rhythm....don't stop....so...wonderful . . , you're a dear...what a marvelous finish! (She gives him a kiss.) You were angelic.
(While the Countess is mumbling and Joujou is in a half faint from his explosion, the Marquise leaves her hiding-place and silently approaches the bed. As the contented pair recover their senses, the eyes of the Countess and the Marquise meet. Both suddenly burst out laughing. Joujou is utterly disconcerted. Holding his hands before his face, he forgets the disorder of his trousers.)
Countess: Well, my dear. So that is the virginity you had so many scruples about.
Marquise: I'll teach that Felipe a lesson she won t forget. (To the page): Now, Monsieur Joujou, will you be so good as to...
Joujou (hastily closing his trousers): Madame, please remember that I did not say anything to you about Mademoiselle Felipe.
Marquise (mockingly threatening him with her finger): All right, you innocent. Go now. (Joujou leaves the room.)
Marquise: Well, what do you think of him?
Countess: To tell the truth, I suppose that the desire is more piquant than the reality.
Marquise (somewhat caustically): Let us be honest with one another. We need more than Joujou can offer us.
Countess (slightly blushing): It was that wild Lime-fort who nearly split me into two. Before I came across him, I could take on anybody. But that incredible fucker bursts a woman mercilessly, and his traces remain forever.
Marquise: I don't agree with you entirely. I have had a romp or two with him, and he proved himself to be most satisfactory. But I prefer that big dragoon.
Countess: Perhaps you have a point. I know him, too. As a matter-of-fact, I compared them once on the very same day.
Marquise (incredulously): You lodged them both at the same time? The devil must have been in your flesh that day.
Countess: I am always ready to judge such contests. Marquise: Limefort's length is about seven or eight inches and about five in circumference.
Countess: To compensate, the dragoon's is longer but not so thick. Also, he tapers off at the tip. Marquise: I can almost see the difference. Countess: There is a lot of talk about the Viscount Molengin. He must have a freak. Marquise: Felipe swears that it is twelve inches. Countess (eagerly): Is that possible? We'll have to find out ourselves.
Marquise: Nothing easier. We'll ask him to come and visit us here. My husband is planning on a card-game tonight and he is waiting for Patineau. They play for high stakes, and they'll never dream of disturbing us here.
Countess: Wonderful. Let's call the Viscount right away. Shall we tell Madame the President and her sister?
Marquise: What on earth for?
Countess: So they can see this phenomenon.
Marquise: Absolutely not. We'll leave those women to their husbands. Besides, they're more interested in green felt and chips than pricks. We'll have Molengin to ourselves. (She rings.) I'll write him a little note inviting him here. That's the proper thing to do. (She writes): "Monsieur the Viscount is requested to spend a few moments with two ladies waiting for him in the room facing the garden." (Joujou enters.) Deliver this to the Viscount immediately and don't wait for an answer. (Joujou takes the missive and leaves.)
Countess: We must be out of our minds. What are we going to do with a weakling like him?
Marquise: We'll see what we can do.
Countess: I'm going to leave that job up to you.
Marquise: Of course. Besides, I am somewhat in debt to him.
Countess: All right. I'll just watch. Before I forget, when are we going to determine who wins on our bet? Marquise: Any time you say.
Countess: I am so sure of my champion that I know that you do not have a chance. More than once, Labarre [the rod] has satisfied me seven times in less, than three hours. I wouldn't let a fellow like that go for a thousand louis.
Marquise: We'll see. I've never let Chenu try for seven in one session. I don't think it is a good idea to let fellows like that know how they arouse you. As long as a man does his job with the realization that it is only a physical thing, he knows his place. But once he gets it in his head that a woman is in love with him-and allowing him to go seven times with you is certainly evidence of love-he becomes conceited. The brute thinks he is our equal and loses respect for us. Then you have to get rid of him, and that is so unpleasant.
Countess (sardonically): Madame know-it-all. But on what are you counting to win if you don't know how far your man can go, even if you run the risk of inflating his ego?
Marquise: What we are trying to do is not make them contented but to find out who is the most powerful. I haven't let my boy go his limit, but I know what he has in his sacks. We won't have a thing to do.
Countess: I can't help myself. When I feel a prick in me, I automatically go into convulsions.
Marquise: Well, I'm not indifferent, either. But we must not let our warriors realize it.
Countess: I haven't the faintest idea what all these subtleties are about. If Labarre, or any man like him, holds me in his arms, I treat him the same as if he were a noble of France. It seems that I have entered into the spirit of our club with much more enthusiasm than you have. You know that I just might denounce you to the board of directors.
Marquise: Stop it. Here's the Viscount coming. I hear him singing coming down the steps.
Countess: But we haven't decided when we are going to hold our contest....
Marquise (laconically): We don't have time to think about that now. Besides, I am getting a little worried about that Labarre of yours. Seven times in less than three hours. (Smiling.) To tell the truth, I would like to discover if he could extend himself that much with me.
Countess (kissing her): Now you're your old self. I tell you what. You lend me your Chenu and I'll let you borrow Labarre, who is far superior to your Joujou. (The Viscount singing as loudly as if he were on the concert stage.)
Marquise: He is called "The roaming comic opera tenor."
Viscount (still singing as he enters the room): If you know how to love and please, what more can one desire?
Marquise (giggling): A good erection, Monsieur. Viscount: Well, here I am.
Marquise: Good day, Viscount. You are in good voice.
Viscount (pompously): People are always telling me how well I sing. But what can I do for you ladies?
Countess: What would you think if we told you that we were planning to play a trick on you? Close the door please, Marquise. (The Countess seizes him by the collar and asks him solemnly): Tell us, Viscount, is it true that...
Viscount (with a seriocomic expression): Dear me! Have I fallen into a nest of robbers? Take pity on me. I am caught! Please let me go. (The last sentence is sung.)
Marquise: What a coward you are! Terrified by two gentle women.
Viscount (laughing): More often than not, one is sufficient to do that. In combats with the fair sex, I am but an indifferent fighter.
Countess: Accusations have been made against you. At your trial, which will be most fair, you will have a chance to produce any evidence you wish.
Viscount: Have mercy, ladies. The sides are uneven. There are two of you to one of me. If one of you is the plaintiff, I do hope that the other will be a fair judge.
Countess: Agreed. The Marquise is the complainant. I'll be your defense attorney if necessary. The decision will depend on the evidence you produce and how you conduct yourself. Now out with the proof...help me, Marquise. (They both begin to open his trousers.) ^
Viscount (indignantly): What are you doing to me?
(The women have extracted a monstrous flabby sausage at which they laugh heartily.)
Viscount: I protest this action, miladies. In such a situation, what can you expect? The same would happen to Priapus himself if he were ridiculed. (He starts to button his pants and leave.)
Countess (holding him back): Just a moment. (To the Marquise): We shouldn't get him angry. (Turning again to the Viscount): My dear Molengin, what does one have to do to put some life into that instrument?
Viscount (stretching himself out on the couch and waving the women to come to him): You have to lend me the assistance of your lovely hands. (He kisses them and wraps them around his sagging limp penis.)
Countess: He was just complaining that we were two against one. Now he wants it to be ten to one. (The organ begins to twitch.) Oh, it is a miracle! It is a resurrection!
Viscount (puts his head under the skirts of the women. With the Countess, he finds a certain dampness, the result of the interlude with Joujou): Aha! It appears that the Countess has already had her after-dinner liqueur.
Marquise: The only question to be decided, Viscount, is whether or not you can give supply me with my liqueur. (She regards him sharply.) And you have the impudence to write letters like the one I received this morning.
Viscount: My fate is in your hands.
Countess (laughing at the Viscount who is on bended knees before her): Have a little patience. I'll endeavor to drive away the malevolent spirits. My dear Sourcillac taught me so well that I never fail. (With one hand, she rubs the glans, and with the other, she tickles the testicles.)
Marquise (seated on an easy chair opposite them): Go ahead, but I don't believe in wonders.
Viscount: This is what I call submitting to one's fate. But I am ready to return good for evil. Take a step closer, Marquise. I want to perform the service to you.
Marquise (who has stood up, recoils): Just the thought of it gives me goose-pimples!
Countess (stroking the object in her hand and kneading it like dough, cants the magical formula): It will succeed. It will succeed.
Marquise (echoing her): It will succeed.
Viscount (agreeably stimulated, turns his face to the Countess and kisses her full on the mouth): I have to thank you for restoring me to life.
Countess: Don't count your chickens before they are hatched. We aren't that far enough along yet so that we can start singing hallelujahs.
Marquise: Ten louis that it won't stand up.
Countess: You had better watch out. I just might take you up. Take a look at that. It's coming along. (She pauses in her massaging. It is still semi-limp.)
Marquise (caustically): Madame and Monsieur, please accept my most sincere compliments.
Countess: Viscount, you are terrible. You are ruining my reputation.
Viscount (warbling): Bliss is like lightning which strikes when least expected. Ladies, I promise you...
Marquise (interrupting him):...that it will bounce back to life?
Viscount: Right you are.
Marquise: But I don't believe it.
Viscount: Don't be so sure. (He stands up.) I'll prove it to you right now. (He tries to force the Marquise down on the ottoman.)
Marquise (struggling): I certainly will not submit to such an indignity!
Countess: Why so virtuous all of a sudden? You can't lose anything by letting him try.
Marquise (yielding ungracefully): I am sure that he is just going to make a fool of himself.
Countess: If he lets you down, I'll scratch out his eyes.
Viscount (During this dialogue, he has been masturbating to keep his instrument in the passable condition the Countess's efforts had brought it to. Now, he is becoming impatient): Well, what are we waiting for?
Marquise (to the Countess): A bad omen. He is not sure of himself.
Countess: He'll have to face up to his own disgrace.
Marquise: All right. I'm ready.
(She prepares herself for the assault apparently with the best will in the world. Her attractions are such to inflame the most frigid. As he nears her, the Viscount feels his member becoming slightly suffer. Confidently, he bends to his task. All but four or so inches penetrate.)
Countess (investigating the prick so closely that her nose is touching it): Bravo, Viscount! Give a big shove now.
Viscount (following her instructions succeeds in making the remainder disappear): Didn't I tell you that I would acquit myself as a gentleman?
Countess (regarding the proceedings with the deepest interest): I'll help you now so that you can concentrate on more important matters.
Marquise: Thank you, Countess. But don't let him go in any deeper until I say so. I don't want to be split open.
Countess: I'll be careful. (Grabbing the Marquise's buttocks with one hand, she titillates the Viscount's testicles with the other. She trills): Even nature needs help.
Marquise: All the way in now. Countess: Is it in? Marquise: A little deeper. Countess: How's that?
Marquise: He hasn't hit bottom yet.
Countess: I'll see what I can do.
Marquise: Just a wee bit more.
Countess: Good gracious! It can't go in any farther.
Marquise (beatifically): Yes, I know.
Countess (slapping the Viscount on the bottom with the flat of her hand in congratulation): But you're not finished yet.
Viscount: How good if feels in there! I could remain there forever.
Marquise (chiding him for his inertia): You're not doing a thing. You're nothing but a sissy, Viscount. (She begins to buck, apparently experiencing great voluptuousness from it.)
Countess (sinking down on a chair facing them): Do you think I can watch you two without having any feelings myself? You just go right ahead, but I assure you that I'll be having as much diversion as you! (Ogling the writhing couple, she lifts up her skirt and starts rubbing her clitoris.)
Marquise (She reached a climax twice without any! help from her partner. Furiously, she disengages herself from him and cries): Good-bye forever, Monsieur de Molengin. You'll never have my favors again!
Viscount (in his lilting voice): My happiness is thai I came so close.
Countess (to the Marquise): Damn it! You're giving up too soon. (She springs up from her chair, takes the Marquise's place on the bed, and lasciviously calls to, the Viscount): Come here, Monsieur. Mine is moist but still serviceable. Hurry up and stick it into me! (She hurriedly grasps the treacherous symbol of virility to keep it in its precarious state of rigidity. At the same time, she gives the Marquise a smooth rounded piece of ivory.) Take this, my dear, and shove it in you know where.
Marquise (with an instinctive movement of revulsion): In the Viscount? It would...
Viscount (laughing): It won't hurt.
(Unfortunately, the little Countess in her solicitude for the Viscount neglected to think of herself. Her electrifying skill and the dildo had brought him dangerously close to the decisive moment from which she was still far distant. Little did she suspect judging from the limpness of his member. But scarcely had it touched the entrance of the hot grotto into which it was to disappear than the Countess had in her hand nothing but a spineless member from which was flowing a white sticky stream.)
Countess (vexed to the point of tears): What the devil! Now he's coming. (Feeling herself drenched on her hirsute mound, she screams): At least spare me that! (She indignantly disengages herself.)
Viscount (who seems to have enjoyed himself thoroughly, breaks again into song): What a bliss it is to flow, flooding all with the fluid.
Countess (looking at herself): What a sight I must be! (She casts the Viscount a baleful regard.)
(The Marquise is chortling until tears come to her eyes at her friend's mishap. Buckling over with laughter, she feebly points to the toilet where she can wash up.)
Viscount (alone with the Marquise, continues his arias): Tell me why, all this dispiritedness?
Marquise (now in a nasty mood): You're nothing but a numbskull, my dear Viscount. Spare us your presence. (She gently but firmly pushes him to the door as the Countess returns.)
Viscount (with a ludicrous expression on his face): Adieu, fair ladies. (He raises his hand in farewell.)
Marquise (giving him a final shove, croaks): Never again darken my door.
(When the nobleman is gone, the women close the door and look at each other.)
Countess (studying her friend's face): Oh, you don't have to throw it up at me. Yes, he made a fool of me. I'll hate him for the rest of my life.
Marquise (who, with some difficulty, has controlled her laughter, tries to be consoling): Oh, if I had any influence with the gods on high, I would see that he would get what is coming to him.
Countess: What would you ask of them?
Marquise: That he would get a perpetual ache in his prick!
Countess (falling on the Marquise's neck in gratitude): Such a suitable thought. Well, we tried to make a man of him, didn't we? (A loud bray is heard.) From where comes that melodious music?
Marquise: From the stables. I just bought a donkey, which, as you know, is the latest thing.
Countess: So you have an ass.
Marquise: Yes, one to ride on.
Countess: Is it a male?
Marquise: If you ever saw it, you would have no doubts, I can assure you. Yes, the song you heard was made by my donkey.
Countess (clutching the Marquise's hand): You know, I think it sings much better than the Viscount.
Marquise: That goes without saying. Its pitch is much better.
Countess (feigning indifference): I can imagine what sort of a baton it wields.
Marquise: In that respect, it can compete with the Viscount, but it doesn't...(She crooks her finger downwards to make her meaning clear.) .
Countess (dreamily): A donkey for one's self. What a treasure!
(There is a knock on the door.)
Felipe (from without): It is I, Felipe. May I come in?
Marquise (opening the door); Yes, of course. Felipe (obviously extremely agitated): Oh, Madame, you will never guess what I just heard! Marquise: Well, tell me.
Felipe: Just before Monsieur came in, he mentioned that a no-good disreputable priest-a foreigner with red hair-had done unspeakable things to a young boy in his church this morning. He tried to get away, but he was too late. The police caught him. I wonder if that could be Abbe Boujaron.
Countess: Who? That Neapolitan priest?
Marquise: Yes, he is from Naples. Do you know him?
Countess: I just heard about him! He was supposed to have been introduced to me this week.
Marquise: Would you have that vile pederast in your house?
Countess (maliciously): I didn't realize that you knew him that well.
Marquise: I just know him because he is a friend of i my husband. But we'll go into it in some detail later. I Felipe, run off and find out all about it.
Felipe: I'm off right now, Madame.
Marquise: Be sure to get the miscreant's name.
Felipe (at the door): I won't forget, Madame.
Marquise: And I don't want you fooling around with Joujou so that you forget what you are supposed to do.
Felipe (flushing to the roots of her hair): But, Madame...
Marquise: You know what I am talking about, you little school-teacher!
Felipe (obviously annoyed): That blabbermouth.
Marquise: He didn't say a word to me, but I know all about it. Now go!
(Felipe frowns, bites her lips, and disappears.)
Countess: If it is true what I think, what a confounded nuisance about the Abbe.
Marquise: I, too, am frightened stiff that it is Boujaron. My husband who knows every no-good loafer in Paris has given him the run of the house in spite of my opposition. If it is really Boujaron, you can imagine the discomfiture of all the elegant people he knows.
Countess: Indeed I can. (With a cunning look in her eyes): Probably because of his calling, he feels that he can be very forward and take liberties. I have been told of the extraordinary relationships he has tried to establish with people we know. (Her expression becomes more mischievous as she notices the Marquise's incertitude.)
Marquise (with lowered eyes): Who had the outrageous idea of acquainting you with that...(She can find no suitable word.)
Countess: It was our friend Bricon. I told him this; morning in the Palais Royal that he could bring him around any time he wanted.
Marquise: Permit me to give you a piece of advice. Withdraw your invitation.
Countess: Of course, I won't. I firmly believe that you have to know all sorts of people. Association with such villainous characters has its advantages. For example, this Boujaron. Everybody says that he is body and soul an "anuist."
Marquise (smiling): The word is new and I am going to have to make a note of it. Do you work in this area also? And what good is an anuist?
Countess (with a knowing look): Look at me in the eyes and tell me honestly if you think that an anuist is useless. (She regards the Marquise again with the same glance.)
Marquise (merrily): You're a little demon. Now I know that Bricon did not leave out a thing.
Countess (extending her hand): That is so. I just wanted to find out if you still trusted me enough to tell me everything, including your escapade with the Abbe. If you had tried to conceal it, I never would have let up on you. Was he any good?
Marquise: Hmmm. Well, he wasn't too bad. The one thing I can say about him is that he got up higher than anybody else. Also, he used that hole that is so ill-suited for. . .
Countess (mimicking the scornful tone of the Marquise): So ill-suited...that's sheer hypocrisy. Was that the first you utilized it?
Marquise: You can be sure of that. If it hadn't been the temptation of other diversions...
Countess (sarcastically): Come now! Don't try and pretend you didn't like it! (She repeats the very words of the Marquise.) "What a wonderful game. Push harder! What bliss! You're killing me!" I'm honester than you. It doesn't bother me in the slightest. Sourcillac was good enough to introduce me to this entertaining variation.
Marquise: Sourcillac?
Countess: Yes, he's a philosopher as you may know. I rather like it. Perhaps other women are different from me. Practically every one I discussed it with thinks it is disgusting. Not one has a good word for it. For myself, I am so used to it that it has become a second nature to me. That tight little hole that too often escapes attention is capable of giving unbelievable sensations once it has been stretched out a bit. I always find a fuck in the rear most delightful, even though I realize my clitoris is neglected. In other words, praise be to those cavaliers who can accommodate us from both directions. Looking at it from this point of view, even a scapegrace like Boujaron has his points.
Marquise: I am truly envious of you, Countess. There is not a woman in the world like you.
Countess: I have always thought of myself in that way, too. How do you like my blond locks?
Marquise: They are ravishing.
Countess: Don't be jealous, my flaming red-head. But didn't most of the famous beauties of antiquity have my shade of hair? My learned Sourcillac who knows everything often quotes me their names to prove to me how he values my golden treasures. But it is not necessary to go back to those olden times. How long has it been since the fashion has been to be a redhead? It makes your head spin. (The donkey brays.) There's that singer again. It rather stirs me...
Marquise: What do you mean?
Countess: I have read so many times the tale of Joan of Arc and envied her experience with her ass.
Marquise: That was just Voltaire's imagination. Such a thing is impossible.
Countess: That is easy to say, but I am not sure. You and I are familiar with the legends of all the wild pranks that the gods are supposed to have committed in the form of rams, steers, studs, and other four-footed beasts. Now I am inclined to think that these alleged ladies in question liked to divert themselves. In order to avert scandal and talk, they claimed that the animals were deities. Why shouldn't we try to find out if perhaps that donkey of yours is not a latter day divinity?
Marquise: Where did you ever get such a crazy idea?
Countess: I am rather tempted by the prospect. Having several feet in you would be like losing your maidenhead all over again.
Marquise: But a donkey is not a man.
Countess: True, but a donkey is a donkey. In certain respects, it surpasses a man. Let's try, my friend. You can't be a prude now.
Felipe (appears bearing a letter): Madame, I didn't have far to go. This note is from the flower-seller who was here this morning. He requests an immediate reply.
Marquise (somewhat startled): I wonder what he has to say. (She goes to the window to read the letter. As she is doing so, the Countess addresses the maid):
Countess (in an undertone): Do you know, Felipe, that you are as lovely as an angel and as refreshing as a rose-bud?
Felipe: Madame is too kind.
Countess: But I am not exaggerating. I swear that it is true. If I were a young man, I would like to have some sport with you.
Felipe: And, Madame, if you were a man, I would not have the heart to discourage you.
Countess (again in a low voice): Come and see me some time.
Felipe (touching a certain spot on her body, whispers): Unfortunately, you are not a young man.
Countess (excitedly): That doesn't make any difference. I'll be expecting you.
Felipe (with desire glittering in her eyes): Indeed, I shall come to visit you. (At the same time, she casts a side look at the Marquise to indicate to the Countess that it should remain a secret between them.)
Countess: (softly): Don't worry. (She squeezes her /hand.) Tomorrow?
Felipe: Tomorrow.
Marquise (has finished reading the letter): Felipe, take fifty louis from my casket and give it to the bearer of the note. (She gives her the key.)
Marquise: I want you to hear what Bricon has written.
Countess: I'm all ears.
Marquise (reading): "After the events that took place in your house, the Abbe went directly to his church to hold Mass. God is punishing him for the" sacrilege he so richly deserves."
Countess: I never knew that Bricon had religion.
Marquise: Don't you want to hear the rest of it? "Unluckingly he was seized with such a lust for the boy assisting him at Mass that he violated him most shamelessly in the sacristy. It was through force, though the boy was not unwilling. He spurted three times."
Countess: That boy shows promise.
Marquise: He must have had the devil in the flesh.
Countess: But three times is nothing. Go on with the letter.
Marquise: "It was late and the church is little visited. He thought that he was alone With the boy. But there was one worshipper he had not noticed. It was an old spinster who thought it was a good opportunity to cleanse herself of her sins with the priest. So she slipped into the sanctuary where she witnessed all the shameless events."
Countess: It must have been an eye-opener for her.
Marquise: "When Monsieur Boujaron discovered her, he flew into a rage and tried to rape her in order to insure her silence. But she started to yell and scream. The boy tried to run away, even though his trousers were around his ankles, but a verger caught him. The boy confessed everything. The verger called in two passers-by for help. All three hurried to the sacristy. There they found the Abbe. He was like a maniac trying to strangle the old woman with the girdle of his robe. It required their combined strength to tear him away from her. The Abbe even drew his pistols and tried to shoot his way out of the sacristy. But the verger had locked the door. He fired twice but the shots missed, luckily, their mark."
Countess: What a character!
Marquise (continuing): "In the meantime, the police had been summoned. The Abbe was arrested, chained, and taken to prison in a Black Maria. By chance, I was there when all that happened. I mingled with the curious spectators, from whom I heard the whole story. The prisoner was in a delirium, spitting out curses and saying the most outrageous things about the most honored people in Paris. I knew some of the police and I was able to get close to the police coach..."
Countess (interrupting): Bricon has very good connections.
Marquise: "Finally, Monsieur Boujaron was put in the coach only with the greatest efforts. He had fainted and water was called for. I brought him a glass into which I added a little something. He died immediately, which will come as a relief to many. I don't think I will be suspected, since the glass went through several hands, and I don't think a search will be made for the perpetrator of the deed. But since every transgression can come out, I consider it advisable to go away for a while. I believe I can lay some claim to your assistance because the criminal was screaming your name and your husband's. It is up to you whether I am saved or ruined. Make your choice carefully. I remain, etc...."
"Make your choice carefully" is underlined. Is that a threat? What do you think?
Countess: First of all, it is a blessing for everybody that the loathsome Neapolitan is dead. Secondly...
Marquise: Bricon is not far behind him, when it comes to villainy.
Countess: I'm not sure if he doesn't outdo him. The Abbe was merely an unbridled depraved libertine who deserved jail rather than the gallows. But Bricon...there is a real scoundrel.
Marquise: It is all so terrible. I am still numb from the shock.
Countess: You'll get over it. When you come down to it, though, the tragedy has been a blessing in disguise for us. Heaven only knows where an association with those two rogues could have led us in the future.
Marquise: From now on, I am going to be more careful in the choice of my friends.
Countess: Luckily, there aren't too many like Bricon and Boujaron. But everybody, or almost everybody, has at one time or another run into their likes.
Marquise: You're right. Today it is even considered fashionable to be a blackguard.
Countess: You should hear Sourcillac, who is a gloomy misanthrope, talk about the present generation. He claims that our contemporaries conceal under a glittering gloss a degree of rottenness and baseness as was never known in the most decadent periods of history. His preaching bores me to tears.
Marquise: You're too good for him. Although you are a widow, you are young and pretty. Why do you stick with that talkative old man?
Countess: I need him. It's as simple as that. He gives me an income of 20,000 livres a year. The late Count was a good sort and a stout fellow in bed-may his soul rest in peace-but he left me practically nothing. Sourcillac is a kind of relative, or at least he claims he is, and after the death of my husband, he kindly offered to handle my little estate. He is very rich and squanders money like water on me.
Marquise: Well, that's a good reason. But isn't there anything good you can say about him?
Countess: Well, he bothers me only once or twice a week with his sexual needs. He is almost worn out. Then his passion is to discuss philosophy with me. He is very wise in the ways of the world. Also, he has a good heart, perfect manners, astounding knowledge, and much wit and spirit. But he gets so tedious with his moralizing. Do you know what he says? He claims that I have no temperament.
Marquise: Why, that's ridiculous!
Countess: He claims that I am too frigid. You can imagine how my friends laugh when he tells them that. He even asks them for help in warming me up.
Marquise: Yes, that is laughable.
Countess: He also has another illusion which suits me perfectly. He believes that I have no interest in our servants. He is of the opinion that anybody of inferior rank does not dare raise his eyes to me. I let Zamor dress me, put me in the bath, wash me, dry me, and massage me when I am stark naked. My guardian sees it and he doesn't think a thing about it. Just the other day, Zamor had me when Sourcillac was in my room. He didn't see anything because he was reading the newspaper.
Marquise: Zamor. That's that splendid Negro your guardian paid so much money to give you as a present. So you amuse yourself with him, do you?
Countess (unruffled): Why not? If you'd like to try him out, he's at your service. All you have to do is say the word.
Marquise: A Negro, my dear child. Don't you realize the chances you are taking? Suppose you get pregnant by him.
Countess: Then I would have a little mulatto. That is obvious. Another time, Sourcillac was in the next room when I was seized by the maddest notion. Do you know that Sourcillac calls me "Pussy?"
Marquise: Well?
Countess: Zamor was fucking me and I was just about at the peak when I called to Sourcillac who was deep in some philosophy book. Zamor was so scared that he tried to pull out and make his escape, but I clasped him tightly with my legs, pressed him close to me, and made him understand that he was to remain where he was.
Marquise: Were you out of your mind?
Countess: Let me finish. "What does my little pussy want?" the old fool asks. "Oh, I just wanted to ask you not to call me pussy any more. Last night I dreamt that I was prowling on the roofs and that a big black tomcat raped me. I was so afraid that I was going to give birth to a litter of kittens," I said to him. He laughed so hard at that that he dropped his book. "I'll have to tell my friends about that fantastic dream," he cried. He laughed and laughed and laughed and I never was so amused while making love in all my life. Also, Zamor seemed to appreciate the humor of the situation for he outdid himself. So, you can see it is not too bad to live with a man like that, even in spite of his crotchets.
Marquise: You're lucky. My husband is just the opposite of your guardian. He is coarse and crude with no upbringing. Nor is he witty. The only good thing about him is his weakness. He has no control over me whatsoever, although he tries. Although he holds the purse-strings, I am able to steal as much as I want from him. Once in a while he gets stubborn about money matters, but all I have to do is lock my bedroom door to bring him around.
Countess: Yes, I know how the Marquis is.
Marquise: My husband has the lowest opinion of women. He thinks there are two things that they cannot resist: opportunity and money. He is perfectly right and I yield always to both temptations.
Countess: I suppose you have learned your lesson, namely, never to bet with a Gascon.
Marquise: How did you find out about that fiasco?
Countess: That was easy. Fat Conbanal who was there when the wager was made, breakfasted this morning with your lover. He told her and of course *the story was repeated to me. I would have liked to have met him, for I am quite sure that he would have been willing to pay me the same compliment that he did you.
Marquise: Indeed, I am convinced that he is capable of accomplishing the impossible.
Countess: He is an invaluable member of our organization. What name has he been given?
Marquise: Bear's Ear. He was initiated not too long ago. One of our officials in Gascony sent him to us here in Paris as an example of the membership in that chapter. I was his first Parisian conquest.
Countess: I'm going to try him out the first chance I get and imagine that I'll be able to show him a thing or two. I imagine that he will become quite the rage. You know how many of our friends would like to see if they could drain him. From what I have heard, he must be something like that handsome musketeer, Sunflower. Do you know him?
Marquise: Just by sight. I haven't seen him lately at our meetings.
Countess (with a knowing smile): He's laid up for repairs, my dear. He's no longer able to crack his whip, and now he's in the hospital where they are treating his soggy mass. I am afraid he is finished. I warned him that something like that might happen, but he insisted on trying once more with what he had left. You know the story, don't you?
Marquise: I just recall that he used to call you his little vampire.
Countess: You remember that I was wild about him. When I began with him, Sunflower was a true Hercules. In addition, he had the manners of a man of a much higher station. I had him for several months, during which time I flattered myself that I did not have to share him with any one else. I was quite proud about it. But then I committed an incredible piece of folly. I reproached him for not returning to the same degree of passion I had for him. What a fool I was. I even accused him of not loving me any more. He swore to me that his passion was as strong as ever, but I refused to believe him. Then I told him bluntly that if a man is in love and nature starts to get stingy, it wouldn't be long before artificial substitutes would have to be resorted to. It was a terrible thing for me to say.
Marquise: What a dreadful thing to tell a man. If I were he, I would have ignored it.
Countess: I kept nagging him that way. The quarrels were many and fierce. He said such awful things to me that I was afraid that we were going to break up.
Marquise: It would have served you right.
Countess: I'll grant you that. But wait until you hear the rest. One day, Sunflower came to me and he was in a very cheerful mood. In order to dispel my doubts and to prove that he was still madly in love with me, he had found a way to increase his virility temporarily. He had met an Italian Jew who had a precious potion called "Immortality of the Prick." He suggested that we try it out together, but I wanted to know more about it. But his eagerness to please and my hopes for a new crop of amorous joys caused me to reward him with a thousand fervent caresses. I was so overwrought because of them that I berated him for not having brought along the "Immortality of the Prick." I made him describe to me the elixir and the effects it was supposed to produce. It was so powerful, he said, that it enabled even the most impotent man to do it three times in succession without pausing for breath.
Marquise (interrupts her as she takes out a little notebook): Pardon me, but I have to jot that down.
"Immortality of the Prick." And what did you say the name of the Jew was?
Countess (smiling): Wait a minute. Sunflower went on to tell me how it should be taken.
Marquise: Was there something odd about it?
Countess: You had to put a few drops of the elixir on a cube of sugar and then, because it was so potent, eat it in the open air. Oh yes, the cube should be swallowed with some water.
Marquise: Then the rod would expand to an enormous column?
Countess: That is what he told me. You sucked the soaked sugar until the water in your mouth became boiling hot. Then, you took a breath and another swallow of water. Every time you did that, you would get the most marvelous results and it could be continued indefinitely.
Marquise: What a nostrum!
Countess: We agreed to try it out the very next night, when I went to bed earlier than usual. He had a key to my room and he let himself in, wearing his usual battle costume, which was the flimsy dressing-gown my I visitors can always find hanging in the wardrobe.
Marquise: You think of everything.
Countess: My dear Sunflower smelled of a strong but not disagreeable odor. He satisfied me perfectly twice before going soft. Without opening his mouth, for it was filled with water, he left me to go outside. In five minutes, he was back.
Marquise: A very promising beginning.
Countess: Then I was rammed again. It was faultlessly done.
Marquise: Marvelous!
Countess: Once again he vanished and then reappeared. Again I was brought to bliss. It was not quite as vigorous as before, but I could not complain. Once. Twice.
Marquise: That's six times if I am counting correctly.
Countess: And in less than an hour. Once again I was alone, but only for a few moments. This time, there was a variation in the game. You remember that my guest could not speak because of the water in his mouth?
Marquise: How can I forget? I find it absolutely delightful. Besides, what necessity is there to talk when making love?
Countess: When a naughty finger tickled a certain opening that had been overlooked, I guessed what was coming next. Since I was averse to doing it the same way all the time, I found the inspiration a happy one and lent myself willingly to it.
Marquise: Telling me such things! Don't you have any sense of shame?
Countess: Why should I hide it? I quickly got into the required position, raising my buttocks in the air. Very carefully, he inserted something into that tight little hole. That was only the prelude. Then I felt a violent shove. The next thing I knew I was inundated by a hot stream. I could not help crying: "Hurrah for the Jew! Hurrah for the 'Immortality of the Prick.' " I had scarcely finished uttering that panegyric when the eternal prick was back in the original opening. For several minutes, I remained thus agreeably impaled, while an adroit finger took care that the other aperture did not lack pleasant sensations. This last number ended with an incredible torrent.
Marquise: It certainly seems that the potion lived up to its promise.
Countess: Once again I was by myself. I decided to wash myself since I was sure that I had experienced the last of the explosions. But no. A moment later, he showed up again and the game proceeded with undiminished vigor. Believe it or not, but his prick was thicker and stiffer than it was at the start. You have no idea of the size.
Marquise: Stop it! I don't want to hear any more. You're just pulling my leg.
Countess (seriously): On my word of honor, I am telling you the unvarnished truth, But don't jump to conclusions. I won't bore you by repeating the same thing over and over again. But please believe what I am telling you. We were in perfect rhythm the last three times, and there was absolutely no decrease in his virility. i Marquise: What? How many times does that make? y think I have lost count. Is it fourteen? Countess: Exactly. But now I am coming to the end of my story. As he finished for the last time, he spat out the water and found his voice. But it wasn't Sunflower's. "How did you find 'The Immortality of the Prick?' " he asked. I nearly died from fright and confusion.
Marquise: I don't blame you. Who was he?
Countess: I soon discovered what was behind this unparalleled performance. That perfidious Sunflower and five companions appeared with candles in their hands. There were seven of them, six of them wearing musketeer uniforms. Now do you understand?
Marquise: Perfectly.
Countess: The drapes of my bed were drawn open and they stood around me, vying with one another in paying me mischievous compliments. As a climax to the farce, the traitorous Sunflower pulled the covers off me and addressed his comrades: "It is only just to learn how deeply you are in debt to me. I expose to your knowing eyes all the charms of this enchanting creature to whom you have granted such a wonderful night in my name." This was applauded by a flurry of hand-clappings.
Marquise: How demeaning! Did you know the men?
Countess: Not a one except Sunflower, naturally. There was one youngster whom I especially enjoyed. To make a long story short, I did the only thing I could do -laugh it off.
Marquise (indignantly): Laugh it off. I never would have forgiven them as long as I lived and until I had paid them back in kind.
Countess (reminiscently with a dreamy look in her eyes): What wrong did they do me? I was careful not to act the prude, and I pretended that I found their ruse most amusing. Moreover, I told them that I had not been fooled at all. I suspected the truth from the very start. In fact, my pleasure was all the greater because it was so unexpected. This stratagem succeeded admirably. In fact, they turned on Sunflower and began to jeer at him without mercy.
Marquise: You hit them where it hurt the most-their pride.
Countess: I got up out of bed and ordered a big nourishing breakfast for everybody, which pleased them. Each of the musketeers vowed to serve me again any time I wished, immediately or in the future.
Marquise: You must have felt that you had been on the rack.
Countess: On the contrary. I made no objection when that nice boy whom I recognized by his touch as the champion of the fifth began to run his hand up my leg. He was seated next to me. I gave him a glance and he understood. Excusing himself under the pretext of answering nature's call, he concealed himself in the adjoining room. When the dawn appeared, I dismissed the great musketeers and hurried to my young guest whose absence was not noticed by his comrades. (She kisses her fingertips and looks dreamily at the ceiling.) My God! He was a boy in years but a man in performance. There isn't one his equal in the whole royal guard. What a romp that was! In short, I commenced a delightful affair with the youngster which more than compensated me for the treachery and impotence of Sunflower.
Marquise (sighing): Unfortunately...(She produces again her little notebook)...I have to strike out the name of that potion. (She stands up.) It is getting dark. Shall we go to my guests?
Countess (holding her back as she opens the door): Not just yet, please. Let us have some light brought here. (Softly): We still have a few things to talk over. (The donkey brays.) There, don't you hear it? I have an obsession about that diabolical musician. My nerves get all jangled every time I hear its seductive song. There must be a rapport between us.
Marquise: Our extravagance doesn't extend that far.
Countess (teasingly): You can think whatever you want. But since I have come out with it, I have no compunctions about revealing to you my weaknesses. Now listen. I have been thinking a great deal about that ass, and with your permission, I would like to have some solid diversion with it. Let us try it out. What do we have to lose?
Marquise (hesitating): Well, all right.
Countess: Good, I knew you would come around. I would gladly go out and get it, but I don't know the way.
Marquise: I know it, but you might as well know that I have little taste in wending my way between piles of dung.
Countess: Shall we have Joujou get him? I am positive that he will keep his mouth shut.
Marquise: That can be, but in such matters, I don't like to rely on a child.
Countess (impatiently): You and your objections! I am getting sick and tired of them.
Marquise: How about Felipe? She's as close-mouthed as Joujou, and besides I have the means to force her to remain discreet. Also, she'll sample the donkey along with us.
Countess: An excellent suggestion. I know how we'll get her to join in. You and I will have an argument. I'll claim that it is possible to have intercourse with a donkey, and you'll take the other side. We'll make a wager with Felipe getting the winnings.
Marquise: That is a good idea. That way, she already has an interest in the outcome. As for the other...well, I know her. (She rings and Joujou appears.)
Marquise: Have Felipe come here.
Joujou (sullenly): I can't get rid of her. She follows me every where. What a pest she is!
Felipe (entering): What did you say, you liar?
Joujou (snappishly): No, no! I didn't say a thing to Madame...and even if I did, what about it?
Felipe: Can I have my say? Shall I tell Mesdames what I see you doing all the time? Would you dare deny it? And what I saw you doing with the Marquis?
Joujou (sniveling and stamping his foot): Do I have to put up with this?
Marquise (in an undertone to the Countess): What did I tell you? (Aloud to Joujou): You can leave, but I want you to remain, Felipe.
Countess (to the maid): Why don't you forget your squabble?
Marquis: You remember, Felipe, that I gave you Voltaire's The Virgin of Orleans to read. Felipe: Yes, Madame, and I enjoyed it very much.
Marquise: And you recall that it was the divine donkey that got Joan of Arc's maidenhead? Felipe: Yes.
Marquise: What did you think abut it? Felipe: Well, it must be so, Madame, if the book said so.
Countess (to the Marquise): I told you that Felipe is not stupid and that she would agree with me. (To the maid): Isn't it true, then, that a donkey can do the same to a woman that a man can?
Felipe (somewhat embarrassed): At least, Madame, an ass has the equipment to accomplish such an act.
Marquise: That goes without saying. But I have just made a bet of ten louis with the Countess that if one of us three would try to arouse the donkey, there would be no response. The Countess claims the opposite. It's just a question to determine who of us is right. You get the stakes, no matter who wins.
Felipe (smiling in anticipation): The ladies are too kind.
Countess: Here are my ten louis. (The Marquise places a like amount on the table.) Now perhaps Felipe will be so good as to get the donkey.
Felipe (astonished): I, Madame?
Countess: Of course. If he can get into you, my dear, I win the money, which I turn over to you. Just think it over if it isn't worth it.
Felipe: But the Countess is surely joking. You want me to do such an unthinkable thing? As much as I would like the money, I can't shame myself that way. My God! Who knows what could happen?
Countess (laughing): I know a little about asses, Felipe, so you don't have to worry. Now go and bring us the beast. In order to assure you that this is not an orgy but a simple matter of satisfying our curiosities, we'll draw lots to see who of us will take it on.
Felipe (leaving): Under those conditions, I agree. Countess: Let's forget about the niceties for the moment. Do you want to go first? Marquise: Absolutely not!
Countess: So much the better. I am not as finicky as you. You'll see. When Felipe returns, we'll arrange it that I lose so that I have to go first...ah, here comes 1 our lover.
Felipe (leading the donkey, a clean, well-groomed animal. It balks slightly at the door, whereupon she strokes its back): It's a little balky, but it's all right now. (The animal lets itself be led into the room.)
Countess: Fine and good. But we have to be sure that no one surprises us. (Felipe looks out of the door and reassures them that there is nobody in the corridor.)
Marquise: It'll rip you apart, Countess. Countess: That's my worry. Marquise: Suppose it makes you a little colt? Countess: Fat chance. (She pats the animal.) Come over here.
Marquise: Such an idea never would have entered my head.
Countess: You never did have much imagination. I bet that starting tomorrow this donkey will have two most affectionate friends.
Marquise (laughing): We'll have to see about that! (They throw the dice and, as agreed, the Countess loses.)
Countess: Well, so it is up to me. My usual bad luck in gambling. (To Felipe): What are you laughing at?
Felipe: Just look at it. (The placid animal's organ is barely visible.) Where do you want me to take it to do the experiment?
Countess: I'll bring it to life, don't worry about that. Bring it over here.
Felipe: I'm glad that I don't have to do it. I'd be afraid that he would kick.
Countess: You're nothing but a coward. How can you imagine that a creature would kick a person that just wants to give it some pleasure? (She begins to stroke the penis, which reacts immediately.)
Marquise: There goes my money. I never expected anything like that.
Felipe: Isn't it disgusting looking?
Countess: Why do you say that?
Felipe: It is all covered with horrible little blemishes. Like pock-marks.
Countess: What difference do they make once it is in you? Come. Let us all get together to encourage it. (With merry chuckles, all bend to the task and soon the donkey's tool is in full erection.) Marquise: You have to admit that it would take a long time for a woman to get used to something like that. j Countess: It is my opinion that lady donkeys have excellent taste.
Marquise (to the Countess): Now or never. What position do you want to take? The good beast has no idea of the bliss he is going to taste.
Countess (clasping the swollen member with her fist): By God! I never realized it could get so huge. Now, let me go ahead.
(She brings together two pouffes on which she lies with a pillow as a rest for head. When she proffers her aperture, the donkey balks, retreats and manifests no interest.)
Marquise: There, you see? I've won!
Countess (exhilarated at the contact with the tip of the animal's Gargantuan gland): Not yet. Felipe, get behind it so it can't back out.
Felipe: What if it kicks?
Marquise: It won't. We'll just tie together its legs, but not too tightly so that it can't move. Then we'll lift his forelegs onto the cushions. (To the Countess): There'll be enough room so that it can get into you, just as if you were a female donkey.
Countess (quickly assuming the desired position): You're absolutely right. Now I feel more sure of myself.
(Although the animal is tractable, it is not easy to bring him to where he is wanted. First one foreleg is lifted onto the pouffe and then the other. The Marquise and Felipe keep tickling the organ to maintain its rigidity. It gets harder. The Countess is in a frenzy of lust and calls to the maid): Put it in! (To the Marquise) : When it's there, get behind the animal and push it so that it gets all the way to the bottom. Once it's in, it'll get in the rhythm by itself.
(The Countess slips her hand back through her thighs to reach for the member, which snaps back smartly on her fingers. To the right, Felipe grabs it and in guides it into the hole of the Countess. When she feels it at the entrance, she begins to buck about wildly. Now the donkey is in her. The Marquise is holding the beast's rump with both hands, shoving it forward. But it is not necessary. The donkey is doing all that is required of it and perfectly. The Countess, her fondest hopes being realized, is shrieking): My God! It is fucking me! It's fucking me! I never knew that anything could feel so good. Good Lord! I don't need men any more. To hell with men!
(The amazing tableau astonishes the Marquise and Felipe as much as it arouses their desires. The donkey continues its work with increasing vigor as the Countess lunges upward to meet its thrusts. Suddenly, she feels her insides being flooded.) Heavens! It's coming! I feel as if I am drowning! It's killing me!
(Her voice breaking and her strength giving out, she topples almost unconscious from the pouffe to the floor. The animal continues to emit drops unconcernedly on the rug.)
Felipe: What a shameful waste of that seed!
(Almost as if in triumph, the ass sounds a powerful bray.)
Marquise (putting her hands to her ears): Oh, that damned noisy beast!
(Felipe drags the unconscious Countess from between the animal's forelegs so that it won't trample on her bosom with its hooves.
What ensued does not have to be told in detail. Since the donkey had been forced to perform, neither of the women had really won, and each gave Felipe five louis. The contented ass was led back to its stall and the experimenters repaired to the salon to the guests of the Marquise. The Countess was in a state of utter contentment, and Felipe and the Marquise silently made up their minds to put the donkey to test on their part.)
End of the Second Part
(Shortly after this incident, the Marquise became a premature widow. Fortunately for her, her husband died before he was able to squander her fortune. She now found herself wealthy enough to lead the life she preferred. So that the reader does not have too poor an opinion of her, it should be noted that between the demise of her spouse and the happenings told in the following chapters, more than half a year had passed.
The Marquise is alone in her boudoir, the most remote room of her luxuriously furnished new mansion. There is a knock at her door and a German prelate appears. The following dialogue takes place):
Marquise: Who's there?
Prelate (in a disguised voice): A good friend.
Marquise: I am not in to anybody. (Angrily): Who are you?
Prelate (in the same falsetto): An admirer.
Marquise (more irritated): I already told you that I am not seeing anybody. I can't understand, for I have forbidden...
Prelate (in his natural voice): Lovely lady, be nice. Not such a foul temper. With an emergency such as mine, all the guards in the world could not have kept me from you. I outwitted them and now I am at your door. I want to come in and come in I shall.
Marquise (more softly): At least tell me who you are.
Prelate (again disguising his voice): Open up.
Marquise (almost cheerfully): Never has such a flattering voice penetrated this solitude...if only we knew each other, we might. . .
Prelate (in his natural voice): We've met here before.
Marquise: Ah, now I understand! But why all this secrecy? To punish you, you are not coming in.
Prelate (gaily): I swear by all your myriad charms that I shall enter.
Marquise (laughing in turn): I don't care what you swear by, but you are not coming in.
Prelate: Oh yes, I am.
Marquise: But I'm not dressed.
Prelate: All the more reason for you to open.
Marquise: I won't take advantage of your invitation. You know how stubborn I can be.
Prelate: You have to open. I have someone with me.
Marquise (now annoyed): That's adding insult to injury! You can't mean it. You must be joking.
Prelate (impatiently): If you open up, you won't regret what will greet your eyes.
Marquise (her interest aroused): Can I count on that? Wait just a moment. You can't see me in the condition I am.
Prelate: Are you in deshabille or stark naked? AH the better if you...
Marquise (interrupting): If what?
Prelate: If you unlock the door.
Marquise: Will you come in alone?
Prelate: If you insist.
Marquise: All right. Just a moment. (The Prelate keeps rapping at the door to the annoyance of the Marquise.) I told you to wait. (She quickly hides the erotic books with which she has been diverting herself and opens the door.) Really, Count, you're as stubborn as a mule.
Prelate: If you insult me that way, I'll leave and take my friend with me.
Marquise: Is your friend male, and, if so, who is he? Prelate: You'll find out. Marquise: Tell me.
Prelate: I have already mentioned him to you. He is...
Marquise: What a long-winded introduction!
Prelate: Your sarcasm is contemptible. Eighteen years old. A young god. He is so delicious that you feel like nibbling at him.
Marquise (sardonically): Well, we'll take a look at this masterpiece of yours. Is he listening?
Prelate: Oh no, we have too much tact for that. He's in another room. Should I call him?
Marquise: Please do.
(As he leaves, she quickly arranges her hair and drapes a shawl negligently around her shoulders. The prelate returns, leading a youth who immediately kneels and kisses her hands.)
Prelate (with a malicious smile as he notices the Marquise's interest in the boy): Bravo, not a minute lost! (He sees how coy the Marquise has become.) Madame, may I present to you Monsieur Hector. (With exaggerated courtesy): A Hector more distinguished than the fabled...well, he can speak for himself. It is up to him to show his worth.
Marquise (dryly): Who are you, my friend?
Hector: Hairdresser, Madame, at your service.
Prelate (significantly): At your service. That's the important thing. For that purpose, I can heartily recommend him to you. Understand, Madame. At your service.
Marquise: But I don't understand. What is this nonsense that you are mouthing?
Prelate: On the contrary, I am talking sense. I have never been saner than I am now. Hector, pay attention to what I say. If Madame is good enough to take you into her service, as I have advised her, you will be well paid and taken care of. That goes without saying. Also, you will have it as with Mesdames...(He mentions the names of four or five women whose reputations and habits are well-known to the Marquise.)
Marquise (wrathfully): My dear Count, you know that those are very poor references. With what kind of loose women are you lumping me? I am amazed that you...
Prelate (not losing his composure): Temper! Watch your temper! And such coarse language. No matter, Madame. Let us depart, Hector. Madame refuses to be a woman of no reputation. She thinks she is respectable. But then, you are a better judge of that than she or I.
Hector: The ladies the Prelate mentioned are really of the highest character. I had the honor to work for them all, and so I take the liberty of disagreeing with Madame....
Prelate (interrupting him): He was in the service of all of them. Do you understand what I mean? This youth enters service to serve. That is his trade and he has no other. But she probably thinks you are a scoundrel, so let us take our leave, Hector. She doesn't want to have anything to do with despicable louts like you. Come now. (He takes Hector by the hand as if to depart with him.)
Marquise (smiling sweetly at Hector): If I didn't know the Count for the knave he is, I could be really annoyed.
Prelate: So now you are berating me, too. I suppose I am just another scapegrace.
Marquise (flinging her arms around his neck and embracing him): Is there any question about that? Of course you are. And a particularly detestable one.
Prelate: Let's understand each other now. (To Hector): Now listen, my lad. You've been more than lucky. The most attractive women in society have permitted you to taste their charms and favors, but you have seen nothing to compare with...well, take a look for yourself. Isn't that something? (Unceremoniously, he raises the dress of the Marquise as high as hp can.)
Marquise: That is the height of insolence!
Prelate: Absolutely not, Madame. A new servant had to be forewarned. (To Hector): Over there, a fire is burning. Do you see it? Do you notice how brightly it is burning? With the Marquise, you don't have to fan the flames as you did with Princess X who barely has any sparks any more. Here you have the epitome of sensuality. But you have to tend it assiduously.
(During this speech, Hector maintains a deferential attitude and keeps his eyes glued to the floor.)
Marquise (to the Prelate): I've just had enough from you, and I am at the end of my patience. The way you talk is going to make a poor impression on your protege.
Prelate: Why, how can you say that? Can you think of higher compliments that can be paid to a woman?
Marquise (amiably): I see that you have my interests at heart. Well, let us stop the sparring. Hector.
Hector: Yes, Madame.
Marquise: What was your last post?
Hector: With Madame President Conbanal, I took the place of Monsieur Dhenu.
104
Marquise (nonplussed): And why did you give up your position with her?
Hector: My mistress died three days ago, Madame.
Prelate: He's speaking the truth, Marquise.
Marquise (to Hector): I knew Madame Conbanal extremely well. She was dissolute, but at heart, she was a good soul.
Prelate (regarding Hector): Those were the very words of the scandal sheet, "a good soul." I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.
Marquise: I'll pay you what you received from her. Will that be satisfactory?
Hector: Madame is too kind. (Looking at the Count): From what I have heard from the Prelate and from what I have seen, I would gladly serve Madame for half that.
Prelate (to the Marquise): That's what I call an honest lad.
Marquise: Well put. The boy interests me.
Prelate: I knew he would. That is why I brought him to you. He's a real little gentleman, isn't he?
Marquise: A gentleman! Nonsense.
Prelate: Hold your tongue. Not another word. I don't want to hear any more of your nasty remarks. I know more about your affairs than you think. For example, I know very well that you were wild about several little gentlemen like Hector.
Marquise: To my shame, I have to admit that. But my judgment on you has always been correct: You are a braggart, a libertine, and a bore.
Prelate: For my part, I have had the opinion that your main defect is, based on what some of your friends say...(He regards her spitefully)...to put it politely...when it comes to love, you are a bankrupt.
Marquise (regaining her dignity): You are so common, my dear Count. I don't give a fig about your insults. (To Hector): I'll take you on, my dear boy. Here is an advance on your wages. (She tosses him a purse.)
Hector (catches it and places it in his hat on the chair): I throw myself at your feet, Madame, not because of the money....(He kneels before her, and, lifting up her skirt, begins to do minette to her.)
Marquise (stunned): What does he think he is doing?
Prelate: He is starting his service. That seems obvious.
Marquise (automatically spreading her legs): I think he is a little crazy!
Prelate (sarcastically): That goes without saying. But you do forgive him, don't you, and you will permit him to continue?
