Des Grieux
CHAPTER I
It was the hottest hour, the hottest day, the hottest month and in the hottest town of southern France.
Summer had now reached its height. The irradiation was so dazzling that the earth seemed to be slowly simmering in a splendent haze; the rays of the sun were so fervid and palpable that instead of ethereal light they looked like fine glowing dust poured forth from some solar crater and sifted down below upon that broiling town.
Not the faintest breeze was blowing and all life had come to a stand-still in that sluggish town. Save the shrill chirp of the tree-crickets, jubilant amongst the sere dust-covered leaves of the lime-trees, not the slightest sound was heard.
Most of the shutters were as tightly shut as in the dead of the night; the town looked uninhabited. Alone, a young girl, leaning on the broad window-sill of an old stone mansion, was gazing dreamily down on the space below.
"But why was the young girl looking out of the window?" yon evidently ask.
Why? Spinoza said, long ago that "we do not know the causes that determine our actions," so, I dare say, the young girl herself did not know why she had gone to look out of the window in tho glowing sunshine.
The house in question, built at the time of Francis the First, in the purest Renaissance style—if the Rococo can be termed a pure style—was now one of broken fortunes; it was perhaps only the more picturesque thereby, because its mistress, in her comparatively impoverished state, had never attempted to patch it up—as she did her own face:
"Pour réparer des ans l'irréparable outrage."
The space beside this house, surrounded by low crumbly wall with an old wooden gate, had once been intended for building purposes. It belonged to the owners of the mansion, but this town of bygone greatness has been on its wane for ages so that it is now too wast for its ever-decreasing number of inhabitants.
There are spots where nature, having for a time been over-fruitful, remains sterile for centuries; there are cities which, after a short period of splendour, profond a languid life for ages; there are men who, after a day of youtful promise, drag on for years a dull effete life, dreaming of the past. So it was with this town.
Meanwhile this plot of ground has been used as a kind of common, and, at certain times of the year, it is crowded with canvas booths and penny shows, cheap theatres, and menageries of cats and poodles instead of tigers and lions.
Now the yard is all but empty, for there is only a shabby round-about in it, and even that is enjoying its mid-day siesta, all covered up, to protect the fierce-looking, leopard-spotted-horses and the garish carriages from the scorching rays of the sun in its zenith.
The only living creatures seen in this little Sahara of dust and sand, are a young man—the owner of the merry-ho-round—and his mongrel dog. The youth—back-propped against the pyramidal mass of tattered canvas, with his bare legs stretched on a bit of matting—is whiling away his time in noonday dreams.
Visions of love-awaking females flit before his drooping eye-lids, showing him such sights as might have once been seen in some cytherean temple.
All the girls whom he evokes are young and of entrancing beauty, but, unlike himself,—for love delights in contraries—most of them are slender, frail, as fair as moon-breams, as pliable as willow-boughs, as lithe as Elfland fairies, with complexions like the snows of Mount Rosa when flushed by the first faint rays of the dawning sun.
A few of them, albeit, are portly, highbosomed damsels, with powerful hips and jet black shaggy hair. Still, it was not these lust-stirring girls who attracted his glance.
Although most of them were mother-naked, some few were veiled in delicately-tinted diaphanous garments, as vaporous as a morning mist; and these dim draperies only served to enhance those transcendent gifts with which Nature had endowed them.
As he sees them in his mind's eye, dancing in the most lascivious attitudes, fluttering amorously to and fro for his delight, a pleasant quivering sensation creeps softly over all his limbs. He is young, exuberant with health, and it is already very long since he has tasted the shattering intoxication of a women's dewy lips.
Though not much of a dreamer, his erotic fancy is roused to the highest pitch, so that he makes all these fairies act like puppets, and obey his slightest whim; so—while this host of lovely females entwine their arms, wind their legs and press their budding breasts together, leaping and handling and sporting and toving with each and one another—he orders the fairest of all these houris—a dainty virginette—to shake her thighs lecherously, just enough to show the slight distortion of her tiny slit.
Soon however, not being satisfied with this, anti wishing to see more—he bids her lift her beautiful rounded leg and catch her pink-white toe with her small and tapering fingers, and—like a ballet-girl—caper on her other foot.
To bid is to obey.