Hector (in an awed voice): God! What contours. What an aroma! (He fervently presses his mouth to her jewel.)
Prelate: You can see that he is no fool. Marquise: We'll see. He's barely started. Prelate: From the look on your face, he's not doing too badly.
Marquise (now aroused): -It is...madness...to allow...such a thing. (Her excitement becomes more pronounced. Her breast is heaving and her face turns red.) But...
Prelate (mimicking her tone): But it gives you pleasure. (Resuming his natural tone, he points to Hector): He is a master in that type of diversion.
Marquise (in a strained voice): Ah! You don't...have to say that to me!
Prelate (whispering into her ear): As a catamite, he is unbelievable.
Marquise (closing her eyes, barely able to speak): I couldn't care less.
Prelate (bristling): But it is important to me!
Marquise (smiling in spite of her high pitch of excitement): Don't make me laugh at such a moment, you horrible man!
Prelate (defending himself): Everybody to his taste.
Marquise (approaching the crisis): Just let me concentrate on mine. Hah! I'm coming! God, how heavenly it is! (During her ecstasy, she convulsively clutches one of the prelate's fingers.)
Prelate: What is Madame doing? (She releases it.)
Marquise (with a deep sigh): Never in my life have I been so contented. What a man! He must be a wizard. Really, it was like a dream.
Prelate (seeing Hector spitting, wiping his hands, and gargling): I think it was something more tangible than a dream. But in order to convince Madame of that fact, I am of the opinion that you should start all over again.
Hector (eagerly): With all my heart. (He sets about his task again.)
Prelate (echoing Hector): Gladly. There is a conscientious young man, for whom I predict great things. I already told you what a deep impression he made on me. To tell the truth, if I were a woman, I think I would fall head over heels in love with him. (Absent-mindedly, the Marquise lets her hand wander over his trousers. After fumbling with the buttons, she opens them and reveals the bare skin.) Well, I'm finally getting my share. Thank you.
Marquise (continuing with her activity): I hope I am not displeasing you.
Prelate: Even to think such a thought is pure mockery. Do as your imagine dictates. But, my dear goddess, not so fast. I don't want to waste my ammunition.
Marquise (continuing): I am sorry I can't oblige you today, Count.
Prelate (clutching her hand): What do you mean? You don't have anything to worry about.
Marquise: Whom do you have intentions on?
Prelate: Mind your own business.
Marquise: My, how stiff it has become!
Prelate: Please don't bring matters to a conclusion yet.
Marquise (vehemently): Where do you plan to stick in?
Prelate: I told you that it is none of your affair. Keep on but more slowly....
Marquise (not slowing the tempo): That boy of yours is doing wonderfully!
Prelate: So you are enjoying yourself?
Marquise: Yes...and no. But I can't think of any better way to pass the time.
Prelate: I am not very fastidious, as you can see.
Marquise: That I can't believe. I know that you like to take things in your own hands.
Prelate: You're right on that score.
Marquise (continuing her game): I rather expect that you are planning to take it away from me stiff and make some other use of it.
Prelate (pointing to Hector's buttocks): At least it won't go very far.
Marquise (suddenly releasing it): Phooey! What a swine you are.
Prelate: Why do you call me a swine? Doesn't everybody have his little weaknesses?
(At this moment, Hector's tongue has wrought its full effect. The Marquise moans, sobs, and twitches spasmodically. From Hector's movements, it is apparent that he is sharing in the rapture he has caused. Redoubling his efforts, he skillfully follows the Marquise's contractions.)
Marquise (ecstatically accompanying each jolt of her body with a shriek): Ha! Ha! Ha! That's better....It's getting better all the time...yes...there (she thrusts her downy mound forward)...Oh, it's perfect...you're killing me...let me die...don't ever stop with your tongue...it is unbearable! (Closing her eyes, she falls back in a swoon. When she revives, she breathes irregularly and rolls back and forth on the chair.)
Prelate (regarding her): Isn't that divine? Just take a look at what you did. I am proud of you, my boy. But now it is my turn.
(At these words, the Marquise languidly turns her eyes to them without concealing the charms Hector had exposed in the course of his service. The youth immediately understands what the Prelate means, but he momentarily hesitates until he can ascertain from the Marquise's expression whether or not she will take offense. He is unable to read either disapproval or consent.)
I Hector (to the Marquise): The Count is quite a joke-ster, isn't he?
\Prelate (indignantly): Don't keep me waiting so long, you thankless wretch. At least you owe me for...
Marquise (laughing): Your fee as a pimp. (Straightening her clothing, she assumes a less indecent position.) So you think our Count is a joker? I never thought that humor was one of his virtues.
Prelate (viciously): What did you say, my lovely? Should I get that charming Bricon over here so that the three of us can have a little chat?
Marquise (somewhat startled, quickly rises): Well, gentlemen, amuse yourselves as you will. I leave the playing field to you. (She is about to leave.)
Prelate (taking her by the waist): No, no, Marquise. You have to remain.
Marquise (surprised): Are you mad? How dare you expect me to witness such an abominable act?
Prelate (placing his hands on the backsides of the Marquise and Hector): It's either you or he. You can decide between yourselves. But you, Marquise, will not withdraw under any circumstances.
Marquise (with an expression of disbelief): You're insane!
Prelate (adopting a more wheedling tone): None of your affections, Marquise. Please stay, my angel. Your tender regard will enhance the rapture of this moment of masculine love.
Marquise: Well, it might be diverting. I'll stay. (She throws herself on a chair.) I suppose that one must in one's lifetime look at the comical spectacle of a pair of deranged men abandoning themselves to coitus. What perversity!
Prelate (nastily): If you don't know about it, you'll soon see what bliss it can bring.
(During this colloquy, the Prelate is smearing himself with a salve smelling of musk that he always has with him. Embracing Hector from behind, he prepares for the penetration.)
Marquise (with an ironic smile as she indolently dangles her leg back and forth): You look like two animals.
Prelate (vigorously pushing in and out): Animals, eh? I couldn't care less what you think. There is nothing on earth to compare with this janizary love. Besides, it is safer than with women. There are too many husbands with pistols and swords only too ready to kill a poor churchman if he becomes too intimate with their wives.
Marquise (mockingly): It seems that one advantage is that the sweet pleasure does not disrupt conversation.
Prelate (in the same tone): It would be the same with you, Marquise.
Marquise: That will be the day.
Prelate: Your turn will come, Madame. I promise you.
Marquise: That's enough, my poor Count. You are forgetting what you are doing. Oh, how your eyes are glistening. Are you almost there?
Prelate (at the peak of excitement): Just about.
(It is over. The Prelate withdraws and without saying a word disappears in the toilet.) t Marquise (hurrying solicitously to Hector): Oh, you poor thing! Did it hurt? To have to submit to such a filthy thing! Come, my dear, I'll give you something far more tasty. (She touches it with her hand and finds that it is in the desired state.) You deserve what I am going to give you.
(She throws herself back on the ottoman, dragging Hector down with her. The Prelate returns. Kissing and biting him, the Marquise is pressing the hairdresser to her pearl-shaped breasts. Finally, she guides the organ to the sanctuary of warm moist bliss.) This time it's we two. (The cheeks of the youth's bottom rhythmically move up and down.)
Prelate: What a shame you didn't think of this before. We could have made it a threesome.
Marquise (elatedly): Leave us alone, you disgusting creature!
(She kicks at him with her dainty foot and then returns to Hector's erotic fondling. The chamber resounds with her sensuous sighs. It is apparent the two are enjoying the highest raptures of lust. While regarding this enchanting sight, the Prelate combs his hair, straightens the badge of his order, and smoothes out his robe. He seems to be waiting for them to pause in order that he can say something, but when he sees that they immediately recommence after the first crisis, he suddenly calls to them.)
Prelate: I can't believe my eyes. Not a moment's recess! (They pay no attention to his observation.) I don't have any intention of spending all night here, watching you two at it. Goodbye and good luck, Hector.
(He leaves, chuckling to himself. The thrashing pair are too engrossed to notice his departure.
After the Prelate has gone and the amorous game we have described is over, the Marquise leaves Hector for a moment, admonishing him to wait until she comes back. She washes herself thoroughly, a practice she never neglects after sifch episodes. On her return, she embraces Hector gratefully and presses a tender kiss on his lips.)
Marquise: Sit down next to me, dear Hector.
Hector (kneeling before her): No, Madame, my proper place is at your feet. I will be only too grateful if you permit me to adore you from the floor.
Marquise (giving him another kiss): Stand up, you dear. That is a command. Come. We'll sit here together and you'll tell me all about yourself. You must have led an interesting life.
Hector (modestly): Not really, Madame.
Marquise: After you have finished talking, I'm sure that I'll think differently. What part of France do you come from and what did your parents do?
Hector (lowering his eyes): I was born in Paris, a foundling. I don't know who my mother and father were. But, fortunately, when I was three years old, a husband and wife of respectable appearance came to the orphanage and claimed that I was their son. They took me home with them and raised me. With them, I learned many things a child usually does not learn.
Marquise: Yes, I gather that from your behavior and the manner in which you speak.
Hector: Madame is gracious. (She kisses him.) Marquise: Continue.
Hector: At the age of twelve, fate dealt me a cruel blow. My benefactors died at almost the same time from the same disease. On their deathbed, they confessed that I was not their child. They had used me in order to meet the conditions of an inheritance. Since their consciences were bothering them, they felt they had to leave what they had to the rightful heir.
Marquise: Yes, I have heard of those pangs of conscience. Did their true heir do anything for you?
Hector: Nothing. I had all I could do to get me enough money to exist on until I could learn a trade. Then a hairdresser offered to take me on as an apprentice. This was the decisive point of my life. It was $aid that I was unusually good-looking.
Marquise (enthusiastically agreeing): How right they were!
Hector: And since I had studied music...
Marquise: So you are musical?
Hector: I like it. I sing and play the violin some.
Marquise: Not only are you handsome, but you are talented. You're just wonderful! (She kisses him again.)
Hector: I tell you these trifles not to boast, but merely to indicate that if my guardians had lived, I probably would have had a calling higher than that to which I was lowered by their death. The master of the house was literary minded, and I had free run of his library. My mistress said more than once that I should go on the stage. She was wild about drama, and she secretly received in our home more than one of Thalia's sons. Her husband, on the other hand, loathed it, probably because the plays he wrote won no acceptance. My God! How he detested actors. This digression, Madame, is not superfluous as you will see, for at that time, I still had no clear idea as to what I was to become. When the tragedy occurred, I was, fortunately, mature for my age and in good health. And I had a cheerful temperament.
Marquise: And don't forget tenderness.
Hector: And a decided inclination for pleasure, especially of the carnal variety.
Marquise: What you are trying to say, if I understand you correctly, is that God saved you from the depressing mania of sighing and panting for a single object.
Hector: If I had continued with the life that was intended for me, I could have easily fallen into such a follow as so many do. But, as you will see, Madame, I never had the leisure to get caught in such a trap.
Marquise: You can consider yourself lucky for that. But now permit me to enter your world. I want to hear about your first conquests and your youthful adventures. (She rests one arm around his neck and a leg on his knee so that her mouth is only a few inches away from his.)
Hector: My debut was not particularly auspicious, Madame. As an apprentice in my employer's shop, I had to sweep and clean, dirty work which I detested. The mistress, a red-headed shrew about thirty-five or six who drank like a fish, never paid me the slightest attention. My master, who was equally coarse and alcoholic, treated me harshly. Because I kept to myself and didn't gossip, the other help thought I was a snoop for my employer and they tormented me mercilessly. For a long time, I considered running away, and I would have if it had not been for a curious twist of fate. I had to deliver a wig to a canon, whose name is not important. But I am afraid that these details are boring you, Madame.
Marquise: Just the opposite, my dear. I am extremely interested. Please go on.
Hector: It was Ascension Evening. When I rang, the canon opened the door himself. I did not see the housekeeper. "Good evening, sir," I said politely. "Here is the wig you ordered from my master who sends you his warm greetings."
"Thank you," he replied. "I hope he did a good job."
"You can be sure of that," I lied, for my master had no pride in his trade. Then as if struck by a sudden idea, he invited me inside. "Come in," he said. "I have one that needs to be repaired...and also, I have a little something for yourself." He spoke in such a strange way, but I did not think about it until later.
Marquise (laughing): The way you tell it amuses me enormously. I can just see that innocent youngster holding the pious canon's head-covering in his hand. And I bet that the devout man of God was lusting for the pretty lad. But go on with your story.
Hector: I didn't notice it at the time, but the canon locked the door when I entered.
Marquise: My worst suspicions are confirmed!
Hector: I followed him up a dark winding staircase to a shabbily furnished room on the second floor. On a dirty table were the remains of a meal. "Well," he remarked, "I see that Brigitte has left us a little repast."
Marquise: I know what is coming.
Hector (with a smile): You are very shrewd, Madame. You are not easily duped. After I had taken a bit of a plum tart and a sip of a very passable wine, the good canon took me between his legs and jokingly said to me: "And now, my boy, shall we have a little talk."
"You honor me, Monsieur Le Dru [thick], " I replied.
Marquise: Was that his real name?
Hector: Yes, Madame. "Are you good at your job?" he asked me. "I'm just a beginner, Monsieur. All I am permitted to do is comb the hair of peasants," I answered. "Can you give a shave."
"I do a fairly good job."
"How about a wig."
"That is what I like to do best."
Marquise: You scamp. You were playing up to him.
Hector (laughing): The best way to get a person's attention is flattery. "So you are being trained in wig-making?" he inquired. "Yes, and I even do plaiting."
"Your employers tell me that you are a clever youngster and a quick learner."
"Monsieur is too kind."
"You have to be diligent, my lad, and not let the slightest opportunity escape to ply your trade. And you should not overlook the chances of making a little money on the side."
Marquise: I don't understand all that moralizing. I was expecting something different.
Hector: You are not too far wrong in what you were thinking. "For example," the canon continued, "I am thinking of giving you a little job which is in your line. Now listen. You of course know that little girls are given dolls to make clothes for so they can learn to stitch and sew."
"Of course, Monsieur."
"Good. Now I am going to give you a frame on which to make a wig."
"But I am not so far advanced that I can do one all by myself."
"Oh, I don't care if it is a perfect job. You do your best and that will be good enough for me. It's just a little whim of mine."
Marquise (sensing what is to follow is laughing heartily): Don't keep me in such suspense!
Hector: I was still ignorant. "Let's have another glass of wine, my young friend," he suggested. Then I noticed something round and red in his hand. It resembled a little head without a face. "I want you to make a wig for that," he said, pointing at it. I was almost petrified. "Take it in your fingers, my boy, so that you estimate the size and the circumference. Then I want as good a wig as you can fashion." He was stuttering and stammering as he rolled his eyes, stroked his chin, and tapped me on the chest. He was no longer laughing. I was frightened at his ferocious expression.
Marquise: The old goat. He must have had the devil in the flesh.
Hector: He was still holding onto that funny head, and I could see that he was in dead earnest. Although I was not up to the task, I fetched paper and scissors to take the measurements for the wig.
Marquise (hilariously): What a delightful job! The old fellow was not so dumb. He thought...but go ahead and tell me the rest.
Hector: In order to help me, Monsieur Le Dru wrapped my fist around the curious head. There was nothing to do but hold it in my hand. My touch must have caused a delicious sensation in him, for the canon immediately stretched out and leaned back in an armchair, dropped his head, snorted like a steer, squeezed me tightly to him, looked at me sharply with moist eyes, and then stood up. I was trembling so that I could not continue, and I no longer knew what was expected or wanted of me. "My boy," he said in a pathetic tone, "if you..."
"What?" I asked. "If you would be good enough never to mention this to anyone."
"About what, please? I am completely puzzled, Monsieur. What's so wrong about making a wig for that? And if there is anything wrong, why did you ask me to do it."
"Oh, my one and only lovely boy," he murmured, kissing me as if he were out of his mind.
Marquise: Didn't that frenzy indicate anything to you? Didn't his peculiar behavior put you on your guard. Didn't you sense the danger?
Hector: I was so young and innocent then, Madame. I didn't have the slightest idea. All I noticed was that he smelled like a goat. I had to turn my head away to avoid his stinking kisses. When he relaxed his grip on me slightly, I took advantage of it to twist around, thinking I could escape his repulsive embraces. But it was just a trick. He got a firmer grip on me by winding his arm around my chest. Then everything became different. There were no more sweet words, sighs, and caresses. One hand ripped open the buttons of my trousers which slid down to my ankles. The other grabbed my sex organ.
Marquise (very emotional): Your description is so vivid that I can almost see it.
Hector: I was becoming rather indignant and asked what he was doing. Instead of answering, he just fondled me more eagerly. Now his finger was at my rear hole. Then came the faceless head for which I was supposed to have made a wig....
Marquise: I don't suppose you put up any objections, you little tease!
Hector: But, Madame, I didn't have the slightest notion that anything was wrong. I just felt a little uncomfortable and uneasy. He wasn't hurting me in any way, so I didn't get angry. But I didn't get any pleasure out of the disgusting thing he did to me. Before I knew it, the little head was inside of me. As it sank in deeper, he started again with his endearments. Then I felt a little purse of money pressed in my hand. "My dear boy, accept this little token of the love we have for each other. Yes, I would give you everything that I have, even my life if need be."
Marquise: The story gets better and better. He had a foot in the door. Now all he had to do was give a push. Of course, you put up no resistance.
Hector: Of course not. I didn't want to offend such a nice man. And I hadn't the faintest idea that I was doing anything wrong. How could I suspect that this man of God was leading me down the primrose path?
Besides, it all seemed so natural. Would an innocent child repay tenderness with an affront, especially when he gets a generous gift?
Marquise: Well, I can understand your reasoning.
Hector: Perhaps it was disgraceful of me, Madame, but after I felt the purse in my hand, I felt that I had to let things run their course. Fortunately, the canon was not particularly well endowed, and the operation caused me very little pain.
Marquise: But you were buggered, my boy.
Hector: It was you who used the word, Madame.
Marquise: All those priests are the same. I once had an absolutely delightful page by the name of Joujou whom I took for a paragon of innocence and purity. But my husband had among his acquaintances, most of whom were scoundrels, a certain Neapolitan priest by the name of Boujaron. He came to a miserable end, by the way. One day that loathsome brute violated my dear Joujou. He ruined him also in another way. The boy was deathly afraid of lightning, and the priest told him that if he would cede to his infamous lust, he would remain ever immune to lightning. He said that priests had such power. When we found out how Joujou had been taken in, we tried to disabuse him of the notion, but it was to no avail. After he submitted to the priest's diabolic antics, he remained convinced that lightning could never strike him.
Hector: It is not only those in holy robes that deceive us, Madame. If I am not boring you, I'll tell you a little anecdote to prove that all classes of society are no better in this respect.
Marquise: Well, I can easily understand that a youth from fourteen to eighteen without any hair on his chin, beautiful locks, a peaches-and-cream complexion, and a seductive figure, can be taken for a girl and arouse desire in certain people. (She regards him amiably.)
To tell the truth, the Prelate was not wrong. I forgive him. If I were a man, I would probably do the same with you.
Hector: Let's not talk about myself, Madame, for many of my friends are younger and livelier....
Marquise: I don't believe that. How old are you? I forgot to ask you.
Hector: The Count would have told you eighteen, and that is what he thinks. I have a rather feminine figure. Also, I have blond hair. Also, I use tweezers and depilatories to remove all trace of masculine hair. Because of that, I look a good deal younger than I am.
Marquise: I should have noticed it. At eighteen, one does not yet have such virility...and you are a true Samson. (She embraces him and covers him with kisses.) How do you like being a catamite? And don't you worry what people say about you?
Hector: It would be very stupid of me to bother about such prejudices. There are many kinds of pleasures on this planet. The ancients were more intelligent than we today. Not only did they tolerate masculine love in society, but they practiced it in their religious rites. Wasn't Jupiter enamored of Ganymede? Didn't Apollo live together with the bewitching Hyacinth?
Marquise: I see that you are well up on your mythology.
Hector: And why not, Madame. As I told you, I was privileged to have received a rather good education and I have kept up with my reading on my own.
Marquise (with a shake of her head): You deserve better than having to run combs through hair.
Hector: A person can adapt himself to almost anything. A nobleman will do the humblest work just to survive.
Marquise: Enough of your homilies. Let's talk about things that are more interesting, such as more about the canon who buggered you. Did he do it to your satisfaction? Did he sink it all the way in without any concern for your tender age?
Hector: I no longer remember those trivialities, Madame. But I shall never forget how Monsieur Le Dru, as he was ejaculating, took hold of my little thing which was as stiff as a rod and fondled it until I was beside myself. I was in such a state that if I were pierced with a hundred daggers, I would not have felt them.
Marquise (excitedly): I understand you perfectly. I have had exactly the same feeling.
Hector: Because I was so agitated, I did not notice when my conqueror withdrew his seeder for the second time. But soon I felt a terrible pain there. It began to burn so that I could not hold back my tears and I began to sob like a child. "Will you be quiet, you little fool," he scolded me gruffly. Then there was a loud knock on the street door. Somebody must have heard my howls.
Marquise: What a time to be interrupted!
Hector: It was the canon's housekeeper. Because he was anxious to open up for her immediately and thought that I would be dressed and calmed down on his return, he rushed down the stairs without saying anything to me. But I was in such pain and so ashamed of the filthy liquid I felt in my hole-and it was so sticky-that I did not even bother to pull up my trousers. Grunting like a sow, Brigitte came clumping up the steps as she was scolding Monsieur Le Dru. He made no reply to her nagging. "I bet you have a woman in your room," she screamed at him. On saying this, she entered the room where I was.
Marquise: What a wonderful scene!
Hector: The best is still to come, Madame. She took one look at me. I was in such a state that I decided to make no attempt to conceal what had happened. All three of us were standing there regarding each other as if we were thunderstruck. After a moment's dumbfounded silence, there poured from Brigitte's mouth a stream of curses. "Never in my life did I imagine that I would ever see such a disgusting sight. I won't tolerate such things in this house." Like a flash, she grabbed the canon's heavy cane. "You'll be seeing stars, you little devil," she yelled at me. She paid no attention to the canon's attempt to halt her in charge against me. He got a good one in the mouth from the club for his trouble. Blood was running from his lips and nose. For my part, I got three hefty blows. But I defended myself by clinging to the walking-stick. It was a real tussle to see who would get possession of it. Then she tried to strike me with her clog. If she had succeeded, I think my skull would have been split. Marquise: How terrible!
Hector: While she was furiously hopping around on one leg, almost losing her balance, I was able to get the cane away from her. In the meantime, the canon was pounding her on the head with the metal shovel from the fireplace. Seeing blood flowing, I rushed to save her and warded off his blows with the cane.
Marquise (kissing him warmly): How exciting you make it all sound! Then what happened?
Hector: In spite of the blows she had received, she was able to get to the window which she opened. Then she screamed at the top of her voice: "Help! Murder!" It threw the whole neighborhood into an uproar. The tenants above and below ran to our apartment. And do you know what she told them? (He continued without waiting for the Marquise to reply.) You would never believe it. She pointed to me, calling me the vilest names, and said it was all my fault.
Marquise: The miserable hag!
Hector: Believe it or not, but she accused me of attacking her master. And that I was trying to rape her. The old bitch even had the nerve to say that she had to use the fire-shovel to defend her honor.
Marquise: And did you let yourself be slandered that way, you numbskull?
Hector: What could I say to justify myself? It would have sounded so weak and improbable. One of the men even pointed to the shovel as evidence of my guilt. Another scolded me for exposing myself. A woman wondered how a little fellow like me could have thrashed two adults so soundly. Everybody was jabbering at the same time. The repulsive Brigitte heard remarks that were not very complimentary towards her. She was ready to take on all comers with her fists and her tongue. Fearing another scene and holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose, the canon counseled calm. "Come, come, Brigitte. You have taken the affair too seriously. Forgive the boy his impetuosity as I forgive him." Turning to the neighbors and saying it was just a domestic spat, he thanked them for having come and asked them to leave. Gradually, they dispersed, returning to their apartments or disappearing in the streets. There were caustic comments, naturally, as to how stupid it was to get mixed up in domestic quarrels. Others remarked that a family always sticks together. One fellow sneered at the old drunk and called Brigitte an old whore. Once they were gone, my seductor led me down the stairs and told me to be off. He threatened me by saying he would tell my master who would give me a thrashing. He had the nerve to tell me that I should be more subservient in the future.
Marquise: What an ignominious ending! And what a reward for your eagerness to oblige. You were dishonored. Not to mention insulted. But I assume that the purse you mentioned...
Hector: Yes, I managed to retain it. When I was able to open it without being seen, I found...Marquise: How many louis?
Hector (apologetically): It wasn't that much, Madame. Only sixteen francs.
Marquise (sarcastically): What a fortune!
Hector: It was a fortune for me. I never had such money before. Taking all things into consideration, I decided that I had come out just about even.
Marquise (interrupting him): Be quiet! I hear a noise in the gateway. There's a carriage. Is it already time? (She looks at her watch.) I'm late. How time flies! I should be flogged. Leave through that little door. Hurry! You'll find the secret steps. Tell Morguin-he is my steward-that you are on an errand for me and that he should take you to...
Hector: That is very kind of you, Madame.
Marquise: I don't like the name of Hector, so let's give you another. How about Belamour, or Lovely Love? It suits you much better. (He bows in assent.) What? There is another knock at the door! Is everybody coming to see me today?. Tell whoever it is to go away. (He obeys.)
Hector: I adore you, Madame. (They embrace.) Your slightest wish is a command to your devoted servant. (Their caresses become more heated.) This has been the most wonderful day of my life.
Marquise (gently, but at the same agitated): Before you leave, I think there's enough time...(She becomes more excited.) No, no. We have to be sensible. (Her eyes are sparkling with desire.) Yet it would be amusing while they are here...(Hector throws himself blindly in her arms.) Go now! I can't stand it any more. (He pays no heed to her feeble resistance.) If you insist...(She collapses in his arms. Once again he is in her. The rapping on the door is louder and more impatient.) Just keep on fucking! They can wait!
(Their movements become more animated. They maintain absolute silence, but the rapid tempo of their united bodies betrays the highest degree of sensuality. Now there are subdued moans and sighs as the ottoman creaks under their mutual bucking and jerks. Finally, they swoon in a bliss of ecstasy. Hector withdraws as the Marquise writhes on the ottoman.) I thought I was dying! (Hector fervently kisses her hand. A moment later, she opens the door, admitting one of her maids who dresses her to meet her guests.
For some time now, the Marquise had not let a night pass without affording herself similar entertainment, but the afternoon with Hector finally took its toll, and she had to be almost carried to bed by her servants shortly after midnight. She slept through until ten in the morning. When she awoke, she rang for Felipe, with whom she held the following conversation):
Felipe: This is so unusual, Madame. If you keep on like this, you'll remain young forever and live for a hundred years.
Marquise: How is that, Felipe?
Felipe: Well, last night, you dined by yourself-well, only with those two scribblers who left right after coffee-and you were in bed so early.
Marquise: To tell you the truth, they bored me. And Madame X spoke so highly of them.
Felipe: You never know. I don't think they are intelligent enough to understand your witty talk. Do you think the Prelate might come? Or is he already here?
Marquise: I can assure you that he's not here.
Felipe: It is not very often that I find you alone in bed in the morning.
Marquise (smiling): Well, maybe I am reforming.
(There is a moment of silence.)
Felipe: He was a pleasant young man, Monsieur Belamour. The one who was with you yesterday.
Marquise: Yes, he is a nice boy. (Nonchalantly): The Prelate, who recommended him to me, said that he was a first-class hairdresser.
Felipe (looking sharply at her mistress): I don't know about that, but I like his looks. Last night, Monsieur Morguin introduced him to us. He could pass for a real gentleman.
Marquise (casually): I agree.
Felipe: Maybe he is of a good family, but is a black sheep who was kicked out. Marquise: I rather doubt that.
Felipe: You know that he comes from Dijon, don't you? Or at least he grew up there. Marquise: No, I didn't.
Felipe: In any case, he served his apprenticeship there.
Marquise: You have to learn your trade somewhere. Felipe: Of course. Why don't you ask him about Monsieur Cornu [cuckold], his first employer? Marquise: Why should I do that? Felipe: Just because.
Marquise: Why are you so interested in him?
Felipe (spitefully): I don't suppose you know that two old friends met yesterday. Nicole and Monsieur Belamour knew each other from before.
Marquise: Now I understand. You're a little jealous.
Felipe: I wouldn't say that, Madame, but after the conversation they had in my presence...
Marquise: That ironic tone doesn't suit you at all, Felipe. You have nothing to complain about Nicole.
Felipe: I won't deny that I have little love for Nicole. I can't help it.
Marquise: Felipe, you are forgetting yourself. And after all I have done for you!
Felipe: My dear mistress, please forgive me. Don't be angry until you have heard what I have to say. You know how faithful I am to you.
Marquise: I don't want to hear about it. I can't stand these bickerings from the servants' quarters.
Felipe: But, Madame, this must be brought to your attention.
Marquise: I want you to dismiss the matter. I am sick and tired of hearing about your squabbles with a girl who has given me satisfactory service and who has been with me longer than you. I hope I don't have to tell you again.
Felipe: Madame, I just can't hold myself back any more. Have I ever lied to you or tattled? Countess Mottenfeu invited Nicole to her home and blabbed everything to her. I never breathed a word about the donkey.
Marquise: That was very unwise of the Countess.
Felipe: She's the only one who could have talked. The worst thing about it, though, is that every time Mademoiselle Nicole and I have a little argument, she starts braying like an ass. Then teases me about it. You have to put a stop to it. As long as this continues, I just can't stay in this house. In spite of my love for you, I can't put up with those insults.
Marquise: As you wish, Felipe. But you have to understand that if you force me to discharge Nicole, I'll have no choice but to dismiss you, too.
Felipe (weeping): I am so unhappy.
Marquise: The Countess forgot that she herself was responsible for the incident. And certainly she should not have talked about it, but it is an old story. It would be forgotten if you wouldn't keep bringing it up all the time. I hope she did not find out what we did afterwards.
Felipe: Heavens! I would never dream of saying a thing about that. You mean, of course, how you tried out the donkey yourself?
Marquise: And how about you? You couldn't wait until it was your turn. Well, I'll have a word with Nicole and give her instructions to behave herself better. But it is up to you two to keep peace. I know for a fact that Nicole is very fond of you.
Felipe: You'd never think it the way she torments me.
Marquise: I'll do my best to reconcile you two, but if that is not possible, I'm afraid I'll have to let both of you go. But I do trust you'll get along better.
Felipe (taking the Marquise's hands and kissing them): I promise I'll do my very best.
Marquise: All right. I believe you. Send Nicole down to me right away and give orders that I am not to be disturbed for several hours, no matter who comes.
(Felipe leaves.)
(Nicole and Felipe are in the corridor outside of the chamber of the Marquise.)
Nicole (bitterly): I suppose you came to get me so I would be scolded by Madame. Thank you, Mademoiselle Felipe. I suspected something like this as soon as I saw you.
Marquise (overhearing her): Come here, Nicole. It was I who told Felipe to bring you to me.
Nicole (deferentially): I am at Madame's service.
Marquise: Now both of you sit down over there. (They take their places on chairs.) Now listen, my children. I am fond of both of you, and I think that I have given you sufficient evidence of that, haven't I?
Nicole: Yes, Madame.
Felipe: Madame knows how grateful I am. Marquise: And you repay me with such petty annoyances.
Nicole: In what way, Madame?
Marquise: Just because you have some sort of a grudge against Felipe, you irritate her by teasing her about an episode with a donkey. I am quite sure that Countess Mottenfeu gave you a distorted picture of what happened.
Nicole: To me, Madame?
Marquise: Wipe that innocent look from your face. Now, get this straight. I want the truth.
Nicole: I wouldn't dream of lying to you, Madame. Yes, the Countess Mottenfeu did tell me a most preposterous story...(She smiles maliciously at Felipe)...which can't possibly be true.
Marquise: What did she say to you?
Nicole: Well, she mentioned that one evening you and she had an argument as to whether it was possible to arouse an ass so it would do to a woman what it would to a she-donkey.
Marquise: That is so.
Nicole: She thought it could be done, but you didn't, and so you made a wager.
Marquise: That is also the truth.
Nicole: The bet was for ten louis, which Felipe was to get. The Countess made Felipe try it with the donkey, which reacted as the Countess said it would.
Felipe (with a cry of indignation): That's a lie! Madame, you know...
Marquise: Be quiet, Felipe! (To Nicole): So the Countess told you that. Now be sure that you are repeating exactly her words. She said that Felipe volunteered for the experiment and that the donkey treated her as if it were a man.
Nicole: So help me, Madame, but those were the very words that the Countess uttered.
Marquise: Then she disgracefully lied to you, my dear. We really did have our little joke and made the bet, but it was the Countess herself who insisted on doing it with the donkey. How could she have told such falsehoods about poor Felipe! The Countess aroused the ass's sex organ and inserted it into the hole usually reserved to men. Although we trembled with fear lest she split apart, she gave every sign that she was enjoying herself immensely.
Nicole: I can hardly believe it, Madame. A Countess doing a thing like that! And she's such a tiny thing.
Marquise: Nevertheless, it is the truth. While we are all together, I want to discuss something else. Nicole, I know you and I am aware that you have a weakness for women. I have seen how you look at Felipe.
Felipe: But she will have to admit, Madame, that I have never let her...
Marquise: What an insult to Nicole, and right to her face! She is a ravishing creature, in perfect health, and clean as a whistle.
Felipe: That may well be, but I can't help but find her most obnoxious. (She looks into the Marquise's face.)
Marquise: Does that mean that you will never give yourself to her? Nicole can't have any idea...
Nicole: Madame, it would never dawn on me to meddle in your intimate pastimes or talk about things which others should not know. But if Madame ever has need of me, I remain at her service.
Marquise (contemplating first one girl and then the other): You two bicker like silly geese.
Nicole: I can honestly say, Madame, that I have never done Mademoiselle Felipe any harm. She has rebuffed my advances, which I don't find very flattering, I but I don't hold it against her. So she didn't try it with the donkey for ten louis, but that is what I was told by a person who I believed was trustworthy. I admit that it was wrong of me to use that ridiculous story as a weapon to upset her. Therefore, I beg her forgiveness. But if she is not a donkey whore, I am not an ass-fucker.
Felipe: Just what do you mean by that?
Nicole (to the Marquise): Yes, Madame, when Monsieur Boujaron wanted to play some stupid games with her...
Marquise: I understand. Go on.
Nicole: Somebody who was watching said that Felipe offered him her usual opening, but the Abbe did not want it. When he refused it, she told him she was giving him the best she had and that she was no Nicole.
Felipe (wringing her hands): Another falsehood 1 How can you believe, Madame...I swear by everything that is holy that that repulsive old lecher never laid a finger on my body. One morning when I was lighting the fire in your room, that shameless man came up from behind and with his hand...
Marquise: Yes, he had been hiding in the dressing-room.
Felipe: You know I have never lied to you, Madame. I have never given myself to that awful man either in the front or in the rear. The only time. . . but that doesn't count. He never said a word to me about Nicole except when he mentioned that he had had the entire household excluding the Swiss, the laundress, myself, and...naturally, Madame. (Nicole has her hand before her face as if trying to conceal a sudden blush.) Do you think I believed a single word of it? Especially not about Nicole. I am sure she would have found him as hateful as I did.
Marquise: That's enough.
Nicole: But I am sure that...
Marquise: Now, my children, you see that it was much ado about nothing. Nicole: So it seems.
Marquise: Both of you are nice girls with good hearts. We would all get along so much better if you, Felipe, did not get so jealous over the littlest thing, and you, Nicole, if you weren't so temperamental and suspicious. Now, give each other a kiss and make up.
(At this command, they both quickly bent towards each other to embrace. At first, they kiss each other on the cheeks, but then Felipe presses her lips on Nicole's which return the warmth. Nicole goes so far as to tingle Felipe with the tip of her tongue. The latter blushes to her ears as she reciprocates.)
Marquise (getting excited at the sight): That's perfect, girls. You're so affectionate to each other. I like that, but stop for a moment.
Nicole: Madame?
Marquise: Are we safe? Take a look.
(Both run to the door.)
Felipe: There's nobody in the hall.
Nicole: And the other rooms are locked.
Marquise: I have to put the finishing touches to my good deed. Both of you come over here. (She takes each by the hand.) Don't you agree, Felipe, that such a kiss from Nicole has much more significance than a simple reconciliation? (Felipe smiles and lowers her eyes.) And it is true, Nicole, isn't it, that you have a genuine inclination for the little one?
Nicole (eagerly): She knows that, Madame, but the little tart won't have anything to do with me.
Felipe (animatedly): I would have thrown myself at you if you hadn't been so nasty to me!
Nicole (soothingly): Let's not think about it any more. I'll do anything to make up for what I did.
(The Marquise, sensing that the moment had come for one of those dramas that always appealed to her fiery imagination, takes Felipe by the shoulders and forces her on her back down on the bed. Nicole, aware of what the Marquise has in mind and suddenly excited to lust, aids in overpowering the girl. She slides her hand under Felipe's bared thigh as the Marquise raises the skirt and shift up to the waist. The uncovered charms of Felipe are a ravishing sight to the avid eyes of her assailants. Nicole's mouth quickly finds its way to the center of passion and the tongue grazes the rosy button.)
Marquise: In return for my efforts on your behalf, you will amuse me with a charming scene of love.
(She bends over Felipe and plays with her breasts which are, as we have already noted, of unusual beauty and firmness. Nicole is stirred to her very depths. From her murmurs, the heaving of her bosom, and the convulsions of her body, it is apparent that Felipe is at the peak of rapture. Nicole is now in such a feverish state that she tries to insert her hand through the slit of her i dress in order to quench the flames that are burning her, but the Marquise prevents her.) Look at that! Felipe is not the kind to harbor a grudge.
(Felipe gives three deep sighs and falls back. When she comes to, she fiercely embraces Nicole in gratitude.) Excellent! That is what I like to see!
(Felipe now grabs Nicole under the skirt, but since she is smaller and weaker, she is unable to get her on her back.)
Felipe (merrily): Now I want to repay you in kind, it seems that I can't.
Nicole: I am not so cruel as to stop you, but here in the presence of Madame?
Marquise: How considerate of you to think of me. If you believed that such caresses would be insulting to me, would now be the right moment to be reminded of it? Go ahead and lie on your back, Nicole. (To Felipe): She just wanted to stimulate you. (When Nicole unprotestingly obeys, Felipe cannot suppress a gasp of admiration at the coral-colored muscle ringed by thick black locks of hair.)
Felipe: Look, Madame. Can anything be more exquisite?
Marquise: I have known about that for some time. Now get to work.
(Nicole is impatiently awaiting the moment, which occurs at the first touch of Felipe's tongue. Felipe is determined not to do things by halves. Lapping up the flow, she begins anew without giving her victim a chance to change position. In spite of her rich experience in matters of this kind, the Marquise did not notice this first drainage. With her firm bosom rising and falling, Felipe is busily occupied with Nicole's magnificent pubic hair. Given excellent instruction by the Marquise, she skillfully keeps darting her tongue in and out until her friend is in an almost intolerable state of excitement. Nicole holds herself back until the last possible moment when she almost explodes in an ineffable spasm of joy. It is finally over and the two young women rearrange their dresses.)
Felipe (to Nicole): Who of us shall have the honor of repaying our mistress for the kindness she has shown us?
Nicole: I hope both of us, but since it was you who came up with the idea, I'll grant you precedence.
Marquise (graciously extending to each her hands which they bring to their mouths and kiss): I am deeply honored by your flattering proposal, but for the moment, my dear girls, I am unable to take advantage of your services. Let there be peace and harmony from now on, for I think that now you are true and fast friends. Also, no more talk about leaving my employ. By the way, Felipe...(The Marquise whispers in her ear that she can take six pounds from her casket for herself and a like amount for Nicole.) Now children, let us start on the many things we have to do.
(The two maids hasten to obey. Since the Marquise has the habit of stripping herself to the skin every time she changes clothes, the girls cover her body with warm adoring kisses. It does not take much to set her on fire, but she denies herself the pleasure they are more than willing to grant because of previously made plans. Now attired in morning dress, she breathes the fresh air of the garden from the balcony where she sips her chocolate. Giving each girl a kiss, she dismisses them. They bounce off with their hands on each other's buttocks.)
End of the Third Part
PART FOUR
(The Marquise had no understanding of that which sensitive people call love. She scoffed at it and considered it dangerous. Nevertheless, she had acquired a passion which was very similar to that human frailty. For Belamour she cherished a sentiment that was completely strange to her. He had pleased her at first sight; and the sweet experience she underwent with him ref suited in his completely captivating her. She thought about him night and day. With the exception of an occasional amorous romp with Felipe and Nicole, the lascivious Marquise abandoned her own erotic pursuits to devote herself entirely to the caresses of the young hairdresser.
It is noon when women are usually at their toilette. And it is the propitious moment to summon Belamour without attracting attention.
She rings for Belamour and gives orders that under no circumstances is she to be disturbed. So as not to be surprised by Nicole or Felipe, she sends them to t^e city to do some errands. Belamour appears in the boudoir, dressed in a white smock as befitting his calling. Despite his apparent deference, he sharply regards the Marquise's eyes to determine which way the wind is blowing. Whether from pride or shyness, she averts her glance. Her conversation is confined to matters pertaining to the coiffure she wants.)
Marquise (changing the subject): I couldn't sleep a wink last night because of what you told me. I laughed and laughed.
Belamour (his hands busy in her hair): I was afraid, Madame, that I was boring you.
Marquise: If I understood you correctly, you had been an apprentice for two years at the time of your adventure with the canon. Sq you must have been fourteen then. Belamour: Fourteen and a half. Marquise: Since you are now twenty-one, it is almost seven years since you first learned the difference between good and evil, as the saying goes. Belamour: That's correct, Madame. Marquise: During that time, you probably saw many countries and met many people. Belamour: A few.
Marquise: I heard that you also have been in Dijon. Belamour: I spent part of my childhood there and I also worked there.
Marquise: That is what I was told. Belamour: Probably by Mademoiselle Nicole. I have the pleasure to have known her there. I was just a boy then. You can imagine how delighted I was to find her in this house where I also have the honor of serving you.
Marquise (blushes and perceives in the mirror from the expression on his face that he has deliberately tried to arouse her jealousy. To cover her embarrassment, she scolds him): Not so hard! My head is very sensitive. The last stroke with the comb hurt terribly.
Belamour: A thousand pardons, Madame. I'll be more careful.
Marquise: Nicole is also from Dijon. I wanted to know about all your adventures, my dear Belamour, but you told me they were all more or less the same.
Belamour: Then I expressed myself badly.
Marquise: But after what you told me about the canon and what I saw you submit yourself to with the Count, I don't know if I should pry too deeply into matters which are, strictly speaking, not for ladies' ears.
Belamour: As you wish, Madame. It is rather humiliating to have to confess to such disgraceful doings, and I would be most grateful if I could be excused in the future from recounting such happenings. But, as I told you yesterday, your wishes are my commands. What magnificent hair you have! The shade is absolutely dazzling. And so luxurious. It smells like a meadow in the spring.
Marquise: I have received that compliment from others. But I would like to know how you got on the right path after your misstep. You easily could have turned out to be an inveterate bugger like the Count.
Belamour: I did not have long to wait until a more favorable star shone on me.
Marquise: This sounds interesting. How did you first come to know what a woman is for?
Belamour: After the incident with the canon, I led an uneventful life. But one day I revealed my secret shame to a friend who worked with me in the barbershop. He was a year older than I and looked more. Besides, blonds always look younger.
Marquise: That is so.
Belamour: My friend's name was Gauthier. We were taking a stroll in the park one Sunday when he confided to me some of the experiences he had. Some of his customers, he said, when he went to do a job in the morning, had young girls with them and showed him all kinds of obscene things. They even asked him to take part in them. I laughed at him, saying that he had not experienced anything. Then I mentioned what had happened to me with Monsieur N. He listened to me carefully until I had finished. Then he warmly embraced me, saying that we had the same tastes and that we were brothers under the skin.
Marquise: So he thought you were a fellow homosexual.
Belamour: Yes, Madame.
Marquise: Continue.
Belamour: Gauthier then asked if I knew Monsieur X, a well-known lawyer. When I said yes, he told me not to breathe a word, but the lawyer did the same thing to him. He added that he utilized my friend's rear while his wife took advantage of his front.
Marquise: Dear me, how common!
Belamour: That is what Gauthier said also. I don't want to bore you with stories about other people, and I'll just mention that the wife was very ugly, but she was like a furnace with flames that had to be constantly quenched. She offered herself to all comers and paid them as much as they demanded. Under such circumstances, a young hairdresser suited her purposes very well because he was poor, bursting with vitality, and didn't cost very much. So she seduced him. He considered it quite an honor to have a lady so high in society. You know how it is in provincial towns.
Marquise: Yes, I can imagine the standing of a lawyer's wife in a place like Dijon.
Belamour: One day as he was doing his job with her -both thought the husband was in court-he burst into her room and surprised them at the worst possible moment.
Marquise: 1 think I can picture how his appearance dampened their ardor.
Belamour: Nothing of the sort, Madame. The only thing he said was: "Don't let me disturb you, Monsieur
Gauthier." Then in those long complicated legal words, he said that since he was being cuckolded, he had the right to damages which could be paid by letting him make use of his behind.
Marquise: Now there is what I call an intelligent man who is able to put a good face on a disagreeable happening. Then what happened?
Belamour: Poor Gauthier, who felt very guilty, consented without a word and, to his surprise, he found it much more agreeable than he had expected. Once he got the hang of it, he did all he could to help the attorney. After he had obtained his quitclaim, he patted Gauthier on the backside and told him to continue with his wife.
Marquise: How many lovers so surprised would be happy to get off so easily!
Belamour: After that, everything went swimmingly for my friend. Paid by both the wife and the husband, he had more money than he knew what to do with. Any time he felt the need of six francs, he offered his services which were immediately accepted. They were insatiable. I have to admit that I was envious of my friend's good fortune and I told him so. He asked why I did not follow his example. When he mentioned that, I thought of the many army officers whose hair I cut and combed. They were fond of such games.
Marquise (scornfully): An officer in Dijon is no better than a ribbon clerk.
Belamour: Excuse me, Madame. In winter, the city is full of high-ranking officers who find very few women to exert their charms on. They find good-looking boys very satisfactory substitutes, and a number of them actually prefer a mistress to whom they can say when it is over, "Don't forget your hat and cane." I am thinking of a certain general.
Marquise: I am sure you took your friend's advice.
Belamour: Not entirely. Diverting men is really not to my taste. Once or twice is all right, but after that, it becomes tedious. When I asked Gauthier what he saw in the diversion, he became ecstatic. "My advocate can never get enough of me," said Gauthier. "I think he gets as much pleasure when he does it to me as I do when I take care of his wife. Under these circumstances, I don't think I am taking his money under false pretenses. If Madame were less ugly, I would gladly give her the money I get from her husband instead of charging her." I told him I did not understand him for I had never done that either to a man or a woman. Then he suggested we try it together that very night. We would spend the night in some inn, and if I didn't have any money, he had enough for both of us. He was going to do to me what the canon did and then I was going to do the same to him. I agreed.
Marquise: How could you refuse?
Belamour: But I was very bashful about it. I was so ashamed that I wished the earth would open up and swallow me.
Marquise: In other words, you were all excited at the prospect.
Bellamour: We walked out of town after work and stopped at the first inn we saw. We devoured our supper as fast as we could and then rushed up to our humble room. The only furniture was a lumpy bed, two chairs, and a little table. But we paid no attention as we tore off our clothes and climbed into bed. We felt as if we were the only humans on earth. We were stark naked and hot, not only because of the summer heat.
Marquise: I can't wait to hear what comes next!
Belamour: We did not bother to douse the candle. Also, we agreed that Gauthier was going to be the first to suffer-perhaps that is the wrong word-what the canon did to me. I pretended to be very clumsy, saying
I would not be able to do it unless he gave me advice and guided it to where it should go, because after so many times with the lawyer, he must be experienced. To make a long story short, I accomplished number one without too much trouble. I experienced such an indescribable joy that I was convinced there was no rapture on earth comparable to the possession of a young hairdresser's behind.
Marquise: Well, I can see that a young man with no knowledge of women might feel that way. But what I do not understand is how men familiar with all the delights our sex can offer...as, for example, the Prelate, your worthy patron, who is young, rich, handsome, and intelligent. . . how can he degrade himself so?
Belamour: Is there any accounting for tastes in matters of lust and passion, Madame?
Marquise: You hit the nail on the head. But I am all ears to hear you tell how your friend Gauthier got back at you.
Belamour: Alas, Madame, he never did. I had scarcely finished when we heard two women cackling. We could hear them so clearly that they could have been in our room. They must have seen everything.
Marquise: Whoever they were, they certainly were not ladies.
Belamour: When I tell you what their calling was, you could not be more right. Their profession released them from the bonds of discretion. But you can picture our consternation. I ran for my trousers while Gauthier hid himself under the blankets. At the same time, a voice began to berate us. I don't know if I should repeat the words that were used.
Marquise: Don't mind me. I have heard some crude language in my day.
Belamour: "Speak up, you wretched scoundrel!" the owner of the voice bellowed. "You come here to fuck in a most despicable way, taking the bread from the mouths of those who work here in a more decent way." We were still as mice. "Don't you hear me?" the powerful voice continued. "You're nothing but miserable ass-fuckers." It was a terrible expression, but I guess it fitted us. "Forget about them. I'm just an ordinary whore, thank God!" another voice said. "For a hundred francs I wouldn't let in my cunt a prick that has been in a man's ass."
Marquise: What a charming conversation.
Belamour: I agree that they were not too careful in their choice of language. We still did not dare make a sound. "To hell with you!" the first voice shouted. "I'll get those two fellows yet. If you are so fussy, I'll take the one you don't want. And we'll see how good he is."
Belamour (continuing): At those words, I noticed to my astonishment a flimsy drape part, the only barrier between us and the harlots who had a bed in the adjoining room. I have to mention at this point that the inn we had stumbled into was nothing but a brothel where these two harlots and others carried on their lewd trade. To ask for a bed there was the equivalent of requesting a woman.
Marquise: I suppose that each of you took one of the tarts and went into action.
Belamour: You are a mind-reader, Madame. The one who chose me after I had been so ignominiously Rejected by her colleague was a hefty, robust woman of (about twenty-five who showed me what love between man and woman was like. God! What abundant charms she possessed. Huge bulges of flesh and enormous breasts. I remember them as clearly as if it were yesterday. Ten pricks my size could not have filled that gaping chasm. Jonah could not have been more frightened when he was swallowed by the whale. I took a step backwards and crossed myself, but curiosity got the better of me and I returned to her. Screwing up my courage, I took a closer look at the absurdity and discovered that it had a certain appeal. What emboldened me, also, was the sight of my friend's prick just entering the other whore's cunt. From my nervousness, my lady friend could easily see that it was going to be the first time for me. But that did not bother her. I really think she felt a certain pride in being the one to initiate me.
Marquise: I expect that she found you an agreeable youth, and consequently, she must have been more than accommodating.
Belamour: Whatever she was, I still feel a debt of gratitude to her. She had the booming voice of a cattle-driver, the reek of garlic, a spotty complexion, and bear-like thick black fur that covered her cunt and extended almost all the way up to her balloon-like breasts. These imperfections were compensated partially by her obvious pleasure in sex, a happy-go-lucky temperament, and an enticing smile which revealed two rows of perfect snow-white teeth.
Marquise: So you did not find her unattractive?
Belamour: I imitated as well as I could the movements of my friend Gauthier and my instructress was most conscientious. I only realized I was all the way in when she pressed the lips of her cunt with her hand to make the opening tighter.
Marquise: I can't wait to hear the end.
Belamour: She was skillful and understanding, and I like to think that my feeble effort gave her an extraordinary enjoyment.
Marquise: How about your friend?
Belamour: Poor Gauthier. His partner was a delicate little blonde. She was prettier and better dressed, but she had no life, energy, bosom, bottom, or figure. She kept her lips, I mean of her mouth, so tightly shut that
I suspect she was trying to hide bad teeth. She handled my friend gingerly and respectfully, while my giantess bounced and bucked as if she had the devil in the flesh. She was yelling and screaming and biting me, turning me over, and generally having the time of her life. She kept inviting me to grab her breasts, but they were so big that even with both hands I could hold only one at a time. I had to take her nipples in my mouth. One almost filled it. Another time, she got on all fours and lifted up her behind which looked like some Alpine peaks. "There, my boy, if you like asses, there is really an ass!" she cried.
Marquise: I bet your mouth watered at the sight.
Belamour: I won't deny it. I took possession of it with one shove.
Marquise: How docile you are!
Belamour: My delightful fat slut was lying flat on her belly. She was crying how easily the little prick went in. Then we looked at the other bed where her tubercular colleague was concealing rather than revealing what few attractions she possessed. When she saw in what ecstasy we were, she cried in a fit of jealousy: "What do you have to brag about with your fat buttocks? I know what sort of a fellow you have, but then those lumps of flesh are not to everybody's taste." She was so angry that she was sputtering.
Belamour (continuing): Although she was the most good-hearted creature imaginable, my Amazon released me and sat on her rear quarters with her hands at her waist. Red with rage, she turned on the other whore: "Who do you think you are, you scrawny scarecrow. Have I been bothering you? Here everybody can fuck the way he likes. Stick a wooden peg in your stink-hole, but be careful that it doesn't come out and rip your bellybutton. You dog-fucker! If your fellow could be choosy, I would advise him to look more carefully. He probably isn't where he thinks he is. Just take a look at what I have." A shrug of the shoulders and silence was the only answer. Gauthier and I interceded in this disgusting squabble, and I think, much to the relief of the little one, for she seemed to have little inclination for an encounter with my giantess.
Marquise: I have the strong conviction that Monsieur Belamour still thinks fondly of his seductress.
Belamour: Indeed, that is so. I only regretted that I had squandered some of my virility on Gauthier beforehand.
Marquise: That's gratitude for you.
Belamour: To summarize, Madame. In a single night, I learned that the wrong and right both can provide pleasure. We only got up at daybreak. Breakfast in the restaurant below brought all four of us together. The two whores made peace by clinking their glasses together. Gauthier slipped a franc into his partner's hand, but mine refused payment. We reached the city early enough. Naturally, my employer scolded me, but fortunately, his wife had gone shopping and I was spared a double dose of invective. It was several days before I came across my friend Gauthier again. The poor fellow!
Marquise: What happened to him?
Belamour: The worst thing that can happen to a man.
Marquise (interested): How about you?
Belamour: By some miracle, nothing. But I nearly died of fright. From what my friend said and showed me, I realized that I could have caught the same thing. I hastened to a doctor who found me uninfected, but he described in such chilling terms what could have happened that I almost decided to give up women rather than run such a risk. Although the doctor tried to sell me a medicine he said would guarantee me from any ill results, I still worried. At the slightest itch or scratch, I feared that I had the disease in my veins and that it would break out at any moment. With Gauthier lying more dead than alive in a hospital, I cursed and bewailed our unholy adventure. My friend's misfortunes were far from over. The day after he was infected, he passed it on to the lawyer's wife, who, instead of helping him, threatened to have him expelled from the city as soon as he was out of the hospital.
Marquise: It was a good lesson for you.
Belamour: I learned from it, Madame. For more than a year, the thought of repeating such pleasures was farthest from my mind. I gradually came to think that I was not a man. It is amazing how one can get accustomed to abstinence, even in my trade. I started to read and go to the theatre and, in general, I led a very peaceful life. It probably would have been better for me if I could have continued such an uneventful existence.
Marquise (yawning): Stop it. I have the feeling that something depressing is coming, and you know how I dislike gloomy things.
Belamour: You need have no worry on that score. The tragicomic event that caused me to leave the Cornu establishment will, I think, amuse you. Five or six blows, one of which landed on my head and nearly split it open, are the whole story. But you will learn how well it turned out for me in the end.
Marquise: A beating hardly seems the prelude to good fortune.
Belamour: Here is what happened, Madame. On Sundays and holidays, Madame Cornu liked to stay at home and drink while her husband tippled at the tavern. One of these days, she came down with a severe attack of indigestion, perhaps from something she had eaten or drunk, and I could see that she was in great pain. I was alone with her in the house and she begged me to help her for she did not want to call a doctor. My act of charity, Madame, nearly cost me my life.
Marquise: I think that poor Cornu is about to wear a pair of horns again.
Belamour: Wait a minute, Madame, before drawing conclusions. You are doing me an injustice. Bear in mind that I had an obsession, from which the attractions of Madame Cornu were insufficient to divert me.
Marquise: Now, that is interesting.
Belamour: She thought that an enema would give her relief, to which I agreed. I found the necessary equipment and I expected that she would administer it herself. Nothing of the sort. The way the Cornu family employed enemas was by means of a bladder filled with warm water and attached to a tube. The tube was squeezed until the entire contents had run into the sufferer's bowels. Naturally, this uncomfortable and difficult operation required a second person. That was I and I had to lend myself if, as she said, she was not to die. I could have wished the stomach pains and their owner were in hell, but I am not unfeeling. Finally, it seems that she found some relief. You can imagine what I could see, but that did not bother her in the least. Now I was required to alleviate her pains.
Marquise: She just wanted some love, my friend. I am not so stupid as to believe in those pains in the body. She was burning with desire and she wanted you to extinguish the flames. That was all.
Belamour: If such was the case, I was not aware of it. Be that as it may, she without the slightest embarrassment got into position. Her legs were spread wide apart, her face was buried in the bed covers, her behind was stuck up in the air, and her dress was shoved up to her hips so that I could see her rear hole.
Marquise: Probably both of them. But be careful.
My suspicions are well-founded. She left the matter to chance, but, don't forget, that it was only an enema. It goes without saying that you were not to be trusted.
Belamour (with a laugh): I knew very well what I was doing, Madame. I did my job admirably. The liquid had already penetrated all the way into her. I completed the work by squeezing hard on the bladder. As I did so, my hands necessarily grazed Madame's naked behind, which she wiggled back and forth and from side to side. Whether it was because she was feeling somewhat better or whether her breathing was becoming labored, there escaped from her some disconnected blasts, which, unfortunately, were not sonorous enough to arouse lustful thoughts.
Marquise: So she used that lure, too. That was her last resort. The injection was finished. If you had gone down an inch or two lower, you would have been most heartily welcomed.
Belamour: At least it couldn't have been any worse for me than what happened afterwards. Some evil spirit guided the steps of the drunken husband home just as I was performing my Christian task. We did not hear him enter. He saw us, though, for he observed us sharply. Aroused by the wine he had consumed, he was seized by a fit of jealousy which was understandable, considering the position we were in. Another one of those damned farts set him off, for like a flash he was in the room and on top of us. I was stunned by the first blow of his heavy walking stick and at the second I sank to the floor. Madame Cornu, who didn't have the time or presence of mind to change her position, was being beaten to a jelly. Then he turned again on me. Her agonized cries caused a general uproar. I was lying on the spot where I had been doing good in a filthy flood which Madame Cornu had released in her fright.
Marquise: That is too much misfortune all at once.
Belamour: In the meantime, outsiders had hurried into the house and they saw how the enraged Cornu was smiting me, his wife, and even the furniture. When his cane broke, he used his fists, crashing the porcelain and glass and stamping on the bits with his feet. Cursing and foaming at the mouth, he paid no attention to his wounded hand. When spectators asked each other what it was all about, one suggested that he had been cuckolded under his very eyes.
Belamour (continuing): A few words about Madame Cornu, who looked as if she were on the verge of death, soon cleared up the situation. The bladder and the tube lying at our feet, the filthy puddle in which I was spread, and my clothes which were buttoned all spoke in our favor. Then the spectators condemned the barbarous rage of the mistaken husband and vindicated us. I was well liked by the neighbors and enjoyed a spotless reputation. Besides, who would want a woman like Madame Cornu? Nevertheless, it was not easy to convince the husband of the truth. While everybody was talking at once, I was still lying motionless on the floor. Finally came the doctor who examined my poor head and declared that I was in a critical condition. Out of fear that he might have killed me, Cornu suddenly sobered up and his fury turned into regret and pity. He cursed his blindness, said he was a monster, and threw himself at his wife's feet, begging for her forgiveness. To console him, she told him that if I died she hoped that he would be hanged.
Marquise: What a happy disposition! Also, what a horrible misunderstanding. Either all the rules of astrology are wrong or you were born under none of the lucky stars. How did the affair finally turn out?
Belamour: The doctor had me brought to his house. He was a young man new in the neighborhood and I don't think he had ever trepanned a patient. He was more than anxious to perform an operation to improve his standing, but fortunately for me, his fiancee restrained him. It was decided that nothing would be done until at least an experienced surgeon would be present.
Marquise: I am delighted to see her understanding and her sympathy.
Belamour: She saved my life, Madame. An older doctor was consulted. After shaving my head, he said that all I needed was a good night's rest and an application of English plaster. Then frowning, throwing a malevolent look at his young colleague, who had been so anxious to operate, and shrugging his shoulders, he turned on his heels and left. He was right. The next morning I was as good as new. Thus disappeared the danger of trepanning and the rope Madame Cornu hoped to see around her husband's neck. Cornu, remorseful as you can imagine, was benevolence itself. He took care of paying the doctor who found it advisable to treat me in his home for several weeks. (Smiling.)
Marquise (catches the smile in a mirror): What are you laughing about?
Belamour: I am just coming to that, Madame. Cornu bought me clothes and a new suit because mine was ruined and calmed down his wife as well as he could, so that in the end the excitement died down. He did not dare suggest that I come back to him, and even if he did, I certainly would not have accepted his offer.
Marquise: Such reluctance is understandable.
Belamour: There were other reasons for my refusing any possible offer. On the very first day, I met a young officer who lived in the house. He took such a liking to me that he insisted that I enter his service.
Marquise: Another Gauthier, obviously.
Belamour: That is not kind of you, Madame. Secondly, my gratitude to the doctor's betrothed for what she had done soon turned into deep love. She nursed me like an angel.
Marquise: How touching.
Belamour: And she returned my love. Our feelings were sealed first by looks, then kisses, and finally with more concrete tokens of our affections for each other.
Marquise: I hope you didn't plant the seed of a child in your lovely.
Belamour: No, Madame. She confessed to me, however, that even before I came into the house, she had a deep aversion for the young doctor, and now that she knew me, she could not stand the sight of him. At this point, Madame, I should mention that her godfather, a former lover of her mother, had his heart set on this ill-fated marriage. I suspect that his interest in the young woman was more than paternal. He even set up a fund for the mother on the condition that he be allowed to take his god-daughter to the country for a few days in order to instruct her in the obligations and ways of marriage. Because of the money, the mother was all in favor of the match. The daughter found out about it when she listened to them through the key-hole. The time was drawing near when the bartered fiancee would have to go on the disgraceful excursion, the dangers of which she was well aware.
Marquise: What advice did you give her? And I suppose you were ready to help her escape?
Belamour: You are right, Madame. I gave her excellent advice. But now I have to tell you that the bewitching object of my desires was...Nicole.
Marquise (as if she could not believe her ears): Nicole!
Belamour: Yes, Madame, Nicole, the very one who has the honor of being in your service.
Marquise: I have to admit that I was not prepared for anything like this. (She blushes and is unable to conceal her excitement. Belamour notices her expression in the mirror.) But, Belamour, you are so slow today. At this rate, you will never be finished.
Belamour: I am almost through, Madame. I agree that it has taken more time than usual, but the set will last longer. I am trying to give you an extra lovely coiffure.
Marquise: I have no doubts about your ability, Monsieur Belamour, but I want you to listen to me. (Belamour has inserted the final curl-paper and now hangs onto the words of his mistress.) You are an attractive young man. You have seen that I pamper the people I prefer, and you can have no doubts that you have made a certain impression on me. Perhaps it was not wise of me to have given you indications of it so quickly, but what is done is done. (She notices his sudden melancholy expression.) There is nothing to worry about, my dear. I am not going to say anything unpleasant to you. (She extends to him her hand which he passionately kisses.)
Belamour (kneeling before her): I would be the most miserable of wretches if...
Marquise: Up to now, you have done no harm, but watch out that you don't. Chance has led you to find again in my house a girl with whom you were in love...and perhaps are still.
Belamour (resting his face on the knees of the Marquise): Oh, Madame. How terrible you make me feel! After all you have done for me, how could I dare think of causing you the slightest uneasiness.
Marquise (somewhat relieved): But Nicole is a most attractive young woman. I am quite fond of her, but no matter how much I like her...
Belamour: I swear to you, Madame...
Marquise (stroking his cheek): Please don't betray me. (At these words, Belamour redoubles the marks of his affection. The Marquise continues): On your feet, my dear friend.
(He rises. When she lays her arm on his shoulder, he takes her by the waist. They look at themselves in the mirror. Impulsively, she plants a passionate kiss on his lips.) Oh yes, I can read your heart. I am convinced that you do indeed love me, at least at the moment, as much as one can love.
Belamour (fervently): You are the sole possessor of the key to the emotions I have for you. (They remain locked in an embrace with their lips and eyes almost touching.)
Marquise: When I am with you, I can't help myself. But I don't want you just for myself.
Belamour (astounded): My God! What are you saying?
Marquise: Let me speak out, my dear friend. You will soon learn that I am not the despotic type, that nobody is more considerate of others, and that nobody more easily pardons human inconstancy. I have no intention to take sole possession of your body and deprive you forever of all other amorous pleasures. But won't you try, at least for a time, to devote yourself only to me, to give yourself to the mistress who adores you and to no one else?
Belamour (after receiving and returning a passionate kiss): I must be the lowest, most ungrateful wretch in the world if...How can you even think of such a thing, Madame? (Kisses.) Please believe me that I never, never...With you, it has been the most exalted kind of love....Never, my goddess, never has a member of your sex which I so adore and desire made such a deep impression on me as when you first set eyes on me. When I saw you, it seemed that the gates of heaven were opening, revealing to me all the delights that Mohammed had promised to the devout.
(The Marquise is no less love crazed than Belamour. At this moment, they are in a frenzy, telling each other all the mad thoughts that come into their heads. Sensual pleasure is the only cure for this mania. But the hairdressing room is hardly a comfortable setting for such activity. The Marquise, who is neat and orderly to excess, is unwilling to dirty the parquet and cover with her hair powder the costly furniture in the adjoining rooms. After the most unbridled embraces, she supports herself with her elbows on the dressing-table opposite the mirror. The radiant Belamour resumes his rights of the preceding day. He admires her curves that are new to him in this position and covers them with flaming kisses. Then without delay he sets to the final task for which the Marquise rewarded him, as it seemed, with a grateful smile. Midway in the game, he has the immense pleasure of seeing reflected in the mirror the enraptured expression on the face of his mistress. There are no words able to describe her bliss. A single emission of the divine fluid is insufficient to extinguish such a blaze. As a matter of course, Belamour continues without a pause. Connoisseurs who read this realize that the second and third times are incomparably sweeter than the first wild turbulences. Along with that, the lover employs all his refinements, postpones the climax, and consequently increases the enjoyment. The pair are united in their desire to attain this goal.
The life juices of the charming hairdresser and his lascivious mistress flow into each other a second time. He is almost exhausted from the exquisite torture, but without even thinking of a retreat, he hurls himself on the first chair, dragging the Marquise with and on him. She makes no attempt to free herself, but happily sits on her lust benefactor who again is in her. Embracing each other eagerly, they give and return kisses. There follows a moment of silence more eloquent than the most ringing words. The boiling of their blood finally subsides.)
Marquise (raising herself with a dreamy smile and giving him a final kiss): Really, Belamour, you are lust itself.
Belamour: And you are the personification of passion.
(He kisses her hand. She goes out to wash herself. When she returns, she finds that Belamour is again her hairdresser who respectfully greets her and prepares to continue with his task. Scarcely has he removed the final paper-curl and begun his combing than the sounds of a ruckus are heard outside.)
Marquise: What's that?
Belamour: It sounds like a quarrel.
Marquise: Well, I recognize the dulcet tones of my old Swiss. He's scolding someone. Let's listen.
Swiss: No, Madame, I have strict orders not to let anyone in. Stay where you are. Madame the Marquise has forbidden anyone to enter. You say that Mademoiselle Felipe told you that Marquise wanted to see you? That's a lie.
Countess Mottenfeu: How did you come up behind me like that? You frightened me out of my wits, you clod. I'll have the Marquise punish you for your impertinence.
Belamour: Heavens!
Marquise: What's wrong?
Belamour: Nothing, Madame. But I think I know that voice from some where.
Marquise: It couldn't be a friend of mine, a little madcap by the name of Countess Mottenfeu, could it?
Belamour: I'm not sure.
Marquise: Well, I don't expect you to know everybody.
Swiss: Please be so good and not scold me, Madame. The hairdresser is inside with the Marquise, so you can't go in. And Mademoiselle Felipe didn't tell you anything of the kind, because she is in the city.
Countess (flying into a rage): Go to the devil, you old Cerberus! I'm sick and tired of your gibberish! I have been admitted and if you have the gall ,to block my way, I swear I'll tear your filthy beard out by the roots!
Swiss: What a way for a Countess to talk. You sound like common lowdown whore.
Marquise: It's getting serious! (To Belamour): I don't need your services for the moment. Go there! (He obeys.)
Countess (shouting): Marquise! My dear Marquise! (She pounds on the door with her fists.) Hurry and open up. Your boor of a Swiss is using foul language to me. Let me get away from the lout! (Before she opens the Marquise listens for a few moments more.)
Swiss (getting more and more angry): I'm no lout, damn it! I am Rudi Imhoff from the canton of Unterwald and I did my eight years service in the Fischbach Regiment.
Countess (lurching into the toilet): Thank God! I hate to think what would have happened if you came too late to my help. What an uncouth individual, your Monsieur Imhoff! (The Marquise smiles.) But I am really irritated with you. It is not nice of you not to make an exception for me when you are not receiving callers.
Marquise: I beg your forgiveness, my dear, but I didn't think it could be you. I heard that you were in the country.
Countess: We've been back in the city for two days now.
Marquise: Rudi, you did your duty faithfully, and I appreciate it, but the next time, don't try to send the Countess away. My door is always open to her.
Swiss: As you wish, Madame. But it was a hard fight with her.
Countess: One would have thought that I wanted to do violence to the wretch. (To the Swiss): Now pay attention to what the Marquise said. Her door is always open to me.
Marquise: That's right, Rudi.
Swiss (with a smirk): All right. She is damnably pretty, but I don't like it when she calls me a boor.
Marquise (to her friend): That wasn't very nice of you.
Countess: Oh, I'm sorry. (To the Swiss): Don't be angry. The next time I come, I'll try to be more civil.
Swiss (smiling): That is kind of you, Madame.
Marquise (to the Swiss): You can leave now. And I am in to anyone who calls.
Countess: Just a moment. Please don't receive anybody. I have to have a long talk with you alone. It'll probably take all evening.
Marquise: I'm sorry, but that is not possible. First of all, I was planning to go to the opera tonight.
Countess: I could go with you. What did you have in mind for afterwards?
(The Marquise hesitates.)
Countess (smiling): Nothing at all, eh? Well, let me take over and you'll thank me tomorrow.
Marquise: What are your plans?
Countess: That's my secret. (To the Swiss): Why don't you leave? We don't need you any more.
Swiss: I take my orders from the Marquise.
Marquise (to her friend): Well, I'm game for anything. (To the Swiss): I'm not in to anybody.
Swiss: Yes, Madame. (Leaves.)
(As the Countess warmly kisses her friend and fondles her bosom, she notices from the condition of her hair and the disorder in the room that the Marquise was having her hair done.)
Countess: My dear, I don't want to disturb you. (She looks around for the hairdresser.) Did he leave you because I came?
Marquise: No, he is still here. I think there.
Countess: Call him back right now. Oh, I didn't see the bell. (She hurries toward it.)
Marquise (gets in front of her): Don't bother, darling. (She rings and Belamour appears.)
(The Countess and Belamour, who recognize each other immediately, are astonished. The Marquise is somewhat mystified by this new dramatic encounter.)
Countess: I can't believe my eyes. My God! Yes, it is he. There is no mistake about it. Yes, yes. (At first, Belamour is startled, but he quickly pulls himself together.) Oh, how big and handsome he has become!
Belamour (blushing and politely greeting her): It is no exaggeration, Madame, if I return the compliment. (He returns to his work.)
Countess: Well, I must admit that I wasn't too bad looking when we knew each other. (To the Marquise): My congratulations, my dear Marquise. You have...
Belamour (afraid that she could say too much, interrupts): Since you do me the honor of remembering, Madame, that I was once under your patronage, perhaps you could recommend me to the Marquise in whose service I entered yesterday.
Countess (interested): Permanently?
Belamour (modestly): It is my fondest hope. (He looks inquiringly at the Marquise.)
Marquise: The Countess is aware that I do not like to have new faces around me.
Countess: Oh yes, I know that she dismisses servants only if it is absolutely necessary. But how you have grown, my dear Hector.
Marquise: His name is now Belamour.
Countess (archly): Belamour. Beautiful love. Yes, that is a fitting name for him. (She smiles at him.) It's been about six years since we last saw each other, hasn't it?
Belamour: Just about, Madame.
Countess: Are you still the cheerful amiable youngster that you once were?
Marquise (rather piqued): Is he supposed to sing his own praises?
Countess (to Belamour): Do you know, or perhaps you don't, that my poor brother is dead?
Belamour (obviously moved): My God! What are you saying? (Pulling himself together, he continues with his work.) What a shame! Such a dashing young man.
Countess: Unfortunately, it is true, my dear....(She smiles maliciously.) I can understand how this news is of interest to you and how it grieves you. When one loved the Baron as much as you did, you...
Belamour (interrupting): It is true that the Baron was more than kind to me.
Countess (laughing): Wasn't it more than that?
Marquise: You're just burning to say something spiteful.
Countess: What makes you say that? Is there a double entendre in that remark? If you only knew...
Marquise (also laughing): Belamour is very proud of his exploits and he has been amusing me by telling about them. In this way...
Belamour: You have made your point, Countess. As you see, another meaning is given to your flattering remarks, which appears to have been your intention.
Countess (cheerfully to her friend): I really think that he has taken leave of his senses.
Marquise: You can't blame him for that.
Countess: I am being falsely accused on all sides.
Belamour (to the Countess): By what misfortune, Madame, if I may inquire, did that marvelous vigorous young man meet his death?
Countess: Because he was one of your bad lot. That happens when one does such things...I mean, when they are noticed. (To the Marquise): My brother, beautiful as an angel, sparkling with wit, and the picture of health, began to prey on senile women in order to continue his expensive way of life in Paris. Since this strenuous activity bored him and kept him from more enjoyable pursuits, he found it preferable to favor with his charms several men, especially the old wealthy Abbe. Now, what was his name again? You know it.
Belamour (somewhat disconcerted): I know whom you mean, but wouldn't it be better let sleeping dogs lie?
Countess: Just as you wish. My brother who had charmed him ruined him in the process. A lady friend of the Abbe who was at first wildly in love with my brother soon could no longer stand being neglected by the priest and scorned by his Ganymede. Her disposition was not improved when the Abbe's enormous fortune was squandered without her getting a centime of it.
Belamour: Although I couldn't stand her, she was just right for the Baron.
Countess: At the time, she was carrying on with some miserable wretch who wanted to marry her. He was in the army and although he was of common stock, he was commissioned an officer. He noticed my brother's behavior and soon learned that the Abbe was not the only one receiving his favors. He spread so many scandalous rumors which, unfortunately, were only too true that they reached the ears of his fellow officers who promptly started to taunt and tease the Baron about his habits. He took it very hard. When he ran them down to their source, he was shocked that he would have to challenge such an ignoble opponent. The coward tried every which way to get out of it. He apologized and humiliated himself in the most degrading fashion, but my brother...you know how courageous he was.
Belamour: Indeed, I do. That was his greatest fault.
Countess: My brother wouldn't have any of his excuses. He wanted to fight. The sabre duel was relatively harmless with both contestants getting only minor wounds. That was not enough for the Baron who wanted to kill his opponent or be killed trying. After the fruitless sword encounter, he insisted on another with pistols. He gave his adversary the first shot, which grazed his head. Instead of firing in return, he leaped on the trembling slanderer and beat him so unmercifully that he soon lay lifeless on the ground. This valorous action immediately won back for him the esteem he had lost among his officers in arms. But the bullet wound was neglected, or perhaps his impure blood had something to do with it, but, in any case, there appeared soon thereafter ominous symptoms which, in spite of all efforts, defied all cures. A month after the honorable duel, my poor brother gave up the ghost.
(During this recital, Belamour is so deeply moved that he is near tears. Also, the little Countess, who, as we shall see later, deeply loved her brother, has to dry her eyes. In the mirror, the Marquise observes Belamour's face which reveals the depth of his sensitivity. She loves him all the more for it. She, too, begins to weep at the melancholy tale. The three merriest people in the world are thus reduced to the deepest grief. After a few moments of silence, the Marquise attempts to inject a cheerful tone into the conversation.)
Marquise: Sad it is, indeed, but there is nothing we can do but go on living.
Countess (brightening up): I don't know why I felt so gloomy all at once. To tell you the truth, I don't think I have thought about my brother more than a few times since his death.
Marquise: That's the same with widows.
Countess: What do you mean by that?
Marquise (looking at her straight in the eye): From your expressions and the way you looked, I am convinced that the dear deceased and you were very close to one another.
Countess: You said that so slyly that if it were true, I would be persuaded to admit it. But I am not falling into your trap.
Marquise (laughing): You're already in it, even if you don't realize it. If I had not hit the nail on the head, you would have declared with the greatest pride that you at least never had had an intimate relationship with a certain person you know. Countess, not only did you enjoy yourself with your brother, but also with...Hector.
Belamour (astonished): Me, Madame?
Countess: Well, I see that you have a very good opinion of me.
Marquise (with a smile, she extends her hand): My God, Countess, we know each other well enough to be able to joke about anything without getting angry. (As if she had just thought of something): Oh, I must be losing my memory. I almost forgot I have to answer an urgent letter concerning business affairs...(She stands up.) We'll have to leave off the hair-dressing until I get back.
Belamour: If Madame will give me only ten minutes more, I'll be finished.
Marquise: It'll take me only twenty. (She goes to the door.)
Countess (facetiously): And you trust me with Belamour alone? Are we two to stay here?
Marquise (teasingly): You certainly would be disappointed if I sent him away. Besides, aren't you dining with me?
Countess: Well, if you invite me.
Marquise: Good. (She holds the door-knob in her hand and is about to go out.)
Countess: I have also a little errand to do, but only later. I want to call on someone whom I can find at home only at meal times, and it is (she looks at her watch). . . one o'clock.
Marquise (as she leaves): Make yourselves comfortable. (She closes the door behind her.)
Countess (as if talking to herself): You can bet your life that we'll make ourselves comfortable.
(Whether Belamour heard the last words which were meant for him is not sure, but he pretends as if he did not understand her underlying meaning.
After she was gone out through her secret door, the Marquise slams shut loudly another to make it appear that she really has left to take care of her correspondence. In reality, she remains in her hidden room from where she can overhear and spy on everything that happens in the boudoir. As she takes up her post, she mutters to herself: "If there is any hanky panky behind my back, I'll kick Monsieur Belamour out of my house and break forever with Mottenfeu." With her heart pumping madly, she is three quarters convinced that they are going to deceive her.
After a few moments of perfect silence, while Belamour makes a great show of cleaning his instruments, the Countess impatiently begins to speak):
Countess: Well, Hector, or Belamour, if you prefer that, you had better not forget that you are in the service of a person who deserves more attention on your part.
Belamour (with a bow): I am honored, Madame.
Countess: I think you are pulling my leg. Since when have you (she uses the familiar form) become so polite. You certainly won't gain anything by that, my dear fellow. The uninhibited, gay, cheerful Hector was more lovable than the suave Belamour of now. But I am still the same Minette. Do I have to remind you of that? Answer me.
Belamour: Your suspicion that I should have forgotten that gloriously happy time hurts me. But, Madame, one changes so much in six years. The friendship of the Baron, which made me so proud that I almost felt myself his equal...
Countess: And didn't the passionate love of his sister ruin you no less?
Belamour: Now, it all seems like a dream.
Countess: You little Lothario. Show me a single thing by which I can recognize my dearest Hector and I will let you find again your Minette. Oh, what a horrible face you are making! This expression is really something new. Where did you learn that awful respectful attitude?
Belamour: Do you want to try me out, Madame? Shall we see if I am as haughty as before, and if I am still bold enough to take those criminal familiarities which, because of your youth, you granted me?
Countess: The young Monsieur is making sport of me.
Belamour (clenching his fists): I, Madame? How could I be capable of such a vile action?
Countess: Come, come, Monsieur Belamour. Not so dramatic. Not such self-abasement. I can more easily forgive a roguish trick than the modesty you are affecting. I see through you. Have you had the Marquise? Or are you in love with her. Is that why you are acting so virtuously?
Belamour: How ridiculous! I, the lover of the...
Countess (impatiently): Lover, lover. An out-dated expression. A woman doesn't have lovers any more.
Belamour: The good friend-if you prefer-of my honorable mistress.
Countess (proudly): But weren't you once mine?
Belamour: But, at that time, you were scarcely fifteen. We were just children who didn't know what we were doing. We had no realization of the difference in our stations and the dangerous consequences of our actions. We were seduced and corrupted by your loathsome brother who sacrificed you in his lascivious folly, who kindled the glow of our budding passion to bright flames, who threw us into each other's arms and then himself in between, who shared our raptures, and who, ignoring the barriers of sex and blood, tried to make one of all three us. We lived in those days in a frenzy of lust.
Countess (sighing): Yes, Hector, in an intoxication of perfect bliss. You bring it all back to me again. Come over here, you little coward, and at least show me, just for a moment, come...(Opening her arms wide, she assumes a most seductive position.)
Belamour (his eyes raised to the ceiling): What do you want of me, you dangerous temptress!
Countess (stung and changing her position): Such a coy little speech! (Belamour heaves a deep sigh.) Please stop those histrionics. With those outstretched arms and groans, one would think you were an actor in the touching role of an aged father. Well, you're nothing but a fathead, my dear fellow. If I weren't aware of my own qualities, my beauty and youthfulness, and everything else which makes a woman desirable, your conduct would be most humiliating to me. It was just because of my good nature that I tried to meet such a miserable little man half way. (In a sarcastic tone, she continues): He adores his lovely mistress. He is sighing. He has sworn to be faithful to her.
Belamour: The thought is so...marvelous!
Countess (seriously): I'll stick my hand in the fire. Do you dare deny the opposite, my discreet sir?
Belamour: I swear it, Madame.
Countess: Why do you lie to me that your sentiments are restricted to those that a servant owes his mistress?
Belamour: You're torturing me.
Countess (more softly): Let us understand each other, Hector. If you are honest, you can hope that I'll forgive you. Confide in me your secret. I swear that I'll keep it to myself. But if you insist on lying to me, I'll see to it that your relationship is broken off and that you are left up in the air.
Belamour (meekly): How can I confide something if I don't have anything to confide?
Countess: You're in love.
Belamour: With whom?
Countess (laughing): You should be with me, if I had anything to say about it. But with the Marquise, of course.
Belamour: Even if I had such a guilty weakness, wild horses could never force me to admit it.
(The hypocrisy and discretion of Belamour and the cunning of the Countess cause the Marquise in her hiding-place an indescribable pleasure.)
Countess: It's possible that you aren't in love, but if by chance you were...(she regards him laughingly)
. . . you'd be a big fool, especially if you keep your silence. Shall I speak openly to you? The Minette of the old days gives you this advice: Intelligent people fuck and don't sigh.
Belamour: What passion do you credit me with...
Countess: To be in love with the Marquise. There is no other possibility. You can't help yourself. Men as well as women, as soon as they see her, go wild over her. Yes, I share that yen for her. Yes, if you have no objection, I am a fellow wanton, and one of the most dedicated. But that doesn't stop me from telling you what is best. Stop that groaning. The Marquise is affectionate with a big heart, but she has no use for those who pine and sigh. You are not a run-of-the-mill type of man, but the lively kind...(She grasps his hand.)...Take her by storm, my friend. Yes, attack her at every opportunity, again and again, until she no longer has the strength to make the slightest complaint about your boldness.
Belamour: I am genuinely astonished, Madame, how your imagination can be so inflamed as to propose a course of action that never would have entered my head. I am only too well aware of my obligations to my mistress and myself.
Countess: Well, remain a numbskull if you wish. But I just tell you that every attractive woman expects a man to try and have her, through her own willingness, through force, or through guile. She, on her side, is thrilled if the wooer is as appealing as you....Aren't you wondering about me? Any other woman in my place would be scratching your eyes out. But not I. I just give you excellent advice. Here I am promoting the love of one who rejects me. But he remains steadfast, pretending he doesn't understand me. Now we'll see how one sails around the dangerous rocks. Belamour!
Belamour: Countess!
Countess: We're alone. I don't know what you think of me, but I do know that I find you still a handsome, agreeable young man who could give me again a great amount of pleasure.
Belamour: You are not serious, Madame. And how about the love you suspect that I have?
Countess: I am your humble servant in assisting you with this affair, but still. . .
Belamour (cutting in on her words): Please understand that I do not admit that it exists.
Countess: All the better. That's one less hindrance to the satisfaction of my desire. Come over here.
Belamour (coming closer): How can I serve you, Madame?
Countess: You do what I tell you. Is that clear enough?
Belamour: No doubt about that, Madame. Countess (seductively): Come, Hector, come and take this gold-tressed muscle that you so often praised and caressed. (She shows it to him.) Do you see it? I Give me your hand. Feel how it is still burning with the consuming fire that you feared would turn your prick into ashes if you inserted it, in spite of the inexhaustible spring of cooling, soothing water.
(Belamour cautiously stretches out his hand. It is the only alternative to insulting her. Now it rests on the crater of the little volcano.)
Countess: It's changed, hasn't it? The last time you saw it, it didn't have this thick plaiting.
Belamour (stroking it): Each age has its own beauties, Madame.
Countess (to herself): At least, he still has his good manners. (To him): Even the color is different. I am not particularly worried that it is a brighter red than my hair, for not all men like this shade. Belamour: That is very silly of you.
Countess: That's so. You were always more indulgent in that respect. I still remember that you in those days when we were so happy insisted on a test of my golden jewel and how angry I was that you made me wait so long. And I made you wait in turn.
Belamour: For that I had another to thank much more than you, you little flirt.
Countess: So you remember that funny incident. Didn't we really have the devil in the flesh in those days? I wished there had been present a painter who could have captured for ever the scene when I, impaled at both ends by you and my brother, saw your friend suddenly grab for his dagger and I felt how he cut off four or five hairs that had just sprouted. How it hurt!
Belamour: I knew it by the way you jerked so convulsively. Before I realized it, I was halfway in you.
Countess (laughing): That was the good part of it. You looked so comical when the Baron rapped you with the flat of the blade of his sword on the shoulder and said: "Hail, stout knight of the golden fleece." You dove at the insignia of your new order like a falcon on its prey. I still feel your kisses on it. How you pressed it to your heart! In those days, you were really something, but today, I wonder...
Belamour: I can assure you that I have not changed much.
Countess (eagerly): If I could only believe you! You know, my feelings for you are the same. Come here to my breast.
(At the same time, she stands up, throws her arms around his neck, presses her lips against his, thrusts her tongue into his mouth, and fans the flames of passion to the very bottom of his being. During this frenzied embrace, her hand casually opens his fly and brings out his virility. Avidly contemplating and fondling it, she begins to awaken it to life. Her passion mounts as she pushes the foreskin up and down. Even after six years, it is still new and fascinating to her. She is curious as to its size and staying powers. But it is not too easy to bring to its normal rigidity and length the toy still feeling the effects of the morning and the previous day. Thanks to the magic of her fingers it finally reaches the desired state. On her knees, she is so close to him that she can't help but take it in her mouth. That is her preferred way. Belamour, who had forgotten that, did not have enough time to block the sudden attack. When he notices that it is not a matter of a simple kiss, he makes a feeble attempt to withdraw it from her teeth, but she holds it more tightly with her teeth.)
Countess: Don't be so hateful, Belamour. I might take it in my head to bite it through.
(Still on her knees, she quickly resumes her task, while Belamour stands, supporting himself by holding on to the wall paneling. Now he is twitching with an expression of discomfort and reluctance on his face, which the fellatrix in her ardor does not perceive. Soon this lascivious method produces its first reaction. Belamour is now stirred. He looks down at the capricious Countess with a strange smile. The heating of his blood, the heaving bosom, the sounds of lust, and the slippery tongue on his most sensitive part all contribute to his rapture. Gradually, lust fills him, penetrating to his very being, and finally reaches its peak. The pleasure is all the more delicious because Belamour at first was unwilling. After the opening of the flood-gates of life, he thinks he can withdraw, but at the slightest movement, the ivory teeth are clamped more firmly, warning him that it would be dangerous for him to move. He has to surrender and gush into her greedy mouth, for she does not want to be sprayed any other place. Eagerly she gulps it down, sucking and draining it to the last drop.
After this first conquest, she leaps up and grabs with one hand the trophy. Then she throws herself on a divan, dragging the blissful Belamour with her, and leads the love shaft still covered with foam to a certain opening. The wild rubbing and scraping produces a copious flow from the Countess's inexhaustible spring, easing the way for the entrance of the organ which sinks almost immediately to the very bottom. Belamour has a tender heart and he can no longer hold back. Yes, he will gloriously accomplish what is expected of him. Moreover, he is deeply in debt to the Countess for the pleasure she afforded him. He quickly makes up his mind when he realizes that her tastes have not changed.
Like a flash of lightning, he tears himself loose, kneels down, places on each shoulder one of her alabaster thighs, and with the greatest eagerness, returns in the same way the bliss she has just given him. This last diversion did not amuse the concealed spectator. Yet she is sensible enough to forgive this infidelity to which Belamour was obligated.
As she feels the crisis approaching, the Countess begins to buck and twist, whistle between her teeth, sigh, groan, and bite her arm. Finally, as is her wont, she floods the mouth of the doughty cunnilingus artist, who, following her example, is not so discourteous as to spit out her fluid.
Gradually the flames die down. After the spirited encounter, the combatants experience a mutual discontent. They straighten out their clothing and fall into an embarrassment as to whether or not they should separate. The Marquise delivers them from this quandary by slamming another door and appearing in the room.
Countess (to her friend): So you're finally back. It certainly took you a long time to write your letter.
Marquise: Not really. (She sits down to let Belamour continue doing her hair.)
Countess: Just ask Belamour how bored he was with me.
Marquise: God forbid! He would never answer such a question.
(Observing Belamour in the mirror, she sees that he is somewhat perplexed. By chance, her hand touches the opening of her skirt and she feels that her shift is all wet. In order to ascertain whether it originated from the pleasure of the morning or from certain pains she felt the previous night, she dismisses Belamour. Now that she is alone with the Countess, she looks and finds that it is blood.)
Marquise: So that's it.
Countess (annoyed): What the devil!
Marquise: I'll still go to the opera even though I do not like to leave the house when I am in such a condition. But I gave you my word and I won't break it.
Countess: Oh, I am not too anxious to go, either. It is just because of you that I suggested it, and, also, I didn't want to let you get out of my sight. But, ah, what is coming later! (She kisses her fingertips.) Too bad that you had to get that filthy mess today.
Marquise: What's it all about? Come out with it.
Countess: I suppose I had better tell you. This evening Madame Couplet wanted to bring us as two whores to two young foreigners who, according to her, are handsome, rich, and burning for women.
Marquise (sarcastically): And Madame Couplet was so kind as to pass us off as a pair of her sluts!
Countess: I consider it a great privilege, since she has the most seductive women in Paris, both professional and amateur.
Marquise: I confess that I do not fully appreciate the honor of her offer.
Countess (slyly): If I remember correctly, she mentioned the sum of fifty louis. Oh, I know that that is not important to you since you are rolling in money ever since your husband's death and that you only do it for love. But I who have to live with a guardian who does not give me money every time I ask, I certainly can use those fifty louis. Opportunities like this don't come every day.
Marquise: For your sake, I am truly sorry. I would play a sorry roll with those men. But why don't you go? There is nothing to stop you.
Countess: It's a question of whether Madame Couplet will agree and whether the libertines will be satisfied with one girl. Not that I am worried about being able to satisfy them fully, but I wanted badly to empty their balls so completely that their voracious things would hang their heads for a week. I have no fear of being a part of a trio.
Marquise: The episode with Sunflower and Company shows your inclination for choruses.
Countess: That time it was a full orchestra. But I wager you could play at sight your instrument as well as any one.
Marquise: That is quite possible and one of these days I'll make the attempt. Until now, I have distinguished myself only in smaller ensembles, but I think that participation with a larger group would agreeably break the monotony of my pleasures and lend new glitter to my famous virtuosity.
Countess (enthusiastically): I'll arrange that for you. You have never known how to take advantage of the opportunities you were offered. At our divine meetings of the organization, you never wanted to take part in the orgies. I never missed one. At least you could have tried.
Marquise: Let's not talk about it any more. Nothing is eternal. You have to adjust to circumstances and take your pleasure where you find it. There are days when I really envy the happiness of a brothel whore.
Countess (squeezing her hand): Bravo! That's the right idea. I only wish that you would fall into the hands of a crowd of monks as once happened to me.
Marquise (squealing): Phooey! That kind turns my stomach inside out.
Countess: Careful, now. Before you pass judgment on something, you have to know what it really is. Listen. I'm going to tell you a story about myself that will make you scream. When I was sixteen...(The Marquise rings.). . . So, you don't want to hear my tale.
Marquise: I will gladly in just a few moments, but only because it amuses you. Nothing in the world could make me acquire a taste for monks. (Belamour enters.) Now you can finish your job. (He has scarcely begun when the Countess violently musses up the Marquise's hair.) Now what is that all about?
Countess: I do believe that you are mocking me. I look like a slattern, and do you think that I am going to let you appear like a Venus? We have nothing special on today, and we will be together. (To Belamour): Prepare a tub for Madame. (Belamour does not appear very happy at the command.) Yes, Monsieur, go ahead. You'll have a chance another time to complete your masterpiece. (Belamour displays a flare of anger. The two women josh him so that he ends up by laughing with them.)
Marquise: What about your errand, Countess?
Countess: To tell the truth, it completely slipped my mind. (She looks at her watch.) Really, it is a little too late. But,...oh well...I can take care of it with a note. Could I have pen and paper, please?
Marquise: Belamour, clear off this table for the Countess. (To the Countess): You'll find everything you need there. I like our new plans. So you are going to spend the evening with me?
Countess: That depends on the answer I get. That's why I am writing, as you can guess.
Marquise (smiling): I understand you perfectly.
Countess: Would it be possible to dine a little earlier than usual?
Marquise: As soon as you wish.
Countess: Right after I finish my letter, then. I'm as hungry as a horse.
Marquise (to Belamour): Bring some light and tell the kitchen to prepare dinner as soon as possible.
(As the Countess is bent over the writing-table, the Marquise gives the hairdresser a friendly smile. She does not notice the look the Countess gives him, a look which he can only answer with a respectful bow. He leaves.
The letter is finished and almost at the same moment, dinner is announced.)
Countess (as she and the Marquise walk out arm in arm): I haven't let you off with my story about the monks....
(But at that moment, something new happens to prevent the telling.)
End of the Fourth Part
PART FIVE
(We have left the Countess and the Marquise as they were going into dinner. The Marquise is not well, or rather her hot temperament is tortured by the unexpected event mentioned before. The condition occurs with her, as it does with most women, twelve or thirteen times a year. Her eyes are lifeless and have rings about them. Isn't her complexion paler, her face streaked, and her skin dull? Aren't her lips less red and isn't there something unpleasant about her breath? Should proud, beautiful women in such a condition tempt the desires and lusts of sensitive men? Certainly not. The desire to please and the need to present the Mons Veneris in an attractive state requires more discreet conduct. In spite of the call of nature, most women observe complete abstinence during this period. But the Marquise is not like other women. Will she be able to restrain herself or will she succumb to her hot blood? That we shall have to wait to see. While the women are eating in the dining-room, the windows of which are open, they notice that the Swiss is talking with somebody looking out of a carriage that has stopped in the gateway. The visitor spots the women.)
Prelate (the one who had introduced Belamour to the Marquise, yelling at the Swiss): That's a lie, my friend! I see them in there!
(Simultaneously, he has his coachman open the carriage door and hurries into the courtyard. The Swiss is unable to prevent the intrusion.)
Countess (cheerfully hailing him): This is wonderful! Come on in, my dear Count. It is so nice to have a male with us. Don't you think so, Marquise?
Marquise: I am very happy because it seems to give you pleasure.
Countess: I am so very fond of the Count. He can be as exuberant as a child if he wants, and his wild fancies never fail to amuse me.
Marquise: Yes, I rather like him.
(Why the coolness and indifference? Because she will be obliged to talk about Belamour and what happened the previous day, things that should be concealed from the Countess. Now she will learn everything.)
Prelate (kissing their hands): Good day, my goddesses. (To the Marquise): I see that you are about to eat. Since I am literally starving, will you have the Christian charity to have a place set for me?
Marquise (laughing): Now, come. Did you think you would be sent away? No, such a mean trick I would not play on the Countess, who is overjoyed that you are here.
Prelate: Don't be such a hypocrite by trying to conceal your own feelings!
(They sit down at the table. Since they are occupied with their food and the servants are coming and going, the conversation at the beginning is of no particular interest. The latest news, both true and false, gossip about certain people, and the latest plays form the subject of their random talk. Finally, dessert is served and the last servant leaves.)
Prelate: Well, my dear Marquise, how did you get along with the little rogue yesterday? Do you think he will prove satisfactory?
Marquise: You were convinced that I could use him. It is sufficient that he comes with your recommendation. (The compliment sounds somewhat ironic.)
Prelate (with exaggerated courtesy): That is most flattering of you. But the important thing is that you are satisfied with him. (He gives her a malicious smile.)
Countess: Why shouldn't she be so with my dear Hector, or rather, Belamour? (She grins at the Marquise.)
Prelate (his mouth open in surprise): Belamour? You mean Hector, don't you?
Countess (in the same needling tone): Oh, no. It's Belamour. I don't know the name of Hector.
Prelate: Well, he went by that name. But Belamour sounds much nicer and I assume naturally that one does not give him such a name if he is to be dismissed the following day.
Countess (pointing to herself): He wouldn't have far to look for a new post if he were released here.
(At these words, she notices on the face of the Marquise a certain expression of embarrassment and an embryonic blush. Although it is not very polite, she has to laugh at it. Also the Prelate can no longer restrain himself. Momentarily the Marquise loses her temper at this humor at her cost. But the Marquise, always ready for repartee, takes advantage of an opening.)
Marquise: You're laughing at something you don't know anything about. Wait a little and it will be even funnier. Count, you remember what you witnessed yesterday?
Prelate (surprised): Are you going to admit to that?
Marquise: I have decided not to give you the pleasure of taunting me about it. Ask the Countess all that someone could have seen if he, instead of going away to write a letter, had remained behind the door of my boudoir and peeked through a secret hole.
Countess (stunned): Oh, you witch!
Marquise (in a triumphant but friendly tone): Oh, you're ten times the witch I am.
Prelate: Just a moment. I am not following you. Perhaps you would be good enough to enlighten me, miladies.
Countess (laughing): I am the simpleton in this affair. I seduced Monsieur Belamour and the Marquise is having her little joke at my expense.
Prelate: Very good. Now I am beginning to understand. Won't you go into more details?
Countess: Gladly. Here is how it was.
(With her usual candor, she recounts the course of events with Belamour, including the resistance he put up at first until she succeeded in arousing him and completely disarming him.)
Countess: That is how it was. If somebody else were honest enough to tell her own experiences, as I just did, we too would have some droll things to hear. Belamour! The Marquise!
Marquise (extending her hand to her): I do not reproach you with the slightest impropriety.
Countess: If I had the slightest suspicion that you were snooping, I would have given you something to see and hear. It would have been the last time you ever would have listened behind doors. And that rascal was oozing with tenderness and respect when he had me best. I don't know where my mind was when I allowed him to withdraw before he was finished. Wasn't I cheated, Count?
Prelate: It depends on the way you look at it. Hippocrates would say yes and Galienus no.
Countess: If I only knew where I stand in this affair. (To the Marquise): This morning, didn't he....
Countess: And the rod of bliss? How many times did he insert that? Be honest now.
Marquise (laughing): Twice, I think. Prelate: I can believe that. Countess: And yesterday?
Marquise (to the Count): Isn't she funny? She has to know everything.
Prelate: Why not? So, yesterday, how many times do you think? I know he did it once, for I saw it myself. Double? More?
Marquise (gaily): Just one little time more.
Prelate: I like your frankness. Add to that one more little time with me.
Marquise (giving him a thump on the head): Won't you be quiet, you hateful creature!
Countess (crying out): Oh, what a silly goose I was! He had the nerve to try and humbug me that there wasn't the slightest thing between him and her, the little liar. And I was so stupid as to feel sorry for him because I thought he was in love and that he did not have enough courage. How can one be so feather-brained?
Prelate (who has been counting on his fingers): During this delightful conversation, I have computed that Monsieur Belamour since yesterday afternoon has performed seven numbers. Now, that is quite praiseworthy. (He stands up.) Now I come to my verdict. On the one side, my client has in no way done harm to Madame by finishing the rape that she had cunningly commenced. Moreover, the charms of the Countess are not to be undervalued. This case is to be decided according to the law: "Who can't, doesn't need to." Consequently, I dismiss both parties and order them to share equally the court costs....
(All three rise to go into a salon where coffee is served. As they are drinking it, there is delivered a letter addressed to the Countess. It is the answer to the note she had sent before dinner.)
Countess (crumpling the letter after she has read it): Well, so it goes. (To the Marquise): The party is postponed.
Marquise: The one for this evening?
Countess: Yes.
Marquise: All the better. When will it be now?
Countess: It is not sure yet. The gentlemen in question are members of the legation and they have to present their credentials tomorrow at Versailles. Then they are invited to a round of parties everywhere in Paris. Couplet thinks that it will have to be put off for at least eight days.
Prelate: If I am not too curious, may I ask who is going to be presented at Versailles tomorrow?
Countess: Unfortunately, I can't tell you exactly who. They are foreigners and new friends of Couplet. More I can't tell you.
Prelate: If I am not too mistaken, I am quite sure that they are two cousins of mine. They are planning to present themselves at court tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day for the diplomatic corps. Yesterday, I introduced them to our indispensable friend Couplet, and it appears that my efforts have not been in vain. But what they have to do with you is beyond my understanding.
Marquise (to the Countess): You won't be so stupid as to tell him?
Countess: I have no secrets from my good friends. (The Count kisses her hand.) My dear, your good cousins, if it is really they, were planning to have some diversions at Couplet's tonight, and we (pointing to Marquise), she and I, were to provide the entertainment, incognito, naturally.
Prelate: Where in the devil did you ever get the idea of going to a bordello? You'd be recognized immediately as respectable women. Or would you?
Marquise: I don't take kindly to the Count's last remark. What do you think, my dear Countess? His expression borders on insolence.
Countess: Be quiet, you little prude. I take it in a completely different way. I find it a compliment.
Prelate: And that is precisely how I meant it. I swear it. But let's leave aside these petty squabbles and talk sensibly. There has been an upset in your plans? Namely, that the gentlemen will not be present?
Countess: That, first of all. And secondly, the Marquise is temporarily incapacitated.
Prelate (looking at the Marquise inquiringly): Yes, indeed. I never would have noticed it. As a rule, I am never mistaken. (He looks in her eyes, and then laughs as if he had discovered something amusing.)
Marquise: Why the glee?
Prelate: I'll tell you shortly.
Marquise (to the Countess): Now that your plans have fallen through, I'll stay home.
Countess (sighing): And I don't have anything better to do than keep you company.
Prelate: That will be rather boring. Listen to me. (He paces around the room, deep in thought. Then his face lights up and he makes several comical gestures.)
Marquise: What nonsense!
Prelate (making a sign for attention): Quiet, please. (He strolls once more around the chamber.) Now I've got it! (He sits next to the Marquise and says to her): Let me take your pulse, Madame.
Marquise: Why, if I may ask?
Prelate (placing her arm on his trousers): Right here, please. I have to feel your wrist. (In the attitude of a doctor, he addresses the Countess): Do you realize that if it had not been for this little mishap tonight, you would have had a most marvelous time? (The Marquise's pulse beats faster.)
Countess: I had planned the most wonderful things, which would have opened the eyes of the gentlemen.
Prelate (casting an ironic glance at the Marquise): Good.
Marquise (to the Countess): What is the meaning of this farce?
Prelate (still taking the pulse): There are women in the condition that Madame is in who have absolutely no interest in the pleasures of the flesh....(To the Marquise): Very good, Countess: Thunderation! Now what's coming? 1 Prelate (not releasing the wrist): Probably a discussion of morals. It's a fascinating subject. (The pulse becomes slower.)
Marquise: That bores me to tears.
Prelate (feeling the pulse): I meant to the morals of J. . . Epicurus, for example...or how about Aretino? That is even better. Wonderful! (The pulse has begun to beat quicker.)
Countess: It is my opinion that the Count is out of his mind this time.
Prelate (smiling): Not entirely.
Marquise (to the Count): When are you going to release me? Your hand is so hot.
Prelate (gallantly): But yours is even more burning, you little wench.
(He has brought it up her thigh so gradually that she has not noticed it. But now she is aware of a certain significant tapping. Now her pulse is beating madly. With a fiery look in her eyes, she quickly removes the hand with which she has been massaging herself as well as him. Her face is a bright red.)
Countess: What are you two doing? No sense of shame at all! If you want to be alone...(She opens the door to the boudoir.)
Marquise: You are crazy to think that. Especially in the condition that I'm in. What sensitive man would ever. . .
Prelate (stands up and laughs. After circling the room again, he sings): The curse is broken! (Then fanning himself with his hat, he makes comical gestures which cause the women to laugh heartily.) Now, listen to me. We are going to spend the evening together at my apartment on the boulevard.
Countess: And all these preliminaries for your proposal?