The secret parts gape wide, the small gap reveals its hidden treasure, the delicate rosy lips, like the flushed petals of some living flower, display a beauteous world of pulpy flesh, in which a tiny pistil is thrilling sensuously.
At the sight of her perfect, beauty, his passion overpowers him, his pulses throb, his brain swims, and—the vision being so vivid and real—he forgets himself entirely, opens his eyes and stares.
Alas! he is only blinded by the white dazzling dust, by the glaring reverberation of the splendent wall opposite. He frowns, he blinks, and hastens to close his eye-lids tightly.
Now all the wanton joys of his over-heated brain have vanished, and nothing is left, save the glare of a conflagration, intermingled with a shower of whirling sparks, crossed and recrossed by a number of fiery microbes all wriggling and chasing one another.
After a few moments he tries to evoke the image of the bewitching Bayadère and bid her display once more those charms which inflame, and at the same time refresh the senses, just as the sight of sparkling waters gives a pleasurable foretaste of freshness to the parched palate of the sore-footed traveller, increasing in him, withal, the keenness of his thirst. The artful virgin resists his lures, and turns a deaf ear to all his incantations. Another vision, albeit, dow appears before him.
A few days before, a buxom country maid, together with her stalwart lover, had come to have a ride on his speckled horses. They had evidently felt great pleasure in being whirled about side by side, and more so, in feeling every now and then, their knees and legs meet and press against each other.
They had spent but a groat, and still, many an impotent millionnaire would, I dare say, have given them a half of his yearly income, had he been able to purchase from them those moments of blits.
The youth of the round-about now saw, in his mind's eye, this lover and his lass, as he had seen them upon that night; but his glowing imagination shewed him even much more than what his eyes had really seen.
The girl was a stout and rosy country wench, with a face full of dainty dots and dimples, black langhing eye, a skin mellowed by many a harvest sun, and rounded limbs as firm as the flesh of the wild grape.
As for the young fellow! Lust seemed to exhale from all his pores, to twinkle in his sparkling eyes, to ooze out of his thick and fleshy lips, to bristle in his crisp black moustache.
When the lamps in the yard had all been put out, he saw the couple walk quietly away; and heard murmuring words of love which sounded like the soft cooing of doves.
After a few shuffling steps, they stopped in the darkness, and the youth, taking hold of the girl's face, with his broad palm, stooped down and hungrily pressed his mouth on those luscious lips, pouting up towards his.
At that touch he feels how their pulses must flutter, their nerves must thrill.
Then they looked round to see if anybody was watching them; thereupon the athletic young fellow passed his brawny arm—an arm that might-have felled an oak—round the wench's waist, and clasped her to his chest.
Her whole body seemed to yield to that grasp, her breasts swelled out and heaved to meet that male's caresses.
As their limbs came in close contact, an intense longing flashed in their hungry eyes.
For some time cleaving together, they drank each other's breath and sucked each other's lips with feverish eagerness.
Their legs were pressed together, their knees rubbed against each other; and they kissed, and kissed; and the more they kissed the more intense their craving for kissing became.
By degrees their blood grew more heated, and bubbling mounted to their head, until their brain reeled in such a way that they could hardly stand. The fumes of concupiscence had now intoxicated them as much as if they had deen drunk with wine.
At last they moved on, but without knowing whither they went; therefore, instead of going out of the yard they soon found themselves in one of its farthermost corners; there they began again to fondle each other.
Almost without her knowledge, the young man undid his sweet heart's kerchief, unhooked her dress, thrust his hand within her shift, and began to paddle her rounded and full breasts, which were as white as clotted cream, as fragrant as hawthorn blossoms.
Then—unable to resist the temptation—he bent low, kissed her bosom, sucked the small pink nipples; whilst she—who could not keep quiet—pressed her thighs together, and thrust her fingers through the thick locks of his crisp hair.
He soon rose up again, passed once more his left arm round her waist, thrust his tongue into her mouth and with his right hand up lifted her scanty skirts. She caught hold of his intruding hand and struggled to keep it away, but all the efforts she made only fanned the fire within her, and made her eyes sparkle, so that after a faint skirmish wherein she ever waxed weaker, she yielded to his will, and her middle parts were grasped by the victor's palm.