Prelate: Let me speak out first. (To the Marquise): Queen of my heart, with these jokes I wanted to make sure before making the suggestion that continence is the right thing for you in your condition. Had I come right out with this question, you undoubtedly would have said you don't want anything, you don't need anything, and that such a thing is abominable. Then I would have contradicted you, which would have made you stubborn. I would have caused vexation instead of entertainment, and my plan would have failed. Consequently, I proceeded more cautiously and I learned what I needed to know at the right place. I examined your temperament, for your reason or bias would certainly have lied.
Countess: That is not too dumb, I think.
Prelate (to the Marquise): The mercury in a thermometer does not react more violently if ice or burning coals are placed next to it than your pulse did at my words. In other words, the word pleasure boiled your blood and morals cooled it immediately. From that I could determine without any magic that if I proposed some lusty entertainment for the evening, I would not get a refusal but your hearty approval, for it is evident that you require an injection, a strong injection, from a powerful man. Since I am always at your service...
Countess (interrupting): What you are trying to say is that you are ready to cross the Red Sea.
Prelate: I had something like that in mind, Countess. The great Moses, who takes a pleasure in such a passage, is at my home. In addition, this gentleman is one of the few on this earth who has a particular imagine to dip into the purple of Aphrodite.
Marquise: Just listen to that! Is he trying to fool us?
Prelate: It is no fairy tale. All you have to do is appear at my apartment, pretending that you are singers or musicians. After all, you wanted to go to Madame Couplet's as whores.
Countess: We'll be ready with our music. And then what?
Prelate: I'll take you to my apartment where I'll introduce you to a philosopher six feet tall with broad shoulders like this....(He stretches out his arms.) He is a Bohemian, speaks Latin like Cicero as well as German, but he doesn't know a word of French.
Marquise: All right. What are we supposed to do with this statue?
Prelate: That is your man, Baron Adolph, a deep thinker, erudite although a bit pedantic, but as strong as Samson and as passionate as the founder of the Carmelites. He got it in his head that the period when a woman is in heat...
Countess: Heat?
Prelate: I beg your forgiveness, ladies, but that is the expression he uses. In this connection, he makes no differentiation between woman and beast.
Countess: A real gentleman!
Prelate: Whether he is right or wrong, he is convinced that this period is the voice of nature and that to have sex at any other time results in the deterioration of the character and the corruption of morals.
Marquise: If he is a fool, at least he is a unique one.
Prelate: You'll understand him better if I give you an example of his remarkable partiality. Like a setter dog, he has a nose for women in the condition I mentioned, and he got a sniff of my seductive Zinga....
Countess: Whom? Zinga?
Prelate (warming up to his story): Yes, my cute, dear, delightful Negress whose body is as black, firm and shiny as ebony.
Countess (bored): That's going a little far. But continue.
Prelate: He pounces on her. The poor thing is as little able to get away from Adolph as a partridge is from the claws of a falcon. She is so frightened as she lies on the floor that she cannot even scream. Nevertheless, as I am at my desk in the adjoining room writing a letter, I hear an infernal racket for the Baron is no sneak. At first, I think somebody has stumbled and broken all his bones. As a good Samaritan, I hurried in...And what met my eyes? My sweet little beloved being raped. He was working on her like a maniac. Does he notice me? Does he answer me? Does he get off her? No. He keeps thrusting it into her furiously. It seems that he is going to split her open. He bites her, pants, screams, and finally releases an effusion that seems never to end. Only when he was finished did he condescend to pay me any heed. "That is nature, Monsieur," he calls to me with a glitter in his eyes, foam at his mouth, and the spear still in her. Then he begins to pierce her anew. I sigh in vain over the sad fate of my poor Zinga who is being treated so harshly. With resignation I regard my luxuriously covered divan that is being dirtied by two kinds of filth. Should 1 attempt to drive him off? But I realize that I have as little chance as a snowball being roasted in hell. What to do?
Countess: It seems that your running in there did not change anything.
Prelate: But it is always diverting to regard such follies. I just hope that he did not make my little sweetheart pregnant. She is as fertile as a rabbit.. He brings children into the world everywhere and if one reproaches him, he is beside himself with joy and just cries: "All the better, for that is nature." He has been thrashed more than twenty times because of his heroic deeds, but he has always remained true to his slogan: "I have fulfilled the desire of God and removed man's original sin."
Countess: What a character!
Prelate: Since that amuses you, I'll tell you another similar anecdote about him. He was in Switzerland, where he enjoyed a certain reputation because of his moral uprightness. Everywhere he had a friendly reception and he preached on the side his unusual doctrine. As a result of his brilliant eloquence, he was able to convert to his ideas five or six girls from the canton Of Vaud. These maidens were intelligent enough to recognize the advantages of his system and they benefited from the blessings of the alleged periods of nature. Not one failed to pay for man's sin and accomplish the will of God with full bellies. There followed a frightful scandal and official investigations. The poor women were dragged to the Church Council, locked up, shorn of their hair, and disgraced. Apostle Adolph was prosecuted as a seducer. Even though some members of the Council defended him by claiming that he was nothing but a poor fool, he was expelled from the country. Wouldn't you think that after all those sad experiences he would have learned his lesson and started to behave like a civilized person? But no! Instead of pitying the poor Swiss girls for whose lamentable fate he was responsible, he was of the opinion that they were happy for having carried out God's will. As h& crossed the border into France, he was singing: "Following nature is the supreme duty."
Countess: That's all well and good, but how did you ever come across that eccentric?
Prelate: Because he is one of the most gifted musicians Prague ever produced. You know how much I like music. Well, a friend spoke to me about him and recommended him most highly. I engaged him immediately with the stipulation, naturally, that he keeps his hands off Zinga. I am not of a jealous nature and I would have gladly turned over to him the rest of my little harem, but a creature like Zinga is so perfect and so rare. Oh! if she gets off this time without fulfilling the wish of God, I swear that he will never have her again. I'll see to that.
Countess: Are we to see the African masterpiece tonight?
Prelate: If you want to, why not? And the rest of my little group, too. But it wasn't just because of that that I asked you to come this evening. I was thinking that we would just make music. I have arranged everything. Both of you can easily make Adolph believe that you are singers. That is necessary. Otherwise he will not feel so comfortable at the recital as at the other one I have planned. But have no worry. He will be delightful and charming.
Marquise: But I am out of voice.
Prelate: Oh, it'll come back.
Marquise (giving him a shove): Enough of such nonsense. I am serious. I haven't sung a note in six weeks. And besides, you know what condition I'm in.
Prelate: I'll be satisfied with two songs from you.
Marquise (sarcastically): How nice of you.
Prelate: And from the lovely Countess, only two piano pieces.
Countess: Many thanks. But at the beginning, I'm going to play one instrument only.
Prelate: That's the only one I have in the boulevard apartment. I hope you're not disappointed.
Countess: Secondly, I insist that Zamor accompanies me. If you agree, I'll consent to a sonata of my favorite Boccherini and anything else you may like.
Prelate: Of my beloved Clementi?
Countess: Of course.
Prelate (slyly): Monsieur Zamor is...that big Negro, who...
Countess:...who delights me as greatly as I am sure your incomparable Zinga does you.
Prelate: Nobody doubts that. The poor little thing can only tune instruments. I'll lay the fiddle bow at the feet of the illustrious Monsieur Zamor.
Countess: You know as well as I that it is all a matter of practice.
Marquise: And what will your good friend Adolph be doing in the meantime?
Prelate: He'll captivate you with the dulcet tones of his harp. When he plays, you think you are hearing the magic flute. He will improvise on the piano so that you will believe you are hearing Apollo with his lyre. You will be delighted. No feast, but just a delicious collation with punch and wine. There will also be Bishop to drink.
Countess: I know and like punch and wine, but I have never had the pleasure of tasting Bishop.
Prelate: Well, you are going to enjoy that magnificent beverage. Dear Adolph will have the honor of offering it to you.
Countess (To the Marquise): Please. I don't want to see the fellow even though I have consented to hear about him.
Prelate (to the Marquise): If you don't mind, the pulse once more. (He takes it and finds that she almost has a fever.) That's fine.
Marquise: You have told us everything possible and impossible about your favorite except one thing and it seems that you have purposely omitted it: What does he look like?
Prelate: I was waiting for you to ask me that.
Marquise (interested): Yes?
Prelate: His face is like that of a Greek god. Flawless, magnificent teeth.
Countess: Stop! I take back what I said. (To the Marquise): You'll let me have a little bit of him, won't you? (In her ear): And I'll give you a piece of Zamor.
Prelate (who could not have understood what the Countess meant): Are you saying something nasty again?
Marquise (laughing): Quite the opposite, but it is funny.
(She goes mincingly to the mirror to regard herself. At the same time, the Prelate leaves the room to give his servants instructions for the coming evening.)
Countess: You can say what you want, but there is hardly a Frenchman more amiable than that German.
Marquise (enthusiastically): Yes, I like him enormously.
Countess: What a change of heart! Just before dinner, you were quite indifferent about him.
Marquise: Can you blame me, my dear? Music, Adolph, punch, Bishop, Zamor...more things than necessary to turn a silly little head like mine.
Countess: I bet that the thought of my Zamor contributes to that feeling.
Marquise: Well, you offered him to me.
Countess (laughing): That I don't deny. But how about Belamour while we are away?
Marquise (absent-mindedly): Oh yes, the poor fellow. He can take a rest. That'll be the best, don't you think?
Countess (playfully threatening the Marquise): You little hussy. So you want to pass yourself off' as being better than me.
Prelate (returning): In two hours everything will be ready. Would you like to gamble a little in the meantime?
Countess: I was thinking of that. Marquise: I suppose it is the best way to pass the time.
(The Prelate rings for the cards and the table. The game is listless, although the ladies play their cards carefully. Perhaps on purpose or perhaps through bad luck, the Prelate loses twenty louis which he cheerfully pays, mentioning gallantly how much he had enjoyed himself. As the appointed hour comes and the game breaks up, the Prelate suggests that the women be taken to his apartment in his carriage while he himself takes the Marquise's fast trap. They agree. As soon as they have gone, he seeks out Felipe and Nicole in their rooms and tells them to be ready to meet their mistress during the evening somewhere where she would have need of them.
The young women promise not to go out and to await instructions. After making sure of them, the Prelate hurries to the residence of his cousins. They are not at home, but with the information obtained from the servants, he tracks them down to a famous jewelry shop where they are making purchases. Although they said they had been planning to go to the theatre and then return home to go to bed early to rest up for the fatiguing day ahead, the Prelate coaxes them to join his party. He praises the excellence of the concert to be given, which would be at least as good as a comedy. Also, he promises them they can leave at midnight if they want to. Under these conditions, they accept. So that they cannot back out at the last moment, he keeps them occupied with him until all is in readiness. Sending the carriage to the Marquise's maids, he gives the driver a note telling them to be ready in an hour.
After completing all these preparations, the Prelate and his cousins hasten to his apartment where Adolph has already warmly welcomed the Marquise and the Countess. With sign language, for he does not know French, he expresses his delight at the forthcoming concert and his pleasure at meeting the ladies. For their part, the Marquise and the Countess find him very attractive.
As they are underway, the Prelate paints a fetching picture of the Marquise and her friend to his cousins. "They are outstanding virtuosi from a big city in the provinces. At first, you'll have to be careful how you treat them, but I assure you that in the end you will have no reason to complain of them. Women of the theatre are, of course, no paragons of virtue. Later will appear two young women who, while not up to the first two in talent, are every bit their equal in physical charms."
Finally, he requests his cousins to maintain their incognito and mingle with the others as if they were also performers. "It should not be hard for you to pretend to be musicians, for every German has studied music. In this art, we Germans are supreme."
In order that everything should work out as planned, the Prelate has come to an understanding with the Marquise and the Countess that the maids would be treated as equals.
The reader will be spared a description of the Prelate's opulent apartment and its sybaritic appointments.
At the gathering, the Prelate uses the name of George Muller and the cousins Wilhelm von K. and Friedrich von W.)
Prelate (in the tone of an elegant courtier): I regret exceedingly, miladies, that I have made you wait, but I wanted very much to enable these gentlemen (he gives their assumed names) to have the pleasure of hearing your art.
Wilhelm: We would have fallen on our knees in order that His Excellency would grant us this favor. (He casts an amorous look at the Marquise.)
Countess (glancing at Friedrich): Now it's your turn, Monsieur. Certainly, you must have something flattering to say. But please make your speech a little longer in order that we may have time to improvise a pretty acknowledgement.
Friedrich: I humbly beg your pardon, Madame, but I am no orator. Please do not take it amiss, if I have my thoughts...and keep my silence.
(The Countess has no reason to feel complimented, but nonetheless she smiles sweetly at the speaker. Then she gaily turns to her friend, whispering something naughty in her ear, giving rise to that air with which women, without appearing to do it purposely, know how to display to the best advantage all the grace of their movements and the play of their expressions.
Now, preparations are being made for the concert. Wilhelm is tuning his violin and Friedrich is blowing a few notes on his flute. A number of musicians in livery with their instruments gather around the piano. Not one of them is French. The Prelate and one of his servants have the seats of first violin; George and Zamor second; Adolph and two others the basses. Violas, horns and all else: nothing is omitted. First a Hayden symphony is performed with feeling, warmth, and skill. During the recital, the two women, who were the only ones not performing, discuss in undertones the new theories of love, and especially Adolph's. Besides, they make fun of the whim of their friend who can give a full-fledged orchestral concert in his home, so much does he care about music. Such a reaction is quite natural with French women, for although they like music and even understand it, they lack the passion of the Germans for the art.
Now the two friends start wondering what is coming next. The Countess comments that she is glad that the recital will not last more than an hour, even though it is very pleasant. The Marquise gazes with glittering eyes at the handsome Adolph, who stands out in the ensemble. He has turned her head. The Countess as we know is always interested in anything new and she is sure that she will not lack for pleasure in the course of the evening. This premonition causes her an inner delirium of delight.
Here the reader may complain that all these details are superfluous. This is so if he is unfeeling to the power of music. Nevertheless, if he is of the opinion that there is a very real relationship between human emotions, in which nature permits us from time to time to forget the difficulties of our existence, he will recognize from the example of Venus and Apollo that good music is a superb prelude for the game of love. The reader can be sure that the Prelate was well aware of the effect of the music on his highly inflammable guests.
I shall not give a detailed description of the entire concert in which everyone gave flawless performances. In spite of being "out of voice," the Marquise sang like an angel and the Countess brought out the finest nuances of Rameau in her piano appearance. Adolph was astounded because, deceived by their relative indifference to the orchestral works, he thought that the women possessed only mediocre talent. Friedrich played the flute so magnificently that his emperor, Frederick the Great, would have applauded. But surpassing all was Adolph on the harp, the tones of which nearly brought tears to the eyes of the Countess. The concert ended as it began with a delightful symphony. After the uniformed musicians had withdrawn, the guests, among whom were now Nicole and Felipe, repaired to a salon where candles emitted delicate aromas.
Scarcely had they crossed the threshold than they saw a luxurious drape open and beyond the Count's favorite Negress, Zinga, standing before an obscene painting. She is wearing an ermine trimmed gown with a train and her high piled hair is richly adorned with feathers and jewels. Zamor, whom the Prelate had asked to remain to assist his ravishing countrywoman in serving, is standing before an enormous tureen filled to the brim with a punch that tastes like nectar. With grace and charm, she fills the glasses which Zamor passes around. To go with this delicious drink, there is a table loaded with delicacies of every sort. The men are zealous in helping Zinga to do the pouring and in serving the ladies. The Prelate sets the tone in charm and cheerfulness in preparation for the excesses which are to follow.
Felipe and Nicole, who are treated with every bit as much respect as their mistresses, adjust themselves quickly to the unaccustomed situation.
The punch is followed by the Bishop, a fiery beverage which the insidious Prelate had prepared from a secret recipe. The women immediately feel its effects. After the second glass, their sensuality is so stimulated that they can barely contain themselves. It is not long before it works on the men. Both sexes are now so aroused that the slightest spark would set off the blaze. It is only a question of who is going to start the conflagration. Zamor, who has momentarily disappeared, returns bearing a large but not heavy package, which he places in the center of the room.
The Countess eagerly opens it and finds chemises of the finest linen, silk trousers, transparent gauze scarves, sashes and other colorful clothing, but all in matching pairs.
Prelate: I believe it is superfluous, my friends, to explain for what purpose I have had these things brought here.
Countess (promptly): For my part, I don't need any costume, but just to please you, I'm going to put on my uniform right now. (She hastily begins to divest herself of her clothes.
Prelate (delighted): I hope the others will follow your example.
Countess: Here I am, my dear Count.
(She lets her dress fall to her feet and stands nude before him. This unexpected act delights the gathering but none is encouraged to do the same. She becomes indignant.)
Countess (in a bad temper but in a peremptory voice): Come on, now. Don't be so embarrassed.
(Now she has unbuttoned Friedrich's trousers, ripped open the bodice of the Marquise, and snapped off two buttons from Adolph's pants.
Simultaneously, the Prelate undresses Felipe while Zamor performs the same service for Nicole. Adolph, whose magnificent member has broken out of its hiding-place at the lascivious sight of the Countess and which the Marquise regards with meaningful eyes, is encouraged by the example of the others and plays the role of valet. He is not as adept with the Marquise as she is with him. Nothing could be more piquant than this undressing tableau in which hands are busily engaged in trying to disgarb their partners as quickly as possible. The Countess did not even have on her comb which held her luxurious hair. She lets the golden tresses fall down her back and over the cheeks of her derriere of which she is so vain. When the Prelate notes that George is rather shy about laying hands on Zinga and that she is unwilling to allow herself to be stripped without the permission of her master, he encourages the dilatory pair with a nod and cries: "It is all right, Zinga. I want it that way." The young nobleman gives his cousin a furtive glance which appears to say that he is not overly enthusiastic about the dusky charms of the Negress. This reluctance which the Prelate takes as lack of taste so irritates him that he shrugs his shoulders and calls back to his relative: "You numbskull! If you only knew!"
The petite Negress is not resentful of the snub, Which she hardly merited. On the contrary, she is taken by a praiseworthy zeal to undress the bashful cousin. When she reaches down to the trousers, she hastens to tike into her hand the love instrument which she caresses, fondles, kisses, and then presses to her b^som. This unmistakable evidence of a good heart arid a passionate nature so incites the volcanic Countess that she momentarily abandons cousin Friedrich with whom she was paired to run over to Zinga. Embracing her in her arms, she kisses her with tongue, removes the last vestiges of her clothing, fondles her curves, rains kisses on her, and does what she has been doing with the man who had the advantage of white skin. Soon all is ready for battle in the sense that the Countess understands it.)
Prelate (who sees that combat is imminent): Stop, my friends. This is not the right arena. We have to go into another room.
(At the same time, he opens a door. The guests are now in a chamber scented with delicate aromas and illuminated with low-burning candles. The decoration offers painting and sculpture in the most erotic presentations. But for furniture there is nothing but a very low, oversize bed wonderfully suited to the combats consecrated to Venus and a number of pillows carelessly scattered here and there on a thick, luxurious rug. Four huge mirrors facing one another endlessly reflect the objects in the room. Leading off from the chamber are two adjoining rooms. In the one tinkles a fountain of ancient marble. To be found there are various toilet articles: linen, perfumed soap, essences, oils, pomades, and everything for the most fastidious. In the other and in equal profusion are available tonics, restorative medicines, amber pastilles, aphrodisiacs, and French ticklers.
As soon as they are in the salon, there is heard the resounding blare of a trumpet, the signal for the start of the fray.
First, Adolph throws the Marquise, who is panting with desire, on one of the pillows. Her critical condition meeting his strange theory seems worthy of the preference to the musical philosopher. A proud stud could not attack with more enthusiasm an impatient mare than Adolph does the Marquise with his unbelievable lance. The musician, roaring with lust, pitilessly bores her with a single thrust up to the hilt and swims in the bloody spring. That is to his taste, his bliss, and his preferred perversion.
The Prelate turns over Felipe whom he had first seized, either out of politeness or out of his irresistible inclination to Zinga, to his cousin George who seems to be lusting after her. He spreads three of the pillows in a row and placing the dainty lady's maid on them, he besprinkles her with his sweet sap to their mutual satisfaction.
Although the bed was specially constructed for amorous combat, it creaks under the powerful jerks and jolts of the other couples. Zamor is savagely working on the heaving body of Nicole; the reader already knows in what manner the diabolic Countess is driving Friedrich into a frenzy; and the Prelate is engaged in a fiery spirited duel with his true love, the enchanting African! What turbulence! What an uproar of passion! What billows of lust! Where can be found an historian, even if he were worthy of putting down the annals of fucking mankind, who could find the words to describe the half-stifled sobs, the cries of approval and encouragement, the shrieks and sighs, and the twistings and writhing of our ten actors? The reader is recommended to use his imagination rather than have his fantasy limited by this dry, written description.
After the first stirring chords of music so suitable to the initial fiery assault, an andante is heard, during which the Herculean Adolph stabs the bleeding Marquise a second time. It is in vain that she tries to make him withdraw after this double accomplishment and to make him understand that she wants a moment of respite to cleanse herself. Lacking the gallantry to comply with her wish, the negative nod of his head shows that he will have at least three conquests before he will be dissuaded from his bloody deeds. Perhaps it is the presto of the music that urges him on.
The Prelate has already taken leave of the petite Negress. After being inundated twice and having taken her revenge an equal number of times, the Countess has climbed down from Friedrich. On the other hand, Zamor is seeking to emulate Adolph and encouraging her to a third bout. She refuses. He penetrates her. She vigorously resists and gets angry so that it almost appears that she doesn't want to continue the pleasure in the embraces of a vulgar servant. With a sudden powerful shove, with which she throws the black out of the saddle, she rolls to one side and finds herself on top of Friedrich, who has been free for a few seconds. When he cuddles her in his arms, Zamor gives up.
At this moment, George, who at the outset had been very impassioned but not very able, abandons Felipe in the middle of the second assault. Although he had not reached his goal, she did have her flow. The good-hearted girl who wants still more and strives with all her might to receive her partner is heartbroken that she is left so alone. Zamor, from whose attention nothing escapes in matters of passion, quickly perceives the cause of Felipe's distress. He skillfully takes the place of the departed George and substitutes so well that she has scarcely time to notice the interruption and to break her movements. But she has to change her position and speed her tempo, for instead of the lazy toy with which she had just been amusing herself, she now feels within her a fiery and impatient guest....Oh, what a deep sigh is wrung from her breast when she becomes aware of the blessed difference! A sweet shudder announces the speedy return of lust which the previous cessation of activity had driven away. Felipe is overjoyed. She shuts her eyes, raises and drops her haunches, rocks Zamor back and forth, groans, opens her flood-gates, and expires. What was it that caused the valiant Negro to sacrifice his seed to the goddess of passion at the precise same moment? This is the question asked by the suspicious donor of his companion as his thick brown lips fearfully and humbly approach the rosy mouth of the angelic Felipe.)
Felipe: Conquer me a thousand times, wonderful Zamor! Your kiss is no saucy theft. You have not desecrated this coral mouth whose divine tongue seeks yours and whose passionate sighs sink deep into your heart, pleading with you to take advantage again of my weakness. At your first movement, two lily-white arms will be around your body, pressing you close to me. Thighs, whose velvety skin, gentle warmth, and unbridled tremblings would inflame the most frigid man, will squeeze your haunches. The calves crossed over your back give you an idea in advance of the bliss that awaits you. Courage, my friend, we are off! Do your best. But I should pay some attention to the others. Which ones? My eyes are drawn everywhere. Where shall I let them rest? Over there I see Adolph and the Marquise. Aren't they ever going to call it quits?
Felipe (continuing): Good! I spot Nicole sitting on that sober-faced Friedrich. She's looking at him with such a suspicious expression that I believe she is trying to determine whether her greedy predecessor has left him enough for another gallant performance. Now she is smiling. No doubts any more. But why is she suddenly turning around? Apparently because her piquant face and her superb bosom had received their homage, and now she wishes to let her flawless derriere and her luxurious tresses be admired....But what do I see? She looks furious and seems to be threatening Friedrich. That doesn't go with the movement of her hand which I see guiding the Baron's spear into the center of pleasure....
Aha! I have it. The supposed chamberlain is at a court, which is pleased with his reputation. The gallant courtier sees not without the greatest astonishment this unique stunning hemisphere which is spread over his love spear. He has placed himself in such a way as if he does not notice the nymph's movements, and instead of entering the main gate as is usual, he is mistakenly knocking at the rear entrance. They still do not understand each other and are becoming stubborn. Each wants to have his own way. I said so. Good-bye, Monsieur the Protestant, you are given your leave because you didn't get along.
Felipe (continuing): But take consolation, my dear Friedrich. The Countess, who is noted for her big heart, has foreseen the outcome, coming out of the washroom. Although she has something else on her mind, concerning the seductive Zinga, she takes a lively interest in your case. She will attempt to assuage your pain without having to give up her own plans. It's just a matter of tonguing Zinga, which she is most eager to do, and for nothing in the world will she forgo such pleasure. But what is stopping her from gratifying this desire and gladdening you at the same time?
Look, Monsieur Friedrich, Zinga is already lying down and being titillated by the most skillful o tongues! What means that wink the Lesbian just gave you? What does it mean, also, that she is wiggling ha backside as if beckoning you? Why, she is waiting for you! Two arenas are open to you, and you have only to choose. Since Nicole did not permit you one last essay try your luck here. I bet that you will have better fortune!
(Friedrich leaps toward the rounded object of his desires. As a connoisseur, his choice is not the usually traveled path, but the other. As soon as he is in the feminine derriere, he automatically looks for that which is lacking to a woman. What a ridiculous figure he makes. The Countess laughs so hard that she momentarily interrupts the amorous service she is doing Zinga. Turning to Friedrich, who has revealed himself to be a lover of his own sex, she maliciously tells him: "It's a shame that I don't have one, too. If I did, I certainly would place it at your disposal!"
The taunt does not daunt the Prussian, who tries to cover up his error by pretending that he finds the golden muscle delightful. Unacquainted as he is with feminine topography, he is unable to find the seat of lust. Finally, abandoning the attempt to find the magic spot by himself, he allows his fingers to be guided there. In the end, everything is in order. The little flirt is hugely amused by the incident. As the finger gradually begins to perform its task more deftly, the ardent Lesbian experiences something of the rapture she is bestowing on her pupil. Pupil? Who? Zinga, of course, for the innocent girl realizes that she owes these delicious moments I to the love play of a woman, and it is the first time. What a rich source of ineffable pleasures! She is overjoyed. In the frenzy that this unsuspected novelty has driven her to, she twists and writhes with passion, scratches the cushions like an enraged cat, and brings forth strange sounds in her native language. Perceiving the fiery effect on the Negress, the Countess fans the flames higher without paying any attention to the German. Mouth to mouth, bosom to bosom, mound on mound, they palpitate and shake until for a time they form one existence.
The grateful Zinga is the first to recover her senses. It is now her turn to repay the favor. Like a fish in water, she slinks under her friend and slithers to the entrance of the furnace. The German's finger is dislodged from the shrine, for the intelligent pupil has just found out what should be in there instead. During these maneuvers, all of her charms are exposed to the idle Friedrich. She is kneeling with her legs spread, her heels under her buttocks, and her torso erect. For an easy entrance, it is difficult to imagine a more advantageous position, and Friedrich has no intention of letting the opportunity escape. Without wasting a second, he thrusts his dagger into his favorite hole up to the hilt. Fortunately, he has not suffered too much in his encounter with the Countess, for he still has the required strength and rigidity. As Zinga's tongue busily darts in and out of the grotto to give her the bliss she has just enjoyed, George coming out of the toilet passes by. Although the blond youth does not possess a particularly seductive penis-because of the cold water, it has withdrawn into the foreskin-the delirious Countess seizes it and pulls it and him to her and forces him to sit before her. Taking the limp toy in her mouth, she commences to breathe back life into it, not a difficult task in view of her skill. Within two minutes, it is back to its pristine size and stiffness. Enough of this delightful group.
I see the Marquise finally free of the embraces of the insatiable Adolph. She is hastening to the bath, for she has an urgent need to...If one did not know her condition, one would think she had suffered a deep cut and was hurrying to put a bandage on it.
Walking over there is Zamor, whom the good Felipe follows with her eyes. Out of the goodness of her heart, she has allowed him a moment to leave in order to wash off their combined sex distillations. But why didn't she accompany him? Does she have less need of cleansing than he? No, not at all. She is still in a half-; faint, and she feels so good. And Zamor's return promises her new delights. But will he come back? Alas, no.
The Marquise is seized with the whim to hold him back and request a service of him. "Come over here, Zamor. I am all in. Do me the favor of washing me." The Negro obeys. Paying especial attention to her intimate parts, he bathes her with the skill to be expected of a servant trained by the Countess. When he is finished, she carefully regards him from head to foot and finds him superb. "Sit here on the bowl," she orders him as she smiles at him. Now she pours water on his froth-covered member as if joking. It becomes flabby, but it is still impressive. She cannot help but take it in her hand. How beautiful it is! Yes, such a rod is worth more than its weight in gold. Not only does she pet and stroke it, but she sprinkles and cleans it. The loveliest hands in the world have squeezed and washed it; they rub it, rinse it, and dry it with the finest batiste. A prince would have felt himself flattered if the Marquise had done to him what she is doing to a humble servant. Servant? What a shame! Every race has its beauties, but Zamor has everything: health, strength, and, on top of that, intelligence. No common clod, he knows how to give and receive the highest bliss. He is every inch the equal of a nobleman.
While the vain Marquise is thus philosophizing, she cedes to her carnality and persuades herself that it is not wrong to avail herself of the seductive black. Through many little signs of her favor, she encourages him to make the advance himself. After they have finished washing themselves, any difference in their social standings is a hypocrisy. With a bold hand, Zamor follows the secret valley running from front to back and gently enters the two little chasms.
The hand that takes the same path on his body and grazes the deposit of virility with which nature so richly endowed him merely imitates what his is doing. If this tantalizing game goes on much longer, there will surely be a mutual copious gush that can be utilized for better purposes....It is high time to think of that and to stop the dangerous dalliance....Fire is flashing in their eyes, coming out in their hot breath. The Marquise, straightening up, places one of her lovely arms around the nape of his neck and presses his head close to her two divine pearl-shaped breasts which he seems to be gulping down with his eyes. The most delightful of all shells seeks at the same time his powerful member which now is as hard as steel. What a moment for the Negro, who for so long had racked his brains as to how to accomplish the impossible, how to satisfy his most ardent desire, to obtain from the reserved Marquise that which the Countess so freely squandered on him. Intoxicated by his unexpected fortune and happy as a god, perhaps even more so, Zamor leaps up, strides into the salon, and proudly displays his conquest. The radiantly smiling Marquise, impaled on him, feels as if she is on a triumphal chariot. Looking over everything that is to be seen in the chamber, they find nothing that can possibly exceed their own happiness. Yes, isn't such a moment the finest victory of a beautiful woman?
Zamor, who perceives what pleasure it gives her to be honored in such a way, deliberately walks around with her still glued to him, pauses before each mirror, approaches all the entwined couples, and, taking a firm hold of the cheeks of her bottom, rocks her so powerfully that it won't be long before the pump will gush; out its life-bringing fluid.
Yet a delicious incident is about to impede this piquant enjoyment. The Prelate, who has been unoccupied for several minutes, believes that Zamor, while he is carrying the symmetrical orbs in a position so favorable to the connoisseur, will be happy if someone will relieve him of half his burden without diminishing his pleasure in the slightest. Our enthusiastic ass-amateur is immediately behind the dearly loved object. Two restorative pastilles lend him momentarily a strength! not inferior to his hankering itch. There is little doubt that he will distinguish himself in the violent attack and remain master of the field. But he has made his plan without taking Zamor into account. Despite all the respect he has for the master of the house and host of the party, he cannot bring himself to go halves with him. Of course, he has no wish to refuse him impolitely or be discourteous. All he wants is to frustrate the designs of the lewd Prelate without his being aware of it.
Every time his rod is at the aperture and he thinks that he is about to effect entrance, it is dislodged with a barely perceptible nudge. This charming conflict degenerates into a merry pastime which amuses even the one who is being hoaxed. The Marquise helps with every conceivable naughty trick. Outwardly it seems that she is not on Zamor's side and if it were not for him, she would be accommodating to the Prelate. But the two understand each other perfectly. If Zamor stops shaking her for a moment, she pinches together the cheeks of her derriere so that the valley is inaccessible. Then he again thwarts the Prelate's hopes when the eternally tantalizing Callipygean Venus seems about to surrender.
Seeing a free place on the huge bed, the Marquise throws herself backwards down on it, taking Zamor with her. The black understands perfectly what is meant.
Now begins in earnest the battle in which the combatants struggle so furiously that the spectators are stunned. As they wonder at the spirited conflict, their down fires are relit, encouraging them to renewed efforts. Nothing more ravishing can be imagined than these two entwined bodies, each a masterpiece of its sex and race.
Be careful, Zamor! The moment of bliss is precisely the one which the crafty Prelate has chosen for his revenge. Didn't you refuse beforehand to concede to him what he wanted? Now you have to suffer for the Marquise. The temperamental pederast has changed his goal. Now it is your dark bronze behind that inflames his desire. You couldn't have foreseen what was planned for you. It is no longer in your power to resist. Held tightly by your ecstatic wanton and glued by her electrifying kisses in the giddiness of the passions so long desired, you will not disturb such raptures from a sense of pride and you will surrender a barren portion of your body.
But what am I saying? It would be a mistake if you did not hold still. Just think, if you are still able to think, that what is being done to you has to be to your benefit. You will soon find out. The Marquise profits from it since she feels herself on the verge of a second crisis and knows the instrument of her lust has lost nothing of its power and elongation. Who knows if the Prelate has not prolonged your bliss by this offering? You have his gracious treachery to thank for the extraordinary perseverance which does you such great honor and which plunges you into such bliss.
Something else comes up to enliven the scene. Who is the dainty monster, who, to the stirring chords of a galop, comes furiously with the proud feature of the god Priapus below the bosom of Venus?
We are forced to laugh at the curious contrast between the dazzling white of a devastatingly lovely body ( and the dirty brown of a leather dildo. How grateful we 1 are that nature in its bounty did not in reality provide such an attractive creature as Nicole with such a worthy instrument like the imitation! If there were such desirable men-women, what lovely lady would ever ! grant us men her favors? But where did she ever get j. this instrument which was fashioned so true to nature that it even has crinkly hair? And what is she going to do with it? "Oh, you little rascal," scolds the Prelate. "I didn't have that piece made for you. Give me back my helper."
"Well, you didn't have it made if you didn't intend to use it," she saucily retorts.
As a matter-of-fact, she has it around her in order to make her friend Felipe happy. After Zamor has been so perfidiously enticed away by her mistress and is now so occupied with her, the only thing she can do is get ready for new adventures. After a cooling douche in the bath, she returns to the salon, fresh as a rose, to await another suitor. Unfortunately, all are claimed except those whom she considers poor substitutes for the superlative Zamor. Adolph, misled by the deep red of the shell he spotted as she was washing herself, thinks he has come across another slit suitable for his sanguine tastes and tries to...
The first grip of his powerful hand causes her such pain that the delight in Felipe's charms is immediately extinguished, and she tears herself loose from the clumsy wooer. It is then that Nicole, rummaging through the box that had contained the clothing, comes across the special dildo Bricon had sold to the Marquise. It offers a good opportunity to occupy agreeably her friend to whom she owes so many amorous services. Nicole, burning with Lesbian lust, has closed the 'gates to pure pleasure in order to take her pleasure in another manner. Before Nicole comes, Felipe toys with ^he idea of giving in to the lewd solicitations of the prelate and letting him lick at her grotto for a few mordents. She lends herself to this game by spreading herself on top of Zamor who is still at work on the Marquise. With her arms, she forms a sort of bridge over the Negro's back and throws her spread thighs over the Prelate's shoulders so that his mouth can comfortably reach the requested crevice. In this unusual position, she has double delight, because she can see in the mirror the faces and the naked bodies of Zamor and the Marquise.
The group is ready. The passion of her maid arouses new desires in the Marquise who smiles tenderly at her. Every time Zamor lifts his buttocks to shove in more deeply his crowbar, he feels the pressure of two pneumatic breasts whose heat keeps rekindling his flames. At this moment when everything is functioning perfectly, the Prelate signals to Nicole who has nothing to do.
It can't be possible. Is he out of his mind? Is he requesting his helper? Yes, that is indeed what he wants. Nicole obligingly brings it to him. Yes, indeed. In her wantonness caused by another glass of the Bishop, she takes the old debauchee by the cheeks of his bottom and thrusts the false organ deep into his behind. The Prelate is now in a state of ecstasy that he has never been in before. All at the same time, he is active with Zamor, passive with Nicole, licking the tempting charms of Felipe, and now is being buggered. Mostly, the Prelate conserves his forces in order to be prepared for new enjoyments, but this time, he cannot spare his virility. His manhood is completely drained to the last drop. Nicole, conditioned to such happenings, feels the boiling hot liquid flowing over her fingers. She quickens the tempo, encouraging him with caresses and endearing words, and finally releases the warm milk with, which the dildo has been filled. The contentment of the! insatiable satyr is complete, especially when Felipe releases her flow on his face. Understanding the yearning expression on her face, the Prelate takes himself off the Negro, unties the dildo, and throws her on a cushion where he satisfies her the only way he is now capable! of, namely, with his tongue.
In the meantime, what is our dear Felipe doing? She is washing off the damp traces of her last adventure, fortifying herself with another glass of Bishop, and entering again the battlefield, ready to cross swords with the first adversary. Unfortunately, all the men are occupied or hors de combat. However, Nicole signals to Felipe as she lewdly rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. Soft-hearted Felipe goes to her and thinks it sufficient to give her a kiss which is lasciviously accepted. Grasping her with adroit strong hands, she pulls her to her breast, and forces her to let her perform the same benevolent act that the prurient Prelate has just done to her. Her position is such that Felipe finds herself with spread legs over Nicole, who is lying on her back with the Prelate at his task below. He has a superb view of the rounded contours of the delightful bottom and the curly tresses of pubic hair.
The Prelate is unable to decide which is the more enticing, the moist aperture that he is tonguing or the plump bottom that he is fucking with his eyes. The boundless rapture of the two friends is soon transmitted to the Prelate. Moreover, the aphrodisiacs he has taken are beginning to show their effect. He is burning with lust. In his frenzy, he tests his spear that has been idle too long. At this moment, Nicole, who has been palmed and contented, springs off her partner, leaving Felipe readily accessible to the Prelate. Only a slight motion is required to reach the dazzling derriere. She is to exhausted to resist.
As she resigns herself to what is to come, his rod which has regained all its former vigor penetrates her. Where? In the closest slit, the usual one. There, in that hospitable refuge, he experiences a bliss that is due not so much to the drugs as to Felipe's girlish vivacity. Taking care that the crisis does not come too precipitously, his first movements are slow and measured. This suits Felipe, who has a placid rather than a stormy temperament. What she is undergoing is the opposite of what she experienced with Zamor. Her voluptuousness is scarcely perceptible, but within it is increasing in intensity and consuming her. She is motionless. The only movement he can feel is the quiver of her clitoris which sways back and forth like a clock pendulum. Emptied as if by a suction pump, the Prelate still perceives no vibrations in her body. But what a bliss, what an ecstasy! Perhaps for the first time in his life, the Prelate decides to renounce the smelly channels which had been his preference and to return to normality. He admires how easy is the entrance and how alive the vagina is.
In the past, he had come across only frigid and dull women, to which he preferred the ardor of a Belamour or Zamor. Intensity of emotion, no matter how roused, was his goal. This is what drove him from perversion to perversion. And he considered an emission a waste of vitality with women.
Such considerations were running through his head as he was happily emptying himself in Felipe's elastic receptacle. Soon the maid felt that the organ had died in her. But, as she departs from the exhausted Prelate, she cannot but help smile at the sad condition of the once proud scepter and tease its owner. But she is not so cruel as to wound his vanity without giving him some consolation. As a farewell gift, she permits him to kiss the adorable nipples of her breasts, an offer which he eagerly takes advantage of.
The feats of those heroes and heroines, even aided by the Bishop and other restoratives, may sound exaggerated. But I know what young sailors just back from sea are capable of. No, I have described with exactitude, even though in dry prose, all that happened.
Linger a while longer in this temple of lust and love. There you can wonder at the insatiable Countess, giddy from the alcohol and the prevailing voluptuousness, who is trying to arouse Adolph's passions and seduce him. We shall see how she shamelessly lures him to a road he has never before traveled and how he eagerly commits all the perversions he once found so repulsive. As he happily wallows in the mire, he calls himself a
Pig-Now the philosopher assumes the roll of Socrates. His female Alcibiades is very proud of herself, calling all to witness the triumph of beauty over philosophy. Intoxicated by the victory, she seizes the timid Friedrich and offers him her rear aperture, which he takes advantage of in dog-fashion.
But the powers of the participants are beginning to wane. No longer do they hurl themselves on the first prey they find. Only the Countess seems inexhaustible. Abandoning Friedrich after he had made his sacrifice to her, she grabs the dildo which she never lost from sight, ties it on, and plunges it mercilessly into Nicole's yawning chasm. Her cries of pain and appeals for mercy are ignored. In fact, it seems to arouse the Countess to redoubled efforts. Now her irritation is turning to anger, and her temper is not improved when the spectators start to jeer at her. Struggling convulsively and furious that she is unable to free herself, she begins to pound the Countess's alabaster body with her fists until black and blue bruises appear on the skin. She pays no notice, returning the blows with renewed marks of affection and tenderness.
Finally shaking off her tormentor, she rises. As she does, the strap breaks, leaving the dildo in her. She pays it no attention as she runs wildly around the room. The sight is so comical that the Countess falls back on one of the cushions, literally howling with laughter. Taking pity on her, several of the men catch her and take her to an adjoining room where they put her to bed.
In the salon, only Zinga, the Marquise and Zamor seem ready for further sport. Zinga is busily engaged trying to resurrect her lover's limp instrument. Her hands proving ineffectual, she has to resort to her tongue. Even this produces no results.
In the meantime, the Marquise is taken by a imagine for George, who is sleeping as soundly as Endymion. As a latter-day Diana, she feels it is her duty to mount him. She wakes up the slumbering youth as she grasps his emptied tube. In her vanity, she is confident that she can quickly restore it to life, but the tender skilled hands work in vain. It remains stubbornly in its foreskin without even showing its head.
Zamor returns after a short absence and sees his beloved Marquise in a new light. Her backside sticking up in the air is so ravishing that it would have tempted even Adolph. Feeling that he could permit himself a little impertinence after so many valiant deeds, he sheaths his sword so promptly that she has no time to protest. Her bad temper and her commands for him to withdraw from that channel are to no avail. Finally, however, she makes the best of it and to her surprise, she finds pleasure in the new game. After this feat, the brigand disappears not to return.
Is this end of the revelries? Almost. There is the lewd Countess working on the moribund George. Did she not see him defy the most determined efforts of the Marquise? But that is precisely what appeals to her! Wouldn't that be a feat if she could restore to life such a refractory member? She bends to her task, and from the expression on her face, it is obvious that she is not going to give up. How deftly her fingers dance on his body! Is success going to crown her efforts? Already it stood up twice only to fall back. Now it is standing a third time. No, it is not going to go limp. It is becoming thicker, longer, and stiffer. Under the Countess's guidance, it finds its way to the aperture and enters.
Zinga, the Prelate and Friedrich clap their hands and cry bravo. The Marquise, inwardly chagrined at her friend's success, purses her mouth into a thin smile as if saying she also could have accomplished it had she really wanted to. She flatters herself that the youth will not be able to complete the job, but her hopes are dashed. The Countess's lubricious motions and obscene endearments spur him to a superhuman frenzy. Also, the spectators urge him on with their encouragements.
The fascinated Prelate enters the arena and tickles the soles of his feet with one hand and his testicles with the other. A finer member suddenly injected into the rear hole lifts him to a new delirium. After these propitious augurs, there is nothing to be feared. The crisis is approaching.
The Countess is the first to release her flow. Her convulsion is so violent that George's organ slips out and starts getting cold. Like a flash, Zinga is at his side, reviving it with her fingers and lips until it copiously splashes inside the Countess. When he withdraws, there
is more applause which the Countess graciously acknowledges with a slight curtsey.
A terrible thing ruins the finale of the orgy. Adolph, who was not accustomed to the treacherous liqueurs and who felt their effects to the full, had left the room as we already know. He had been overcome with a nausea and he had gone alone to his room. He felt as if he were suffocating. After the debilitating vomiting, he fell into a deep sleep. Unfortunately, he had placed the candle too close to the flimsy drapes which easily caught fire. The entire room was soon in flames. His attempts to stamp out the blaze are fruitless and he finally has to call for help. Indeed, he nearly lost his life when the walls started collapsing. Soon the whole quarter is alerted. Firemen with their equipment and the police quickly appear to save the house from ruin.
Imagine the consternation of our bacchantes as they find themselves in all their disarray under the stern, disapproving eyes of strangers. Such excitement could well be fatal to the Marquise in her condition. She promptly falls in a dead faint and it is some time before she comes to. The other women are no less confused. Only Zinga keeps her presence of mind, dashing back and forth to prevent looting.
In the confusion, Zamor is worth four ordinary men. At the risk of his life, he is on the roof doing what is necessary to prevent the spread of the blaze.
The Prelate and his cousins have their hands full with the women, comforting and dressing them and bringing them home. In spite of the sorry end to the celebration, the Prelate is not unduly downcast by his losses. "It couldn't be helped," he comments, shrugging his shoulders.)
End of the Fifth Part
PART SIX
The unfortunate conclusion to the Prelate's revelries had specially serious consequences for the Marquise. As we know, she was not feeling well at the end of the debauch. The shock had sobered her. When she arrived home, she was feeling decidedly ill. Her menstruation continued and the next day, she had fever.
Already a few days before the orgy, Felipe had complained of severe headaches, symptoms which she now had. A doctor was called for both the mistress and her maid. The doctor suspected smallpox or some other equally dangerous malady. As soon as she heard the word smallpox, the Marquise shuddered. There was nothing she so feared as this scourge to beauty. In spite of her delicate state of health, she gave orders that the house be closed for fumigation while she went to a country estate.
But this precaution proved to be futile. Along with Felipe, the Marquise contracted the dreaded disease. The germ was in her blood and soon manifested itself in the worst form.
It goes without saying that Felipe, whom the Marquise fearfully sent away, was not taken along. Nicole and Belamour were to do the necessary chores and services. In this hour of trial, the two showed a touching devotion to their mistress. Although she was a cantankerous patient, they treated her with understanding and care. Their onerous task, however, was alleviated by the revival of their former love which occurred automatically due to the closeness of their life.
They alone were permitted entry into the room of the Marquise, who from the third day of the infection had her beauty so fearfully ravished that she was almost insane. Her two servants no longer felt it necessary to lavish care on her. Moreover, they were sure that she no longer was aware of what was happening around her. Consequently, the happy pair insouciantly gave themselves up to their loves and passions. Far from forbidding the amorous pastimes which the Marquise suspected, she took a certain vicarious pleasure in them. True amateurs of love never take amiss such activity and never interrupt it.
So went life until came one of those happenings which change the course of events.
The very day the Marquise arrived at her villa, two Capuchin monks appeared. One was a venerable priest, expert in obtaining donations, and the other a beardless novice. Their appearance could have been on purpose or by accident, but in accordance with the rules of their order, they were seeking funds for their monastery.
Although the Marquise's looks had considerably changed for the worse, she was as lovely as an angel to the lusty priest. In his wanderings through the region in search of charity, he had acquired a certain talent for dealing with women. (Also, it will be learned that the poor monk was cut from a certain cloth highly prized by the fair sex.) Never had he come across a lady who could compare with the charms of the Marquise. Her casual glance pierced his heart like an arrow of Cupid. The novice was immune for he demurely kept his eyes fixed to the ground. But the Marquise was taken by his freshness, innocence and youth. There came into her head the thought that he probably had been forced to take orders against his will-he was so good-looking. The pair was more than delighted with what the Marquise gave them. Moreover, she invited them to pass by whenever they were in the area.
If her sickness were not in such an advanced stage, she probably would not have succumbed to the charms of a shy Capuchin novice who is not very highly prized in Paris, but to a woman of fiery temperament bored in the country, he can be most attractive. In short, the Marquise found the lad, whose name was Felix, most pleasing. He could not have been more than seventeen or eighteen years old.
She was sure that she would see them again, for who doesn't know the pertinacity of mendicant monks? Even if he had been shown the door, the older one, Father Hilarion, would certainly be back. Indeed, he appeared the very next day.
Immediately, he began to ingratiate himself with the servants, beginning with Nicole and Belamour down to the most humble. He offered his assistance everywhere, in the pantry and in the kitchen. When he began to clean the stables and remove the manure, he became a laughing-stock.
The disease took its toll so rapidly that the disfigured Marquise was forced to abandon the idea of a liaison with the young novice. Poor woman! From the fifth day on, it was a question of whether she would escape with her life. Then there was the danger of losing her sight. Not a trace remained of her former beauty. The doctor who was summoned from Paris flatly told her that her case was hopeless, and that he gave her only twenty-four hours more.
* * *
(The conscientious Hilarion, on learning of the Marquise's imminent demise, saw an opportunity to practice his pious calling.
"Madame certainly is religious?" he begins by asking her.
"I never gave it much thought."
"You have sinned, as everybody does."
"How could I help myself? I was young, pretty and widowed in Paris."
"In your dangerous condition, you have to think of your eternal salvation."
"That is up to you."
"It is my duty to snatch your soul from the Devil and bring it to the Almighty."
"Just leave it down here where it belongs."
"May God have mercy on your soul."
He looks up in horror as he hears her jeers.
Nicole and Belamour do not think it seemly to interrupt the man of God in the pursuit of his calling. In the meantime, the novice has returned to Paris. Think of the talk there would have been if she died, as the doctor diagnosed, without making her peace with heaven. The harmless Hilarion is preferable to the local straight-laced priest. By permitting Hiliarion to carry out his ministrations, gossip would be stopped.
Entering the room with his psalms and prayer-book, he finds that his exhortations will have little effect. The Marquise is unconscious.
Hilarion sits on the edge of the death-bed, muttering his prayers. Sadly, he renounces his hopes for amorous dalliance with the Marquise. What does he hear? As he is commending her soul to her Maker, he notices that the Marquise, who has shown no sign of life for more than an hour, is breathing heavily. The sounds she is articulating are incomprehensible. Gradually they become understandable. Stretching her body and yawning, she murmurs that she feels rested. The amazed Hilarion ceases his prayers, convinced that her return to life is due to his summons of the Deity.
"From the very first moment I saw you, I wanted to be good to you," she whispers.
The good padre misconstrues her words.
"Does she recognize me? Will I be lucky enough to..." he wonders.
The monk carrying out his religious duties has disappeared. His place is taken by a man of flesh and blood with lustful thoughts.
"What a pity," he says to himself, "that this lovely woman who wants to delight me is on the verge of giving up the ghost.")
Marquise: You can be sure...that I am not indifferent to you. If I had not been so weak, your ugly cowl would not have stopped me.
Hilarion (looking away to conceal his emotions): Holy Father! She loves me. (The blood starts boiling in his veins.) Oh, Madame...(He stops, not knowing how to continue.)
Marquise (interrupting him): Quiet. Not a sound. They are there.
Hilarion: Who?
Marquise: Don't you see them? I make them out very clearly.
Hilarion (looking around): I don't see anybody. Who?
Marquise: Nicole and Belamour.
Hilarion: Then we are not alone?
Marquise: There is no doubt that they are spying on us. Keep your voice down. If they heard us, it would be terrible. Oh, good. Just look. That goes on every day. They have no consideration for me. That's the third time since this morning that Nicole has had him. She never gets enough.
(What a strange delirium! It can not help but arouse the monk's senses to the highest degree. He sees it in his inflamed imagination. He turns purple in the face and his veins begin to stand out.)
Marquise: I am surprised that we haven't yet had the good sense to follow their example.
(This proposal is the last straw. There is only one way to extinguish the flames burning within him. He is possessed by the demon of lust and it will not be driven out. Throwing off the last vestiges of restraint, he is ready to commit the three sins of betrayal of confidence, lechery, and rape.)
Marquise (in a faint voice): Come, my darling. Don't be afraid. I want you to do it to me. I command you. It would have been more flattering to me if you had asked, but I won't feel too humiliated. Come now, my dear Felix.
(The monk is both angry and hurt. Bewildered, he is about to withdraw, when a voice is heard.)
Marquise: Don't answer, my young friend. That is the hateful Hilarion calling you. I recognize him from his nasty voice. Don't go to him. He certainly will not dare come in here. You can hide behind my bed drapes. Better yet, get under my sheets. There he will never find you. Come.
(Each word is a wound to his heart. It proves only too clearly how stupid and ridiculous he has been. Pride, which a priest has in equal measure to other men, and chagrin nearly put an end to the weird incident, but chance wills that it continue. The Marquise, who retains a certain coherence in spite of her madness, is clutching the belt of his cowl so tightly that he is unable to tear himself loose. Still holding on to him, she is dragged halfway out of the bed. Instinctively, he bends down and props her with his knee so that she does not fall all the way out. At this moment, he glimpses an enchanting foot, a divinely formed calf, and a ravishing thigh. Yes, he sees even more, including the black target which, as we know, had been hit by so many amorous arrows.
All these treasures lie spread out before his wondering eyes. For this heavenly spectacle he had to thank the angry jerk with which he tried to release himself. How the sight of these charms suddenly changes the mood of our worthy Hilarion! He disregards the ugly blots of the dread disease on her ivory skin, for he is both a priest and a man. After he had prayed so long for what was now being offered to him, could he now...? The voice of wounded pride is stilled. The worthy monk is now in that rage when a man has to make his devotions to the feminine altar. His humiliation is forgotten and his aversion vanished. His sex part knows nothing of the insults his heart has received. The aroused organ of the sensuous monk feels only the imperious need to unite with the sheath before it.
Like a latter-day Empedocles, he fears not the smoking crater which appears to him rather the portal to the most perfect bliss. He must take advantage of it, were it even to cost him his life. Despite his inner ex citement, he gently and tenderly lays the object of his I desire back on the bed, without, however, covering the Marquise. But suppose he gets infected? Oh well, a future misery is at most probable, while the good fortune of the present is certain. Now the last traces of shame and fear are gone. The twitching of her thighs are demanding unmistakably what he is only too eager to give her. Now he is unable to restrain himself any longer. Into the groping hand, he places the quivering organ which is to still her desires. She herself guides it to its goal. If she hadn't, everything probably would have come to naught, for she is still laboring under the impression that she is engaged with Felix. As she feels the dimensions of the mighty spear, she cries out in astonishment):
Marquise: Dear God in Heaven! What a monster you have there at your age. What will it be when you are twenty-five?
(But the devil is taking a hand in the game. Monkish pride is able to withstand the assault of human lust. Hilarion reflects that if the Marquise believes she is making Felix happy, at least she will be giving him pleasure and enjoying herself in the process. As a result of this very sensible consideration, his decision is quickly made. No honorable person would deprive of happiness such a poor thing, and it might even prove to be beneficial to her.
Taking it from her hand, he shoves the delicious toy two-thirds in when it copiously gushes into the hot slit. The offering produces several deep sighs which could be the sound of the soul escaping the body. But the good father does not concern himself about that. He is in full swing. There is too much virility still in his weapon not to complete the job. Without withdrawing, he continues at his pleasurable chore. But is he in a woman or a corpse?
The bed, which is not too strong, is starting to creak under his powerful thrusts, which gradually become more and more violent. The racket is such that Nicole and Belamour, who are in a somewhat similar situation in the next room, cannot help but hear it. At the most beautiful moment when they are deep inside of each other, they have to stop and listen. Dear God! What is with our poor mistress? Is she in her death agony? Getting into their clothes, they continue to listen with bated breath. Should they open the door and go into her room? But what good would that do? It would be cruel to witness her last moments. But strange! The noises, although loud, are in perfect rhythm. How can that be? Belamour opens the door a crack.)
Belamour (with a shocked cry): How awful! Look, Nicole. I suspected it all the time. I wasn't wrong.
(Each rushes to one side of the profaned bed and they pounce like lions on the diabolic monk, raining blows and curses on him. In order to protect himself better and to offer less bodily surface, he finds himself forced to change his position from a horizontal one to a vertical. This does not keep him from taking with him his moribund victim whom he is still impaling. With one arm, he takes the frail body and presses it tightly to him, while with the other, he flails wildly to the right and left without stopping his in and out movements. After getting a nasty blow on the nose, Belamour runs off to get some sort of weapon. Nicole has the breath knocked out of her with a punch on her bosom. Beside herself with rage and pain, she pulls on his beard. Hilarion, however, merely raises his head, lifting Nicole up in the air so that her feet are no longer on the floor. But the annoying weight which oscillates back and forth in time with the powerful thrusts of the worthy monk does not make him abandon his post. His efforts become more impetuous as he seeks to reach bliss a second time. Tired of being rocked back and forth, the girl hits on another method which is almost sure not to fail. Noting his swaying testicles, which are as big and firm as tennis-balls, she grasps them, squeezes them together, and gives them a mighty twist.
Poor Hilarion! Roaring with pain, he curses Nicole for being inhuman and barbarous. That a woman could even imagine such a torture! If she is capable of that, she would have no qualms about sticking a dagger into his side. At this moment, the orbs of lust release their sticky charge in wide arcs. One wonders that the satisfied (or dissatisfied) Hilarion, who at this moment combines the strength of the lion with the timidity of a rabbit, does not fall into a faint after such a plentiful depletion of his forces.
Nicole is seized with pity at the sight of the priest who is still standing after her champion has fled. Stouthearted still in the midst of defeat, he raises his arms as a sign of victory. Her good nature returns and she prevails upon Belamour to lay down the lethal musket with which he was intending to revenge his dishonored mistress and his bloodied nose.)
Nicole: In the name of our love, put that away! We had better see if there is still life in our beloved mistress. (The gun slips from his hands.) Oh, how happy I am! It is a miracle. She is breathing. Feel her heart and see how hard it is beating. Perhaps she is saved. What a consolation! She is sighing, and it sounds as if she is happy. How sweet! (The knowledgeable pair are not deceived. They realize that such a sigh is the sign of quenched fires and cannot be confused with a death rattle. In their hearts, they have partially forgiven the audacious Hilarion, but for appearance's sake, Belamour pretends to be still angry and aims the musket at the monk's head.)
Belamour: You can thank your maker that there is still some hope. Her return to life has just saved yours, you wretch. If this miracle did not happen...
(He wiggles the gun menacingly. Since the muzzle is only a few inches from his head, he becomes numb with fear. Throwing himself at Belamour's feet, which he greedily kisses, he babbles a long apology. It is accepted on the condition that if he ever again attempts to perpetrate such an outrage, he will be killed on the spot. Also, he is needlessly warned never to reveal what happened, an unlikely event in view of the necessity to maintain his own reputation. When he promises everything demanded of him, he is ushered from the house with a sound kick on his behind and the admonition never to show his face in the vicinity again.
We shall see that this strict order will have to be rescinded at a later date.
Now that the Marquise had improved to such an extent that she was resting easily, should the miracle be ascribed to nature? Or should credit for the blessed recovery be given partially to the shameless monk? If it were he who saved her life with his fertile seed, should not a monument be erected in his honor? Her return to health was so complete that not even her physical charms had suffered. There was only one slight inconvenience. The life-bringing sap with which the monk had so copiously flooded her had left her...pregnant. Thus is the strongest armor with which the valiant warrior defies death a thousand times pierced by some bullet sooner or later.
In short, Hilarion's holy anointment had revenged nature, which was indignant at the thousand interceptions by which the Marquise had obtained her raptures. When the blood stream so beloved of Adolph did not appear for the first time, there were slight suspicions which turned into certainty when other symptoms of approaching maternity showed up. The Marquise was extremely vexed.
Let us return to that night when her condition took such a turn for the better. On awakening, her mind was clear and she was able to recognize her faithful servants.
After the first felicitations and greetings and talk about the miraculous cure, it was not long before the Marquise began her confidential talks when they were alone. You can imagine the girl's amazement when her mistress told her of the dream she had, but which had actually taken place. The only deviation from actuality was that her assailant was Hilarion, and not the youthful Felix.)
Marquise: You can understand my partiality for that young fellow, Nicole. Besides, you'll have to admit that there is much to recommend him.
Nicole: Of course. Anyone can see that.
Marquise: You were there, you and Belamour, locked in a loving embrace.
Nicole (blushing): We, Madame?
Marquise (looking at her maid sharply): Let me finish. If I hadn't dreamed...
Nicole (still more confused): Madame is tiring herself from talking too much.
Marquise: You'll understand in a moment. The tenderness with which you let that scamp Belamour spear you...
Nicole (with an embarrassed smile): One could think that Madame is still talking in a dream.
Marquise (maliciously): To be sure, I was obviously still in my dream, when...(with her finger, she points to various spots in the room...there...there...here, on this table edge, on my bed on which I was imitating you with my enema. The flooding you so happily took in you was hardly less than mine, isn't that so, Mademoiselle?
Nicole (deeply embarrassed, falls on her knees): I beg you to forgive me, Madame. (She dries her eyes with a corner of the bedsheet.)
Marquise (laying a finger on her mouth): Quiet. (In a friendly voice): Let me go on. This provocative game which I could not get out of my mind apparently fascinated me. I was pretending that Felix was doing to me what Belamour was doing to you. Just as he was about to start, I heard his disgusting superior calling him.
Nicole: What? Madame was dreaming if she thinks he was summoning Felix and that it was the monk who...
Marquise: To be sure. It sounded as if the voice came from over there. I was afraid that he would be afraid and obedient so that he could not perform the chore I had in mind for him.
Nicole: And Madame still thinks it was Felix who was with her and not Father Hilarion?
Marquise: Oh, these questions annoy me!
Nicole (looking up at her and sighing): I will leave off with them and just listen.
Marquise: I held the youth back and ordered him to climb into my bed so that I would have him better in my power. I scarcely have to tell you that I felt no pain during this delightful dream and did not think at all of my deception...for I must really look terrible?
Nicole: You mustn't think that, Madame.
Marquise: Where was I?
Nicole: You were telling how the young fellow was sleeping with you.
Marquise: Oh, yes. That proves that sometimes it goes better in one's sleep than in reality. I naturally expected, to find a penis suitable in size to his tender years, but what swelled in my hand? It was a leviathan that I swear not even Limefort or Adolph could match. If I were not out of my mind, I don't think I ever could have taken it in. It was as thick as my arm and hard as steel, my dear.
Nicole: And you weren't afraid of it?
Marquise: On the contrary. I welcomed it most heartily. When it pierced me, I thought it was going all the way up to my heart. At that moment, I felt a hot stream running through all my veins. It seemed that I was drowning in a lake of lust. I know I fainted. Then it became black. Finally, I fell into a deep sleep. Nevertheless, the dream is still alive in me. I remember four or five especially deep thrusts, with which he blessed me before I awoke.
(How was the baffled Nicole to answer to this strange story? The praise which the Marquise lavished on Hilarion's masculine qualities was not based on myth. Nicole had no doubt on that score. She came to the conclusion that Hilarion's only fault was that he was not a gentleman. Moreover, Nicole was sufficiently warm-hearted not to undeceive her mistress of her pleasures which she imagined had been given her by Felix. If it had not been for the unfortunate pregnancy, the Marquise never would have suspected that it was on the filthy repulsive Father Hilarion that she had bestowed her favors.
After eight weeks, when the second menstruation did not appear and other signs of impending motherhood became obvious, the faithful retainers felt they had no choice but to make known the truth to their unlucky mistress. When she was told of what had really occurred, her wrath knew no bounds. In spite of the friendship and gratitude which she had for the pair, they suffered dearly from her rage.)
Marquise: You're lying to me! Such a thing is unthinkable!
Belamour: But, unfortunately, Madame, it is the truth.
Nicole: We saw it with our own eyes, Madame. Marquise: Saw it?
Belamour: Both of us, especially Nicole.
Nicole: Not only that, Madame. I caught the bird in your nest and snuffed out its life with my hands.
Marquise: You never should have left me alone with that scoundrel!
Belamour: But, Madame, in your condition, how could we have had the slightest suspicion that. . .
Nicole: Besides, it was a question of the final sacrament. They told us you were dying.
Marquise: Is one on the point of dying when she is capable of feeling what I did?
Belamour: The doctor...
Marquise (furiously):...is an ass and you two are not much better!
Nicole: We swear on our honor, Madame...
Marquise (beside herself): Be quiet! I loathe the very sight of you! So you abandoned me? You thought it was all over with me? Already you forgot me?
(And so on. If, fortunately, a stream of warm tears had not alleviated the outburst of rage, the Marquise probably would have expired from the agitation. She had a relapse afterwards, perhaps because of the use of artificial means. Yet, once tears have flowed, the worst is over. For the rest of that black day, they all avoided each other's eyes. The night brought with it some relief, for the Marquise had a good sleep, and she was too intelligent to bear a grudge against those who loved her. When she awoke the following morning, she determined to do everything in her power to make up for her ill-nature of the previous day. She summoned Nicole.)
Marquise (in a friendly voice): Nicole?
Nicole: Madame?
Marquise: How goes it between us?
Nicole: I was about to ask you the same question, if I could take the liberty.
Marquise (extending her hand): Let's shake and forget about it.
Nicole (taking it and kissing it): Madame is always so kind and good.
Marquise: Listen. Since you are intelligent and don't hold me a grudge, I want to tell you the idea that I got last night, and you are to tell me honestly what you think of it.
Nicole: That is the least I can do for the honor you are showing me.
Marquise: There is no use crying over spilt milk, is there?
Nicole: That is what we were trying to tell you yesterday, Madame.
Marquise: Now tell me, my child....Is that blackguard still to be found in the vicinity?
Nicole (rather chilly and embarrassed): I believe so, Madame.
(Here we have to interrupt the dialogue, my dear readers, and tell the reason for Nicole's embarrassment. Naturally, the Marquise had reference to Hilarion. Nicole knew better than anyone the whereabouts of the cunning priest. For some time, the girl had been giving him some contributions every time he made his rounds. The reason behind the generosity is easily understood when one takes into consideration the amorous needs of a lusty maiden like Nicole.
In the first place, Hilarion had risen in the esteem of an expert like Nicole after the Marquise had given her the confidential description of his powers and he appeared only more desirable in her eyes. This had awakened in her the desire to test him herself as soon as possible.
The time appointed for the trial with the wandering monk was the next time he appeared at the villa. But he did not show up when he was expected because Brother Felix had run away from him.
Just about the time he was due and she was confidently awaiting him, she learned to her sorrow that her dear Belamour was untrue to her. The faithless lover had seduced the little novice. Felix, who had been ousted from the order, took refuge in the vicinity in a hovel behind the hairdresser's room. Now Belamour was devoting all his free time to him and even spent the night together with him in the same bed.
How sweet it would have been for a revengeful character like Nicole to have caused a scandal. But...who knows? Perhaps the Marquise had her fine hand in this affair. She admitted she had been taken by the youth. It was conceivable that Belamour was hiding him for her. If so, the Marquise could not have put her love affairs in more unworthy hands, for Belamour was notorious for his preference for boys and young men. What a disgrace-him married to a former candidate for holy orders! But there was nothing that could be done about it, she told herself, in spite of her annoyance with her lover's infidelity and the new object of his affections. Also, he was being untrue to her mistress. She kept a close watch on them until her suspicions were confirmed.
The dismissal of Felix from the monastery was really the result of one of the Marquise's caprices. Apparently, her lack of success led her not to mention it to Nicole. When she saw the lad again, she suggested that if he wanted he could give up his begging. He had taken her at her word, and although she realized that he was unfaithful to her, she was unwilling to retract her promise. Moreover, she was afraid that there would be a scandal if the reason for his departure should become known, and she decided that it would be preferable if he lived with Belamour, who could take care of him. She had kept her word, but she washed her hands of the matter, regretting that she had ever got mixed up in it. But Nicole was determined to get to the root of the matter. She drilled several holes in the wall, through which she soon learned of the affection the two males shared for each other.
But still she lacked convincing evidence of these goings-on until one evening Hilarion unexpectedly put in an appearance. It was as if Satan himself had guided his steps here. He asked for Nicole, saying that somebody had given him a letter for her on the way.
No one can escape his fate, and the critical moment was approaching for the trembling lady's-maid, whom the priest was going to raise from the basest humiliation to the peak of the most satisfying triumph.
Adroitly the sly Nicole led the subject around to the vile things that were happening. Under the pretext of learning all the facts and possibly reforming the miscreants, she let the monk persuade her to tell him everything down to the last detail.)
Nicole: You have to admit that they must be wild about each other to sink to such depths of disgusting behavior. I had no idea men could be so low. But then there are those who can take advantage of a dying woman who doesn't even look like a human being any more. I really don't know how a woman can run the risk of being alone for a moment with a monster like you. Knowing your perverse tastes, I could have been violated ten times already. I think I will get to a safe " place. Off with you, you monster! I don't think I could defend myself.
(She fastens her eye on a certain spot below his girdle.)
Nicole (continuing): All of you Capuchin monks , have such a shameless way of dressing. Couldn't you dress like other men so your erections wouldn't be so obvious? (She points to the protuberance under his robe.) But I am sure that you are proud rather than ashamed of displaying your lust in that way.
(She again points. Anyone but a thick-headed priest would have immediately understood what the saucy lass meant, and instead of trying to answer her, would have grabbed her under her skirts. Although he. was aroused to a peak of carnal appetite, he lacked the courage to proceed. What he needed was more unmistakable signs of assent. In this situation which madly excited Nicole, she resorted to a ruse.)
Nicole (emitting two piercing screams): Oh, oh, Father Hilarion! Help! (With a shudder, she tears off her bodice, revealing two luscious breasts whose beauty a saint could not help but be tempted by.) How awful! It's black as coal. And fat! Take it away! Quick!
Hilarion: What's wrong, Mademoiselle?
Nicole: That horrible spider. Hurry up! Get it off me. I am frightened to death of them. I wouldn't touch one for anything in the world. Don't you see it? Well, look for it. Don't be so embarrassed. (She turns her head away.) You can touch wherever you want. But just find it.
Hilarion (obeying her): I can't find anything, really. I swear it.
Nicole (raising one of her arms): How clumsy you are. I feel it. . . right here.
(A nipple pops into view. Also, he sees the down-covered arm-pit, a portion of the body which has a certain charm. The delightful hunt continues to the lower end of the bed, the spot Nicole had purposely chosen for her quest. One can imagine how picturesquely she lies there with her bosom now entirely uncovered. Also, when she threw herself on the couch, she spread her legs so that he could view her to best advantage. The helpful Hilarion is now not only very close to this part of her body, but if he wants to look more closely for the spider, he has to bend down over Nicole.
Something hard inside is straining against his robe as he approaches the enticing mound. What beauties are revealed to his wandering gaze! A graceful foot. A well-turned thigh. A dimpled knee bound with a pink garter. A heavenly calf. And in the depths, what a treasure! The devil never tempted Saint Anthony so sorely as he does Father Hilarion now.
Even one more callous than Hilarion-if that can be imagined-would have been dazzled by the gorgeous spectacle. Obeying his instinct to attempt an assault, he grasps his weapon. This must be his lucky day, for the obliging Nicole has taken off her dress herself when she gets impatient with his fumbling fingers. To spare him the shame of exposing his sexual organ, she slips her hand under his robe and completely covers the rod. Now it is gently but surely guided to its goal. First one inch, then two...finally all nine are safely in, securely ensconced between two tightly pressed lips.
How about the spider? What a silly question. Did anyone ever really believe that story?
More than living up to her expectations with his first copious discharge, he proceeds to duplicate his performance. Although he has not reached his limit, he deems it seemly to withdraw and give his partner a pause to rest. Scornfully, she taunts him for his feebleness. This throws him into a rage and he rushes to attack again.
He finds a truly worthy foe. What a turbulence! What heroic feats! What deep powerful strokes like the blacksmith's hammer on the anvil! What deluges as they reach the climax!
, The combat continues until they hear the Marquise iring. Ignoring it, Nicole quickens her rhythm. There is la second tinkle. She makes a disagreeable face and redoubles her exertions with Hilarion keeping up with per. At the third ring, she slaps the monk on the rump to spur him to the supreme effort. "Fuck me harder!" she deliriously cries. "I'll see that you get enough." Finally, it is over. "What a shame," Nicole sighs, "but I have to go see what she wants." Shaking her head like a hen after being released by the rooster, she puts on her dress and, like the obedient servant that she is, goes to where duty is calling.
Let the reader picture to himself the thoughts Hilarion had when he found himself alone after this astonishing stroke of good fortune. But a Capuchin has few thoughts. Besides, his soul remained where nature lodged it and seldom rose to the brain. Nicole, on the other hand, was, as we know, of a reflective nature. She carefully weighed the pros and cons of her new relationship and evaluated the worth of a man who outwardly made a most disagreeable impression. She finally came to the decision that as long as she was in the country, she would not deny the worthy father his ration. A most sensible conclusion. It is true that Hilarion had filthy feet, yellow stained teeth, and an oily skin smelling of sweat, but with a lovely, long and thick prick.
To correct his deficiencies, all that was needed were some baths, the assistance of a good dentist, and the injunction that the day before he was to perform his amorous duties he was not to eat cheese or garlic. She would give him a supply of cachou to sweeten his breath.
The second session lasted all night. As thanks for what she had done, Hilarion gave her ten tokens of his gratitude. In addition, Nicole paid him a louis each time on the condition that he would not squander his powers on other women or boys.
As a result of this contract, the faithful Hilarion satisfied Nicole in the following weeks as she had never been satisfied before. She was never flooded less than seven or eight times a night. Neither party had the slightest inclination to break the agreement, until one fine day, the Marquise was overcome by a sudden burning lust, which, if not satisfied, could cause a re^ lapse of her health.
As a devoted servant, Nicole was thrown into a quandary. Should she keep to herself such a treasure as Hilarion which she had acquired at not inconsiderable expense? Or should she share it with her kind mistress? That was the question that Nicole was asking herself, and she should find an answer because Hilarion would be coming that very day. We now overhear the conversation between the Marquise and her maid.)
Nicole: Has Madame so changed her mind about the monstrous priest that she will consent to speak alone with him?
Marquise: I think so. In the first place, I'll be amused at his embarrassment when he learns that I know...
Nicole (animatedly): Oh no, Madame. We kept that | a secret from him.
Marquise: As you probably can guess, I have little interest in his personality, but I have the feeling that this monk has some resemblance to an orangutan.
Nicole: He is sickening.
Marquise: But I have a clear memory of his monumental sexual organ, and I would be interested in learning if my recollection does not play me false. With what delight do I think back on that remarkable tool!
Nicole (rather piqued): I can't stop you, Madame, for after all, you are the mistress here. (She is inwardly raging, but she acts as if she agrees with the Marquise's intention.)
Marquise: I haven't told you yet all my reasons. I have heard that heavy physical exercise at the beginning of pregnancy is often sufficient to relieve a woman of her burden.
Nicole: Would Madame be good enough to explain herself more clearly?
Marquise: Now you are in a bad mood again. Well, to put it this way, I would like...if my rooster is really what he is supposed to be...and if he can accomplish something truly exceptional...(Nicole lowers her eyes, pretending that she does not understand the interrogating voice.)...such as removing the seed he put in me. Now, have I made myself clear?
Nicole: Indeed you have.
Marquise: Well, what do you think?
Nicole: You certainly have nothing to lose with such an experiment, and you might gain something from it.
Marquise: You still don't know everything. (It is obvious that the Marquise has carefully thought over the matter.) Since he is most repulsive in his appearance, I want him cleaned up. Otherwise, I won't be able to stand him. Now just guess what else I have in mind.
Nicole: I haven't the faintest idea.
Marquise: I thought that if we had his beard trimmed and tinted his skin, we could pass him off as a Turk. I could have suitable clothes sent from Paris.
(Nicole is angry that she had not thought of the idea herself before giving herself to him.
Here, my dear reader, we will have to turn our attention to Prelate, whom we have neglected too long. This good friend of the Marquise had, in addition to the passions with which we are acquainted, a deep love for the theatre, and he frequently gave performances at his apartment on the boulevard which was stocked with all the necessary paraphernalia.
Nicole was sent as a messenger to His Highness in order to get a sultan's costume. The discreet emissary was given a warm welcome, presented with the desired outfit, and was a diamond ring richer after dallying with him in the Prussian manner.
During Nicole's absence, Hilarion was sent to a bath where he was showered, scrubbed, rubbed, scraped, polished, rinsed, and dried on every nook of his body. His beard, first treated with a sweet-smelling ointment, was trimmed in the Turkish style and all of the hair on his head was cut off. When Nicole, whose supply of cosmetics was greatly diminished, returned, all she had to do was hang the garment on him. Great was his astonishment on seeing all the clothing and accessories and learning that they were for him.)
Hilarion: What are you going to do to me?
Nicole: We are going to turn you into Mohammed. From a humble servant of the Gospel you are going to be a potentate of the Koran.
Hilarion: That's heresy. Even though I have to die as a martyr to my faith, I swear that I am a Christian and a Roman Catholic. I'll not have anything to do with devils, of whom that Mohammed is most notorious. I believe in one God only and the Holy Trinity (he crosses himself), the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Oh Lord, keep us from the temptations of Satan. Amen.
Nicole: Hold still, you miserable hypocrite. (The | impious maid is hanging two earrings on his ears.) Put ; this shirt on. Isn't this fine linen better than your smelly gown? And here are your stockings and slippers.
(As she starts pulling on his trousers, the touch of her hand can not fail to produce a certain sensation. Her task is made more difficult by an impudent little red-head straining to reach her two snowy orbs which are enticingly near.)
Nicole: Get back where you belong, you sassy fellow! (She gives it a slap, taking care, however, not to hurt it.) Don't think that you are going to spend your juice here. You're going to need it some place else.
(These last words are a complete mystery to the former monk. Finally, the Turk is ready from head to toe and he looks tolerably well. He is instructed to give himself some airs and leave off the monkish humility. He quickly learns his role, and now he must be enlightened.)
Nicole: You felt no compunction about abusing your sacred office to criminally dishonor my mistress when she was out of her senses, you old lecher. Then you tried to excuse yourself by saying that she had taken a imagine to your catamite, little Felix. You can be sure that we did not believe a word of those falsehoods you tried to fool us with so that you could escape with your life.
Hilarion: I swear to you, Mademoiselle...
Nicole (in a peremptory tone): Shut up, you ass, and let me talk. Madame, with whom I have discussed this disgraceful incident a thousand times, always repeats that in her delirium she thought she was an odalisque in a harem.
Hilarion (stupidly): What are odalisques?
Nicole: Those are the concubines or wives of Turkish lords and nobles.
Hilarion: So that's why she didn't want to confess. Aren't the Turks heretics?
Nicole: You simpleton! They are Moslems and they worship Mohammed.
Hilarion: Now I understand. (He does not.)
Nicole: Madame believed that she was the favorite wife of the Sultan. And even though she was unconscious, she knew that her condition was dangerous and that the end could be near. Now, do you know, or don't you, that according to the Moslem religion, women are denied entrance to paradise.
Hilarion (with a silly look on his face): No, I didn't know that.
Nicole (mocking him): That's just because you are a nitwit. Now, listen. The Marquise had a vision. An exception was going to be made in her case. Mohammed...or was it the Prophet...well, the Turkish Christ. . .
Hilarion (astonished): Good.
Nicole (putting a finger to her lips): Quiet. Mohammed appeared before my mistress and told her that he would elevate her to the blessed state of hori.
Hilarion: What's a hori?
Nicole (barely able to hold back her laughter): A female angel, the only creature of our sex able to enter heaven. That's according to the Koran, of course.
Hilarion: You have used twice already the word Koran, Mademoiselle, and I would like to know what it is.
Nicole (irritated): Don't you know anything? That is the Bible of the Turks. S
Hilarion (with the same inane expression): Now I see.
Nicole (mockingly): Now I see. (In a natural tone): If you would just stop interrupting me with foolish questions. Now, Mohammed, in spite of his power, can make a hori of my mistress only if she consents to a divine embrace. (Hilarion regards her blankly.) Do I have to explain everything to you? A hori has first to learn her occupation for all eternity, for that is the only thing one of these chosen will have to do in that paradise.
Hilarion (smirking): If that is the case, it wouldn't be too bad, would it?
Nicole (seriously): In the belief that it was the apotheosis, Madame submitted to your iniquitous act.
Hilarion (startled): Apotheosis. Is that what the Turks call coitus?
(Such stupidity and imbecility could arouse either pity or laughter. In Nicole, the latter emotion came to the fore. With pleasure, she kept on with the game.)
Nicole (continuing): Madame has been so shaken by this vision that although she has recovered her health, she still has a delusion that could be dangerous for her. We are so worried. Every night, when she goes to sleep, she dreams that she is a hori and calls for her divine Mohammed. She gets up and walks in her sleep around the house from top to bottom. If we don't watch her, she grabs the first suitable object she can lay her hands on to Mohammedize herself, so eager is she to assure herself of her standing as a hori. During the day, she is completely rational. We have consulted leading physicians and doctors who all agree that there is only one cure for the obsession which could lead to her death. Do you understand now?
Hilarion: Of course. Madame is out of her mind and wants Mohammed to do something to her and the doctors say. . .
Nicole: Good. What they prescribe is that when she is asleep and tortured by this fixation, a sturdy man should go to her and do...well, you know what.
Hilarion (with a smug smile on his face): I would have to be very stupid not to guess. I'm the one to...
Nicole (feigning anger): You conceited clod! And you are actually looking forward to it with pleasure. Just don't get any ideas. It wasn't because of your bewitching eyes that you were chosen. Let us make this clear. All that is wanted of you is that one part of your body with which nature unfortunately so amply provided you. If it weren't for that glorious prick of yours, we wouldn't spit on you. It saved your life once when I took pity on you. Belamour was all for castrating you. Just because of that marvelous instrument, I granted you my favors which the rest of your ugly person certainly does not merit. It was that which attracted me, and that only. And that is why you are going to enjoy the possession of an adorable woman tonight.
In that outfit you are wearing, she in her hallucinations will certainly take you for Mohammed. By no means let her guess your real identity. Don't play the role of a lover and don't utter a word. If you do, the spell will be broken and it will all be to no avail. Remember, too, that Mohammed, who doesn't speak our language, does things in heaven with dignity. Don't forget that a full-fledged hori can give and receive pleasure for fifty years without stopping....
Hilarion (astonished): Fifty years, Mademoiselle?
Nicole (positively): Not a minute less.
Hilarion: Dear heaven! Madame wouldn't demand of me...
Nicole (to herself): The numbskull. (Aloud): My God, if you could...I think I could stand it.
(As they are discussing these peculiar matters, they arrive at their destination. Time has passed so quickly that they scarcely note that night has fallen. Strict orders have been given so that no indiscreet passer-by would annoy them when they emerged from the carriage. The Prophet is led unnoticed to a little house behind in the garden. The charmingly arranged room makes Hilarion feel more like a deity than a mortal. It is delicately illuminated and the many mirrors cast back and forth his reflection twenty times. How inviting the furniture is. Is he in reality or in a dream? Could it be possible for a beggar from the stable of St. Francis to be transplanted to a shrine of a fairy? After his first burst of astonishment, Hilarion feels more confident in his role. Before the mirrors he practices the facial expressions and gestures that Nicole had prescribed. They are so droll that the Marquise, who is regarding him from a peep-hole, has tears in her eyes. Her muffled laughter nearly betrays her presence.
To fill in the reader with certain necessary details, it is desirable to mention that our Turkish stud had received in the bath a nourishing and filling meal in which the hot peppers had not been spared. In that way, one took care that during the evening the needs of his stomach will be almost nil, while that part of his body around which our story is concerned will be mightily affected. Thus the Marquise along with her maid who is also a spectator know beforehand the promise of the organ by seeing its state as Hilarion investigates it. There is no doubt that it could satisfy the needs of the most insatiable hori. They notice his inner fire from the carafe of water which he drinks in one gulp.
Now begins the actual performance. At the beginning, a slight noise is heard outside of the salon. It gets louder and closer. Calls are heard. They sound as if they are made by a woman. A sigh. "Mohammed." It must be she. "Oh, my dear, divine, Mohammed." There is no doubt about it.
The consuming fire races through all the veins of the bogus Moslem.
"Light of my soul. Come to me. Illuminate me! Inundate me with your divine sap as you were pleased to do once before." During this address, Nicole nudges her mistress as if to say it is a waste to use high-flown language on such a bumpkin. But the Marquise has her reasons. In order to satisfy her selfish desires fully, she has to excite Hilarion's imagination to the highest degree. The more she throws herself into the role, the more he will be taken in by the deception.
The door opens....Our hori stumbles into the chamber....She is completely naked except for a transparent scarf with which she covers her pockmarked face as soon as the radiant Moslem espies her. All her other charms are open to view. Women are always aware of their better points which they know how to display and their defects which they are able to conceal. )
Marquise: Almighty Father of the Faithful, grant me the honor of throwing myself at your feet to regard your divine countenance.
(Seeing that Hilarion is ready for action, she snatches a pillow which she lays on the floor and rests herself in a voluptuous position.)
Hilarion: What are you doing, lovely whore?
(The idiot has already forgotten the difference between a lady of easy virtue and a hori, but what could he know of horis? He tries to lift her up, forgetting Nicole's wise counsel. His clumsiness so irritates the Marquise that she is on the verge of leaving the stage and sending the Prophet to the devil. But that would have been senseless. One gauche scene need not ruin the whole play. The heroine should not make rash decisions at least until she has seen the leading man.)
Marquise: Permit me to see again the brand which first stamped on me the mark of my divinity.
(With that she releases from its prison the impatient captive which bursts out so briskly that it nearly boxes her ears. Like an experienced equestrian able to calm his steed after it has bucked, the hori soothingly strokes it.)
Marquise: How beautiful it is! Its size is unbelievable. What a symbol of manhood! It is a rod of steel still glowing from the forge of the husband of Venus. There is the first glistening pearl at the tiny opening. What a happy augury! I can't have enough of squeezing and pressing it!
(As a result of this increasing stimulation, it is high time to make more concrete use of it. The worshipped deity is languishing on its sacrifice. It is so easily satisfied. As an enemy of pomp, it feels most honored when its temple is seldom visited and its portal so narrow that only he can enter. In his humility, he leaves the middle aisle in favor of a small dim chapel in a remote corner of the sacristy. Yet we are not belittling the magic gift of the Prophet, who knows the corners where he is most wanted. Too, he realizes the bliss of a hori who wants to be exalted up to heaven and a mortal who wants to descend into it.
It goes without saying that the victim takes the position assumed by Pasiphae when she received Zeus in the form of a steer. Many would comment on this modesty, especially when they would see how demurely she covers her eyes with her hands and lowers her head in order to resist the temptation of looking at her divine Mohammed. Of course, it is possible she wished to avoid the sight of his grotesque torso. Whatever her reasons, this time she openly revealed to his lustful eyes all the charms that he had not been able to glimpse on the first encounter. As his engine moves towards its goal, he feels two soft fingers gently wrapped around it to guide it in. He experiences a deep contentment when he is half-way in. No sooner is this accomplished than the hori is in the seventh heaven of bliss.)
Marquise: Flood me! I don't care. Fuck me! That's the only true happiness!
(The first offering is naturally followed by a second. I'll spare further details about the simpleton turned into a madman lest it bore the reader. I trust that the reader will believe me when I state that the delighted victim came to bliss no less than fifteen times. If you don't believe me, I don't blame you.
For the sake of the record, however, it should be mentioned that the Marquise counted the number of times she reached rapture with Hilarion-Mohammed in her diary. It was fifteen times in eight hours. She should certainly know. Moreover, we have already had convincing evidence of the champion's prowess. But in spite of everything, how could such a fine lady give herself to such a coarse, crude boor as Hilarion? The reason is simple. All sexual adventures and excesses come from the devil in the flesh. He does not gratify himself solely with tender fresh sacrifices and tempting virgins, but he has a wide range of strange tastes and moods. The present work is not for him or her who prefers homey descriptions, who dislikes change or excitement, who sets limits to his passions, who does not believe in the devil's might, and who reads those colorless novels believed of housewives. It is written for those who now and then welcome the devil in their flesh.
Let us return to our pitiful Turk. I employ this adjective because after the completion of the fifteenth number, which was accomplished by every device and resource the hori could think of, he collapsed. Not only was his only charm exhausted, but it was scarcely visible. When he was overtaken by a death-like sleep, the cruel, treacherous hori made her escape. She had no complaint about the quantity which left nothing to be desired, but it had been so monotonous. There had been no charm or sparkle to it. She missed those little trifles that contribute so much to the enchantment of the delights of lust. Where were the kisses, the words of endearment, the titillating preliminaries, all the foolishness that does not have the same effect if it is not freely given and has to be asked for? The lack of all these important factors which the Marquise valued highly could not make up for the coarse enjoyment she had. She felt a certain emptiness. The only consolation she had for her boredom was the certainty that Hilarion had ruined his tool.
In accordance with her mistress's orders, Nicole had laid next to the sleeping warrior food and drink which were to revive him. After an hour of unconsciousness, he awoke to find to his delight the collation spread before him. There were sausages, fruits, and a particularly fine wine, but what specially pleased him was a little sealed package containing a hundred and fifty louis. What a fortune for a monk! There was a little slip of paper with the money. It read as follows:
In payment for fifteen prophetic injections given by Father Hilarion-Mohammed to one of his divine horis:
Excellent
1
48 Louis
Good
2
48 Louis
Rather Good
2
24 Louis
Satisfactory
3
18 Louis
Feeble
3
9 Louis
Unsatisfactory
2
3 Louis
Cheating
1
12 Louis
Nil
1
0 Louis
Total
15
150 Louis
Hilarion ate and drank until he was drunk and fell asleep again. During this second period of unconsciousness, he was wrapped in a warm blanket and brought to the tavern where he was accustomed to stay after he had left his order.
Such was the conclusion of the most famous amorous adventure ever enjoyed by a mendicant monk. In his sleep, he dreamt that Saint Francis was more angered at this aberration than he would have been at the worst common whoring. When he awoke and found the turban on his head, he was stricken with sharp pangs of conscience. He thought his sin was so great that not even a pilgrimage to Rome to get remission directly from the Pope would be of avail.
It is hard to say what would have become of him in his misery if it had not been for the support of the kind-hearted Nicole, who still nursed hopes to get some benefit from him. It was not to be denied that the Turkish night had seriously incapacitated him. Although she sent him nourishing victuals and invigorating wines, the once proud member did not show the slightest inclination to raise its head.
After ten days, his patroness and friend wanted to learn the success of her efforts, but to her sorrowing amazement, she had to admit that they had produced no results. What? Didn't the prospect of another amorous encounter arouse Father Hilarion? No reaction to the sight of the adorable young woman? In spite of her vexation, she spared no pains trying to restore it to health. It remained ice-cold in her hand without making the slightest attempt to rise. Her pride was wounded and she would not give up. She tried everything, but it remained limp even against her warm full breasts and in her mouth. She attempted to insert it into her grotto, but that too failed.
After a week, Nicole had to recognize that it was hopeless. He came around after several weeks, but he was no longer the man he was. She consoled herself with the thought that he had been, after all, just a stopgap.
In the meantime, the Marquise's health was continually improving. Her pock marks disappeared, her eyes took on their former sparkle, and her lovely bosom was again its firm self. The only change was the increasing rotundity of her stomach. If there had been any doubts about her pregnancy, they were now dispelled. She was condemned to bring forth in a few months' time the Hilarion's fruit.
During this period, more attention was gradually being paid to Felix. The son of a country postman, he had ridden the post-chaise before he put on the cowl. He had taken orders only as the result of a vow he had made in a moment of great danger. As we have seen, he renounced the monastic life at the first opportunity.
In the stable, where he was first set to work, and in the villa, where he made surprising progress in the art of hairdressing under the direction of the skilled Belamour, he was thoroughly liked. He was an industrious, intelligent lad always ready to help and eager to learn the trade which his mentor described in such optimistic terms. He was deeply impressed when Belamour told him that anything was possible for a young man with good looks, polite manners, a certain amount of cleverness, and a trade to serve as a cover. This very same Felix, who only three months ago had been so meek and pious, was now a wily little rascal. Both sexes liked him for his cheerfulness and amiability, for he was possessed of that indefinable something that attracts both men and women. He was now called Monsieur La Plante. He got along with everybody except with the implacable Nicole who dubbed him the enema tube after she discovered what he was up to with her former lover, Belamour.
Intolerance leads to no good end. First of all, she was unable to downgrade Felix in the Marquise's eyes with her gossip. Indeed, she produced the exact opposite of the desired result. Also, as the proverb goes, appetite comes with eating, and the Marquise began to regard the youth in a different light. She found in him charms that she had not noticed before, and in order to keep him around her, she found countless little things for him to do.
In the end, Belamour and Felix, who had patiently suffered Nicole's intrigues, had enough, and they decided to put an end to it and get their revenge.
Since the extraordinary decline of Father Hilarion, the sexual orgies that he secretly held now and then with Nicole were no longer the effluence of natural virility and lust. Now wine and pills had to be used. When they met, they did at the start what they could, after which they dined and emptied several bottles of wine. Then, after the collation and depending on the monk's disposition, they resumed their former activity, or, after he was incapacitated, he made use of that palliative women often employ as a last resort.
Our conspirators, when they learned of these nocturnal romps, determined now how they would avenge themselves. They easily found out what sort of wine was drunk and where the bottles were kept in the cellar. On the day that Hilarion was to come again, they took the bottle that was to be consumed and put into it a large dose of sleeping powder.
Great was their satisfaction when they found that the flask had been taken to Nicole's boudoir. Everything was going as planned. You can imagine their delight when they saw Nicole's dismay at Hilarion's sluggishness. At the table, he stuffed himself like a starving wolf. Wine brings stimulation, it is said. To test its validity, the pair tossed off two bottles of Burgundy which they washed down with two of champagne. Finally, it was the turn of the ominous bottle of dosed Malaga.
The monk, drained his glass of the last drop, after his drunken friend had thrown herself on her bed where she pointed out to her lover another receptacle to which he should give his preference. The humble monk immediately began to comply with his domineering mistress's command. Somewhat reluctantly, he rose and slowly laid a pillow on the floor. When he sat on it, Nicole placed one thigh on his shoulder and stretched out her other leg. In this rather unusual position, she awaited the raptures of love. Then he placed his mouth to that other opening.
Now comes the moment the plotters had been waiting for.
While Nicole feels a rising sensuousness, the monk begins his thankless task with the lethargy and enthusiasm of an automat. Now she begins to twitch and raise her buttocks. Her insides are starting to boil. She puffs and groans. Belamour is well acquainted with the sounds. The five or six powerful shoves of her mound to which her gallant's nose and mouth are glued announce that she has reached her crisis. But the drowsy Hilarion has lost consciousness. The frothy grotto serves as a cushion for his heavy head. After his plentiful discharge, Nicole also feels an overpowering desire to sleep. Now both are resting in the arms of Morpheus in the very position I have just attempted to describe.
This is the moment our conspirators have been impatiently waiting for. With no fear of awakening the slumbering pair, they slip into the chamber and approach the bed. There they knot tightly the monk's beard to the luxuriant strands growing on Nicole's lower pate. The operation completed, the gleeful two run as fast as their legs can carry them to the Marquise's villa. Although it is almost midnight, several friends have arrived to visit, but no matter. Among them is Countess Mottenfeu, another good reason to make the proposal to the Marquise. For that matter, why shouldn't everybody have the pleasure of looking at it?
The cunning Belamour has La Plante talk to their mistress, for he is laughing so hard that he can hardly speak. Addressing the gathering, he asks them politely to go to Mademoiselle Nicole's room. When asked the reason, he giggles, bites his hat, starts to speak, stops, and finally runs away. From his curious behavior and his hysterical laugh resounding in the rooms, they decide that something diverting must be taking place in Nicole's room. The Marquise, her fun-loving Countess, the two gentlemen who had accompanied her, and Felipe who had returned to her mistress with the party, go up the steps and find Belamour who asks them to go in without making any noise.
You can imagine their astonishment and amusement at the scene which is worthier to be described with the brush than the pen.
Our slumberers are dead to the world. Even the salvos of mirth from seven throats do not awaken them. One has the leisure to enjoy the comical situation to the full. Finally, however, Belamour gives Nicole a sound thump and La Plante shakes Hilarion so energetically that further sleep is out of the question. The rude awakening of the joke victims causes more glee. Nicole is trying to cover her nakedness with the monk's robe. He gives a squeal of pain when he tries to pull away his beard. All burst into renewed laughter when they see him confusedly trying to find what it is fastened to. When Belamour comes up with a barber's bowl, pretending to offer his friendly help in cutting them apart, Nicole gives him such a box on the ears that he hears angels singing. She is howling like a maniac from the pain caused by Hilarion who is roughly trying to pull himself loose without any consideration for her feelings. Unable to stand it any more, Nicole spies a pair of shears that she snatches. Now she starts to cut through the thick mass of beard, cutting the chin in the process. When he sees the blood spurt, he howls as if he were on the spit. The audience is unable to decide if it is heart-rending or funny. Oh, what misfortune! How can he ever hold up his head again after such a disgrace. When the story reaches the ears of his superiors, they condemn him to in pace, perpetual solitary confinement in a walled cell.
The spectators withdraw still holding their sides from laughing and more satisfied than with the drollest comedy performed on the stage. After driving out Belamour, La Plante, and Hilarion by threatening them with the fire-tongs, Nicole withdraws to the bathroom, there to pout and wash herself.)
End of the Sixth Part
PART SEVEN
(Who were those two gentlemen who had come so late with Countess Mottenfeu to the villa of the Marquise and who witnessed the droll scene of Hilarion's beard tied to Nicole's lower hair? The reader will become better acquainted with them as our story progresses, although they are not complete strangers.
Nicole, whom we have left sulkily undoing the knots in her hair below, has not yet completely recovered from the soporific effects of the doped wine and, in spite of her irritation, she has gone back to sleep. She must have rested about two hours when she is awakened by a noise outside in the corridor. Someone is knocking and scratching at her door.)
Nicole: Who is there?
A Voice (muffled): A good friend. Open up. (No answer. A moment of silence. Scratching. Rapping.) Voice: Mademoiselle.
Nicole (angrily): I'm asking you again. Who is it? Voice: Open up, please.
Nicole (furiously): Oh, you miserable snake in the grass! If I opened, it would only be to scratch out your eyes. Tell me, you miserable pederast, didn't you faithfully promise never to bother me again?
Voice: Psst! Please let me talk to you.
Nicole (scornfully): Be off with you, or you'll get a kick through your robe that you'll never forget. Keep away from me, you son of Satan!
(The knocking and rapping continues.
Voice: I am not who you think I am. Just the opposite...
Nicole: I don't care. You'll wait a long time before you'll make fun of me again. You can lick my ass!
Voice (cheerfully): If I can have that pleasure, I'll come right in. I can't imagine anything I'd rather do.
(Believing that it is Belamour and determined to give him a lesson, Nicole grabs the fire shovel and noiselessly opens the door. When the unwelcome visitor enters, she strikes at his head with all her might. Fortunately for his skull, she misses. Instead, he is hit by a luscious female form which he immediately embraces. When Nicole sees that it is not Belamour, she is half dead with fright and lets the weapon drop to the floor.)
Voice: Now then you adorable little witch. No one is going to harm you.
(The nocturnal visitor proves his innocent intentions, not only with words but with actions. With his free hand, he is tickling that spot which always inflames her to desire. What a remarkable effect this impertinence has on her! Without a word she snuggles into his circling arm. Involuntarily her knees buckle and she leans backwards. She knows what his goal is when a long, thick, hard and hot object takes possession of the post formerly held by his skillful finger. She realizes it more fully when it is in her up to the hilt.)
Nicole (letting him do as he will with her, sighs): What does all this mean? (A kiss seals her lips. Then he lifts her up in the air.) To the right. (Here they lurch into a bed. A few sturdy thrusts and it is finished.) Heaven bless you. (She sighs contentedly, meaning that everything is settled. The bliss of the first blending is scarcely over when a second is commenced.) At least I didn't get out of bed to no purpose. (She presses herself close to him and cooperates so forcefully that she reaches her crisis in a matter of seconds.) So, my dear fellow, we are by no means yet through. The devil is riding us tonight, and since it will be a long canter, we might as well make ourselves comfortable. By the way, could I ask who you are? Voice: We are...
Nicole (breaking in): In the first place, you are a sturdy rooster with a powerful weapon.
Voice (flattered): At your service, Mademoiselle Hen, and you should see...
Nicole (imitating him): Just as you like, Monsieur Rooster, and I would rather die than put the slightest obstacle in the way of your good intentions. You have attractions (she is in a position to take some note of them) that could appeal to someone much more demanding than I.
(During this pretty little conversation, she hurriedly strips him of his clothing, not even leaving him with his shirt on. As a girl who dislikes half measures, she has removed all of hers.
Now our combatants are lying on the bed, not in it, but on it. They cuddle passionately up to each other, entwine their arms around each other, inwardly become one, rock back and forth, bite each other, bounce up and down, jolt, and writhe as if they are trying to tear each other limb from limb. Finally, they mutually gush and expire rapturously. The delighted Nicole now has every right to be curious and inquire as to the identity of her proud champion, but no sooner does she open her mouth than he begins to pierce her again so violently that she realizes that the time is not ripe. We have seen her prowess in a contest With the good-for-nothing Hilarion and she is determined that she is not going to come out second best in this encounter.)
Nicole: Hold on! We are going to see who of us is first going to beg for mercy. You want to bet...Wait a moment...Your chin up...Lively there, now, my young fellow...Don't worry about tiring me out...Keep on . . Get in deeper...So you're in a hurry...Fine...(Her temper quickens.) How do you like that? Be careful. You nearly slipped out...Now it's fine...Prick me until I die!...Oh...oh...oh...f-u-c-k me . . ! Now it's coming! ah-a-a-a-h!
(With this last agonized sigh, she squeezes the doughty knight firmly to her breast and sucks his burning tongue, which has been wildly rolling around in her mouth during their simultaneous rapture. Consumed by her sensuousness, not a word escapes from his lips.)
Nicole (the first to recover): How stupid I am! I forgot to have some light. (She leaps out of the bed, finds a match, and starts to light a candle.)
Voice: What do you need a match for? You have enough fire below on your body to light it.
(The candle is finally lit.)
Nicole (somewhat confused): Ah, so it's you, Monsieur. (He is one of the gentlemen who was with the Countess.)
Voice: May I introduce myself. I am Baron de Rapignac, wealthiest landowner in Pengord.
Nicole (respectfully): I don't think I have had the honor of meeting you before, Monsieur, and I don't remember ever having seen you at the house of my mistress in Paris.
Baron (conceitedly): Oh yes, my dear. The Marquise knows me...rather well....Just ask your colleague, Felipe. She'll tell you.
Nicole: Of course, Baron, with what you have...(her eyes turn to his scepter)...you must have...
Baron (interrupting her): Oh, my child, don't beat around the bush but come to the point. In the dark you seem to me to be much more adorable than your mistress. I am a baron and I know better than anyone. Now that you know who I am, may I ask your name?
Nicole (telling him): You seem to be a very agreeable gentleman.
Baron: Take a look. (He attracts Nicole's attention to his instrument which he displays in its most favorable light.)
Nicole: I have better things to do than look at things like that.
Baron: But we haven't finished yet, my dear. Come, come, Venus is nothing in comparison with you. I want to fight again in your bed with the fury of Mars.
(As he was speaking, the delighted Nicole casts a glance at his proud spear which did not give lie to his words. At the same time, she cleanses herself of the evidence of their amorous play, employing all the lures and coquetries designed to keep and strengthen the sensuous mood of her lover. The proposal she suggests she knew could be dangerous, but she makes it.)
Nicole: My dear Baron, may I render you the same service? (With soap, wash-basin and towel in her arms, she comes up to him.)
Baron (springing up): With all my heart. Being washed by your dainty hands will make this little fellow-
Nicole (laughs as she begins to wash him): He isn't so small, Baron.
(This second toilet proceeds merrily. While Nicole rinses, pets, strokes, fondles and rubs the incomparable tool with her hand, the happy Baron lets his hands run over the countless beauties of the maid, squeezing and kissing her breasts and arms. When he gets to the bottom of her back, he seems to have been struck with a sudden idea. He turns Nicole around just as she is setting down the basin and pitcher.)
Baron: Every part of your body demands to be kissed.
(At that moment, he sinks to his knees, covers with kisses the rear visage with its superb cheeks, stands up, takes her by the waist, lifts her in the air, and returns to the bed. Throwing himself on his back, he has his friend on top of him, face down looking at his stiffening instrument. Before his eyes is the slit in which nature has concealed its greatest wonders. As his tongue darts in and out between the coral lips, her tongue is busily engaged with his magnificent organ.)
Nicole (passionately): I could kiss you all over!
(Scarcely had she uttered these words of praise than the rosy head of the little fellow is completely in her mouth, which trills a little air on it as her fingers beat time on the body of the flute. Nor does she neglect below the drums on which she beats a rat-a-tat. The provocative manipulations have aroused the lusting Baron as much as his tongue has stimulated Nicole. The crisis is simultaneous. The elixir the greedy Baron takes into his mouth is returned tenfold into the furiously sucking Nicole who is groaning with bliss. Two thirsty topers do not empty their glasses with as much enthusiasm as our love-crazed partners gulp down the Cytherean nectar. They seem to want to drain dry the springs they have just opened.
Finally it is time for a little respite. They get dressed and then rinse their mouths, first with water and then with a glass of superb wine that Nicole had been able to save from the intemperate Hilarion. After this refreshing pause, our champions have to yield to the power of Morpheus, for Venus found that she had been sufficiently venerated and forbade further devotions. -The first to wake was Nicole who immediately resumes the interrupted activity in which the Baron joyfully joins. This new romp is just as animated as the first but so similar that the reader can be spared a repetition of the details.