He—for a trice—played with her bushy hair, seemingly undecided what he was to do next, then—after slightly tickling her in the most sensitive parts—he let down the bib of his breeches and opening her thighs pressed his prickle twixt the small lips gaping to welcome it.
The youth now could hear the slow rhythmic motion of the to-ing and fro-ing, and he lusted in such a way that the blood, rushing to his head, seemed like the sound of many waters.
What a night of love it was! In the dim milky-way overhead the misty stars were twinkling faintly, numberless tremulous eyes all smiling at the lovers' delight.
A mavis, a mirthful merle, a nightingale, and some other blithe birds, were all warbling amorously in the stillness of the summer evening, mingling their melody with the sound of kisses; the sighing and panting of long pent-up love and the murmur of male desire.
The breash of the hot south wind that blew from the balmy plains across the sea brought with it—from the neighbouring gardens—the scent of the honeysuckle and the musk of the full-blown rose. Nature that night was languishing with love, the overheated earth now shivered with lust.
Now—in the broiling sunshine—the youth of the round-about recalled to his mind all the extacy that couple must have felt in doing the deed of kind. His quickened senses could see her swimming eyes as her soul departed from her in excruciating bliss. He could hear the man's sobs, he could feel his hot breath.
Is it a wonder then that his whole body was convulsed, that his prickle stood hard and turgid, tingling with life replete with blood?
All at once he felt as if he had become androgynous, and like an hermaphrodite, he seemed to receive every thrust that was given, and to thrust himself at the same time. He shuddered with the heat of desire, his nerves were strained to a painful pitch and his joints almost relaxed with too much bliss.
He again opened his eyes to the dazzling sun light, and he could hardly understand who, or where, he was.
He remembered again how he had raved that night, how that ungovernable passion had in its intensity turned into pain.
His brain was burning, his heart was bursting; he had tottered like a drunken man and laid himself down upon the naked ground. As he had lain quivering spasmodically, he seemed to feel the lap of mother earth palpitating under him, just as the husband feels the womb of his wife, when big with child, jerking with an inward motion.
Now, lying on his scanty mat, thinking over what he had seen, imagining what he had not seen, lust mastered him so mightily, that the sap within him effervesced; his lips grew full and thick, his flesh quivered with excitement, and his rod grew so big and stiff that it almost slit up his old worn-out breeches and thrust itself out of the gap. With one hand he caught hold of it and squeezed it with all his might, as if to still its fluttering; he laid his other hand on the head of the ugly mangymongrel basking in the sun at his side.
Is there any transmission of emotion between a man and his dog.
Who can tell!
Thought transference dates only since yesterday.
Anyhow a dog has a keener sight, a keener ear and a keener smell than we have; besides his brain is not muddled with German metaphysics.
The dog had hitherto been slumbering peaceably, only waking now and then, to bite the fleas that were harassing him, or to snap at some tediously buzzing fly. Hardly had the master's hand been laid upon the animal's head, than he started up on his haunches, and—after sniffing the sultry air—rubbed his muzzle on his master's face, whilst the long thin tapering tip of an inflamed penis darted out of its hairy sheath. The mongrel looked intently at the man, with an intelligent appeal, and seemed to say: "We two are unmated outcasts."
The youth thereupon patted the shaggy coat of his only friend with a loving hand, and the cur in return licked the caressing hand with a sensual affection.
The young girl at the window gazed upon the slightest details of the scene underneath; she saw the red flesh peep through the rent, and noticed how the youth grasped that fluttering bird.
She was of a tall, slight, spare, elegant figure, and might have served an artist as an exquisite study of greys. Her hair—soft and glossy—was of a pale golden, or rather a light ashy hue; her complexion—almost of a single tone—was faintly flushed on the cheeks and slightly tending to red on her lips, her eyes—shaded by long flaxen lashes—were of a pale lustreless hazel grey. Her dress of a shadowy silvery stuff, called, I think, Barège—looked like the lining of a fleecy cloud.
She was generally very much admired; nay, at the time of her marriage, not only the men but the women themselves, raved about her Madonna-like beauty; and yet few were the people gifted with an artistic sense of colour keen enough to appreciate her.
What then was the secret of this universal admiration? you ask.
That of being unlike everybody else. She had the loveliness of a fair young girl in a plain white muslin dress, amidst a crowd of bejewelled ladies in garish silks and gorgeous satins.
Still her beauty was so ethereal, that it shed a dampness on some men, it even made them shiver and feel cold; loving such a woman was almost a sacrilege, it was like lusting after an image of some virgin. On that sultry midsummer she looked more bloodless, more transparent, more lily-like than usual; and yet—saintly as she looked—all her nerves were tingling with excitement, her blood was replete with lechery.
The fact is that only the day before, the catamenial flux had ceased, and she felt like a convalescent arising from a bed of sickness, and feeling a new life flow within her veins.
Thus her monthly flux had left her body weak and languid, and not only that, but it had enkindled an ardent fire in her very womb, the flames of which mounting up to her brain awakened in her an almost irresistible craving for a strong man. It seemed as if nature's fragile flower, having lost all its own dew, was—notwithstanding its scented baths and ablutions—parched by an inward fire, and languished for that water which quenches all thirst, for that milk which flows from the deep fountain of man's virility. Every month, for a few days, that bloody fiend shattered her and laid her at the mercy of a man's lust, making her rave for those caresses for which she had been created. Possibly, had she been able to have her full of that unknown bliss once, she would not have cared for it any more, but abstinence rendered her almost hysteric.
Nature, now, had awakened in her that morbid tenderness, that eagerness for the caress of the other sex; so, as she approached the open casement and saw the youth so full of manly vigour, convulsed—as he was—by lust, and burning to quench the fire that was consuming him, she felt irresistibly drawn towards him; she was in fact like a withering plant, which—fading under the rays of a scorching sun—droops towards the earth as if to breathe the moist vapours that arise from the soil.
Now as she looked upon him, she underwent a strange sensation.
The face of the youth—she thought—was not unknown to her; she had felt its almost mystic fascination before?
But where and when?
Nay, more than that, she knew that body in all its nakedness. This thought brought the blood to her cheeks, for she had never seen a naked man. She pressed her hands against her temples and ransacked the farthermost recesses of her brain. Where had she known that man before?
Was it in some former life, in some ethereal region beyond the world?
She could not tell, but she felt sure that she had already loved him; that she had been his bride, in a happier holier world, in the realm of saints and martyrs.
As she gazed upon him, she was ever more under his spell. Now their eyes met, and although he—being in the glare of the golden sunshine—could not see her, for she was behind the more than half-closed shutters, still the glances he shot at her, seemed to sink deep into her pupils, and even beyond them within her very brain.
What was taking place in her, was it a contagion of sympathy?
Her blood at first got heated, then it began to glow, then her wits seemed to wander.
Was love mastering her? She could not tell, she only knew that her heart was beating faster and stronger than usual, and that all the nerves in her body were quivering.
As her eyes were intently fixed upon the young man, her whole attention was entirely engrossed by him, her sight, her hearing, all her senses had grown keener, having been thrown by concentration into a state of hyperesthesia.
She sees his lips grow full and thick, then part themselves as if by an irresistible longing. She almost feels upon her face his hot scathing breath. Thereupon she notices how his breeches towards his middle part are stirred from within; yes, now and then they heave quietly or else are jerked by an impulsive and impatient motion.
All her nature is whipped to lust at that sight. She feels like the poor cripple lying on the brink of Bethesda's pool gazing at eddies caused by the invisible angel that stirred those life-giving waters.