The only thing different is that the valiant maid, who let herself be honored from behind, was finished a bit before her assailant. It was not that his powers were flagging, but the desire to hold back the supreme moment. Since he was sure she would not immediately repeat, he did not think she would take it amiss if he released his offering in the rear aperture. Like a skillful tailor, he slips his needle out of the buttonhole into the eyelet. This trick is accomplished so dexterously and quickly, largely because of the anointment his weapon had received from the other slit, that Nicole scarcely realizes what is happening. When she does, she bursts out laughing and enjoys herself thoroughly.)
Nicole: You'll have to admit that you are a very devil of a fellow, Monsieur Baron!
Baron: How could any man resist such an enticing derriere?
Nicole: That may be, but you'll have to take the consequences.
Baron: Shall I make up for it by...
Nicole: No, my dear. I don't think you have anything left.
Baron: Nothing left! What sort of ungrateful weakling do you think I am? I am your faithful servant to the very end!
Nicole: No, the final course has been served.
Baron (guiding her hand to his testicles): I shall have plenty. Feel.
Nicole (laughing): Yes, the bag is full.
(We'll pass over a description of the delightful games they began to play with undiminished enthusiasm and find out what is going on elsewhere.
After the comedy in which Hilarion's beard fell victim to Nicole's shears, the spectators had separated. Monsieur Dupeville, of whom mention was made earlier in the present work, and Baron de Rapignac, whom we have talked about just now, were lodged in separate rooms. After both had retired, the devil of lust drove the latter in search of gratification, the result of which was the adventure we have just described. He had asked the Countess first, but could not be persuaded to participate in a romp. As she told her wooer, she preferred to spend the night with the Marquise. Heaven knows what they did. For more than two hours, the pair indulged in every conceivable refinement of Sapphic pleasure. In their search for new diversions, even the dildo purchased from Bricon was brought into play. With due respect to the delicate condition of the Marquise, the use of this instrument was limited to the person of the Countess. So successful were they in pleasing each other, the thought of inviting a male to heighten their joys never entered their minds. At the end of their amusements, they were dead tired.
When they awoke around eleven o'clock, they were still fatigued and felt no inclination to take up where they had left off. Instead, they utilized this opportunity to discuss all that had happened during the time they were separated. The frolics which the frivolous Countess had to impart to her friend can be imagined. The Marquise deemed it advisable to remain silent about the cause of her pregnancy and the interlude with Mo-hammed-Hilarion. Finally, there came out the story as to how the Countess and her two friends came so late at night to the villa.)
Marquise: I have to confess that since our wager I had completely forgotten Monsieur de Rapignac. And here in the country, I hadn't any idea if Dupeville was alive or dead.
Countess: As for Dupeville, the question is not yet settled. If you understand by living that one comes and goes, eats, sleeps, puts on his clothing and doesn't rot, Dupeville is alive. But as far as his abilities in the couch, he might as well be a eunuch in a sultan's harem.
Marquise: Is it that bad? Isn't there any chance of a cure? You were telling me then that he had had an operation. Wasn't it successful?
Countess: No. As a matter-of-fact, it destroyed him completely. I can't stand the sight of what is left of his lopped off manliness. Besides, he himself has told me he can't stick it in any place any more.
Marquise: How terrible!
Countess: No more joyous ejaculations for him. Fantasy, eyes, fingers and tongue are all that he has left.
Marquise: Even though an intelligent man must resign himself to his fate and there are still some substitutes, my heart goes out to him. .
Countess: Aren't you curious as to why he came here?
Marquise (coolly): I just thought he was accompanying you, that's all.
Countess: It's not that simple. He wants something from you that concerns you directly.
Marquise: I imagine you know what it is.
Countess: The most remarkable thing about the story is that Rapignac and Dupeville got the same idea at the same time. Each wants to lay before you his side and then let you decide. The one you favor will stay here. If you turn both down, the two will be sent back to Paris and I'll keep you company here in the country as long as you wish.
Marquise (giving her a kiss): That's very kind of you. But what do those men want of me?
Countess: Make a guess.
Marquise: Has Dupeville had bad luck gambling? If he needs money, all he has to do is ask.
Countess: That is a pretty shrewd surmise, but it is not the reason. Don't you have any idea?
Marquise: Oh, I don't want to wrack my brain. You can tell me or not-I don't care. I haven't the slightest desire to pry secrets out of you.
Countess: I took it on myself to let you know, and if I haven't come to the point, I was just arousing your curiosity. At least, I thought so. What do you think about getting married again?
Marquise: What a silly question! Of course not. I'll never get married again.
Countess: Nevertheless, both are deadly serious about wanting to marry you.
Marquise: Those two?
Countess: Yes, if the law would permit it. But one or the other.
Marquise: You must be out of your mind. It's preposterous. I am still young and attractive and I am still eager for pleasure. Why should I give up my freedom, my most precious treasure? Whatever could have given them such a wild idea?
Countess: Now, don't get so excited. All you have to do is tell them your reasons, and that will be the end of it.
Marquise: Don't they know them already?
Countess: I can't hold anything back from you. The story went around that you have become disfigured because of your pox. Because of that, your suitors thought that you would give up your dissolute life. But, as Dupeville said, you would be a delightful companion and he doesn't need anything more. He told me that you had money and that he has twice as much. Put together, you could lead a luxurious existence.
Marquise (imitating the Gascon's simper): And how about Monsieur de Rapignac? What are his plans?
Countess (mocking the Baron): Zounds! This woman, I feel sorry for her. It breaks my heart to think of her bereft of her beauty in the prime of her life. She will wither away if some chevalier does not come to console her. I'll be that good Samaritan. Unfortunately, I am not rich, but I am not without means.
Marquise: That's enough. I understand. He wants me to support his tastes for hunting and farming.
Countess: Dear me! I gather that you will not marry Monsieur de Rapignac.
(As they are talking, the Marquise rings. Felipe appears.)
Marquise (to her friend): What would you like for breakfast?
Countess: Just a bouillon. Nothing else.
Marquise: That's all I want. (To Felipe): Bring us two cups of bouillon and hurry.
Countess (to Felipe): Just a moment, my child. (In an undertone to the Marquise): Couldn't that funny youth bring it to us? The one who told us what was going on in Nicole's room?
Marquise: You mean Felix?
Countess: Felix or whatever his name is. I couldn't get the scamp out of my mind all night.
Marquise (nodding her head understandingly): Felipe, have Felix serve us breakfast.
Felipe: Very good, Madame. (She leaves.)
(After her departure, the Marquise tells the Countess what Felix was before he entered her employment.)
Marquise: Right now, he is a most pleasing youth, but he won't remain that way much longer. He is weak, cunning, and common. He is a more thorough-going passive pederast than Belamour and has perverted tastes. But he doesn't have the likable qualities of Belamour.
Countess: What are your plans for him?
Marquise: I don't know. What do you suggest?
Countess (enthusiastically): Give him to me! I'd dearly love to have the little rascal.
Marquise: So that's the impression you have from the description of the little pig. I thought you would be revolted.
Countess (falling on the Marquise's neck): On the contrary. I'm fascinated, as you can see. I want to have this Felix at any price. If you don't release him of your own free will, I'll abduct him. I'll take care of him and love him. What a delight it will be to have a lad who does out of inclination what my other friends do just out of courtesy! I'll have my ass cleaned any time I want. If my other friends get exhausted, I can always use him as a reserve. Oh, how happy I shall be! I'll always be contented.
Marquise: Such eagerness. What do you want me to do with this backside that you are patting so lovingly? Unfortunately, I am not Monsieur Felix.
Countess: Just wait until he is here. I can't wait until he is on top of me.
Marquise: I find this most amusing. What can you see in that stable-boy, that silly hairdresser apprentice.
Countess: What a jockey he'll be! Night and day he'll ride me.
Marquise: We'll see about that. Of course, you can have Felix and do with him what you want....I would like to do a little something for you, but at your expense.
Countess (eagerly): Damn the cost. I just hope he comes up to my expectations.
Marquise: That is what I had in mind. Felix will be here-in a moment with our bouillon. Let me arrange the comedy. When he comes in, pretend that you are sound asleep and assume a position so that he can see everything. I'll warn him not to make any noise, and after he sees what you have to offer, I'll retreat to the toilet without making a sound. You'll be snoring. I wager that in five minutes the rascal will have forgotten all respect due you and have plugged the tightest of your two holes.
Countess: That is my fondest hope.
Marquise: Just try him.
Countess: That I shall....
Marquise: Somebody is coming! It must be Felix. Don't forget what I told you.
(The Countess lies on the bed, her head buried in the pillows and her derriere raised in the air.
Felix enters, bringing the broth. The Marquise with her finger on her mouth warns him to avoid making any noise. As if by accident, she dislodges the blankets, revealing the contoured glories of the Countess, and then retreats into the toilet. The breakfast is quickly laid on the table. Felix naturally remains in the room awaiting new orders while taking in the Countess's charms.
Admire them! That is an understatement. He sighs....He is consumed by an inner blaze. His heart is beadng madly. What way is there to subdue this passion? He has to consider the consequences of an attack. A grown man would have been right away in that enticing aperture, but he is just a child, inexperienced in such matters. But he is attracted to it as a needle to a magnet. He takes a short step, then a longer one. Finally, he strides boldly and is at his goal. It seems as if his body is shaken by jolts of electricity. The blood in his veins is boiling. But isn't respect due this strange woman? He suddenly becomes timid. But away with such thoughts! He screws up his courage. He bends down, imprinting a gentle kiss first on one and then on the second hemisphere.
Perhaps the Marquise was mistaken. But no, she wasn't. The scoundrel's tongue is now in the cleft. The Marquise was right about his preference. Surprised at his own temerity, he breathes in short pants. He is suffocating. Now the criminal instrument is produced, grazing the object of its attentions. It is dry, dry as the sands of the desert. He dares not awaken her. Be careful, Felix. As a precaution, he spits into his hand and smears the saliva on the organ. Trusting to his luck, he begins" his penetration. Oh delight, it goes in! But the lady still lies as if dead. This is curious, for the youth is treading a path trodden by countless others. He takes full advantage of the opportunity.
Finally his passions reach their peak. But what an astonishment! At the moment when the rogue releases his warm flood, the lady springs to life, and like a cat pouncing on a mouse, she seizes the miscreant member that is still dripping its guilty drops and loudly calls for the Marquise. It is not long before she puts in an appearance for she has been hiding behind a curtain at the other end of the room and has witnessed all that had been going on. In a flash, she is behind the culprit who dared profane her friend's rear. The poor lad is so frightened that he falls in a faint on the Countess. The two women mercifully rest him on the bed and administer smelling-salts until he comes around. Filled with shame and remorse, he buries his face in the pillows.)
Marquise (in a sympathetic voice): You are a rascal, but a lovable one.
Countess: Don't worry. We forgive you. And you do it so well.
(She gives him a friendly smack on his bare bottom.)
Marquise (doing her best to conceal her smile): Really, Countess, you are most charitable.
Countess: Enough of your jesting. (Turning to Felix): I'm not angry with you. On the contrary. Cheer up, now. Don't be so downhearted. (She strokes his testicles.) Look how the poor thing has crawled back in. That is not nice of you.
Marquise: Since you don't feel insulted at what he did to you, I won't punish him as he so richly deserves. I'll just dismiss him from my service.
(Since Felix has not yet dared raise his eyes and look at the two women, they exchange amused glances. But the thought that he is going to be dismissed causes him such anguish that he springs out of the bed and throws himself at the feet of his mistress.)
Felix: Oh, Madame, you can't mean it! You are not going to drive me away. What will become of me? Dear God! I am the most miserable wretch on earth.
Countess: Don't take it so hard, Felix. It is not as bad as all that. I'll take you into my service.
Felix: You are too kind, Madame. But I am deeply indebted to my mistress. Must I leave her in disgrace?
Marquise (smiles and extends him her hand): Dry your tears, Felix. We were just playing a little trick on you, and you would have been a fool if you had not acted just as you did. (He fervently kisses her hand as she continues): Now, let me give you a piece of advice, my good friend. For your age, your talents and tastes are too perverse.
Countess (in a loud voice): Don't believe a word that she is saying.
Marquise (to the Countess): Let me talk. I am very fond of him, and it's for his own good.
Countess: I also like him, and I ask him to listen to what I have to say to him. Down here, Felix, everybody has you know what. Unfortunately, nature has not endowed you so that you can satisfactorily fit into a woman's sheath. But once you realize and accept that, you'll be much happier. Just do what you are best suited for.
Marquise: A fine morality. But let us have our breakfast. If you go into the Countess's service, Felix, I'll be more than happy.
Felix: Oh, Madame, if you had dismissed me and I hadn't the good fortune to find such a good position right away, I would have put back on my cowl or drowned myself.
Countess (taking him by the hand): Come here, you silly little fool, and give me a kiss. Enough of those gloomy thoughts. (When he promptly obeys, she drops two louis in his hand. To the Marquise): Now he's mine?
Marquise: Yes.
Countess (to Felix): Now you are in my service and when I return to Paris, you'll come with me.
Felipe (enters): Mesdames, one of the gentlemen asks permission to inquire if you had a good night's sleep and if he may pay his respects.
Countess: There is no necessity to ask if this fine compliment comes from Dupeville.
Marquise: Shall we receive him?
Countess: Certainly.
Marquise: How about Monsieur de Rapignac, Felipe?
Felipe: I haven't seen or heard of him. Marquise: And where is Nicole? Felipe: I went to her room to say good morning and knocked and knocked, but there was no answer. Marquise: And Belamour? Felipe: Not a sign of him all morning. (A servant enters and gives the Marquise a note.) -Marquise (taking the letter): Who is it from?
Servant: I don't know, Madame. A farmer brought it and he is outside waiting for an answer.
Marquise (ripping open the envelope, quickly reads the lines, shakes her head, and bursts out laughing): She is out of her mind! (To the servant): You can leave. I'll answer right away. (The servant departs.)
Marquise (to Felipe): Go out and tell the person who brought this note that I insist on speaking to the one who wrote it. And immediately, do you understand? (Felipe goes out.) And you can leave us, too, Felix. This is the result of your funny joke.
(The bewildered Felix follows Felipe through the door.)
Marquise: Poor Nicole has taken leave of her senses. Just listen what she wrote me: "Dear Madame, after what happened last night. I dare not hope that you will retain me in your service. I am leaving voluntarily and I beg you to forgive me for the scandal that I caused in your house, even though it was not my fault." Of course, it wasn't her fault. It was those blackguards, Felix and Belamour, who are guilty.
Countess (cheerfully): But they did provide us with most agreeable entertainment, and for that reason, we have to forgive them.
Marquise: You are too lenient to everybody.
Countess: Bosh. You have to agree with me. But what else does it have to say?
Marquise: "Please forgive what happened but do not forget the pleasure I had of being in your service. Your affectionate Nicole." I have no hard feelings for her and I would not like to see her leave.
Countess: What a lucky person you are. All your servants adore you and do their best to please you.
Marquise: Before hiring any one, I make sure that they are of good character, and then I do everything I can to see that they are contented. Good masters usually have good servants.
Countess: I do the same, even to the extent of spoiling them, but the only one I can count on is Zamor.
Marquise: The trouble with you is that one moment you are kindness itself and the next irritable and moody.
Countess: Yes, I have to improve. But I can promise you that I won't spoil Felix. Marquise: Oh, here is Dupeville. Countess: And your Nicole.
(Dupeville and Nicole enter the room at the same time. Nicole is ashamed to appear before the witnesses to her disgrace and stands to one side. In order not to embarrass her, Dupeville pretends not to recognize her. He kisses the hands of the Marquise and Countess simultaneously.)
Countess (to the Marquise): How gallant! He doesn't want to make us jealous. And how are things with you, my poor invalid?
Dupeville (bowing): It is very kind of you to ask. Quite well, thank you. (The Marquise stands up.) I hope I am not disturbing you.
Marquise: Of course not, my dear fellow. Will you permit me to have a few words with this girl?
Countess (in an undertone): That's the one from last night. (Dupeville replies with a shrug of his shoulders.)
Marquise (in a kindly voice): Now get it out of your head, Nicole, that you are leaving. I am very fond of you, and I know that you are devoted to me. Take all the time you need to get over that nasty affair of last night which I deplore most strongly. You don't have to come back to work until you are completely recovered. Now let us forget about it. (Nicole, bursting into tears, falls at her mistress's feet which she kisses. She is unable to utter a word.) Come, my dear. Your sadness is hurting me. Give me a kiss and then you can leave.
(Nicole goes out and Felipe enters. She is in such a state of excitement that she is trembling in every limb.)
Felipe: Heavens...Madame!...I can't... I'm all out of breath...Belamour and Monsieur de Rapignac...
Marquise (upset): What's the matter?
Felipe (puffing): Behind, in the garden, Madame...Swords....They're killing each other!
Countess: What is that she is saying?
Marquise (agitated): Dupeville! Hurry out there and see what is wrong!
Dupeville: I'm there already.
(He had scarcely taken a step when they see Rapignac approach. Belamour is holding him up.)
Countess (compassionately): Oh, it's too late!
Marquise (trembling): Good God! What does this mean?
(Baron de Rapignac and Belamour had fought a duel, in which the former was run through the chest. Belamour is bringing him to the villa. They see the spots of blood on the handkerchief he has applied to the wound. All hasten to the combatants with the exception of Felipe who remains behind to comfort Nicole, who had fainted at the sight of Rapignac. She believed him dead. After her tender adventure with the Baron the previous night, her personal interest can easily be imagined.)
Belamour (crying out loudly): Help! Help! (To the Marquise): Will you send Felix on your fastest horse so that he can get your doctor? (She makes a sign to Felix who starts immediately for the stable.) Let's get him into bed, while I go for the village doctor....
Marquise (shocked at Belamour's appearance): But, how about you? You're bleeding!
Belamour: If only he were wounded as slightly as I!
(Indeed he has only a surface wound on the hand. Rapignac is carried up to a room on the second floor. As he passes the chamber where Nicole has recovered from her swoon, she springs out and tries to embrace him. Although she is held back, she is relieved to see that he is still breathing.)
Marquise: I swear that I am all confused at all this terrible thing!
Countess: We'll soon find out what it is all about.
(The village doctor who lived in the vicinity was fortunately home when Belamour came for him, and he was at the villa in a matter of minutes. It was obvious that he did not know his calling very well, for he was unable to determine whether the wound was fatal or not. After being bled, Rapignac was completely unconscious. Opinions concerning the winner differed. The Countess and Dupeville thought he should flee, but Belamour insisted on staying. The Marquise considered the possibility of hiding him to escape arrest. The cause of the quarrel, according to Belamour, was that he had been insulted. More he would not say.
The Countess and Dupeville delayed their departure from the villa because they were unwilling to leave the Marquise alone with the patient. For several days, the Baron hovered between life and death, but a sudden improvement in his condition showed that the wound was not fatal. In the meantime, Belamour had steadfastly refused to take to flight, not only out of devotion to the Marquise, but also because the Prelate, an extremely influential personage, promised that he would see to it he was not prosecuted.
Time heals all wounds and gradually cheer and gaiety returned to the villa. The exuberant Countess, in her element wherever there were men and women, was enjoying herself thoroughly since she had for playmates the Marquise, two adorable girls, Belamour, Felix and even Dupeville who, in spite of his deformity, was able to contribute to the festivities. Every morning the insatiable woman rose to go crawl in bed with her dear friend, to whom she recounted all sorts of extravagant things. They usually ended up with some indecent act. After one of these romps, the following conversation took place):
Marquise: Poor Felix is nothing but skin and bones! Countess: Yes, he is a bit more slender, but I prefer him like that.
Marquise: And my Felipe coughs for half an hour every time she comes out of your room.
Countess: She does not have anything to complain about. I do everything for that little wanton. Has she been saying anything bad about me?
Marquise: Just the opposite. She worships you, but you'll spoil her for me with all the things you do for her.
Countess: Oh, I like doing them.
Marquise: I would rather turn Nicole over to you. She is a robust girl, and she would be just right for you.
Countess (sighing): I agree with you. But she has one terrible fault.
Marquise: A fault? What could that be?
Countess: She's just too passionate. Every moment she is either jealous or amorous.
Marquise: Yes, I keep reproaching her for that.
Countess: Right now she is so smitten with Rapignac that she has no use for me. Just a few days ago, I tried to get her into bed with me. I was going to surprise her with our biggest and best dildo. She absolutely refused.
Marquise (mockingly): Just think of that! Countess: I pleaded with her. That didn't help. I showed her all the nice preparations I had made. She laughed in my face. I tried to take her by force, and she defended herself. She's as strong as a horse and I had to give up. I never hear a friendly word from her.
Marquise (amused): I pity you with all my heart.
Countess: Also, she brags that she has absolutely no use for our dear Belamour.
Marquise: That's another matter. Belamour did her wrong.
Countess: Not only that, she calls my darling Felix an enema and now all the servants make fun of him.
Marquise: By the way, I remember that you once were going to tell me about your adventure with all the monks.
Countess: Yes, that was about ten months. But it wasn't with Capuchins. I guarantee you that you will be amused by the story.
Marquise (contemptuously): Ever since I was a child, I have despised monks.
Countess: That is very foolish of you. I'll try to make you change your mind.
Marquise: Well, go ahead.
Countess: When I was sixteen years old, I acquired a liking for Father Whoreface...
Marquise (jokingly): Father Whoreface. What a fitting name for a monk!
Countess: Yes, and it was precisely his extraordinary name that determined his choice of a career. He came from a respectable family the members of which had been lawyers for generations. However, he had a hankering for military life and so he joined the army. But you can imagine the ribbing he got from his comrades about his name. On one occasion, he fought a duel with a tormentor and was severely wounded. Since to change his name would be taken as a sign of weakness, he decided to take up a new calling and resigned from the service. It is only a step from soldier to monk. So one fine day, Whoreface exchanged his brightly colored uniform for the habit of the order of St. Bernard. He still congratulates himself on having made such a clever move.
Marquise: I can see in advance that this monk stands very high in your esteem. Well, tell me what you did with him.
Countess: On my last trip to Provence, I happened to be passing through Burgundy. My carriage stopped in a certain village to change horses. My conveyance had been passed by a coach drawn by two marble-white mares. Who else but a man of God would have such a conveyance? We exchanged looks when our carriages were side by side. "I can't believe my eyes," he said to me. "If I am not mistaken, it is Mademoiselle de Condor." I have to tell you that because he had lost track of me, he did know that I had married and been widowed.
Marquise: I understand.
Countess: I told him that the former Mademoiselle de Condor was now Countess Mottenfeu. "I am still Whoreface, your humble servant," he told me. If that was a gentle hint, it couldn't have come at a better time. I couldn't help but think that this unexpected meeting could end in his rendering me a few services. I liked him very much in our wilder days and I found him as attractive as before. Besides, I hadn't had any one in three days.
Marquise: Three days! I can easily imagine your having ideas about the fellow.
Countess (gaily): You're making fun of me. Just for that, I won't tell you the rest of the story.
Marquise: You can't deceive me. I know that you are just bursting to get it all out. I'll be good, I promise you. (Gives her a kiss.) I have to confess that this is the first time in my life I have heard you tell a story about a monk.
Countess (caressing her): I asked him what he had been doing since I last saw him and how he happened to be in the little village. He informed me that he was the prior of a monastery about two miles away. He had been in Citeaux and was on his way back to his monks. And I mentioned that I was going to see my grandparents in Aix and I had stopped to change horses. "Ah, pardon me, Countess," he said. "I dare to hope your departure will not be too precipitate. What a fortunate event that our paths have crossed again and I hope you can brighten my life with an hour of your company."
Marquise: What elegant language for a monk! A nobleman couldn't have expressed it better.
Countess: There are many kinds of monks, my dear. The ordinary brother who comes from poor or humble circumstances and goes directly into the cloister has nothing in common with the members of a rich, powerful order. The latter come from good families and lead pleasant lives in which nothing is forbidden and in which they can cultivate their talents. Such monks are often exceptionally amiable and charming.
Marquise: And Father Whoreface belonged to the latter class?
Countess: Indeed he did. I didn't need any more persuasion to accede to his request. I got into his carriage while mine with my servants followed behind. As we are driving along, he tells me that he is more friend than director of eight brothers, all of whom he had personally picked for their amiability. None was over twenty years of age. They are light-hearted lads, he told me, and fond of all sorts of distractions. Each has his own chamber where he can amuse himself as he "sees fit. The order is extremely rich which enables them to lead luxurious existences. In short, they are more of a family than a brotherhood. Because the monks can have women in their confines, there would be no trouble about bringing me there.
Marquise: It sounds like a paradise.
Countess: Immediately on being welcomed, I see that my escort is loved by his monks. Also I recognize that a lovely woman under his protection is in a kingdom where everything is available to her. He had not exaggerated when describing the inmates. These youngsters were handsome with fresh rosy complexions, kissable lips, and smiling eyes. None of that convent look about them.
Marquise: I wager that one day I'll see from my friend's pen a book entitled "The Monks' Lady Friend."
Countess (laughing): I am given a most cordial reception. They load me down with flowers and almost carry me to show me everything. Finally, we sit down to dinner. The food is plentiful and delicious while the wine is superb. I am the only woman guest, but our party has grown to eighteen with the addition of some friends, officers, landowners, and officials. You're yawning? If you're bored with my account about the dinner, I assure that you won't be when I come to the love part.
Marquise: Well, finish up with the meal and get on with the story.
Countess: Everybody drinks so heartily that in no time at all we are all in the best of moods. I have to admit that I am a little far gone. I tried them all, the Burgundy, the champagne, the St. Emilion, the malmsey, the Madeira, and the Tokay, and I feel the effects. Already at dinner, I behaved not quite as I should have, and I am sure that I lost some of their respect. But I soon won it back.
Marquise: You are always so modest.
Countess: There wasn't a single one of them who wouldn't give much to be alone with me. I regarded each one so coquettishly that he was sure that nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have a tete-a-tete with him. As we stand up from the table, I am so lustful that I would give myself to the first man who asked me. Father Whoreface quickly guesses my feelings, and taking me aside, asks if I would take coffee with him. "Please, strong and hot," I reply like a little fool. He assures me that I can rely on that. At the same time, I press my hand against an object which drives me mad. My eyes immediately look for the exit. Everything is hazy. Finally we stagger out.
Marquise: Now comes the interesting part. I hope it makes up for the boring introduction.
Countess: That goes without saying. Now we are very cozy together and gulp down quickly a cup of delicious mocha. The Prior, whom the beverage makes even hotter, starts to tease me, but I give him twice as good. Now he begins to take liberties that I do not mind. A comfortable divan invites us. It is like lighting tinder the way we became united. His ardent tool is scarcely in when I feel the flow of his quenching liquid, and we are drowning in bliss. That was the lightning. The thunder follows quickly after. Now he begins to penetrate again, this time more slowly, which sends us both into raptures.
Marquise: I am starting to forgive you for this worthy Prior. He knows what he is doing.
Countess: But he had overlooked one thing. He left the door open. As we continued to give ourselves up to our delicious diversions, the monastery steward was going through the adjoining room and heard us. He waits there for the end of our feverish tete-a-tete. When we are through, what happens? Nothing. No embarrassment or shame. He is looking at us, laughing and greatly amused. After all, we are all friends. Still rather drunk from the wine and the ecstasy, I lose all sense of modesty and join in the general merriment. This great excitement must have aroused lusty sensations in the steward for he requests my favors in turn. His petition is made by a powerful attack which tumbles me on the divan. My new Warrior is an athlete about five feet eight, strong and skillful, and a former dragoon. Without withdrawing, he satisfies me twice. Ah! (She kisses her fingers.) I can't describe it. You must experience it yourself to get an idea.
Marquise: I think you are telling me a cock-and-bull story, you little hussy.
Countess (fervently and seriously): May a prick never again enter my body if I haven't been telling you the exact truth.
Marquise: Oh, that's too much! But I believe you. Continue.
Countess: The Prior sat next to us and watched us. When we finished, the Prior was again ready for action. Pulling me down on him, he stretches his legs and sticks them through between mine. What can I do against this scissors movement? I do the correct thing and seize his imposing lance which I insert into the sheath up to the hilt. Now the steward is obviously sorry that he ceased so quickly for he recognizes that I am disposed for further feats. But his colleague courteously raises me up and reveals to him my bottom that all men find so enticing.
Marquise: That is a piece of insolence that the most shameless whorehouse madam never would have allowed.
Countess: I agree that he went a little too far, but Father Whoreface had his little reasons. He knew from before that the utilization of my rear hole while the front was being taken care of always enhances my pleasure. So the three of us worked jointly. The courtesy he wished to extend his friend was also a favor to me.
Marquise: In that case, I can have no objections.
Countess: At first, he is a little timid, the steward, but gradually he gets up his courage and strokes the cheeks of my derriere. He even dares to graze my groove with his fingers. "Now is the time. Don't be so shy, my old friend!" the Prior calls to him impatiently. In the meantime, I am out of my mind and babbling like a parrot. "Come, come, my dear friend! Don't be so shy!" I am more obliging to him, because I momentarily interrupt my game with Whoreface in order to introduce him into the hole that he is fumbling at. But a monk has an understanding of such things, and he was soon in.
Marquise: All that is a terrible disgusting performance!
Countess: Wait until I am through and then you can moralize all you want. The good steward, just like us, had forgotten to lock the door. Suddenly appear the winemaster and the caretaker who, after clearing off the table, come to bring us some bottles of liqueur. Since the door was wide open, there is nothing to stop them from entering. You can imagine our consternation when we espy them! What a stroke of drama for the Prior who was in a position to see them come in. In a good-tempered mood, he tells them to enter and close the door behind them lest the entire brotherhood should follow them. I myself am in a mania of lust and I would not have given up my two fuckers for anything in the world. I repeat what the Prior said about their coming in and closing the door. I am in a state of delirium impaled as I am on both ends. The curious spectacle does not fail to attract the newcomers who approach more closely. I can't chat with them, for my tongue is exchanging hot embraces with the Prior's, but I wave my arm at them to indicate that my concern at the moment is to drain the last drop of pleasure. When they are at our side, I grab them by their sashes....
Marquise: Don't you have any manners?
Countess: Not when you have the devil in the flesh. I pull them toward me and make each kneel on the divan with one knee. When I touch their members which I managed to pull out, I can see that they are ready for battle.
Marquise: A brothel inmate working as industriously as you would be a rich woman.
Countess: It worked out perfectly. Besides, one should never pass up a good chance. The addition to what I already had was nearly driving me crazy. I am no longer a simple woman, but a raving she-devil in whose blood Priapus and Bacchus are boiling. I groan, I gnash my teeth, I curse, and I nearly crush the plunging spears with my wild movements. But my hands are completely different. Gently and tenderly, I raise the temperatures of the latest arrivals almost to the boiling point, but take care they do not yet spout their hot fluid on me. In order to crown my labors, I wait until they all have reached the peak of excitement. I feel that the supreme moment is near. Urging my gallants on with obscene words, feverishly moving hands, unbridled convulsions of my body, I feel four divine gushes of nectar on and in me simultaneously. I drown the Prior with my flow. The winemaster's sap spatters my neck and the caretaker's splashes on face and eyes, almost blinding me. This spiritual gathering closes with general hilarity and good humor.
Marquise: I hope you gave the poor monks time to catch their breath.
Countess: First, I demand a few glasses of the exhilarating liqueurs. The intoxicating odors of these drinks fill the theatre of our pleasures.
Marquise: A monkish brothel would be a more accurate expression.
Countess: With a glass in my hand, I toast my valiant champions just as eagerly as I did on the divan. These new libations were not calculated to calm. I became even wilder, so that I began again....
Marquise: Good Heavens! I tremble for the good monks and for yourself.
Countess: Everybody leads his life the way he sees fit. With me, all my senses are directed to passion and lust. If I hear lovely music, my sexual desires are aroused; if I see a beautiful painting, my blood gets all hot; if human flesh touches me, I become enflamed. Even the odor of a rose or a carnation is enough to awaken my passions. If I have drunk, I am consumed by fire. I desire everything that comes my way, and fucking is the only method to still my desires.
Marquise: At least, you're honest.
Countess: To bring the story to a close, my dear prude, I'll mention that my moist, glowing eyes after the enjoyment of these liqueurs fell on the dispensers of these fiery beverages as if they wanted to say: "I have done far too little for you." They sigh as if agreeing that it was true. I sigh, likewise. "Do you think we can dare?" asks the caretaker. "We want to dare," adds the wine master. I glance again at the divan. The prior, an understanding and good sort, realizes that this is the opportune moment to have a little talk with the steward. Apparently, it is about something important, for he asks him to accompany him into another room. This withdrawal suits us perfectly. I tell the caretaker, the one who sprinkled me in the eyes, to get into position. At the same time, I throw him on the sofa, but at first, I cannot make up my mind. Shall I show him my face?
Or shall I turn my back to him so that he can do it in the Berlin fashion? At the moment, I perceive that the wine master has poor teeth and that his instrument has certain defects. Therefore the caretaker must have the place of honor. I sit on him with my legs spread and my arms around his neck, as he requested. Spiritedly, he jabs into my front cleft while with no less eagerness, the lascivious wine master bores my rear. The latter is finished at the same time as I, but the caretaker, apparently of a more stubborn nature, is still far from his climax. I don't want to hurt his feelings, so I merely speed up my tempo. Since the Prior, who has just returned, like nature abhors a vacuum, he fills the asshole just vacated by the wine master....You have no idea. If it is possible to die of pleasure, I would have breathed my last then and there, for the one in front finally comes with such copiousness that he more than makes up for his tardiness. I am in seventh heaven. What a fiery flood! And the flood in the rear from the Prior is also marvelous. We are melting like wax on hot coals. Together we sink together to the floor where we remain lifeless for five minutes. They take our sighs for death-rattles.
(When the Countess finishes her account, she is not a little surprised at the Marquise's apathy as if her mind were elsewhere. What can that mean? Nothing more than that the Marquise, who has followed the descriptions with the deepest interest and has been lifted to the highest pitch of excitement, has put her fingers under the covers on a certain spot and is vigorously masturbating. The Countess, who does not suspect anything, suddenly jerks away the sheets and sees it. Without stopping, she languorously regards the Countess, who immediately embraces her and darts her tongue into her mouth. Then she, too, commences to imitate her, and in spite of her lateness, she soon catches up. Their movements, their moans, and their sighs announce the approach of the sublime moment. Dupeville enters the room.
When Dupeville discovers the two women in such a position, he is most agreeably surprised. He stands stock-still, raises his hands to heaven, and lets a deep sigh escape from his breast. At this moment, the Marquise is at the peak of her lust. After the last moan of pain, she addresses the intruder.)
Marquise (in a good humor): That wasn't very tactful of you, Monsieur Dupeville.
Countess: What the devil! Don't scold him. He couldn't have come at a better time. (To Dupeville): Come here, my poor invalid. How about putting your tongue to work?
(The Countess reclines on the bed and exposes the rosy clitoris she has been rubbing.)
Dupeville: What an enchanting jewel! How many fond memories I have of your kindness when you bestowed it upon me.
Countess: That's all well and good, but enough of your dirge. I would rather you get to work with your tongue.
(Her ardent suitor enthusiastically bends himself to his task, darting in and out as fast as he can.)
Countess: Harder! (He obeys.) Faster! (He obeys.) Now your finger in the other free hole! (He obeys.)
Marquise: Phooey! How disgusting!
Countess (almost shouting): Ah, fucking...fucking... that is my whole life!
Marquise: Now watch your tongue, you little pig. You're starting to talk like a common whore!
(Paying not the slightest attention to the moralizing, she abandons herself completely to her agreeable pastime. The violence of her jolting body does not facilitate the task of her obliging lover.)
Countess: Fuck...Fuck...Oh, it's coming! Everything is streaming out of me...I am dying! (Sobs, unintelligible sounds, spasms. Dupeville also towards the end of the operation emits cries of the highest exaltation.)
Marquise: It certainly appears that he got pleasure out of it with you.
Dupeville (eagerly): Indeed, Madame, a most satisfying one!
Marquise: Well, then, Countess, what you told me is not the truth. He is by no means so impotent....
Countess: He can explain that himself.
Dupeville (ardently): That is why I hastened here, my adored queen, just to tell you that. You see me at the peak of bliss. I feel much stronger. It is a miracle! I am the happiest man in the world.
Countess (to her friend): Whatever is he talking about?
Marquise (chilly): Oh, a dream...
Countess (to the Marquise): Ssh! (To Dupeville): Yes, last night.
Dupeville: Last night will remain forever memorable in my mind for after that awful operation for the first time I. . .
Countess (with deep interest): Tell us what happened, you wordy old woman.
Dupeville: Last night in an erotic dream, I tasted again delights of love and found that I was much more of a man than before. When I awoke, there were sharp pains. But what a joy to find that I was again a man.
Countess: So you had an erection, is that what you mean?
Dupeville (embracing her): Precisely, my darling translator.
Countess (merrily): Well, well. But your amorous intentions have to be aimed in that direction. (She points to the Marquise.) She is the saint you have to thank for this miracle.
Dupeville: The unexpected wonder that has restored me to life!
Countess: How poetically expressed! He is truly inspired. And then what happened?
Dupeville: I had my doubts when after half an hour it started to droop...and then there was some pain. (He grimaces like a person suffering.)
Marquise: But you are contradicting yourself, my dear Dupeville. I thought you were castrated.
Dupeville: Permit to interrupt, Madame, but that if it were not for one consolation, my misfortune would be so heavy that. . .
Countess: I can't make head or tail out of what he is saying. Don't you think it would be better to see with our own eyes what is down there? (To Dupeville): All right, Monsieur, off with the concealing cover. Hurry up!
Dupeville (promptly complies): I couldn't wait until I received this command.
(He stands erect and produces a downward bent prick with certain parts cut away. The sight of the poor instrument sends the two women into gails of laughter.)
Dupeville: I also find it ridiculous. (He offers it.) Just hold it. (It pathetically stands.) You see, I am a man again. My blood is all hot.
Countess (grasps it): I do believe that if an attempt were made...it would go in.
Marquise (also gingerly touching it): Decidedly.
Dupeville (having fallen on his knees): Ah, divine Marquise! Wouldn't you be so generous and let me realize the fondest dream of my life?
Countess: Bravo, Dupeville! (To the Marquise): It is a. flattering proposal.
Marquise: Are you crazy? I find it atrocious!
Countess: But it is fine and stiff. It looks to me as if it is completely cured.
Marquise (slightly nettled): This is pure rape. I swear that you two have agreed on this between yourselves.
Countess: Come now! Don't be such a prude. (To Dupeville): Take a hold of me. (To the Marquise): Make up your mind right away or I'll put a quick end to the affair.
Marquise: What do you mean by that?
Countess: I'll let him put it in me. I'm not so proud.
Dupeville: You are an angel, Countess.
Countess: Now, you or I?
Marquise: As you wish.
Countess (to Dupeville): You make the choice.
Dupeville: How embarrassed I am! If this squabble continues much longer, perhaps my tool will refuse to serve either one of you. Both of you are divine creatures, Mesdames.
Countess (piqued): I'm sorry. Well, my dear, he has chosen you. You have to submit to the trial.
Marquise: All right, but. . . suppose he can't?
Dupeville (impatiently): Don't have any worries on that score, or I'll stab myself before your eyes.
Countess: Nonsense. With her charm and my help, you won't have anything to worry about. Yes, Monsieur. With my assistance, you will emerge from the combat with honor.
Marquise: That is clear enough.
(She lies on her back, but the Countess is of the opinion that it would go better from the rear, and her advice is followed. The Marquise changes her position accordingly. The Countess personally takes charge of the deformed member and inserts it successfully.)
Marquise: Not bad! It feels quite good inside.
Dupeville (in seventh heaven): Oh blessed fate, accept my fervent thanks!
Countess: Monsieur, I prefer to have you fuck than hear you talk.
(With one hand, the Countess tickles first his testicles and then his buttocks, while with the other, she stimulates the rest of his body that is not in the Marquise. There is no doubt about the restoration of Dupeville's virility. But at the peak of rapture, he experiences excruciating pain when a few inward flesh growths impede the flow of his semen. After he proves his right to rejoin the ranks of masculinity, he falls in a dead faint. In this condition, his slack toy gives both a sad and comical impression, at which the women peal with laughter. At this moment appears Felipe who at the sight of the undressed and motionless Dupeville tries to make her escape. But the Marquise catches her, leads her to the bed, and tells her in a serious voice):
Marquise: Such is the death of a hero!
(The condition of the Baron de Rapignac improved so considerably that he let it be known that he was returning to Paris, for he noticed that Marquise and the Countess paid him little heed, leaving him to the care of their maids. Belamour was correct with his defeated opponent, but the reconciliation did not go very deep. The two ladies had such a high opinion of the hairdresser's good character that they were fully convinced that Rapignac was in the wrong. And even Belamour's reserve when they inquired as to how the quarrel started was for them further evidence that their protege had justification. But one day, they threatened him with dismissal if he didn't tell him what they were burning to know. He had no choice but to come out with the truth. In addition to what was mentioned in the third part of this work, he added the following):
Belamour: It goes without saying that a man can love someone very deeply and then have his sweetheart stolen away. That's what a certain young officer did to me. Madame may remember that I spoke to her about that. The officer was the one who persuaded me to enter his service while I was lying sick in the doctor's house. Yes, Madame. That scoundrel was the brother of the Countess.
Countess (to the Marquise): The poor Baron. (To Belamour): Yes, I remember we often teased you about that. (To the Marquise): The little nitwit always told my brother everything. As soon as my brother learned that his little servant was having a love affair with the doctor's fiancee, he decided to give the young girl her first lesson.
Marquise: The swine!
Countess: To gain his foul ends, my cunning brother learned Belamour and the girl had their secret meetings every day in a mansard room which was deserted.
Belamour: It was not quite that. It was occupied by a poor poet who went out early each morning to spend the day in a cafe by the stove, for there was no heat in his room. When he came back late at night, he got the key from Nicole who was being kind to him by saving him the arguments with his mother about the rent. The poet had no idea how grateful we were to him.
Countess: Now was that worth telling and interrupting what I was saying to the Marquise? Now just don't butt in again, Monsieur! My brother also recognized quite correctly that when she was in a passion for Belamour, all he had to do was hold the lover back and take his place. So that is how it went. The loving pair made a rendezvous and at the appointed time when Belamour is climbing the stairs to his Nicole, the mother catches him and sends him on another errand. This, of course, was at the Baron's instigation, a part of his
294 plan. But Belamour suspects nothing. He'll be back in a few moments and in Nicole's arms. But alas! As soon as he sets foot in the street, two recruiters seize him, take him to a lowly tavern, and there he is in the uniform of a soldier.
Marquise: They were naturally henchmen of the Baron?
Countess: Of course. While that was going on, my brother put on some old clothes of Belamour and slipped up to the mansard. Nicole and Belamour had agreed that this time they would taste to the full the pleasures of their love. No words are needed, and Nicole surrenders sweetly to the embraces of the usurper. He was the first to leave. When she follows him down, there is no sign of her supposed lover. The mother has a guilty look on her face. Nicole expresses her anxiety about Belamour. When the mother says she has not the faintest idea where the lad is, Nicole suggests that he might be with the Baron. Her mother calls her a silly goose, but she is not so dumb because she heard my brother's door open and close. "Oh, there he is. A whole hour to mail a letter in a box two hundred feet from here?" the mother cries. The newly deflowered maiden is naturally puzzled. With whom was she up there? (The Countess turns to Belamour): You have me to thank for not having spread the story of your pitiful adventure. (To the Marquis): Isn't that right, my dear? How could you have been taken in so?
Belamour: I paid enough for that stupidity. I have to tell you that I was very surprised to see in Nicole's face confusion and bewilderment instead of regret. I tell her how I had been abducted and mishandled, but instead of sympathizing with me, the mother and the others shrug their shoulders and scold me. I get furious and insist on learning who had given her the letter for me to post. "It was the Baron," she said. "He would be very angry if he knew...what's wrong?" It is the Baron coming down the stairs with a cheerful smile on his face. We all, including Nicole and myself, agree that it is nothing. But we have suspicious expressions on our faces. Nicole can no longer restrain herself. Biting furiously her handkerchief, she runs off. I catch the Baron exchanging a sly smile with the mother. He tells me to get my fiddle and play them a tune, but I pay no attention. Not letting that spoil his good mood, he hums a tune and swings the mother around the room so high that I can see that she isn't wearing anything under her skirt. Marquise: What a fellow!
Countess: That he certainly was. There was not a more charming scoundrel in Paris.
Belamour: Nor a more faithless friend.
Countess (to the Marquise): Don't believe him. You'll be amazed how lucky it turned out for him in the end.
Marquise: But still the theft of his sweetheart's maidenhead must have been a heavy blow.
Belamour: It certainly was. You don't come across a morsel like that too often not to miss its loss.
Marquise: I'm waiting to hear how it all came out.
Belamour: "You're a fine one," Nicole says to me when we are alone a moment after supper. "It was all your fault for what happened," I reply. "I couldn't know," she defends herself. I try to put my arm around her, but she shoves me away. "You must have been in cahoots with him," she accuses me. When she says that she will not have anything more to do with me, I tell her that I was tricked just as much as she.
When she confesses everything, I am consumed by rage. You can imagine how jealous I was. I accuse her of betraying me, for which I get a punch on the nose and a string of curses. The mother is listening and hurries up. When she sees my bloody nose, she rightly suspects I am accusing her daughter of something bad, for Nicole is red with anger. Nicole could never control her temper.
Marquise: What was the Baron doing in the meantime?
Belamour: He bides his time. When he sees the fuss he has stirred up with his treachery, he feels he has to do something to restore harmony. As I am going to my room and am passing his room, he is waiting for me. In the friendliest tone, he asks me to come in for a few moments. When I keep on my way without answering, he grabs me by the hand. "The deuce take it," he says. "You have to give me a few minutes. I can't let you go to sleep when you are harboring a grudge against me. Why, you're the best friend I have."
Countess: It sounds like a woman talking to her lover.
Belamour: I'm not a bad sort and I can't be resentful too long. And, up until then, our relationship was very intimate. So I enter. The Baron is very clever and soon he had me convinced that he had stolen nothing of importance from me. He promises he will smooth things over between Nicole and myself, help us meet secretly, and occupy the mother while we are in each other's arms. I did not find that too great a sacrifice because Nicole's mother was only thirty-nine and still a good-looking woman. "What do you say to that," asks the Baron in a jesting tone, "if I take care of the mother in order to leave you in peace with Nicole."
"Well, if you like," I reply. "The sly woman had hinted to me that where she comes from, intimate relations between god-parents are the rule," says the Baron. "I see that I'll have to try my luck. Well, tomorrow, just because of love of you....She is still firm and well rounded. By. the way, tonight...show me a little gratitude.
Didn't I let you look into my cards? What did you see?" he asks. "I had other things on my mind," I answered. "That's not so. I noticed how you leered at her when I was waltzing her around the room. You have to admit you espied a tempting plump derriere and a splendid patch of fur." I have to laugh and when our eyes meet, everything is good again between us. As he embraces me, I sob on his breast. He absolutely refuses to let me go to my room, and so I stay with him and spend the night in his bed....
Countess: What noble characters!
Marquise: Didn't I tell you about the reconciliation I effected between Nicole, about whom we are talking now, and my Felipe? And I can assure you that they were much more at each other's throat. But it was all forgotten in a thrice and now they are the closest of friends. Perhaps you were responsible for that with your asinine story.
Countess (pleased): Ssh. Belamour shouldn't know.
Marquise (merrily): All I meant by that was causing squabbles seems to run in your family. The unquenchable fire of your blood...
Countess: You're always preaching. I would rather hear the rest of our friend's story.
Belamour: As a matter-of-fact, the Baron kept his promise. The next morning, Nicole's mother had gone to Mass as usual and the maid was doing the shopping. My go-between thought it advisable that we two go down together to Nicole's room where her bed was in a rather dim alcove where her father had once slept. The good girl was not asleep. Probably she was musing on the switch that had been made on her the previous night and the injustice she had done me. Our appearance was not welcome, for she flew into a fury, which was only too justified. But against whom should she turn her anger? She considers me a numbskull who had wronged her, but whom she still loves, and the Baron a blackguard who had still given her an intriguing pleasurable night. While she examines us with inquiring and hostile eyes wavering between us, the worthless Baron wordlessly falls before her, and with a dramatic pomposity, he beseeches her pardon. With that he assumes a remorseful expression, protests my innocence, bewails my misfortune, and concludes that he will never again annoy her. In short, he asks forgiveness and wishes us all the happiness in the world, which he hopes to help us obtain.
Marquise: Nothing is said about the loss of Nicole's innocence.
Belamour (laughing): You'll hear about that in a moment. The presence of two rather good-looking young men standing before the bed of a young girl whose passion has just been aroused must have held some attraction for her. Nicole was appeased by the Baron's eloquence and deeply moved by my tears, anxiety and caresses.
Countess: You old chatter-box, don't be so long winded! Well, here's what happened. Your little friend feebly tried to defend herself and insisted that the Baron leave, but when he remained there, kissing away her tears, he grasped Belamour's prick and guided it himself into the burning sheath. That was the proof of his good will! (To the Marquise): I know the whole story, and I defy him to deny it.
Belamour: That's the truth, Madame.
Marquise: Very good. I now forgive the Baron, although at first I felt a revulsion for him. He was one of the best of youths.
Countess: When you hear the end, you will love him still more.
Belamour: Our protector who had drawn the drapes now stood watch for us. Scarcely had we tasted of the first morsels of bliss when we heard him leave, calling out:
"So there you are, Madame. I was looking all over for you."
"What for, Monsieur Baron? Is there anything wrong?"
"There was a tall, skinny man here who said he had to speak to you urgently about some important matters. He mentioned that they would be of the greatest interest to you. He'll be back. But if he doesn't find you, the matter will have to be postponed two months because he won't be able to return before then. Your daughter has gone to the Franciscans, Belamour to the Bernardines, and I was just on my way to the Carmelites to find him. But what church were you in?"
"Unfortunately, I haven't been to Mass yet," she replied. "Oh the way, I happened to meet my cousin, Minette Cornu!"
"What, that old gossip-monger?"
"Yes, and she kept me so long, telling me about Belamour."
"Holy heavens! That evil woman. How can one go about slandering one's neighbors."
"You said he's a tall thin man, right."
"Yes."
"I don't have the faintest idea who it is. Is he about forty?"
"Oh, I'd say he's about fifty."
"And rather ugly."
"I'd say so."
"Now I know who it is. As far as I am concerned, he can go to the devil. I don't want to have anything to do with him."
"One of your suitors?"
"To be sure. Don't you think I can get as many as I want?"
"But you have to want them, Madame."
Belamour (continuing): After this conversation, the Baron and the woman came to the chamber where Nicole and I were in the bed concealed by the curtains. Madame removed her gloves and shoes and put on her slippers.
"Madame," the Baron sighed.
"Madame, madame," she scolded him. "Always madame. How is it that you never can bring yourself to say god-mother, which I love so much to hear?"
"I beg your pardon, god-mother," the Baron apologized.
Belamour (continuing): Then we heard a hearty kiss.
"What would you think if I suggested that you make yourself more comfortable," asked the Baron.
"What do you mean?" she replied.
"In all my life I have never seen such a delicious full-blown body like yours. The back of your neck is like that of a fifteen-year-old girl. It is so white and firm, and especially farther down. Your charms are enough to drive a man out of his mind."
"All you god-fathers are alike."
"I wager that it is beautifully rounded," he remarked as he caressed the contours.
"Don't be so bold with your hands," she chided him.
"What a lucky man your husband must have been to have such a lovely wife."
"I don't like to boast, but ten years ago, I could hold my own with the most elegant ladies around here."
"What do you mean 'hold your own?' You outdid them."
"You old flatterer, you!"
"May I be struck dead if I am not speaking the solemn truth. If I may confide in you, my adorable godmother, for a long time-but no, you'll be angry."
"Go ahead. We'll see."
"Well, a god-father can permit himself some liberties. If ever you require a service, I would like to be the one who..."
"Really?"
"Please don't make fun of me. I am deadly serious."
"And if I take you at your word."
"Just try me."
Belamour (continuing): Now we heard the staunch Baron making a vigorous attack against Nicole's mother's lower barricades. He kept furiously squeezing and kissing her.
"Really," he continued, "you probably take me for a liar who without consideration for the fine feelings of an honorable widow is trying to put her virtue to the test. Oh, you shall see, Madame, if my intentions are honorable or not."
The rustle of her clothing became louder and her replies less audible. A flop on the bed announced that she had ceded. How it creaked and squeaked under his mighty jabs! Delighted with the noisy activity, Nicole and I imitated them stroke for stroke. During this, our couch was groaning as much as theirs, and in order not to give ourselves away, I told Nicole to keep the exact tempo as her mother. The harmony of the two couches was so comical that the fun-loving Baron could not resist remarking to his mistress that he thought he heard an echo in the room. This struck us as so funny that Nicole and I had all we could do to hold back our laughs. No less droll were the words of endearment employed by her lover and the screams and moans announcing the approach of her crisis.
"Long live God-Mother!" cried the Baron, beating her with his hands.
"Long live God-Father!" cried she.
"I.i comparison with you, a young thing like your daughter would be nothing."
"My late husband always said that I did it divinely."
"And he was absolutely right. In order to know true bliss, it is necessary to have fucked you, Madame."
Belamour (continuing): When the erotic game was over, the good mother remembered that Nicole and I would soon be returning.