She saw the trowsers open, she saw the little blind god of love, the creative force of nature, thrust out its ruddy head between the slit of the torn breeches, nay the whole organ of generation would soon have forced its way out, had the young man not thrust it in again, and held it tightly in the palm of his hand. It was a huge sized tool and under that rough cloth it seemed about a foot in length and several inches in breadth. At that sight a flash of lightning passed before the young girl's eyes, then the blood rushed upwards, downwards, throughout her whole body, but this fluid seemed parched or mixed with some corrosive liquid that muddled and maddened her brain. She saw to her regret the prickle disappear in the young man's grasp, she remarked the shivering which followed this act, his parted languid lips, his half-closed swimming eyes, nay she even noticed his panting and convulsive breath. So, as she gloated upon the youth, she felt within herself all the sensations he himself was undergoing. Thereupon a burning fire was kindled in her womb and spread itself all around her middle parts. Her tiny lips were opened with an inward craving; then, hardly knowing what she was doing, almost urged by a spirit of imitation, or else obeying some imperative order of nature, she lifted up her skirts and thrust the tip of her tapering fore-finger on the top of her slit, just at the foot of Venus' volcanic mount; she skimmed rather then rubbed those sensitive parts. She had hardly touched them when she felt that sensation which had made the young man writhe when the tiny lips of his phallus had gaped and a pearly drop of that cream of delight had oozed slowly out. Then, both their souls seemed at the same moment to leave their bodies and commingle in an ineffable embrace. Thereupon the fire within them grew more intense, the transient pleasure they had felt—a pain rather than a pleasure —serving only to excite their craving instead of satisfying their carnal appetite. Both remained for some moments overcome by the fever of lust.
The youth had hardly recovered his senses, when—upon opening his eyes—he saw a big white poodle come out of the opposite house.
It was a huge dog all shaven and shorn, with a skin of a delicate pinkish hue, like that of a new-born baby, but freckled all over like a sun-burnt girl. The hair of his mane, the fringe around his ankles and the tuft of his tail, all as white as cotton-wool, were frizzled and combed and scented with lavende-ambrée, This foolish abortion of a lion, this loathsome catamite of animals, this old maid’s pet, wore—as if to make it look more ridiculous—a huge blue silk bow on the topo f his head.
When he came near the young man, he stood on his hind legs, and began to perform all kind of antics; the youth at first laughed and then he fell a-thinking that such a poodle—properly trained—night prove to be a useful acquisition. The dog by his side seemed to guess his thoughts, and—being an ill-bred cur—began to show his small white teeth and snarl viciously. The poodle however was not discomfited, but continued displaying, not only all his graces, but, on one side, his prickle in a state of erection, and, on the other, the gaping brown hole of his anus, all surrounded by a bulgy rim. The cur, withal, seemed proof against all these temptations. The poodle then jumped about, gave sundry panting barks, pretended to run off, then came back, and all the time he never ceased to ogle and gloat on the other dog's organ, with his large and intelligent brown eyes. At last, apparently unable to withstand the temptation, he made a bold plunge, and at the risk of being bitten by the white teeth, he bent his head low and began to sniff and smell those parts he seemed so eager to taste. The cur continued to grunt and snarl, then he uplifted one of his legs as a mark of great condescension. The poodle thus encouraged began to lick that capsicum-like lip of the penis with evident gusto. The cur at last stopped snarling, and allowed himself to be caressed, with a look of contempt and unwilling satisfaction. The poodle stopped licking, and began again to caper in a coquettish way round the other dog, uttering at the same time sundry high-pitched barks. Excited in that way the cur jumped up and mounted on the back of the lecherous poodle which stood in a position to receive him. The mongrel caught the dog beneath him firmly with his front legs and began at once a lusty to-and-fro movement.
The poodle that submitted to be thus sodomized seemed to do so as an act of duty; he looked about him with his large lustrous and wondering eyes, apparently scoffing at himself for allowing that ugly, mangy, stinking cur to use him so vilely.
Was it a pleasure for him, was it a necessity or was he simply yielding to his own fate?
Why are all poodles passive?
Were I a believer in the transmigration of souls I might conclude that the spirits of sodomites are made to dwell as a punishment in the body of these dogs, so that every passing cur might use them at his pleasure.
Anyhow, while the dainty poodle was being thus futtered, the swarthy young man lifted up his eyes;and as the window-shutters had opened slightly, he saw the fair girl at the casement.
Their eyes met. After a few seconds she felt that his glances like refracted rays sank deep within her breast. She was transfixed where she stood and unable either to move or turn away her head. By degrees—as she kept her eyes rivetted upon him—a slight drowsiness came over her, then quietly, unconsciously, her own will passed away.