"My warmest thanks, dear god-father," she finally said as she kissed him good-bye. "I have yearned for that for such a long time."
"With me?"
"With whom else? You are going to remain faithful to me?"
"How can you believe otherwise? I swear it on my honor. May I be stricken by thunder and lightning."
A second kiss was the reward for this amorous oath, upon which the contented god-mother suggested that they have a hearty breakfast together. The Baron was in full accord.
"But don't make it too scanty, god-mother, for your daughter and Belamour have gone to some efforts for you and they probably are hungry as wolves."
Concerning Nicole's and my return, which we later affected with great skill, you can surmise the cunning with which the Baron dispelled any suspicion.
* * *
(It is hoped that the reader will at this point bear with the author.
Perhaps the life history of the amoral Belamour has diverted you and you wish that he would continue to tell it himself as before. But there occurred a vexing accident. A full bottle of ink fell on the original manuscript from which I was working, making it impossible for me to satisfy your curiosity completely. Some forty sheets were more or less ruined, in such fashion that they were illegible and I had to give up the attempt to decipher them word for word. But you won't lose too much because of this inundation. What I have produced concerns more or less matters similar to what you have already heard. You are already familiar with Belamour's tastes and morals. Nevertheless, I bring in the following short summary in which I have gathered all that I was able to decipher.
First of all Nicole, cured of her prejudices by her two erotic adventures, has stubbornly decided to break off her engagement with her unsympathetic fianc' and return to her god-father. She is able to deceive him into thinking that he has in reality plucked the flower of her maidenhead. The two thousand louis are paid, but instead of turning them over to the avaricious doctor as a dowry, she keeps them for herself as she changes her residence to the estate of her generous god-father, either in the country or in the city.
If the gentleman by chance were the father and willfully slept with his illegitimate daughter, so much the worse for him, but the fault could be attributed chiefly to Nicole's mother who tolerated such a relationship. As for Mademoiselle Nicole herself, she knows nothing about this paternity or at least pretends not to. Now that Belamour has no more sweetheart, he willingly accompanies the Baron to Paris. There, his sister, the Countess Mottenfeu, at that time Mademoiselle de Condor, also makes use of his services. At this part of the original story, the Countess does not neglect to impart to the Marquise that the Baron has paid with interest his debt to the fooled Belamour, for he is the third in the union at their sex orgies.
Soon, a vicious Major, an uncle of the youth, takes away the useful lad. Belamour goes on a sea-journey with his worthy lover of boys. He works hard, conducts himself well, and earns money. During this glorious period of his life, he went under the name of St. Amand. On their return to France, his uncle obtains a commission for him as a lieutenant in a dragoon-regiment, whose colonel, an intimate friend of the major, is also a spirited admirer of boys' bottoms. He promptly learns his career, is agreeable and amiable, and his talents are recognized. But he is unable to hide his perverse tendencies. Moreover, what gives him a bad name in the officers corps is his readiness to accept payment for the favors he has done.
After six months, Rapignac is transferred to his regiment. He immediately recognizes Monsieur de St. Amand as the hairdresser he has seen in a brothel in Dijon. After a fearful scandal, the unfortunate St. Amand is cashiered. His remorseless libeler refuses him the honor of a duel, because an aristocrat would never cross swords with a hairdresser. No clemency was shown and he had to leave. In Germany, to where he first repaired, he lived an uneventful life until a minor prince brought him back to Paris. There he wore women's clothes while serving ladies of highest society. When they discovered his true sex, they utilized him without betraying him. It goes without saying that he ran risks, but since he was attractive to both men and women, both the husband and wife in one house believed that each was enjoying alone his charms.
From there, Mademoiselle Justine, which name he used when he passed for a girl, entered the service of a countess who ran a gambling salon. There Rapignac often tried his luck. He did not recognize his old comrade whom he had ruined but he is recognized.
Baron de Rapignac did not enjoy a favorable reputation. Justine kept an eye on him. When he discovered that Rapignac was using marked cards, he informed another player. The attendants rushed on him, searched him, found that the allegation was true, and threw him out of the club so vigorously that it is a wonder he did not break his neck. So he got what was coming to him.
Justine did not play up his part in the affair for fear of causing scandal and he liked his post with the adorable Countess. But the devil, who frustrates the best laid of plans, made his influence felt in that house of voluptuousness and lust. Persecuted by the police, the good Countess had to flee. Justine avoided possibly unpleasant consequences by taking to flight and reappearing in masculine clothing under the name of Hector. All of this the spilt ink had largely ruined.
At two places I made out with great difficulty the title: Prelate. Since I had not come across him before in the biography, I suspect that Hector's acquaintanceship with the amiable Count, whom we have met before and whom we shall see again, began at a later date. Finally, we gather that Hector was with the Madame President Conbanal until her death, when he was engaged by the heroine of our tale.
Dear reader, you can well imagine how the former passions of enmity and the desire for revenge were reawakened as he saw his former foe as a guest of the Marquise. Considering the circumstance which brought him to the villa of the Marquise, he could not a second time evade his knightly obligations without demeaning himself, for apart from his tendency to cheat at gambling, he laid great stress on his honor. Therefore, he saw himself required to make allowance for the relationship.
Possessed of a strong sense of honor, Belamour was always prepared to fight. If it had not been for his loathsome tastes, he would have been able to cut a fine figure on the stage of life.
When he was finished with his account, the two ladies heaped praise on him and predicted much good fortune for him in the future.
Now I can use again my original and let the author go on in his own words.
The Marquise, the Countess and the estimable Dupeville are strolling together in a covered allee, at the end of which is visible the coach way leading up to the villa. Dupeville is the first to notice a coach and four with lackeys before and behind galloping up to the entrance.)
Dupeville (to the Marquise): That is certainly an elegant visit you are receiving, Marquise.
Countess (using an eye-glass): Well, bless my stars, it is the good Count, the Prelate. I recognize his valet and his out-rider Smith.
(She throws her arms around the neck of the Marquise.)
Marquise: You're a little fool. (She takes the eyeglass). You're right. It is indeed the Count himself.
(Dupeville, out of a sense of delicacy because he is not acquainted with the Prelate, makes a move to leave in order to leave the women alone with him. The Marquise, however, tells him in a few words that he should remain.)
A Servant (announcing): Monsieur the Count, Mesdames.
Countess (the first to plant a kiss on his cheek): Well, hello. What brings you here?
Marquise (embracing him): Welcome, my old friend. (She releases him.) I would like to have you meet Monsieur Dupeville, a dear friend.
(The two men acknowledge the introduction with the greatest courtesy.)
Countess: Yes, I asked you once before. How do you happen to be here, you old scamp?
Count: Well, that's a new compliment. (To Dupeville): Monsieur, you probably are familiar with the manners of my dear madcaps. And the warmth with which I am greeted will convince you, I am sure, that I am not unworthy of it. (He turns to the ladies): I know you will find it hard to believe, my dear friends, but I come to seek refuge with you. For a few days, at least, I have to flee my criminal house, and here with you, I'll try to forget the terrible happening from which I escaped with my life by the skin of my teeth.
Marquise (deeply disturbed): Dear God! What are you saying? What happened?
Count: The damnedest, cursedest, maddest blackguard imaginable. That Bricon! That clod whom I picked out of the mud of Westphalia from a sense of pure charity. That traitor on whom I heaped so many favors...
Marquise (in a state of great anticipation): What about him? Don't stop now!
Count: For thanks, the wretch tried to rob me and kill me. (General indignation and disgust.) Together with the brutal Miss Sarah Thompson, the Englishwoman who forms a part of my harem and whom I have always treated with the greatest kindness, he tried to poison me, steal my gold, porcelain and valuable jewelry and make off to England with that witch. My dear little Zinga, my protecting angel, fortunately knows a little English. My would-be assassin, unaware of the fact, carelessly discussed the vile deed in her presence. Always thinking of my welfare, she took care not to let on that she understood. Gradually, she got the whole plot, which she immediately reported to me. At first, I didn't want to believe it, but at dinner, I carefully tasted my mushroom soup, and believe me, it didn't taste right. I had it carefully examined and it was established that it was heavily poisoned. I took the necessary steps with the result that my miserable would-be murderers are now behind lock and key. (r)
(The Marquise and the Countess, with goose-flesh on their skin, look at each other with benumbed expressions. As soon as he finishes his harrowing recital, they both throw their arms around his neck, shed tears of commiseration, and cover his face with kisses. The deeply moved Count repays their tokens of affection with doubled interest.)
Marquise (to the Countess): And what now?
Countess (sadly): Yes, my dear. It is clear that we nursed a serpent in our midst who is unworthy to see the light of day and will end up on the scaffold.
Count: No, don't worry, Mesdames. I remembered in time the relationships you had had with that infamous Bricon. He will be punished without being able to spread any scandal about you.
Marquise: Can you really take care of that?
Count: I was promised that the sentence of the scoundrel will be exile to the West Indies and the cruel Miss Thompson can offer in London her mushroom soup to whomever she wants. But let us forget these horrible memories. I have come here to cheer up a little and to participate in your pleasures, so don't let me hear another word about the terrible thing I went through. Help me forget completely, my dear ladies in lust.
Marquise: We will be of no little help in these consolations. And we don't have to conceal from you,, my dear Count, that we also have had our little problems.
Count: Furthermore, something else brought me here. We have finally found out what kind of gentleman your Rapignac is. But first tell me what were the reasons that led to his quarrel with my dear Belamour.
Marquise (briefly recounts what has been mentioned above): And what do you have to say to us about our dubious chevalier?
Count: First of all, he is a Casanova. I recall that he had at one time more than twenty beautiful women who were madly in love with him. Excuse me, Marquise, but I forget that he was among your favorites.
Marquise: Stop it, I tell you. I won't have your malicious pleasantries.
Count (seriously): The devil take it. It is a shame that I did not know about it earlier. Only a few days before he came to you, the scoundrel stole a hundred louis from me when I was gambling. I was duped by his military appearance and I challenged him to a duel. But a gentleman of my acquaintance signaled to me to be careful. He turned to my thief and whispered something in his ear. At that, he became very upset, made me a deep obeisance, and hastily went away with my money. Yesterday was the first I have seen of that rogue in some time. Do you have any idea of what kind of person that Baron de Rapignac is?
Countess: Do tell us.
Count: That fellow, whose real name is Rapin, was formerly a drummer in a Piedmont regiment. A woman with considerable influence in the right circles had her head turned by him. With a generous spreading of her favors, she-we'll mention her name later-was able to get him appointed as captain in the cavalry. But he was unable to perform his duties, and he was cashiered under the most disgraceful conditions. Since then he has made his living from all sorts of trickery, which he gets by with because of his appearance and his brash-ness.
Countess: Just recently, this fine fellow asked for the hand of the Marquise.
Count: What a piece of effrontery! Quickly, Marquise, a few lines on a card to the Baron, telling him to leave before nightfall this house where there is no room for his kind.
Countess (cunningly): Don't go too far, Count. We should find some face-saving reason. Count: For what reason?
Countess (ironically): Mademoiselle Nicole is hopelessly in love with him.
Count: Mademoiselle Nicole is a tender affectionate maiden. The very idea is ridiculous.
Dupeville: May I express an opinion to this gathering?
Countess: Go ahead, my friend. Since Nature has been good enough to restore you into the ranks of men, you have your right to speak. We are all ears.
Dupeville: There is no doubt that a man like Rapignac cannot live under the same roof as the ladies. Nevertheless, a certain amount of understanding must be shown. Moreover, since he flattered himself that he could win the hand and heart of the Marquise...
Count: He deserves to be thrashed to within an inch of his life for such cheek!
Marquise (laughing): Be still. One could think you are still thinking of your lost money. Dupeville, don't mind her, but go on.
Dupeville: Deceived in his fondest hopes, punished by heaven as he deserves, and hardly able to find another sanctuary, he would be in difficult straits if the Marquise sent him away in disgrace. Wouldn't it be better to handle him a little less harshly and allow me to have a talk with him? I will see to it that he leaves, but without shame and the suspicion that the Marquise has turned against him.
Marquise: Well spoken, Dupeville. You are the soul of charity.
Count: And you are completely right. I regret that I did not think of it first.
Countess (to Dupeville): Go, dear friend, and carry out your mission which springs from a twisted mentality'
Marquise: A wild woman. Be careful that Rapignac doesn't take advantage of your good heart.
Count: Where is that good Hector hiding, or Belamour as you call him. I want to compliment him on his victorious duel....
Marquise (rings): He'll be here immediately. (In an undertone): But don't forget as you did the last time that you are not alone and don't do anything stupid....
Count (chuckling): The Countess wouldn't mind that, would she? But you shall have your way.
Countess (who has been absent a moment as Dupeville went out now returns and hears the talk about her): What is wrong?
Marquise: Nothing that you shouldn't hear.
Countess: I suppose some joke at my expense. But I couldn't care less. Words don't bother me in the slightest. But if Monsieur lets me start here, for example, that would be a different matter....
Count: Let you start?
Countess: Just the opposite. You shouldn't let me start, for I have chosen you to take care of me as long as you are here, and I flatter myself that you are agreeable to my proposal.
Marquise (to the Count, who appears dazed): Isn't that mad?
(Belamour appears.)
Countess: Well, the darling comes just at the right moment. Superb. Now we can arrange a partie carree. (When she sees that Belamour wishes to greet his patron, she gives him a nudge.) Hurry up with your amenities, so that you can come to us....
(The Count extends his hands in friendly manner to Balamour, which he kisses.)
Belamour: Oh, my dear protector, what a great pleasure it is to see you again. But look! (He points behind them to the Countess who is making suggestive gestures at them.) They are making fun of us!
Countess (with a shrug of the shoulders): Quite true. I don't think that there is anything sillier than two scoundrels like you greeting each other. (To the Marquise): But what do you think of the idea I had? To my mind, it is not too bad. We have been good long enough today, too good. Now I feel...I don't know why...an overpowering attraction to this Monsieur....(She smiles at the Prelate.) I throw down the gauntlet and I trust that he will pick it up. And I advise you to do the same with your lover. Then we can all four fuck to our hearts' content.
(Belamour already has his arms around the buttocks of the Marquise, who leans amorously toward him.)
Count: At your service, Countess. I beg you, however, to bear in mind that I, not having the slightest idea of what was awaiting me here, took a tender farewell of my dear benefactress. To be quite honest, I will not be up to my usual self.
Countess (ringing): I'll take care of that right away. How stupid of you to have come here and forgotten your powers. (A servant appears.) Send Felix here immediately. (The servant leaves.)
Marquise (amused): I understand what you have in mind.... But really, you always...
Countess (runs to her and clamps her hand before her mouth): Hold your tongue. No scolding and no preaching. (Hurriedly): Felix will come, fuck him, and revive him. Then the Count will get an erection, stick it into me, and then discharge. You'll witness everything, get excited in turn, and profit from the example.
Count: What are you two gabbing about? (Felix appears.) Well, well, there is a new face!
Countess (exultant): That's the one who...(She makes a gesture imitating a sprinkler.) That's the curative I am turning over to you so that you can acquit yourself honorably in our engagement.
Count (sizing up the boy): He is a damned good-looking lad.
Countess: Felix, you are to fuck this gentleman. Count (semi-seriously): Madame is having her little joke.
(During this conversation, Belamour leads to a chaise-lounge the Marquise, with whom he is actively engaged.)
Countess (ill-humoredly): Just look at all the time we are losing because of your fastidiousness. Are you going to let him or not?
(When the Count shows little eagerness, she is quite indignant, and calls the boy to her.)
Countess: You are impossible, Prelate, do you know that?
(She pulls the little jockey to her on her back. He is rather bashful at the openness of the proceedings. Scarcely is he busy at his task than the Prelate feels desire stirring in him. Slapping the boy on his rear cheeks, he is prepared to go farther, when the irritated Countess shouts for him to leave them alone. The animated Prelate now turns his attention to Belamour, but the Marquise also requests him to leave them undisturbed in their pleasurable activities. Rebuffed on all sides, the poor Count returns to the Countess, grabs Felix by the shoulders, and replaces the Countess.)
Countess: So you have finally come to your senses. Because of your obstinacy, I'll pay you back in kind. But here he is.
(With a backward glance, Felix sees that he is to satisfy the Prelate in the rear.)
Felix (with the deepest respect): With your permission, sir.
(His naivete is answered with a boisterous laugh. The poor lad carries out the order, consoling himself with the thought that he is only doing his duty. The Prelate is starting to experience a particularly enjoyable pleasure, especially since he senses the rapture Felix is feeling within the Countess. The Marquise lies next to her friend after she is finished to see the boy's, technique. Belamour, who is never satisfied with one number, is tempted by the Marquise's new position and without further ado pierces her from behind. She is glued to the back of the Prelate without disturbing him in the slightest in his activities. Her mouth is only a finger's distance from Felix's and she warmly kisses it. The end result is that everybody is completely contented. Belamour withdraws and the two women go into the toilet in order to wash themselves. The Count remains alone with Felix, who is uneasy and ashamed.)
Count: Just a moment, my young friend. (He presses two louis in his hand.)
Felix (hesitates to take them): Oh, Monsieur.
Count (forcing him to keep them): Go ahead and take them. You richly deserved them. To tell the truth, you do it magnificently.
Felix (accepting the money): Monsieur is making fun of me.
Count: But who taught you how to do it so well? Felix: Belamour, Monsieur.
Count: He is certainly a first-class teacher. Now I understand where you got your ability. Tell me, do you really like doing that?
Felix (lowering his eyes): Yes, of course, but when it is with somebody like you . . .1 really don't know
. . . but with Belamour, it is heaven on earth. I enjoy myself as much as I do with Madame the Countess.
Count: You mean, when you...use him...like a woman?
Felix: Excuse me, Monsieur. That's hardly possible, the way you mention, and besides I experience other delights in addition.
Count (to himself): What a charming simplicity! (Aloud): And you get other enjoyments from your mistress?
Felix (embarrassed): But that is one of my duties with her. But there is no harm in my telling you that?
Count: Of course not. (He draws him between his legs.) Now something else. You let your friend Belamour do it to you, right? (He becomes more insinuating as his desires rise.)
Felix: Yes, but I don't know anybody else.
Count: But now you know me. Now suppose I wanted to...(A damp kiss on the lad's center is the conclusion of the sentence.) What about that?
Felix (discomfited): How shall I answer, Monsieur? No one must know about it, because...(The Count kisses him and presses his limp penis into his hand.)
Count: Now, be so good, my young friend, as to try and make that fire and...(He takes three louis from his pocket and lays them on the mantlepiece.) If you are able for me to get revenge on you, the money is yours.
(Felix timorously takes the sagging prick in his hand and rubs it.)
Count: Not so gingerly. (To himself): His soft hand is like that of a young girl. (The organ raises its head slightly.)
Felix (laughing): I think it will succeed, Monsieur. Count (looking at him yearningly): That's not yet enough, my dear boy. It has to be able to penetrate.
(Felix, who is as eager for the money as for the sexual enjoyment, does all he can to earn the generous payment. He squeezes and rubs vehemently the half-rigid organ. When he believes that it is hard enough to go in, he sits on the Count's lap, guiding it from below to its goal. But three times the feeble weapon collapses at the entrance. Finally, Felix comes to the decision that the weapon is too dry to enter. The youngster, unwilling to miss out on the reward, spots a chamber-pot, and with its contents he smears the noble spear. Again he leads it to the rebellious opening, and this time it opens its gate. The Count' desire is satisfied. But try as he might with his jabs and thrusts and shoves, the slack seed-sacks refuse to discharge their liquid, without which any sexual pleasure is incomplete. The only gain from his efforts is that he makes the acquaintanceship of a new behind. In spite of the failure, he gives Felix the three louis on the condition that on the following morning, he come to his chamber before the Countess got up.)
End of the Seventh Part
PART EIGHT
(The leisured, although they are in the country, are just as curious as if they were in the city. To the Marquise's villa came a stream of newspapers, magazines and gossip-sheets. In one of the latter, the Marquise and her guests came across the following announcement:
"There is sought a young man who was raised in an orphanage, learned the trade of hairdressing, and who was called Cascaret. He is said to go under the name o' Hector today. He has served as coiffeur to sever; i ladies and gentlemen and it is believed that he is now living in Paris. If anyone knows anything about his present whereabouts, please get in touch with Monsieur Le Franc, Attorney, in Saint-Germain en Laye, or with Monsieur Bonnessere, Lawyer, at Place-Maubert in Paris."
The announcement caused a great stir in the villa, for it certainly concerned Belamour. The Marquise and the Countess were positive that it meant good fortune for the dear servant. The Prelate, more cautious, suggested that hopes should not be raised too high. On the other hand, the sagacious Dupeville recommended that Belamour make some inquiries before presenting himself, since his life was not without its skirmishes with the law. It was possible that an enemy was hoping to trap him through such a method.
It was agreed that Dupeville's proposal was the most sensible, and steps were immediately taken to carry it out. Dupeville himself offered to find out what he could. His prudence in the Rapignac affair had won him general approval, for the Baron had departed without causing the slightest stir.
Let us allow the trustworthy agent to depart for Paris and look after Belamour's interests. It was now time that the Marquise, in the eighth month of her pregnancy, had to make preparations for the confinement. She had the self-will to refrain from any gallant affairs and to reduce her frivolity with the Countess, who returned to Zamor for consolation. If she wanted something special, she summoned Felix. For spice and seasoning, she had recourse to Felipe and Nicole. The Countess sighed that never had she led such a temperate life. But she loved the Marquise and felt it her duty to remain at her side until the child came. For that reason she renounced the pleasures in Paris that could have been hers.
Because of the fruit of the intercourse with the monk, the Countess had laid out a plan which was to alter greatly her future relationship with the Marquise. The plan was the result of much thought and was not confided to a single soul. Even the people involved had not the slightest suspicion. As we may remember, the kind-hearted Marquise had suggested to Nicole, whose devotion she well knew, that she marry Belamour. In order to ensure them a good living, she wanted to give them a farm where, after their marriage, they could live and adopt the child. But, as we know, Nicole was completely on the outs with Belamour, and, moreover, she was hopelessly in love with Rapignac.
Nicole made it clear that she would rather marry the devil than that scoundrel who had played that hateful trick on her with Hilarion and had disgraced her so. Yet one confidence deserves another. One day, Nicole confessed to her mistress that her ardor for Rapignac had turned to ice. On his sick-bed, he told her of the evil plans he had in mind, plans in which she was to participate. Also, she admitted that at a festivity in a nearby village, she had made a new conquest. A certain Monsieur de Fortbois had asked her ten times already for permission to lead her to the altar. To tell the truth, he was the most poverty-stricken wretch for twenty miles around. Besides, he was ugly and more than fifty, but he had that something in love-making that women prize. For his part, as he expressed himself, he found as much pleasure in Nicole's virtues as in her incomparable beauty. This open confession, judging from the sincerity with which she made it, left no doubt in the Marquise's mind that her maid was as eager to become Madame de Fortbois as she was unwilling to be Madame Belamour.)
Marquise: But, Nicole, would Monsieur de Fortbois be willing to adopt a child?
Nicole: I'll find out about that tonight, Madame, and I'll let you know tomorrow.
(Monsieur de Fortbois was too much in love and too poor to reject this triple gift from heaven.)
Fortbois: Since the child is not yours, my dearest, and since you bring me an innocent heart and immaculate beauty in marriage, not to mention the dowry, why should I refuse? Of course, it is all right.
(Never was an agreement reached so cordially and a settlement wound up so quickly as in this case. Nonetheless, Nicole was as worried lest a wagging tongue inform her fianc' about her "innocent heart" and "immaculate beauty" as Fortbois was about the possible loss of the farm. Within a few days, everything was ready, and the marriage took place.
After Nicole had for three weeks enjoyed the name of Madame de Fortbois, her former mistress with great pains brought into the light of the world two healthy strapping boys so ugly that one shuddered at the sight of them. Two of them! Fortbois, scratching himself behind the ear, decided to demand another farm.
But after eight days, the two infants were dead, to the relief of all.
After the first few months of marriage, Nicole was rationing her husband, finding means and ways to spend the nights in beds other than the nuptial one.
What about Belamour? What was the result of the investigations carried out by Dupeville? The following is the report that Dupeville brought from Paris:
A certain Mademoiselle Julie, the daughter of a wealthy banker and former army officer, became pregnant while in the convent and as her time was approaching, she eloped with the seducer. Her lover, a young, poor army officer, thought he would gain a fortune in this way. But her father, who was against a marriage, took after the fleeing pair and caught up with them just before the border. The lover offered to marry the girl on the condition that the father would grant a considerable dowry, for he was nothing but a scapegrace. Unfortunately, the banker had other ideas, one of which was that a youth without a cent to his name was no suitable son-in-law for him. Quarrels, wrangles, blows, and a duel. Unfortunately, the banker had in his day been an excellent swordsman. At the first pass, he ran the poor lieutenant through and through until he was mortally wounded. The banker was overtaken by remorse and to make up for his crime, he had his daughter married to the officer on his death-bed. That day she was a married woman, the nexta widow, and on the third, the mother of a handsome legitimate son.
With little feeling for his grandson, the banker had the baby brought to a foundling-home and sentenced his daughter to a nunnery for two years. After the expiration of this period, it was proposed to the widow that she marry a certain Robin, a rich but stupid nobleman. She found him preferable to life behind cloister walls where her existence as an abandoned daughter began to weigh heavily on her. The authorities knew nothing of the child or of the previous marriage.
Through her marriage, Mademoiselle Julie became Madame President. To this name was added Conbanal, after one of the estates left him by his father. This Madame President is the very woman who, as we have seen in the first part of this story, wanted to go halves in the bet, and whom Belamour served until her death. The tender fruit of her first love was...Belamour.
During her gay, mad lifetime, she found no time to think of her son from her first marriage. Her second husband proved himself to be sterile. Under these circumstances, Madame de Conbanal, who had no relatives on her side and had no use for those of her second husband, started wondering what would happen to her fortune after her death. When all the details of the tortures of hell began to dance in her brain, it suddenly occurred to her that she possibly had a legal heir on earth. Family papers and documents which she had never bothered to read were carefully examined, and among them was a memorandum in the writing of the banker that there was a grandchild. Attached to it was a will leaving the estate to the descendant on the death of his daughter, but concealing the identity of the heir so well that not even his mother knew him while he was in her employ.
On the decease of Madame de Conbanal, the attorney immediately published the abovementioned announcement in the newspapers in the hope of tracking down the missing heir. After a long discussion with Monsieur Le Franc, it was decided to hire detectives. For six long months before they followed the steps of Bonaventure Lebeau [his real name], Cascaret, Saint Amand, Hector, and finally Belamour, who was the inheritor of an income of 6000 francs a year [his mother had squandered the rest of the money.] All was free of debt.
Our Belamour, now a well-off and elegant gentleman, assumed the name of Conbanal in respect to his mother.
After the period of mourning was over, which he did more for his benefactress than he did for his deceased mother, Monsieur de Conbanal began to ponder how he could use some of his fortune to repay his adored mistress. The Marquise dearly loved her maid Felipe, whom he also found most attractive, particularly in contrast with the haughty Nicole, who was in such a hurry to become Madame de Fortbois. In short, Monsieur de Conbanal asked for Felipe's hand in marriage. Even if he had not been such a handsome fellow, she would not have refused his suit because of certain other attributes he possessed.
It was not without deep regret that the Marquise saw leave her service these three young people, of whom she was so fond and who had served her so well and affectionately, but she consoled herself with their good fortune. Other maids and a new hairdresser were engaged, but they were treated merely as servants without the confidences their predecessors had received and never betrayed.
The Marquise, with a certain sense of dignity and decency, had been able to tear herself away from the depraved society into which her departed husband had plunged her. But later, she became a woman possessed by the devil. We shall have more to say about that later on.
Although she, too, wished them well and was happy for them, it was with heavy heart that the Countess saw depart the trio who had contributed so much to her pleasures. One evening as they were taking a stroll and were sitting in an arbor at the end of the garden, the Marquise began talking about the events of the recent days.)
Countess: Well, my dear. When do you think your other servants, the cook, the coachman, and the Swiss are going to get married? You hardly see a familiar face in the house anymore.
Marquise: I don't think anybody else is going to wed.
Countess: How lucky for you! But how did you ever engage those two ancient maids?
Marquise: I am very happy that they are not to your taste.
Countess (imitating her tone): Well, thank you very much. (Continuing in a natural voice): Permit me to speak openly, my dear friend. I am afraid that your feelings have cooled towards me.
Marquise (scornfully): Naturally. Just because I bring together a household staff without assembling at the same time a harem for your convenience.
Countess: That's not the only thing that strikes me. It is you yourself, my dear. The last few days you have been so frigid to me. Or do you want us to do as we did in the good old days...? Ah...those were the times when we possessed each other wholly, when we tried to outdo each other in fucking....
Marquise (taking her by the hand): Listen, my dearest. Without any hypocrisy, I still cherish the same feelings for you that I always had and that I shall always have. But can't we love each other, can't we be happy together without abandoning ourselves to those excesses you just mentioned and which we always regret afterwards?
Countess: I never have any regrets. You can never have enough pleasure.
Marquise: I think differently. You can have too much, so that the attraction is gone. I am not able to change my inclinations, but I can my habits, which I have determined to alter basically. In other words, in the future I am going to be more selective. I am going to restrict my activities and keep them secret.
Countess: Fine! That means you are going to put on airs and be a hypocrite. May God have mercy on your soul. You are a lost woman, my dear Marquise.
Marquise: You should look at the other side of the coin. Try to lead a more discreet life and you will thank me for my advice.
Countess: The hackneyed Philistine morals, my dear. As far as I am concerned, be a petite bourgeoisie, if you want. I won't stop you. But I won't let your prudishness influence me in the slightest. Moreover, I intend to outdo myself in my future love affairs. I intend to improve, or deteriorate, as you wish. Men, women, girls, boys, upper and lower classes, masters and servants, the handsome and the ugly, the young and the senile-I'll use them all to satisfy my insatiable passion. If there aren't enough in France, I'll find more in Europe and in the whole world. I think it a shame when I consider that at first I did not have the nerve to rise to the heights a woman of my stamp can climb, how many pricks she can make stand up, cause to sag, and then destroy. Yes, ten, twenty, thirty, a hundred a day will I ride, suck, fuck, and be fucked both from front and behind....
Marquise: Stop it! That's enough. You are out of your mind. You are no longer just a pleasure loving woman, but a raving sex maniac. You are sick.
Countess (exalted): I? Sick? (Emphatically): Come, all you men from Navarre, Spain and Africa, and I will prove to you whether or not I have the strength and energy to pump every one of you dry....But first of all I'll show you, my dear friend. (She rushes to the Marquise and lifts up her skirt high.) You, who preach to me instead of giving me enjoyment....You'll make amends for the absent, thinking that there is no longer a soul here able to satisfy my passions!
(Already she is violently itching her friend's clitoris. The Marquise, who was laughing fit to kill at her friend's braggadocio, does not have enough strength to resist. Her incipient reform is still too weak to withstand such a determined attack as the Countess's. The Countess starts her task with the tongue. Her laughter is followed by that sensation announcing the approach of the crisis. She surrenders, becomes inflamed, forgets everything, and gives herself up to bliss. After this delicious crisis, she affectionately embraces her friend.)
Marquise: If you fight with such arms, I see that my new philosophy does not have much chance. Sit down over here, my dear, so that I can repay you, as far as I can, for the ineffable delight you have just made me enjoy.
Countess (smiling): No, no, you are too sensible.
Marquise: This is no time for jokes. Come, my love, so that I can raise you to like heights of rapture.
Countess (entwining her in her arms): So let it be then. But you have to do it in the way I like the best. (She takes from her pocket a dildo of enormous dimensions.) Wait a moment. I'll tie it on you myself, and then you'll fuck your friend with it until she has lost her sight and hearing.
Marquise: Why do you bring that horrible instrument here? For what purpose? I can't understand why you want to torture yourself in this way. Why! That thing can kill you.
Countess (who has just finished with the buckling): Oh you, with your eternal preaching. All I want you to think about is contenting me.
(The Marquise cannot help but laugh as she sees herself outfitted with this monstrous contraption, to which are even affixed two sacks as large as eggs and covered with hair. The lower part of her body has an unbelievably comical appearance.)
Countess: What are you laughing at? Do you realize that this worthy instrument was made according to the measurements of Father Whoreface? I ordered it myself.
(The Countess gets into position, spreads her legs, and sings a bawdy song.)
Marquise (touches her lightly at the rear hole and laughs): Was it there?
Countess: Of course!
Marquise: You're a true Messallina!
(The two are giggling like children at play. Like a charming lover, the Marquise inserts the fearful substitute into the sheath where it is gratefully received.)
Countess (with deep feeling): Ah! It seems almost alive. It is heavenly the way you do it! (She shuts her eyes.) Oh God, I'm in paradise!
(At the same time, she grasps one of the little sacks which, when squeezed, squirts warm milk into the burning chasm of the Countess. At each spurt, she screams in a frenzy. At the peak of the crisis, she utters that extravagant word we have heard her employ on several occasions. With soothing kisses, the Marquise attempts to complete the illusion of this artificial excitement. When they are finished, they hear behind the trellis a man's snicker. The consternated Marquise, without bothering to undo the apparatus fastened around her waist, tears herself loose from her partner and hastens to hide behind a grassy mound. The Countess, who immediately recognized the voice of the Prelate, is not in the slightest perturbed and lies in the position in which she was.)
Countess: Speak of the devil!
Count (appearing): Your humble servant. (He notices that the Marquise is attempting to unbuckle the dildo.) Please, not just yet. Allow me the pleasure of examining the reproduction of Father Whoreface's sceptre on the spot.
Marquise (making no protest as he approaches): A gentleman low enough to spy on ladies deserves no consideration. (Nevertheless, she lets him inspect the instrument.) There. What do you say to that?
Count (with a gesture of amazement): That is a mammoth!
Marquise: Nevertheless, the Countess has just had it in her to the very roots.
Count (examining with a finger both holes of the Countess, who laughingly slaps him. He pays no attention but keeps on, and then addresses the Marquise): I'll be damned. Now I understand her interlude with the Prior.
Countess (to her friend): The Count is trying to draw me out. Just as he likes. I have just had my pleasure, and I am so happy that nothing can ruin my good mood.
Count (to the Marquise): At least we have to admit that our vivacious friend is a good soul.
Marquise: A finer character does not exist.
Countess (gaily): The two of you are too kind. (She assumes a most suggestive posture.) If only he...
Count (jestingly): Who would have the audacity to compare one's equipment with the model of Father Whoreface?
Countess: Come, come, you old jokester. You owe me this penitence for your jibes.
Marquise (who has felt the Count's trousers): I am able to assure you, darling, that he is burning with lust. This time he has come without having beforehand bid his little negress his usual farewell.
Count (after a few feeble witticisms, approaches the little Countess and inserts his quivering spear into her): Excuse me if I am not my usual self....
Countess: But why? Today you are magnificent. (To the Marquise): Listen! I have just had a marvelous idea. (To the Prelate): Wait a moment here, darling. (To the Marquise): Come over to me.
(She unbuckles the dildo apparatus from the Marquise and then holds it before the Count's face. When she notices that she will be permitted to put her idea into effect, she has a malicious laugh. She leaves only his nose free so that he can breathe. The mouth is covered, and in its place is visible a frightful thing with which, in accordance with the Countess's bizarre caprice, he is to fuck the Marquise. For this purpose, the Marquise must rest on her knees and spread above the face of her friend in order that the Prelate has her ass in front of his eyes. While she is explaining her intentions, she ties the novel muzzle behind the Count's head. The Count is beginning to find the sensation delicious. It is indeed a delightful sight: the lovely face of the Countess framed to one side by the milk-white thighs of the Marquise, and above as the crown her adorable derriere. The brown pubic hair of the Marquise blended with the golden hair tresses of the Countess offers a dazzling contrast.
When everything is in order, the Prelate commences his labors below and thrusts upwards with his chin the fearsome dildo into the Marquise. It is not too easy, but he finally starts it going, while he bobs his head up and down like a puppet. For the lubricious Countess it is a beguiling sight to see the enormous ivory prick going in and out of her friend's pink cunt. Also the Count experiences the full pleasure of the two pale rose buttocks that come so close to him at each movement that he is aware of their warmth. On her part, the Marquise is in an unutterable ecstasy as she recalls the scenes of her unbridled childhood in the convent with the Countess. She pictures to herself the Prior according to the dimensions she feels within her and imagines that he himself is piercing her. Her powers of imagination are so strong that now she believes she has a real prick in her. When a few drops of her flow drip on the forehead of the Countess, the Marquise groans in bliss: "Oh, divine Whoreface. How wonderful you must be." The Count acquits himself nobly.
On their return from this pleasant stroll, the Count is suddenly reminded that he had received several hours before a letter which he had stuck in his pocket and had not yet read. He takes it out, opens it, and asks if the ladies would like to hear its contents. They assent.)
Count: It's from dear Mother Couplet. I wonder what she wants from me.
Countess (impatiently): Go ahead and read it.
Count: "Honored sir, would you be pleased to participate in a gathering that will take place, God willing, Friday, the day after tomorrow, in my summerhouse near Choisy. You know where it is. It has been completely remodeled. If you should decide to accept the invitation, it is requested that you inform me by return mail with an enclosure of twenty louis. If you think that the amount is excessive, I assure you that your enjoyment will be worth a thousand louis. In this connection, you can count on the discretion of everybody concerned as in the past." What do you make of that, my friends?
Marquise: Before sending the money, I would find out what sort of party it will be and what kind of guests will be present.
Count: You're right. Normally, each guest gets an announcement so that you don't buy a pig in a poke. (He rings.) I'm leaving for Paris. (A servant appears.) Tell my servants to have my carriage ready in ten minutes. (The servant leaves.) I'll make inquiries and I'll tell you my discoveries tomorrow at noon if you will be good enough to invite me to lunch.
Marquise: We'll be waiting for you impatiently.
Countess: Count, keep in mind that if it is a matter of an especially good orgy, I'm certainly going to attend. As far as the Marquise is concerned, don't count on her. She has decided to reform. (She smiles.)
Marquise: The Countess is having her little joke.
(The carriage is ready and the Count orders his coachman to travel at top speed to the summerhouse of Madame Couplet. Promptly at two the next afternoon, the Count appears at the villa of the Marquise, fairly bursting with news.)
Count: Long live the wonderful, splendid, incomparable Couplet! Truly, the arrangements for the fete are unique. I gave her an extra ten louis.
Countess: Tell us all about it!
Count: Oh, no. I can't. All I can do is give you a general idea. I don't want to deprive you of the surprise.
Marquise (eagerly): So we are attending? Count: If you want to.
Countess (to the Marquise): Thank God! Your question leads me to believe that you are still interested in pleasure.
Count: Friday, we'll have more detailed information.
Countess: Tell us what little you know about the party.
Count: It is in an enchanting spot. I know it. There will be twenty men and twenty women, two by two, four by four, but always in pairs. The finale will be like the one at Chateau Cutendre. When we are all together, there will be a promenade, a concert, and fireworks. A gourmet dinner. The whole night will be given up to dancing, gambling, and love. At daybreak, all the guests will be brought home unheard and unseen.
Marquise: That sounds just wonderful. But who are the guests?
Count: I saw the list. The men are all of high standing in society or at least reputable and wealthy. The women, half a dozen of whom I know personally, are admirably suited for such a gathering, and the others, according to Madame Couplet, are very estimable. There is no fear that we shall find ourselves in disreputable society. With regard to our admission, since we have to appear in pairs, I have taken the liberty to arrange things. One of you will be escorted by Prince Morawiski, my best friend from Poland, whose name I found on the guest list. The other will entrust herself to the arm of her humble servant.
Countess: Dear Count, I shall be yours. We'll leave the Prince to the Marquise since I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him.
Count: You will not have made the best choice, my dear Countess. I give you my word of honor that Morawiski is one of the handsomest and most charming chevaliers ever to come from his country which, as you well know, is famed for its courtesy, chivalry, and charm. Need I tell you also of Poland's refinements in that sweetest of arts...? Perhaps I am talking too much. You won't breathe a word?
Countess: We are as silent as the grave.
Count: Now, the important thing is that each man there is for each woman and vice versa.
Countess (excitedly): Each man for each woman! That war-cry pleases me immensely. Oh, I'll have so much fun there. All the gates of joy will be opened. My charms, all of them, even the slightest, and my enticements, I shall proclaim and not rest until each warrior has run his lance into me at least once.
Marquise: Not so fast, darling. What will be left over for the others? (To the Count): The Countess is assuming obviously that all there will be for her exclusive enjoyment.
Count (kissing the hand of the Marquise): We won't let her. But could we hurry with lunch? We have to get back to Paris to look after a million things before the party. (The Marquise rings and orders the servant that appears to have the meal served promptly.) Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that someone whom I believe you know or at least knew has come to a sad end.
Countess: Who is it?
Count: The Viscount de Molengin, a most gifted and amiable gentleman.
Marquise: Of course we know him. What happened?
Count: He was wild about music, you remember, but he was one of the worst swindlers in France.
Countess: We heard something of the sort. (She shrugs her shoulders.) And you consider that an admirable quality?
Marquise: Well, what happened to him?
Count: He's dead.
Marquise (disbelieving): Dead?
Countess (laughing): Completely?
Count: The story goes something like this. This dubious gentleman was somewhat vexed that his marvelous spear, a true masterpiece of nature, was not performing as well as it should. Gullible, he consulted an
Italian doctor, who cured him so well that he was proud of his restored powers. But he abused his new strength. In spite of the Italian doctor's warnings to be temperate, not a day went by without his indulging in this or that amorous affair....Well, to make a long story short...the day before yesterday-the devil only knows how he ever got to that one. But he was frolicking with a lower-class actress from the Theatre des Italiens, when he gave up the ghost at the time of the second charge of his genital powder.
Countess: What a melancholy ending. (She shrugs her shoulders again.)
Count: Since the heroine of this tragedy is one of the most desired employees of Couplet, I was able to obtain some of the details about the affair. The girl thought after the first number, which had cost her enough effort, that she had done her job and her night's toil was over. Preparing to get some sleep, she turned over. She was in her first slumber when she was awakened by a slight touch. She thought that it was someone who had paid Madame Couplet and to whom she was obligated for services. She inserts the semi-stiff thing in as well as she can and in spite of her fatigue commences to wiggle her behind dutifully. But she soon realizes that her client had penetrated her more out of pride than desire. After ten minutes without anything happening, she ceases her movements. Finally, sleep overtakes her and she slumbers until nine o'clock in the morning when the cleaning maid awakens her.
Count (continuing): What surprise and astonishment to find when she opens her eyes that she is still impaled! Her first impulse is to laugh and congratulate the Viscount on his durability. But her mirth turns to fright when she discovers that he is no longer among the living. The cold, stiff corpse is motionless. The poor girl can barely remove the arm embracing her. The anticipated pleasure is replaced by sheer horror. The mistress and the maids are equally terrified, shrieking and tearing their hair. More people appear on the scene. There is no doubt about the girl's innocence, but the women are not convinced. The unlucky actress is seized with convulsions and falls in a faint.
As a result of the commotion, the director of the theatre comes running to the scene. He is a cool-headed person skilled in many arts and he recognizes immediately what is necessary for this artiste. Bearing her limp body into an adjoining room, he closes the door behind him, and, alone with her, gives her curative electric treatments. They take effect, for she begins to breathe again, opens her eyes, recognizes her savior, talks to him, embraces him...and is restored.
During the treatment, the mortal remains of poor Molengin were removed and brought to his residence. To some, the sight of a corpse is most disturbing. Now that the dreadful object of her fright was removed, the actress recovered her composure. After a filling breakfast, she was her old self. To toast the memory of the dear departed, they emptied a bottle of Malaga wine, which so cheered them that they retired to the bedroom where they perform a fourth coitus for the peace of his soul.
Countess: That was indeed a noble way to pay one's last respects. But he was always lucky, that handsome Molengin. To die while fucking! What bliss! Oh destiny, if you will be so gracious, grant me also such a happy end!
(Lunch is served, during which the Prelate and the ladies devote their attention to the appetizing dishes in an attempt to dismiss from their minds the sad story of Molengin. As usual, the Count is witty, regaling the ladies with anecdotes which make them choke with laughter. Also, such homage is paid to Bacchus that at the end of the repast, the three are slightly tipsy. With several bottles for solace, the return to Paris is uncommonly great.
The impatiently awaited hour for the campaign was approaching. Prince Morawiski dined with the Marquise at her home after he had been introduced to her by the Prelate. The Pole had a truly majestic figure but a somewhat serious, proud and dignified appearance which led the Marquise to believe he was not particularly interested in sexual adventures. In other words, he did not impress her as the Prelate said he indubitably would. Only when the champagne was poured did he seem to warm up. The transition, however, was so abrupt that it seemed to the three other diners that he was saying to himself: "Now it is time for me to be cheerful and gay."
The Countess seated next to the Count squeezed his hand from time to time, letting him know how much she preferred him to his friend. He did not say or do anything which could be construed as a breach of manners and courtesy. The conclusion of the meal would have been less amusing if the Prelate had not taken from his pocket the guest list and suggested that they go through it together. As she had promised, Madame Couplet had sent it to him that morning along with some of her comments. The ladies greeted the proposal with enthusiasm. The Count began reading):
Count: "The ladies and gentlemen who are to honor with their presences my little fete tonight and who have promised to appear noiselessly in pairs are respectfully requested to come in the following order: First pair: Count de...(the Prelate pointing to himself)...with Countess Mottenfeu. There are no remarks about us. (Continues): Second: Prince Morawiski and Marquise de. . .
Marquise: That is we. Anything about us?
Count: Also nothing. (Continues): Third: Count Chiavaculi with Lady Ouveuton [open cunt]. (Thoughtfully): There must be some mistake. I'll wager that her name is spelt otherwise. (He shows them the name as it is written.) We have no way of knowing how it is written in English.
Countess: What notes?
Count (reading aloud): Count Chiavaculi is a Neapolitan nobleman, both of whose legs have been amputated at the knees, the result of an accident. He fell off a ladder while trying to steal into a reluctant virgin's room one night. He has the revolting inclination to despise what is most charming in a woman and to adore what she has most in common with a man. I don't know how I can do justice to his shocking demands and outlandish moods. In addition, he is rich and generous. But I am delighted that he is on the list for he is taking part in the play that is being given. The lady's reputation is not spotless, but she is immensely wealthy. Although she always complains that she is in poor health, she is capable of excesses an athlete would be proud of. In dissipation and debauchery, she far surpasses me. She drinks like a fish and swears like a sailor.
Marquise: She sounds charming. What an agreeable gathering it promises to be. Go on with the descriptions of the personages.
Count: Fourth: Baron John Kindlowe with Mademoiselle d'Angemain. Comment: Monsieur John is a coarse sailor, but superb as a god of war. From the Indies where women mature at a very early age he brought back a preference for little girls. I have to bring him one between eleven and at most thirteen years of age. What drives me almost to despair is that he knows the signs of virginity perfectly and I have a devil of a time getting him the genuine article. Usually, though, he puts up with anything. This Englishman will be the second performer in our play that I mentioned. Mademoiselle d'Angemain [angel hand] comes from a family without means, but she has been well brought up. Although she is still quite young, she looks worn out. She has a peculiar talent, though. As soon as she touches a gland, even one of the most despairingly impotent, it is ready to gush, but only into another woman. She herself seldom, if ever, experiences bliss.
Countess: That gives me an idea, my dear Count. It would be a meritorious act to pair this unusual lass with Dupeville. What a shame to waste such a talent in a brothel.
Count: I am always happy when one is so thoughtful of his friends....
Marquise: The Countess is absolutely right. Dupeville does need a companion. He has such a good heart. And we'll make the girl happy. Go on.
Count (reading): Fifth: Baron Immersteif [always stiff] with Countess Chaudpertuis [hot hole]. I'll tell you about those two myself, for I am personally acquainted with them. The Baron is a fat, crude Bavarian and a fine drinker and fucker. Please forgive coarse expressions. But, by God, the Countess, to whom I have had the honor of paying tribute on several occasions, will show him a thing or two.
Countess: That'll be between us. But go ahead.
Count (reading): Sixth: Monsieur Becker. I know him, too. He's the son of a wealthy Dresden banker. And here is the remark about Madame de Condouillet [tender cunt]. She's so tight that the most powerful man can't get in. But every day she lies for ten hours on her back being licked by her three dogs, her valet, her hairdresser, and her music-teacher.
Marquise: Madame Couplet sneers at the guests.
Perhaps that's why she wants to bring us together with them.
Countess: Now don't get into a fret, my dear. We want to have a good time, don't we? And for that purpose are we to have the nicest respectable bourgeoisie? Don't mind her, Count, and just keep on.
Count: Oh, here's a long paragraph. Seventh: Prince Ldwenkraft and Princess Stolzinloch [proud in hole.] The Prince is a Danish aristocrat, who was ambassador in Vienna. A connoisseur like Count Tufiere and renowned for his sturdiness. As a personage of exalted standing and Herculean powers, he wanted to match his strength with the Princess, but he came to grief. From a haughty conqueror he has fallen to the sad state of a pitiable slave, who lets himself be humbled publicly ten times a day, when the insatiable Princess summons three gigantic servants for her amusement. The woman has an imposing figure, generous curves, and dazzling white soft skin, but unfortunately an ungovernable and nasty temper. Moreover, her tastes are not in tune with those of our country. For that reason, all Frenchmen detest her. Not one can she capture.
Marquise (to the Countess): Doesn't that make you lose your appetite somewhat, my dear?
Countess: I am not angry about that at all, for I am a strand of lust on which all waves of passion must break. It amuses me to arouse them, fan them into flame, satisfy them, and delight them. Not a person has left my arms disappointed or with the command never again to return. In this connection, I am my own opponent. I'll have a chance to look her over tonight, and if I find her worthy of me, I'll challenge her. Then it will be proved who of us has more talent and intrepidity. -
Count: That is courage of the highest order, my dear Countess. I'm placing my bets on you.
Marquise (to the Countess): I am delighted that you are so stimulated at the prospect of the duel. We can't wait to see what you are fully capable of.
Count (interrupting): This is all very diverting, but if we keep on digressing this way, I'll never come to the end of the reading of the list.
Marquise: Please forgive us. Continue, if you will.
Count (continuing): Eighth: Marquis Dietrini with Mademoiselle de Nimmernein [never no]. Comment: The Marquis is a young, handsome and rich Florentine and an enthusiast for women a posteriori. He does not, however, disdain the usual channels. As for Mademoiselle de Nimmernein, I know her extremely well. But let us hear what is written about her. A majestic blonde, who fled her native Germany to avoid marriage with a smelly hunchbacked old lecher. I know that to be true. (He goes on reading.) She is as gentle as a lamb, but goes out of her mind as soon as she is touched. She allows herself to be fucked anywhere and any way, and because of her physical and moral character, she lends herself to the most bizarre caprices. As a clever, educated and gifted young woman, she is beloved by all and she loves everybody. With scholars, she discusses philosophy; with wits, she indulges in sharp repartee; with topers she gets drunk; with soldiers, she curses adds his own observations.) This characteristic is very herself to any role that is required of her. (The Count adds his own observations.) This characteristic is very advantageous. Since she is absolutely motionless at the decisive moment and does not participate in the usual bumps and jolts, she is not to everybody's taste. I was the first in Paris to enjoy this Teutonic masterpiece. In a warm embrace, I completely undressed Madame de Nimmernein. I am not exaggerating, but I thought I had the living Galathea before me after Pygmalion had finished his chef d'oeuvre. Aflame with desire, I bent her back on the edge of the big bed, and when I came closer to her, she blushed from head to foot. Immovably she awaited me, wrapped her arms around me, freely permitted me to do as I wanted with her, and did nothing else but raise her divinely formed arms and sigh yearningly: "Dear Jesus...Dear God!" But inwardly she was quivering with passion. She nearly drowned me. Her blue eyes were closed. From the grotto of my dead nymph bubbled, after I had dismounted, the boiling steam with which she had just bathed me.
Then I remembered that I had to write an extremely important business letter without delay. When I finished the letter, which was three pages long, I found her still lying motionless on the bed. A fiery kiss on the two rows of pearly teeth wrung a deep sigh from her breast. What a superb body, I told myself admiringly as I overwhelmed her with caresses and kisses. When she heard me complain that I could not enjoy the sight of all her beauties, she obligingly turned over, lying on her stomach and revealing the rounded cheeks that could have only been shaped in paradise. A new marvel of perfection. My latent forces were reawakened to life. I run my fingers through and kiss the luxurious hair, and I stroke and squeeze the magnificently formed hips. Finally, the snow-white derriere. I could have devoured it. I treated it as tenderly as the softest cheeks, the dearest mouth....Do I have to tell you that? Tempted beyond endurance by the irresistible charms, I clutch the divine cheeks, and without saying a word, I enter without the slightest impediment. Only when I am securely in does my angel remark in the most lilting tone that I should make haste for it is hurting her.
Marquise (smiling): That is marvelous, but if we keep getting off the subject like this, we'll never come to an end.
Count (kissing her hand): A thousand pardons. (Continues): Ninth: Monsieur Bailly de Foutsept [seven fuck] with Madame Countess d'Ogreval [enormous hole]. Comments: In spite of his fifty years, Bailly is a splendid performer when he is in the mood which comes once a week. Today is his day. Madame d'Ogreval, whom he keeps as his mistress, does not keep to his schedule. On the day that he is active she rests. Tonight, however, they will make an exception.