It seemed to be attracted by the fire of his glances, just as the sun draws out a mist from the bosom of the earth. Once or twice the young man lifted both his arms and then lowered them quietly, and as he did so the drowsiness increased, all control over herself diminished, and she was ever more under his sway. He seemed to be drawing her towards him with all his might, and therefore she leaned far out on the window-sill as if to obey his summons. But her somnolence increased, and after a while she fell into a perfect sleep. Yet it was not sleep either, for though her body was in a perfect state of lethargy, her mind kept quite awake—nay her senses were quickened and keener than they had been till now; for she heard the young man whisper in a low musical voice, the following words:
When the town is hushed and silent, in the death-like sleep of night, by the spell I have upon thee, by the love within thy heart, thou shalt feel my kisses falling like warm rain-drops on thy mouth; listen then, and hear me calling, calling thee as in a dream; drawing thee from out thy slumbers, by the magic of my art. Waken then. Oh! my beloved one, to enjoy the bliss of lust. Then from out thy open casement I shall creep upon thy couch; for I am the man created, to awaken thee to life.
She slept on, placidly listening to that transmission of thoughts which sounded in her ear like a dull kind of dirge, or rather a last lulling lullaby, which a mother sings to soothe her infant to rest. Little by little the snares of sleep seemed to wax denser, her brain grew duller, and oblivion came over her.
Did she sleep long? She herself did not know.
She was awakened from her trance by her aunt—the mistress of the poodle-dog—who came into the room, and calling her by her name tapped her gently on her back.
What Camille, have you been asleep? said she.
The young girl started and opened her eyes; still she saw nothing but the dazzling sunlight which blinded her. She thereupon looked round bewildered.
Yes, evidently, she had not only been asleep, but also dreaming, for the poodle was there, standing on his hind legs—as he often did—wagging his head and looking at her with his large brown, almost human, eyes whilst the tip of his penis—like the tapering point of a red pepper—peeped out of its hairy sheath.
Surely, thought the young girl, I have been dreaming, then she shuddered; and—unseen by her aunt—crossed herself devoutly. After that she cast a hurried frightened glance out of the window and heaved a deep sigh of relief. Nothing in the yard, save the roundabout in its canvas coat.
"I have been dozing under the burning rays of the sun—" thought she to herself—"and I have dreamt of the man and his cur."
"Make haste and dress," said the old maid on leaving the room—"for I intend to call on the general's widow before going to vespers, as I'd like to find out whether her sister-in-law's niece's daughter is engaged or not."
That day passed for Camille like most other days, only that she was a trifle more thoughtful and somewhat more flurried and nervous than usual.
Camille was an orphan—her father having died when she had reached her second birthday and her mother two years afterwards—so she had been brought up by this priur old aunt, her father's sister.
They went to the cathedral, instead of going to their usual after-noon church, St-Sebastian; on their return they took their cup of chocolate, Camille read to her aunt, then she played upon the spindle-legged spinet; in the evening—as the clock struck seven—the door opened and cousin Des Grieux came in. At eight they had supper, at nine the two young people played a game at cards with the old spinster who invariably won and chaffed her nephew and niece about being unlucky at cards; as the clock struck half past nine, the cousin got up, pressed his lips on his aunt's hand, kissed his cousin on her mouth, and went off.
Des Grieux was a pale and delicate young man. Besides this, there was nothing remarkable in him except that he was very clean. His face, neck and ears looked as if they had been thoroughly washed with soap and swilled with much water, an unusual thing in those days. The syphilis of former generations had given him the transparent complexion of a wax doll whose very colour had disappeared by having been too often scoured. There was besides not the tiniest stain or the slightest speck of dirt on his well-brushed clothes, moreover he always carried about him a smell of laundry, of clean linen, and sweet lavender.
As soon as the cousin left, the old dame and the young girl rubbed their cheeks together—the French fashion of kissing amongst women—and retired to their rooms, for the town kept early hours. At half past ten all the house was fast asleep.
Camille—having gone to bed—lay awake some time in a state of nervous exhaustion. By degrees her eye-lids grew heavy and she managed to get a few snatches of half conscious slumbers. Still, hardly had she fallen asleep than she woke in the midst of a dream, haunted by the vague terror of having to fall into the clutches of the youth who had a spell over her. Little by little her fears were calmed, her senses grew drowsy, and about midnight she sank into a deep death-like sleep. Just before the chimes had sounded, she heard, as in a dream, a low, plaintive tune; it seemed like an oft-repeated swelling musical cadence, ever sinking and swelling like the surging of the waves, and as she listened she dreamt that her mother was leaning over her cradle, singing to her, and patting her to rest.