Tenth: Baron de St. Bernhard with Madame Durut. Note: Cousins. Telling you this in the strictest confidence, the Baron is a friar of the highest rank and will be present incognito. His cousin is a likable woman, the widow of a miserly merchant who left her millions. Since she is in every respect the opposite of her late spouse, she is as eager to squander the fortune as her husband was in accumulating it. She plays the role of patroness of the arts, being herself possessed of middling talent, she supports two esthetic abbots, a violinist at the opera, a painter of erotic subjects, and on top of that, she keeps year in and year out four or five bodyguards.
Marquise: That woman will end up in the poor-house.
Count (continuing to read): Eleventh: Monsieur Cazzoforte [strong prick] with Madame de Brisamants [lover breaker]. Comment: The arrangement was made just yesterday. The Italian has the strength and the manners of a stevedore. As far as the lady is concerned, he can carouse and roister as much as he wants, which is why I consented to this coupling.
Twelfth: Major Pottamics and Mademoiselle Pina-mour [prick love]. Note: Also a new combination.
Elegant people with an inclination for refined, bizarre pleasures. They require little.
Marquise: Such people seem out of place at the party tonight. They sound dull and insipid. Keep going.
Count: Thirteenth: Monsieur Vanhuren [of a whore] and Madame de Foutencour [polite fucker]. I know them, too. Here is the comment. Vanhuren is an ugly, plump Dutchman who became rich through three bankruptcies. His preference runs to tarts of the lowest class. Since he got it into his head to win a concession from the government, he expressed the wish to meet some wily woman who can further his plans. To help him out, I paired him with the tall skinny Foutencour who is famous for her tongue in the best circles and who has great influence from having seduced quite a number of young diplomats. More important, she has behind her literally thousands of lesser functionaries for whom she has done many favors, for a fee, of course. If she asks anything of them and they refuse, she threatens to go to their superiors.
Marquise: It appears that Madame Couplet likes to speak evil of her guests. It is my opinion that she oversteps the bounds of simple explanations.
Count (smiling): We'll never come to the end of our reading. Fourteenth: Monsieur de Bout-a-fond [all the way to the bottom] with Madame de Forgesy. Note: Bout-a-fond is a nobleman from the provinces. He is well suited for temperamental women, and the one I have chosen for him will be worthy of his praise. He's looking for some sort of a post or a suitable marriage. Madame de Forgesy, a pretty widow with a comfortable fortune, is just the one for him. But she told me in confidence that she wants to try him out first for about six months in order to be sure that after the marriage her husband's are still intact.
Countess: Dear me! Now there's a cautious female for you.
Count (continuing to read): Fifteenth: Viscount de Phalhardi [bold prick] with Baroness Mativits [pricks]. Oh, do I know her! Comment: I know for a fact that the Viscount in the last twelve years has enjoyed the favors of more than four thousand women. He never has anything to do with the same person twice, but he changes every day, and more often than not, he has two rather than one the same day. He has had unbelievably good luck in this dangerous game, for he has never once contracted a venereal disease....
Countess (interrupting): There are supposed to be people immune to infection. (She indicates the Marquise.) She, I, and others are examples of that.
Count (heaving a sigh): Alas, if I could only be counted among you. Well, let's not dredge up melancholy memories, and find out what more there is about the Viscount. This lecher, ever since he took into his employ a certain physician, has picked his girls from the lowest classes. He wanders in the most squalid quarters of the city in search of his prey. But what is most remarkable is that as soon as he appears in genteel society, he is the most charming of gentlemen. Then he is extraordinarily courteous and deferential to respectable women and goes out of his way to please. Mativits, whom I have turned over to him, will be used by him only once. She is a dumpy brunette, but she is perfect for his crass tastes. I don't dare confide those with weak constitutions to her lest she kill them. By the way, she also has a fondness for women.
Countess: That's a good thing to know, and I'll strike up a friendship with her.
Count (reading): Sixteenth. Baron de Pinnefier [proud prick] and Mademoiselle des Ecarts [splits]. Note: The Baron is as lecherous as a monk. He fucks without ever stopping. His partner is of the upper class and as ardent as a volcano. It is hard to believe but it is true-she has behind her three abductions and six warrants of arrest. Using her feminine wiles, she was able to make her escape. The third time, she concealed herself in a monastery, thereby avoiding apprehension. Three of her suitors have fallen because of her, stretched out on the ground, killed by the successful wooers. Once she herself ran through a lover who had been unfaithful to her. When she reached her majority and inherited a sizable fortune on the death of her parents, she settled down to a more placid life. Today her youthful escapades are forgotten.
Marquise: I really don't know if I want to take part in the festivities tonight. Where in the world did Madame Couplet unearth such terrible people?
Countess: With such scruples, you had better retire to a nunnery. Count, just don't pay any heed to her grumbling. Go on.
Count (continuing to read): Canon de Pillemotte with Madame d'Enginiere. One of the most amusing and delightful Gascons, but frivolous and poor as a church-mouse. Madame d'Enginiere keeps him. I remember something about that high-spirited woman. One evening as I had left a gambling house and I didn't have any carriage, I accepted her offer to drive me home. Since the vehicle was single-seated, I had to hold her on my lap. To prevent her skirt from wrinkling, she lifted it up to her thighs. It wasn't long before she found, as she said, that my buttons were sticking her. In order to remove the annoyance, she absent-mindedly began to undo them. Knowing something about life, I was aware what that meant and I obliged her. It went amazingly well. When my gland was in her, we continued chatting about the people at the casino, our runs of luck, and other events of the day.
When Madame d'Enginfere noticed that we were nearing my house, she said: "Now let us have some fun." With that, she began to jump so wildly on me that I was afraid that any moment that the carriage would fall to pieces under us. The glowing passion of the wanton female I found attractive. I was willing. As the carriage stopped before my door to let me out, she whispered in my ear: "Wrap your cloak around you so that your livery can't see you." At first, I did not know what she meant by the order. I did as I was bid, but when I saw myself in the light of the hall, I found that my suit was besmirched from top to bottom with menstrual blood. I who detest such blood flow still shudder at the memory of that filth.
Marquise: Of all the shameless whores...
Count: To top it off, she was laughing until tears came to her eyes when she left me. Let's not think about it any more. (Count continues reading): Eighteenth. Don Plantados and Madame de Curival. Note: The lady is the wife of an old Swiss colonel who suspects Plantados, a haughty cowardly Portuguese of noble birth. The only place they can safely meet is at my apartment. I think that Madame de Curival, who no longer has the first bloom of youth, clings to the phlegmatic Portuguese because she has a certain depraved taste that he satisfies to her complete contentment. Her husband is in Versailles for a few days, which is why she can attend tonight.
Marquise: The poor husbands. The things that go on behind their backs.
Count (reading): Nineteenth: Monsieur Eselsgunst [liking for asses] and Madame de Caverny.
Countess: What confounded names!
Count (continuing to read): Note. Eselsgunst is a German who is connected in some way with the diplomatic corps. I happen to know that he is charge d'affaires for several German sovereigns. He is unusually powerfully built and suffers from satyriasis. His measurements are eleven inches in length and seven in girth.
Countess: Charming. Really, Madame de Caverny will have to let me have him for a turn.
Count (reading): Madame de Caverny is an extraordinarily lovely woman, but insufferably sentimental. But she bestows her favors on whoever is able to pay for them. You have to earn your bread and Eselsgunst is not overly generous with her. But they are deeply enamored of each other because of a rare organic defect they both have.
Marquise: All these details are beginning to bore me. Are you almost finished?
Count: Just one more. Twentieth: Chevalier de Pa-simon and Madame de Clapiers [rabbit hutch]. I know all the Clapiers, having had too much to do with them. I remember...
Marquise: Be quiet, you old chatterbox! (To the Countess): He always has some bad gossip.
Count: But I like to hear it. Just to irritate you more, I am almost positive that I had an affair with this Pasimon when he was wearing a priest's robe. Let's hear what the comment has to say. (Reads): An incredibly handsome young man and most amiable. Formerly an abbot. (To himself): That's right. It's he. (Reads): Is now a distinguished officer. I'm delighted to hear that. (Reads): Has some faults. (To himself): The only one I can think of is his preference for masculine asses, but so many respectable men have the same penchant. (Reads): Women fall over him. (Again to himself): And men are always ready to oblige him.
Marquise: An intolerable man. Haven't we had enough?
Count: All right. I promise you to keep my comments to myself. (Reads): Women are mad about him, but he is so gallant, courteous, and obliging, and does such honor to their generosity that none is dissatisfied with him. In short, he is a paragon of a man, unique in his way. That's all.
Marquise: I'm already madly in love with this Pasi-mon. Every man there should be like him.
Morawiski: And all women like you. (At the same time, he grasps her hand and kisses it ardently.)
Count (doing the same with the Countess): Or like you.
Countess (To Morawiski): Listen, my dear Prince, it was about time you said something, for I feared that you had lost your tongue.
Morawiski: I humbly beg your pardon, Madame, but often my thoughts wander back to my native Poland and I am only here in body.
Countess: But a part of your body is your tongue, which can utter so many delightful thoughts, so why don't both of you remain here with us?
Marquise: While we are talking nonsense here, time is flying....(She looks at her watch.) It is five o'clock already and I have so many things to do. (To the Count): You don't realize how you have delayed us with your scandalous stories, you evil man.
(She rises to attend to the trivialities she just mentioned. The Countess and the two men retire to the terrace to enjoy the evening air while waiting for her. Shortly after, they climb into a carriage and race to their rendezvous.)
End of the Eighth Part
PART NINE
Dear Reader, have you ever noticed how many times pleasures that have been carefully planned long in advance come to naught? The wonderful orgy, the culmination of Madame Couplet's imagination, was not to take place. What a shame!
Almost the entire party had already gathered. The household staff was busy with its tasks. A horseshoe-shaped table with forty places set, sparkling with fine porcelain and silver. Lascivious statues modelled by master hands were scattered here and there under crystal chandeliers. The long gallery was illuminated by countless candles whose flames were endlessly reflected in the richly gilded mirrors. In the background of this salon resembling a temple stood on a base a statue of Venus whose smile invited devotions which required no suffering. Around were easy-chairs and couches for the forthcoming sacrifices.
Looking out of the windows, one saw the pyrotech-nicians busy erecting the stands for the illuminations.
The exuberant swarm of guests was already dazzled by the glitter, intoxicated by the heady aromas, and exhilarated by the prospect of the pleasures to come. Gradually, they began to rid themselves of their inhibitions natural to a group only a portion of whom were acquainted with one another. Those who knew each other from before cheerfully exchanged greetings and off-color pleasantries. Joyously the Countess recognized in the alleged Chevalier de Saint Bernhard her dear friend Father Whoreface, whom she hastened to present to the Marquise. For his part, the lecherous Prelate delightedly came across some of his casual acquaintances, whom he greeted with compliments or banter. But sincere was his homage to the adorable Nimmernein who was absolutely radiant in her beauty.
An orchestra hidden from view was awaiting the signal to start playing when like a stroke of lightning from the skies a message was delivered to the directress who was beaming with happiness at the success of her efforts. It was tidings that extinguished the torch of the gaiety and crushed the expectations of the revelers. The letter was from one of the top police officials and read as follows:
"Most esteemed Madame:
"I have just received a denunciation I cannot ignore that there is to be held under your roof this evening an orgy of a particularly scandalous character. The informer has supplied me with the location of the fete and the names of most of the guests, among whom is a young matron who has been spied on by her jealous husband without her knowledge. The informer has filed a complaint and demands that we take steps. Since you now have been advised, you have sufficient time to make preparations to remove the evidence. The gendarmes will be there about ten or eleven o'clock. If you perchance should have some gold sand to strew before their eyes, they will not be able to see anything that can compromise you. The most important thing is that the guests must disperse. If you are able to emerge from this affair with your skirts clean, we will make life very unpleasant for this scoundrel who torments one of the sweetest souls in Paris. The haste with which I have imparted to you this information leaves no doubt as to my identity and my friendship for you. Please be quick, clever, and discreet. Adieu."
After skimming through this fatal note, Madame Couplet felt as if she was going to faint. Fortunately, she retained her presence of mind and called for a glass of brandy. Noticing her agitation, all crowded around her, asking if some misfortune had occurred. Finally, she felt strong enough to reveal the contents of the note.
Consternation seized her audience. More than half beat an immediate retreat without a farewell. The others, possessed of more self-control or more reluctant to abandon the projected pleasures, held a little conference to decide what was best to do. The suggestion to try and outwit the police was offered and then abandoned.
When Couplet noticed the exodus, she hurried to the door and yelled at the top of her lungs: "A thousand pardons. It was not my fault. Besides, no one will suffer. I would rather go to ruin than have such esteemed clients as you have reason to complain of me."
Of those departing, only a few gave her a consoling word. All were grumbling to themselves. Some even hinted that it was all a trick that she had previously arranged with the police.
Among those remaining were Sir John Kindlowe and Count Chiavaculi who were noisily arguing an awkward question.
"What about our bet?" demanded the latter.
"Naturally it is still on."
"What do you mean by that?" rejoined the hot-blooded Italian. "It has to be tonight. No postponement."
"Fine. Tonight. But where?"
"My God! It's all the same to me. On the street, for all I care."
Up to then, no one knew the reason for this noisy squabble. "Hush, gentlemen!" ordered Madame Couplet, who had rejoined the gathering. "Do you have to make such a hullabaloo about nothing? You have more than enough time to decide your bet. So why the fuss? It is nothing for each of you to fuck ten times in two hours."
"Tell us more about this matter," demanded the Prelate, who was listening with a lively interest.
"It is this way, Count. The two gentlemen have challenged each other as to who could reach number ten the first. But the Englishman fucks only little girls who have to be virgins while the Italian has to have boys. In order to make things even, I found for him ten virgin boys. There they are, ten boys and ten girls, all as virginal as the moment they left their mothers' bellies. You can imagine the effort and the expense it cost me to recruit them."
"How much is the wager?" inquired the curious Prelate.
"Five hundred guineas," answered Sir John. "My virgins will be paid extra."
"That's splendid," Madame Couplet interrupted. "Not a sou of the bet comes into my pocket. Did you hear that, Monsieur Italian? The merchandise will be paid extra."
"It's all the same to me."
"Well, my boys!" cried Couplet. "Let's get started. Not a minute to lose, and to hell with the damned police. Once we have begun, the devil himself will not be able to interrupt us."
"I'm ready," Chiavaculi declared. "Where are they?"
His tone, his expression, and his prick dangling between his thighs provoked general merriment which increased when Sir John with a loud "Goddamn" produced his instrument and, mimicking his opponent, cried: "I'm ready."
"Doughty champions!" shouted the Prelate with a laugh. "But wait a moment to perform your feats and be so good as to listen to me. Such a magnificent achievement in the field of fucking should not be ruined by the necessity of haste. It should be fought in an arena where there is no risk of disturbance. And I offer you such a ring, which I trust you will accept. We are...(he counts)...eighteen here. (The others have left.) Good. Let us repair to a little retreat I own near the boulevards. Our Madame Couplet who knows it will have everything that is needed transported there and will follow us once she is through. We'll still have our banquet although there will not be the brilliant illumination and the lilting music. Nevertheless, we will not fail to be diverted. (To the two contestants): Your wager will be decided, gentlemen, but we ask your momentary forbearance."
General applause indicated that all were satisfied.
"Those who love me follow me!" cried the Prelate as he took the arm of the Countess. The entire band followed with loud bursts of laughter, climbed into five carriages in order not to attract attention, and quickly drove to Paris.
Let us permit our refugees depart and let us remain a moment where we are. What a melancholy sight it is, the hundred arms of servants quickly and efficiently extinguishing the candles, putting the furniture back to where it was, and dismantling the fireworks scaffolding. Above all, one has to admire the noble Couplet who like a true heroine holds high her head in defeat. Now she gives new orders to deceive the police and avoid catastrophe. The musicians are generously paid off and sent home by the canal after they had satisfied the thirst peculiar to their profession. Tableware, silver, wines, liquors and food are stowed in a coach. Two large carriages are required for the transportation of the band of children, who resemble a herd of cattle bound for the slaughter-house.
In less than an hour everything indicative of an orgy has vanished from the banqueting-hall. Finally, Couplet breathes freely, enjoying in advance the triumph of her cleverness and composure. The storm is over and there is nothing to fear from the police. Now Couplet can go to the contest.
Because of the excitement and exertions, the poor woman had need of a moment of rest and relaxation. For this purpose, she called a friend who was to have performed certain services but had not been visible during the miscarried festivities to share a bottle of excellent Bordeaux with her.
Monsieur gladly accepted. He had been a sergeant of the guard, but he had been discharged for numerous infractions not tolerated by the military. But he was very useful. He was an excellent tout for the Madame's establishment, bouncer, and mainly, sole proprietor of the remaining charms of the forty-five year old Madame, who, in her youth, had been most delectable.
They had emptied two glasses silently when Couplet slammed her glass on the table and cried: "The devil with it. Give me what I want. Why cry over spilt milk? Come over here, you stupid ass. Stick it into me so that I'll forget the whole miserable affair. And let's not talk about it any more."
Tapagean: Damn it: That's easy for you to say. Your purse is overflowing with money. But who is going to pay me for what I lost? I'll tell you something, my lamb. Our faro bank would have trebled his evening. I could feel it.
Couplet: Oh, I believe you. Like your friend Pillemotte decamping. He should have stayed at his own calling.
Tapagean: Who fucks for money and lives off it can still be a decent fellow, but one day he'll dry up. Even though we are getting older, that'll never happen to us.
Couplet (filling his glass): Drink up and let me have a sensible talk with you.
Tapagean (clinking his glass with hers): I'm listening.
Couplet (squeezing his hand): Darling, I foresee that one day one will insult me by throwing you out of the window along with your scoundrel Vicedom. You're just a sharper who doesn't even take the trouble to hide your cheating. (Becoming angry): I don't want to have anything more to do with gambling, do you understand? My damned indulgence towards you causes me agonies every day. So it is finished. No more gambling. I practice two honorable callings with general appreciation....
Tapagean (coarsely): God knows, yes. This evening you provide ten ass-holes and marry twenty whores and twenty lecherous goats. Yes, that is indeed honorable....Let me give you a piece of advice. Don't start a quarrel with me.
Couplet (clinking her glass again): I wouldn't do that for anything in the world. I want you inside of me. Drink with me.
Tapagean (drinks): And I suppose our fuck lottery is finished?
Couplet: That's something else.
Tapagean: Four hundred louis gone. Oh, what a shame! If I had that rascal who betrayed us, I'd....(He uncorks a second bottle.)
Couplet: What can we do about it? I lost more than you, but...(She shrugs her shoulders.) But we have to console ourselves. Let's make up for it.
Tapagean (sadly): How in the devil?
Couplet: First drink, then fuck.
Tapagean: That's all fine and good, but I don't feel too well in my stomach. (He starts to refill his glass.)
Couplet (refusing): That's enough. I still have to have my senses about me this evening. (Smirking): But, darling, there's something else that flows that causes no harm. (Tapagean drinks by himself, pretending he does not understand her; peevishly, she perseveres): Well, is Monsieur going to fuck or not? Come on now. (She raises her skirt.)
Tapagean: Well, at least we can try. But if it doesn't go, don't blame me.
Couplet: Come on, old fellow. I'm going to put your prick in my vise.
* * *
In spite of his protests, she had her wish gratified and she rewarded him with a louis. In order to restore his strength, he gulped what was left in the bottle. Immediately thereafter, they got into his cabriolet and sped off to Paris.
At the barrier, the semi-drunk driver collided with a cab of questionable appearance. This was carrying a police official and several gendarmes to the site where the orgy was to have been held. One of the police recognized by the light of a street-lamp the face of Tapagean and smiled as if congratulating him on his luck at not being there. After separating the two vehicles, they each continued their way. In a few minutes, Madame Couplet was descending from the carriage before the Prelate's hideaway, where she had been impatiently awaited. The provisions for the impromptu new party had already arrived. And she is back at work, assisted by Tapagean who has to be ready for unforeseeable emergencies.
In this abode, the honor of planning the proceedings did not fall to Madame Couplet, for they had already been made during her absence. Since Count Chiavaculi could not keep on his artificial legs when he wished to use his virility, he donned a pair of bear's skin trousers and fastened below his stockings two wooden legs which were fashioned like the legs of a satyr. These unusual members were so skillfully made that the crippled Count could comfortably stand, sit, and recline. In the front, his trousers were naturally open, making no attempt to conceal the masculine charms. To complete his resemblance to Priapus or Pan, he had on his head a pair of horns and pointed ears. His resemblance to the divinity worshipped by womanhood in antiquity was astonishing.
"My friends," cried the Prelate, "there is nothing to prevent us from wearing costumes, and the most fetching costume of all is nudity."
Although the Countess and Nimmernein immediately disgarbed, as did Whoreface, Pasimou and a few other men, most were reluctant to compromise themselves so completely.
"Well, my guests," announced the amiable host, "if we are unwilling to dispense with our clothing, I have here in my house more than enough costumes for eighteen people. Who wants to be a god or a goddess? An American? An Indian? Or a monk? I have the whole world in my wardrobe. All you have to do is express your wish." (To the Princess): "Wouldn't you like to dress up as Juno? You would be ravishing." (The haughty dame accepted.) "Please understand.
These are only suggestions. The choice is yours," the Prelate added.
"I want to be a barmaid," the Countess broke in.
"Very good," the Prelate observed. "I hope every lady speaks out in the same way. Also, the women are to determine the masks of their cavaliers. Lovely Juno, what shall yours be?"
"An invalid."
"Very well," commented the touchy Prince Lowenkraft, biting his lips. "I'll obey, but two weeks ago, it never would have entered your head to make such an epigram at my expense."
"I," said the Neapolitan Priapus, "am unable to take off my uniform. Milady will be so good as to make her own choice."
"A bacchante," she cried immediately and made a lascivious goat leap.
"How about you, lovely d'Angemain?" continued the Prelate.
"I'll turn Sir John into a sailor." (This suited him to a T for he could be his natural coarse self.) "As for myself, I'll dress myself as a sister of mercy."
When it came to the beautiful Nimmernein, she could not make up her mind.
"Why don't you be Truth?" suggested the lubricious Prelatt as he kneeled before her. "Permit me to bring you the proper costume."
She remained silent, smiled, and nodded her head to indicate her willingness. Her naivete enhanced her loveliness.
"And what do you choose for your Marquis?" she was asked. "A druggist."
Turning to him, she added, "Since I am now Truth, my darling, I have to tell you point-blank what is best for you."
"A druggist in your service, noble Truth. I am yours body and soul."
Now it was the turn of the plump sturdy Madame Durut, who opted for the roll of a fishwife and for Father Whoreface that of a porter.
"I don't have a man," said Madame de Caverny somewhat embarrassedly when she was asked.
"And I am without a lady," cried Prince Morawiski whose eyes searched every corner of the room for the Marquise.
"I was sure that there were eighteen of us here at the beginning," interjected the Prelate.
Scarcely had he uttered the words than appeared the Marquise and the bewitching Pasimou. They had been in the garden. The flush on their cheeks, the shortness of their breath, and the disorder of their clothing clearly showed what they had been up to. It never crossed their minds to defend themselves when they were teas-ingly asked what they had been doing.
"Of course," exclaimed the Marquise as she gave her new Medoro a passionate kiss before all the guests. "No power on earth or heaven could have restrained me from gratifying one of the most delicious desires I have ever experienced in my entire life. I stole him, but I return him. May all of you enjoy in his arms the bliss I had."
In order to understand better this puzzling interlude, it is advisable, dear reader, to retrace our steps a bit. The Marquise, as we know, was fascinated by Pasimou. When she saw him enter Madame Couplet's residence, a blazing fire was lit within her. Hastily she scribbled a few lines on her calling card which she slipped unnoticed into his hand.
"Take this as you will, but I have to have you. I'll separate from the others and you will follow me. Beware of arousing in me a hatred as burning as the love I now have for you."
The unambiguous and urgent declaration was scarcely in the hands of the handsome chevalier when occurred the unpleasant event which prevented the planned festivities. All he could do was squeeze her hand in passing, but to carry out her command was impossible at the moment for all were hastily departing. Once at the Prelate's, they quickly found each other and slipped out into the garden unseen.
The Marquise was the last to choose costumes.
"The only role suitable for me is that of a streetwalker, and I'll have Pasimou dressed as my pimp."
This was a clever stroke on the part of the Marquise, for she thought that in such ugly garb he would be in less demand.
All these arrangements were completed and the costumes donned when Couplet appeared. She was agreeably surprised at barely being able to recognize her old clients although they were not yet masked. The Prelate, who was as adept at arranging an orgy as she, had not waited for her arrival to give the orders for the banquet.
In the chamber where concerts were usually given were small tables for two persons, or four at the most. On each were tasty tidbits, which were constantly replenished throughout the night. The wines and liqueurs were from the Prelate's cellar, which bespeaks for their excellence.
Not a moment was to be lost, for in the center of this elegant dining-room were two gondolas, the stages for the competition between Priapus and his opponent Nautilus. Also open were the doors to the adjoining salon which was arranged in the same refined way for those who had interest in neither the outcome of the contest nor the pleasures of the table, but who preferred to bestow and receive raptures.
The impetuous Chiavaculi was itching to get at his ten boys, all of whom were as cute as Cupids. No less ardent, Sir John was straining at the bit to despoil the ten young virgins.
"It will be delightful entertainment for us as we eat," commented the Prior as he ushered the Countess to an advantageously placed table.
"We toast you, incomparable warriors!" cried the Prelate as he raised his glass. "Now!"
All took their seats and the gifts of Comus were attacked with the greatest appetite.
The children were trembling with fear at the fate awaiting them. Each child had a number, which was drawn from a bowl by Madame Couplet. She had the function 'also of seeing that the copulation was complete and that there was no hindrance to the lust of the combatants.
No, dear reader, I will not describe to you the details of what followed. The depiction would be original but at the same time monotonous. For most, it would lack piquanterie. The brutal mania to prove one's manhood cannot be of interest, let alone awaken emotions. One appreciates descriptions of the joys and even caprices of love, but not the gross depravities of two lechers who have not the slightest inkling of the true joys of lust.
More diverting without doubt would be the portrayal of the little jokes that were played during the boring ravages taking place in the gondolas. The reader would forget it if he were told how the gracious little barmaid compared her bosom with that of Truth with the Prelate being the judge. Let us leave them to regard the seductive Marquise whisper something into the Prior's ear and then lead him into the salon. There is the fishwife Durut straddling the Police Commissioner without bothering to repair to the next room which was prepared for such purposes.
Nearby Madame de Caverny, also without rising from the table, has taken it into her pretty head to tell the Palatine's fortune from his foreskin. Soon all the women are following this obscene example. Now it is a continuous procession back and forth between the dining room and the pleasure-salon with singing, the clinking of glasses, smiling invitations, laughs, and kisses. Slaps fall on uncovered thighs, chairs creak, and the air if filled with sighs of gratified or unsatisfied sensuousness. I don't think I am wrong, dear reader, to omit the happenings in the two gondolas when there is so much else delicious to divert us. But, unfortunately, it is necessary to depict in broad outlines the competition.
Twenty minutes had scarcely elapsed before Priapus had deflowered three of his boys and Sir John had had the maidenheads of a like number of his girls. The latter continued without pausing for breath while his opponent took time out to rest and sip a cup of broth to reinvigorate himself. The fourth virgin ceased being a virgin when Priapus was starting on his fourth behind. At the fifth, he was again even with the Englishman who felt the need for a pause and at the suggestion of the sister of mercy took some fruit dipped in brandy. With a malicious smile, Priapus did him the courtesy of waiting while playing with his lad like a lover at the prelude with his mistress. The contest continues. Six, seven. Now Chiavaculi is more than a minute ahead. Gulping down several pills and wiping his gland, he proceeds directly to the eighth hemisphere. The sailor is not as prompt in attacking the eighth hymen. The efforts of the sister of mercy are in vain: the weapon is slowly but surely losing its rigidity. Nevertheless, the sailor finishes off the eighth and ninth. As evidence of the last, Madame Couplet displays to the audience two or three pearly drops on the black card. In contrast, Chiavaculi, who seems to have received divine help, was as lavish with his offering as the first time.
The sailor was in a rage, for an Englishman has to be first in everything. He gritted his teeth and muttered some seaman's oath.
Indifferent to what it could do to his health, he took a swig of rum laced with Spanish fly. Now, the softhearted d'Angemain had no doubt about the outcome, but she feared for the life of her champion. But she felt that in such an emergency, such an expedient was the only one possible to ensure victory. But will he win, in spite of that? Will the stimulant take effect in time?
Alas, the Italian, fresh as a daisy, had grasped his last catamite by the buttocks while the poor Englishman, despite the irritants and the charm of the little virgin who winsomely awaits his assault, is absolutely unable even to make the attempt. The last minute frantic attempts of the sister are to no avail, even beating his bottom with a stout cane. She even makes love to another woman before his eyes in order to incite him. But it is no use. In the meantime, the Italian without any particular exertion celebrates his tenth and final triumph.
"Is that all?" he cries with a sardonic sneer, as if he were not sure himself that he had counted correctly. This pleasantry and the sight of his froth-covered organ won him a general round of applause. The clapping of hands was like a stroke of thunder to the loser. At the moment, he was grazing the coral-red entrance to the tenth jewel. Without being noticed, his assistant had inserted an ivory dildo into the girl in the hope that it would facilitate the entry, but this little trick, too, was a failure. The rosy gate remained closed to the exhausted organ. It was still half stiff due to the sister's efforts, but-oh shame!-it suddenly collapsed completely. The most desirable, the plumpest, the most obliging of the virgins found her hopes dashed.
Now the victorious Priapus began to make sport of Sir John's failure. Unfortunately, dear reader, I, as a faithful chronicler, cannot spare you the dreadful scene that ensued caused by the imprudent conduct of the Count Chiavaculi.
Sir John Kindlowe flew into a rage when he heard the Italian jeering at him. The bacchante lady, who nourished a deadly hatred for her brother, which is why she seconded his rival, overwhelmed him with a flood of hoots and gibes. The physical deformity and awkward costume of the Count prevented him from engaging in fisticuffs with Sir John who rushed furiously at him. The lady hurled herself between them and for her pains received a frightful punch right below her bosom. Had it been a little higher, it would have killed her. She tried to flee, but she had taken but three steps when she sank to the floor in a swoon. The wrathful Italian snatched a knife lying on a table while the Englishman did the same. The arena of love would have turned into a seat of butchery if Madame des Ecarts, whose masculine courage and warlike costume the reader will recall, had not intercepted with her shield the knife thrust Sir John aimed at his enemy's chest. The blade split. Other spectators leap into the fray and disarm the enraged Italian. Madame des Ecarts is furious at this man whom she detests as an enemy of her French fatherland. Pitilessly she beats Sir John on the back with her shield until he is flat on his stomach on the floor. Then, without releasing his hair, she bangs his face on the hard parquet. Finally, with her foot planted on his back, she looks triumphantly around as if asking the spectators if the brute should be further punished.
Almost all of the women had taken refuge in the salon during the fray. The Prelate was by no means pleased with the rowdiness. As a result of the blows and his awkward position, the defeated sailor was seized by an attack of nausea which caused him to make a disgusting mess on the floor. He was turned over to lackeys who bore him away. The floor was cleansed, the gondolas removed, and order restored. Order once again reigned and Sir John was completely forgotten.
Chiavaculi was more drained from this last encounter than from his previous exploits and therefore did not refuse the offer of a bed. He promised, however, to return and asked the guests not to count him out for the coming gaiety.
During all these goings-on, several of the merry throng were interested in other activities, for which provisions were being made.
Scarcely had the tournament started than the barmaid uneasily realized that the women were going to be deprived of two of the most serviceable cavaliers. How could they be replaced? She brought her problem to sage Madame Couplet who thought she could make good the loss. For example, she had three sturdy, agile acrobats at her disposal.
"A wonderful idea!" the Countess clapped her hands. "But the trio would be exclusively for me."
"As you wish."
"How much would that cost?"
"Three hundred pounds."
"That is a lot of money. But how many times will these fellows...? "
"Each one at least eight. I guarantee it."
"Along with what is available here..." the Countess mused, "yes, have them come."
Couplet said a few words to Monsieur Tapagean.
The sex automats lived nearby, and it was not long before they were presented to the Countess.
During the contest, Juno had tugged at the Prelate's sleeve.
"Listen, your male actors are laughable. What would I ever do with such pygmies? Who is there to fuck me?"
At that very moment one saw enter three giants, of whom the smallest, elegantly dressed in a hunting costume, was at least six feet tall. His companions exceeded him in height.
"You are right, Madame," remarked the Prelate at the sight of the colossi as he respectfully retreated. "There is nobody here able to rival such powers."
They were indeed real men. Broad-shouldered, muscular like ancient caryatids, and cherry-red faces.
"It's not enough to see them dressed!" cried the Princess. "You have to judge them another way."
With a regal wave of the hand, she commanded them to remove their garments. In a twinkling they were as nude as the day they were born.
"What do you have to say to that?"
"It's unbelievable," cried the Prelate in an awed voice. "Just look at those pricks! Why is it that common men are so generously endowed by nature while men of the upper classes are so pitifully equipped?"
Even Father Whoreface's jaw dropped at the sight.
"I want the three of you to line up," Juno commanded her servants.
They obey, their organs proudly jutting out from the thick pubic hair. Moving from one to the other, she sits on each prick and not one bends under her considerable weight. The spectators applaud this unusual feat. The mistress of these remarkable servants turns a disdainful face to the men in the audience as if belittling their puniness.
Thoughts of a tenderer nature occupied the mind of our good Marquise. The racket of the orgy had not kept her from thinking about what had been said at her house concerning Dupeville and Mademoiselle d'Ange-main. She was fond of him and she decided to be nice to him. She dispatched her carriage to Dupeville with a note asking him to come masked to her at the Prelate's.
Dupeville was already in bed when he received the message. Since it was his custom to meet deferentially any woman's request, he immediately got up, climbed into the carriage, and arrived unnoticed while the tournament was still in progress.
Previously the Marquise had called his attention to how advantageous a more intimate relation with Mademoiselle d'Angemain could be to him. Thus he was a witness to the goodness of the sister of mercy when her Englishman began the scuffle. Her praiseworthy act deeply touched him. When she fell unconscious from the blow, he fell at her feet and swore that he would be forever her slave. When she came to, she was puzzled at Dupeville's protestations until the Marquise whispered into her ear while pointing at the Countess and the Prelate: "We have contrived this in order to make two people happy. You and Dupeville were made for each other."
In a thrice, Dupeville's clothes were torn off. He was beside himself and in a state that appeared more comical to the eyes of the spectators. The witnesses were highly interested and when the attractive d'Angemain made an expression as if she were willing to get to know her suitor better, there was a hum of subdued voices. As a joke, a mock wedding was held during which Dupeville placed a costly ring on the finger of the sister of mercy.
Then the pair was almost shoved into the salon of pleasure.
No sooner was this unexpected and unusual nuptial ceremony finished than appeared, each with a triple somersault, the three acrobats the Countess had ordered. Encouraged by the example of the farsighted Princess, she had had her Negro Zamor and even Felix come as assistants. Surrounded by these five men, our irresponsible friend walked proudly up to Juno, and with bold eyes lifted up to her, cried: "Princess, do you have courage?"
"If I didn't think you have taken leave of your senses, you would get what you deserve for your impertinence," replied the flabbergasted goddess. "But what is it all about?"
"To decide the question who of us is the most intrepid in amorous combat. I swear by this fleece (she lifts up her skirt) that I'll not stop fucking until I have emptied not only these fellows (pointing to her followers) but anyone else who wishes to serve under this flag (shaking her skirt). "
"You crazy little fool!" retorted the haughty divinity. "I would accept your challenge if I wished your death. But a single one of my men can do more than..."
"How about an entire order of Carmelites? Or a Swiss battalion? Let's each of us bring a legion of fuckers to their knees and we'll see who'll cry first for mercy-or who will die in the process."
Juno was able to appreciate courage of such a high order. At those words, she went to the little heroine, lifted her up, and sat her on the inflexible prick of one of her servants.
"How I idolize you, you female Alexander," she cried. "I would be proud to engage in rivalry with you. But I have a better idea. Let us leave aside jealousy and envy and join forces. We'll perform unheard of feats and ignite in the blood of the noble warriors listening to us the burning lust to emulate us."
This eloquent speech was the signal for a general unbridled love battle. Two of the giants divided themselves between the two competitors. The other athletes engaged for special services for the two women remained idle. But everybody else was in action. Each man threw himself at the first beauty that he came across.
Father Whoreface, whose forces were far from exhausted although, during the recently described events, he had gratified thrice the alluring Marquise, once in atonement the lustful Durut, and at the special request of the Prelate the majestic Truth, now found himself thrown in with the pretty Madame de Caverney with the wide split. The Prior, who was accustomed to cause his victims some pain, was amazed to find that he plumped to the bottom like a stone falling down a well. As a true friar, he was able to conceal the slight distaste he felt at first at this most unusual situation. But he was soon delighted at the skill with which the knowledgeable gypsy enabled him to forget his disappointment. Always new, twitching thrusts, the glowing heat of the magnetic sheath, the tender words of endearment, the divine kisses-all this made him rue the doubts he so recently had. As a man with a conscience, he felt obligated to make atonement by a repeat performance.
What a beautiful virtue gratitude is!
When they were through, she remarked: "I didn't want to disturb you when you started the second time, but I would have liked..." (Here she turned around, her back to him.)
"Whatever you like," said the monk with feigned indifference. "Don't mention it. I was richly rewarded. Besides, I never refuse...."
And in fact, before he was through with his compliment, he had pierced the complaisant gypsy who abetted him like a woman who is not a novice in this type of phallic practice.
In the meantime, Juno and the Countess have left the arms of the giants who have flooded them each three times to go to Zamor and the hunter. The former had the honor to serve Her Majesty while the Countess grappled with the handsome Nimrod. This exchange was a piquant novelty for all four. The scamps, reluctant to be inferior to their predecessors, performed three times in as short a period. They were immediately followed by two of the acrobats.
It was genuinely diverting to see how the two protagonists battled side by side, regarding each other curiously, and paying each other compliments which, to tell the truth, were well deserved.
"I never would have believed that a Frenchwoman could have such an exquisite temperament," panted Juno.
"For my part, I never thought...oh...oh..." the Countess moaned instead of finishing her sentence. "Oh, I am melting! I am dying!"
At that very moment, the sap swollen acrobat of the partner released a boiling jet. A few more shoves and they enjoyed reciprocal bliss. The same occurred with the goddess. Their comrades, who had been slightly nettled at their neglect by the women, now leaped into the breach and worked them over so vigorously that they won their undivided attention.
After the second storm, the gymnasts changed places, and so quickly and deftly that the two women had to laugh heartily. It goes without saying that they were warmly welcomed..
Now a recess was agreed to. The new friends repaired to the toilet arm in arm there to wash themselves and take some restorative tonics. When they returned to the salon, the Countess made a proposal.
"To tell the truth, I've had enough. It is the same old thing. I want to give you evidence likewise of the burning passion with which you fill every man who has the good fortune to be acquainted with your talents and charms. Surrender yourself to me. Let me intoxicate myself at your spring; let me quaff it to the very end."
Hardly had she finished her little speech than her mouth was at the object of her Sapphic desire. Her tongue darted in and out while her greedy hand wandered restlessly over the white skin of the hips and thighs. The other hand, or, I should say, the finger devoted itself to a completely neglected and therefore sensitive opening. It is no wonder that the Princess started and with her superb Venusberg gave a hearty shove to the adorable retrousse nose of the Lesbian.
Druggist Dictrini had appeared to offer his mediocre services to Juno. He was dumbfounded when he saw the thrashing pair. Suddenly he had an inspiration as to how he could participate in the diversion. Because of her position, the "tonguer" was easily accessible at both ends. He knelt down and hesitated, savoring the pleasure that was to be his. But he did not tarry long. The delirious Countess did not know who was behind her, but she grabbed without ceremony his member which she inserted into that opening he secretly preferred. Her purpose obviously was to give relief to that portion of her body that had just been so belabored.
Juno was astonished. Although she was indefatigable in the ways of normal love, she had little inclination for refinements and variations. Perhaps it was because she was not used to them.
"Ach!" wailed the Princess. "What an infamous swinish thing you are letting be done to you. How can a woman find pleasure in such a filthy act?"
The Countess was incredulous.
"Here I thought you could show me a thing or two, but now I find you are my pupil," she said and turned to the acrobat whom she ordered to lie down. "Now you place yourself on top of him," she commanded the Princess. Turning again to the gymnast, she said: "Now stick what you have into her." Her ukases were carried out.
Now she summoned Felix to whom she gave instructions. The youth turned red, but more from the prospect of pleasure than from shyness. At a glance from the Countess, he proceeded to take possession of the illustrious rear maidenhead. Whether from pride, timidity, or prudery, Juno would not remain still and appeared to be trying to rid herself of the filthy object. But the husky tight-rope walker clasped the goddess so tightly from under and squeezed her so hard in his arms that the intelligent assistant easily penetrated up to his down into the exquisite derriere which he burnished and besprinkled.
Overjoyed scamp! After it was done, Her Higliness was seized with the curiosity as to who initiated her into this new variation. The lad, still enraptured, lying still with flushed cheeks and half-closed eyes, seemed like a cherub to her. She lowered herself, kissed him on the mouth, and pressed a purse into hjs hand. The other who had attended to her in the front would doubtiessly have been offended if he had noticed this generous offering, but at the instant he was finished with the goddess, he was overpowered by the insatiable Countess who so occupied him that he was oblivious to everything.
Dear reader, we will never come to an end if we keep answering the question: "Then what happened?" In this interminable work, have we not shown enough of the front, of the rear, of the tongue, and all other parts of the human body? In other words, have we not seen all that the most lecherous and lubricious imaginations can desire? It will not be long now before I turn off the magic lantern. But before I do, I think you will be pleased with a few more small pictures.
Within seven hours, in which not a moment was wasted, Juno and the little Countess were each had thirty-two times in which are not included the byplays. In addition to the Herculean feats of the three giants, the acrobats, and Zamor, there were other tributes paid to their attractions. The two were astute enough not to brag about their glorious deeds.
Only once did the majestic Truth enjoy her beloved Prelate, twice, as we are aware, with Father Whoreface, three times with Prince Morawiski, and, as a special favor to the Prelate, once in the Florentine manner with tender Felix while the lusty master of the house enjoyed him simultaneously.
The grande dame consoled herself for the brutality of her brother by getting drunk. Then she went off with Pinefiere who had her in every conceivable position. Wistful Durut was favored only six times. Bellona underwent the Prince twice, the Prelate once, and the groom twice. The druggist, who thought he could give the martial goddess an enema without her permission, received a box on the ears for his pains.
And so on.
Towards dawn, the lamps were burning low. As soon as there was a pause, Morpheus took over. If a woman was tempted by an offer, sleep overpowered her before she could take advantage of the invitation, or she stopped midway. There is one with the organ between her legs, but she is so drowsy that she doesn't even bother to open her eyes to see who the owner is. The salon resembles a battlefield covered with the white blood of love.
The sensuous Prelate had been sleeping for an hour on the Venus mound of Truth. When he awoke, he was seized by a comical idea which animated again the participants.
"Wouldn't it be a delight to see the children who have been so shamefully violated indulge in some games among themselves? It will amuse us as well as them."
At first, Couplet objected but then consented that the children be led out, with one exception, the last girl with whom the Englishman had failed.
"She is still a virgo intacta," Couplet explained.
"You just think she is," laughed the Prelate. "While you weren't looking, I lured her into the bathroom and
"What a stupid sow I am!" complained Couplet. "Well, if anybody had to have her, I am glad it was you. And it won't be too difficult to repair her."
She summoned all the young girls, whom she lined up in two rows like soldiers on parade. Each had a lad facing her. In two words she gave them the command what to do.
"Start fucking."
At those words, each boy leaped at the girl opposite him. The dresses were raised and the work commenced, for the rawest recruit does not have to be drilled in such exercises.
Words are lacking to describe the fresh grace of this amorous gambol. Dear reader, it would be an insult to you if I attempted to portray it. You will have to use your own imaginations.
This fascinating scrimmage ignited new desires on all sides like dry brush going up in flame. The women were diverted with finger manipulations or in a more solid fashion.
The gypsy Caverny happened to be seated between Zamor and Father Whoreface, whose pricks she was holding in her hands and awakening to renewed vigor.
To her examining eyes, they appeared to be about the same size. Her glance wandered back and forth from one to the other with a curiosity that grew into an ardent craving.
"For the purposes of comparison, I would like to put them side by side," she ordered.
The two willingly complied. Knee to knee and thigh to thigh they sit on a divan with their irritated pricks stretched out to their full lengths. One can imagine the prurient thoughts that were running through the gypsy's head. With one hand that was hardly suitable for the task, she grabs them both and pushes them into her grotto. To the surprise of the men, it was able to accommodate both of them. Once they are safely in, the enraged wanton rains kisses on Zamor's face.
"Both of you do it to me," she commanded, "and shove hard."
"God, what a woman!" exclaimed the priest who was delighted at the novelty and enthusiastically set to his task.
"Bravo, my friends," she cried. "You're doing famously!"
They worked in alternating rhythm, one pushing in while the other was coming out. She was convulsively twitching like a mad woman.
When she reached her violent crisis, drenching her assailants, they no longer knew if they were one or two. For a moment, it appeared she had expired from this daring experiment, but she soon returned to life.
"Give me a kiss, brother," the monk said to the Negro. "We can flatter ourselves on having accomplished a feat unequalled in the annals of love."
The spectacle of the twenty children was drawing to a close but that with the lustful gypsy was at its peak when Chiavaculi, still in his Priapus costume, reappeared in the salon swinging the arrogant spear with which he had won the prize of five hundred guineas from Sir John Kindlowe. Great was his amazement at the sights of the children clinging to each other, the two pricks in the same hole, and the other antics going on.
"Here I am again," he shouted as his leer swept over all the masculine organs. His glittering eyes landed on Felix who was asleep standing up supported by the back of a chaise lounge, on which his drowsy mistress was lying having minette done to her by one of the acrobats. The latter was standing on his hands with his legs in the air letting her try to revive his moribund penis with her mouth. The impatient Priapus in his haste to get to Felix accidentally stepped on his little finger. Giving a screech of pain, h was on his feet in a flash. The salon resounded with his curses and oaths. The Countess, interrupted in her amusement, was exceedingly ill-tempered. In the meantime, Chiavaculi had taken hold of Felix who is on the verge of being violated.
"Stop, you filthy pederast," cried the Countess, grabbing his prick as it was about to enter the boy's body. "This little gentleman belongs to me."
"A thousand pardons, Madame," he retorted, giving up his attack. "I was of the opinion that he was common property."
As he was kissing her hand, he peered at his intended prey from the corner of his eye and his look at her was beseeching her to let him enjoy her property momentarily.
"Do you want to soften my heart?" she asked. "What service must I perform?" First do it with me."
"Gladly."
"Well, come on, then."
Lying on the chaise lounge with her legs in the air, she showed him two paths, especially the one which he, true to his vows, never tread. At the sight of the pink swinging doors yawning wide open as a result of the night's exertions, the inveterate bugger stepped back three paces.
"Don't worry!" called the impish Countess correctly reading his mind. At the same time, she covered with her hand that repulsive portion of her anatomy. "Come now. The rest of me is at your disposal."
"I really don't know, Madame."
"Forgive me. Everybody has his quirks. I happen to like to see the faces of those to whom I offer my favors. Now, are you willing?"
Not without some misgivings and in spite of the sight of one of the most tempting little apertures, the horned Count bends first on one knee and then on the other. Her obliging fingers lead him to the goal. He grazes it and then he feels his fortunate prick in her.
But watch out, Count, for that treacherous hand clutching your penis. You're falling into a trap. A despicable trick is going to be played on you and your solemn oath. You will rue your rashness in getting so close to your sworn enemy.
Scarcely had Priapus, inflamed with desire, wrapped his arm around the neck of his feminine Ganymede when the little devil makes a lightning quick movement, removing his prick from the first hole and inserting it to the roots in the second.
"Oh dear!" moaned the cheated deity. He writhes and wriggles in a vain effort to withdraw, but the Countess's arms are clasped too tightly around his buttocks for him to free himself. She follows every convulsion he makes.
"Mercy, Madame! That's enough. The other hole. The other hole, I beseech you!"
His pleas are futile. The Countess twists with his every turn, but she does not release him.
"The joke has gone too far. Listen, please. I made a solemn vow! Let me go, please."
"No, signore. This is what I want and this is what I am going to have."
"You're a traitorous woman."
"More, more, my dear horned lover."
"Your backside, I beg you."
"First you have to obey my whim. Afterwards, we'll see."
"What a betrayal! A Chiavaculi who has broken an oath."
At this dialogue and the wails of the unlucky Priapus, the spectators are dying with laughter. In the meantime, the skillful play of the Countess's buttocks is producing unexpected results. Chiavaculi is now keeping cadence with her.
"Well, it is a sweet deception," he confesses finally as he plants a warm kiss on her mouth. Now he feels the moment of crisis approaching.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" he groans exultantly.
His rhythm quickens to keep time with that of his seductress.
"Oh, tyrannical cunt! What have you done to me?"
This last exploit was perhaps the most memorable of all that the extraordinary Countess had accomplished. She had triumphed over the most depraved and vicious of men. She had forced him to a worship of a goddess he had sworn to abjure. How proud was our diminutive enchantress when she wiped off the fluid with which he had copiously sprinkled her.
"It happened," cries the Italian, much more content than he let on. "I was a numbskull, but I won't be one any more. The incense I formerly brought to the altars of false gods because of my perverse obstinacy I shall bear to the shrine of Venus."
"Well," laughs the Countess, "if you are sincere in your conversion, you can prove it by kissing the pussy of every lady in the room without making a grimace."
The newly won convert obeys without delay. Naturally he commences with the fleecy mound which showed him the way to true bliss. Then all the others follow. And he does it with enthusiasm. Not even the most modest escapes his attention. Nor is he dismayed even by the cavernous bushy grotto of Madame Couplet which received the same homage as all the others.
* * *
To conclude this work, Felipe married Belamour when he became Monsieur de Conbanal, and they settled down to a happy marital life in Paris, forgetting their past life. Nicole had made her doddering Fortbois the most famous and ridiculed cuckold in the neighborhood. But she did not have enough intelligence to realize that she was degrading herself at the same time. After the poor devil's death, she led a less scandalous life, less scandalous because she was freer.
But she deserves praise for her first act after her widowhood. Prevailing upon the Prelate to use his influence, she obtained the release of Father Hilarion who was still in pace. On his freedom, he commenced again his mendicant life and undoubtedly his magnificent exploits.
Thanks to the good heart of the Prelate, the despicable Bricon was released from prison, only to be arrested again the following day by the police. The last heard of him was that he was deported to the colonies. In genuine repentance, Miss Sarah threw herself at the feet of her benefactor whom she had tried so foully to betray. Rather than take her back, the Prelate closed down completely his little harem. On their dismissal, each received a more than generous gift, from which Miss Sarah was not excluded.
I would like to pass over the misfortune of the little Countess, but my readers would hold it against me if I did. The day following the wild orgy, she fell ill and for a long time she hovered between life and death. After several months, she was considerably improved, but an ugly malady was laying waste to that part of her body which was dearest to her. Faithful Zamor was the only one brave enough to inhale the foul odor of her charms. A knowledgeable doctor was sure that he could cure her, but a life of continence was out of the question for her. She became nothing but skin and bone and her luxurious hair was almost all gone. In spite of the fact that she was now an ugly woman, she was still her merry self. When Sourcillac died, he left her his fortune.
Things went better with the Marquise who, to tell the truth, deserved less to be punished by nature. She still has her loveliness. In fact, she is more beautiful than ever. The orgy which we have just described was the last one in which she ever participated. She lives together with Pasimou, both of whom are mutually unfaithful to each other.
With the permission of his mistress, Felix has become the equerry of a nobleman suddenly become wealthy from his gambling winnings. In spite of his title, Felix is still nothing but a "lover-servant."
From the dissolution of his harem, one could believe that the Prelate had mended his ways (he did retain his adorable little Negress), had he not engaged a niece and a very handsome private male secretary. The former is the seductive Nimmernein who suddenly becomes a relative and does the honors of her uncle's house under the name of Heavenbliss. The latter was a concert singer, but not a soprano by any means. The
Countess Heavenbliss is most devoted to him. In addition, he is very amiable and possessed of no little talent. If it were not for him, the Countess would have given up her new title and all the benefits so freely bestowed by the Prelate.
After eight days of living with Mademoiselle d'Angemain, Dupeville declared that she was a gift from heaven. They drew up an agreement giving them both their independence. They live happily together and there are rumors that the sentimental Croesus is considering making her his wife.
This, dear reader, is all that I can tell you. As you see, our friends by and large are not unhappy, and since they can no longer be reproached for a scandalous way of life as we have described, it is obvious they no longer have the devil in the flesh.