How beautiful she looked as she lay there so lifelessly quiet. As the night was very hot she had thrown off the bed-clothes and her fine lawn chemise hardly veiled her fair body, leaving moreover her nakedness uncovered.
The Arabs, the Turks and all the Oriental nations have always compared a woman's beauty to the full-moon, and in fact the young girl's graceful body had such a pearly whiteness in some parts, and was so pale and grey in others, that, touched up here with a faint pinkish flush or shaded there with slight bluish tints, it seemed to possess all the iridiscent tones and all the opaline milkiness of the harvest moon's soft mellow light.
She was very young—hardly sixteen years of age—and though tall, her limbs had not yet acquired any of the fullness of womanhood; that she was still a blossom could be seen by her upright budding breasts, by the silky golden down that faintly fringed the pale coraline treasure hidden twixt her thighs. There was moreover about her that slight impression of tartness, possessed by fruit that has not yet reached its full and luscious ripeness. Such a sight brought the water not only to the mouth, but elsewhere too.
As the last stroke of twelve died away, the young girl started in her sleep and sat up in her bed.
Where was she? She looked about bewildered. She was lying on her bed, in her own room.
Who had called her? Surely some one had roused her from her sleep. Whose summons had she to obey? Why had she been awakened in the midst of that most delightful dream?
But had she been called? Yes, for the voice was still ringing in her ears. She listened and she heard the low dirge-like ditty, wafted from afar, but was it the sound of a human voice, or the murmurs of the wavelets lisping a love-song to the sandy shore?
She thrust her fingers through her wavy golden hair, and asked herself whether she was dreaming or awake? She listened again, the song was louder and nearer, yes it was there, under her very windows. The voice was calling her, resisting it was useless, she had to go, but whither?
There was now a slight sound; she did not hear it, the door was opened, she took no notice of it. All at once the poodle that slept in her aunt's room, stood on its hind legs, licking his chops, wagging his tail, looking at her with lewd wondering questioning eyes.
She did not see the dog.
Now she felt herself as in the midst of a strong draught, in the very centre of an impelling current. She yielded, she got down from her bed. Her chemise—the ribbons of which had got undone—fell to her feet. The poodle—always on its hind legs—advanced towards her, his prick was stiff and stark, and the turgid and tapering red tip darted out like a Vermillion snakelet.
With widely opened eyes she stared in front of her and apparently saw nothing.
The poodle put his front paws round her waist, clasped her tightly, and began to-ing and fro-ing, trying, as it seemed, to bend her down, or to uplift itself high enough to get his prickle into her slit. She tried to shriek, but her voice could hardly be heard, she stretched forth her hands to defend herself, then she finally pushed the loathsome dog away from her.
What had made the poodle come into her room that evening and make such an attempt of buggery upon her. Was there any bestial affinity between them?
For a moment the dog withdrew discomfited. She then, palping her body, seemed to feel herself naked; she stooped down, found her chemise at her feet and slipped it on. The dog stealthily came back, it thrust its woolly head under her shift, and lifting his muzzle between her thighs, he began to lick her coynte lustily and with all the breadth of his rough tongue. He was well trained and expert in this little lewd game, and either by education or by instinct he touched the top part of the slip, and toyed delicately with the virgin clitoris, which startled and awoke at that gentle touch. Although the sensation was by no means a disagreeable one, although the tickling sent a thrill through all her body, so loathsome was the touch of the beast that she shivered whith disgust and thrust him away from her.
The poodle stood up again and looked at the young girl with wondering eyes, he seemed to be asking her what she wanted; then he began to frisk about as if to invite her to follow him. She hurried to throw on a dressing-gown and a pair of slippers, then she stood in a trance-like stillness, swayed only hitherwards and thitherwards by some impelling or repellent power.
The song, which had stopped, began again, louder, more intense than before. The young girl started in her trance and walked on, followed by the poodle, which danced and capered around her, wagged his tail and displayed all the delight of a hound that sees his master shoulder his gun.
Noiselessly and flittingly the young girl hurried out of the room, went down the stairs, without stumbling or groping for her way, just as if it had been in the broad day-light. She reached the small door opening on the yard, deftly unlocked and unbolted it, and stepped out, followed by the dog.
The night was perfectly dark and sultry, the sky was covered with a mass of lowering clouds, the air was pregnant with electricity.
The young girl with her white diaphanous dress, her hyacinthine hair, the opaline lustre of her complexion, seemed in the darkness to shine with a phosphorescent light.
A man was at the door, it was the youth of the round-about. Seeing her, he uttered a stifled cry, stretched out his arms to receive her, and then strained her to his breast. He pressed his burning mouth on her cold languid lips, and kissed her passionately. After a few seconds,—"Come with me," said the youth, "here we might be seen; come under my tent."
She allowed herself to be led away, like a soulless body, or a child having no will of her own. Having arrived at the opening of the tent, he made her crawl in after him; once inside he lifted her up and kissed her again rapturously.
"You love me," said he, "do you not?"
"Yes," quoth she, absently.
"And you are glad to come to me?"
"Yes; did you not call me?"
"You only came because I called you?"
"Yes."
The young man seemed astonished at the the power he had over her; for he believed that it was her own lust more than his own magnetic craft that had brought her out; he little knew that a fortuitous concourse of circumstances had helped and abetted him, for his spell a few days later might have been almost powerless.
"And had I not called you, should you have come?"
"No."
"What were you doing when you heard my voice?"
"What? I don't know."
"Try and think."
After a slight pause. "I was sleeping."
"And you heard me in a dream?"
"Yes."
"And you'll hear me to-morrow night also?"
"Yes."
"Will you kiss me?"
She hesitated a little and then she advanced her pouted lips towards him, but her kiss was as cold as that of a person who felt nothing soever.
"Give me a warmer kiss than that." She did so, and the fire of lust seemed to be awaking in her veins and throbbing in her pulses, so that soon aftewards she glued her lips upon his, and her breath came short and thick. Still when he tried to thrust the tip of his. tongue within her mouth, she—with maidenly coyness—seemed to revolt against such an act of lechery.
He stopped for a while and mentally ordered her to yield to his wishes. These were his thoughts:
Open thy sweet lips, beloved one, let me dart it down thy mouth; so, I'll slip it softly in it, and thus thrill thee with delight. Palp my tongue with lips of roses, soft as velvet to the touch, feel it tickling all thy palate, parching up thy blood like wine. With all that its taste is sweeter than the honey dew, that bees sip within the scented flowers, and more mellow than ripe fruit, aye more luscious than bananas, and more creamy than sweet milk. If you wish to glow with fire, suckle it with greater strength, suck it, as the famished baby pulls the nipple in its mouth; clasp it, claw it, drain it, drain it, make me swoon with too much lust.
The young girl evidently heard him thinking, for she forthwith put his order into execution and seemed to lose her senses at the pleasure she felt. Then, having made her suck his nether lip, he rubbed his brawny limbs against her delicate body.
What a contrast there was between them; he was black-haired and of a swarthy complexion, with limbs of steel, and a body all rippling with muscles; she looked like a reed, that bends with the slightest wind, a hothouse flower that parches at the sun's hot rays, and withers under the slightest touch. Her slender alabaster white arms were entwined round his bull-like neck and her tiny tapering fingers played with his sooty curls. All at once, as he held her clasped by her dainty waist, he put his hand under her gown, passed his palm over her legs and thighs, then finally caught the thin lips of her small slit in his capacious palm. As she felt herself thus touched, she shivered and all her flesh seemed to bicker like the waters of a mere. Then, as a protruding and lewd finger tried to push its way in the soft juicy flesh, she wriggled in his arms like a wounded bird, and, shuddering, vainly endeavoured to push him away from her. But his huge sinewy arm—which was as bulky as a strong man's leg—held her tightly clasped against his quivering body, he then for an instant fixed his jet black eyes upon hers, and the glances of his large and lustrous pupils were like glowing sparks which, falling upon soft wax, bury themselves in it. Thus, under the spell of that indomitable will, she remained transfixed and motionless. Fie, thereupon, whispered to her: my flesh is lusting after thine; for, as the earth now pants for rain, and flowers for dew, so do I pine for love of thee. My pulses beat with wild delight and love and lust. Awake then from they languid sleep, and let thy flesh with eager heat, melt into mine!
The young girl thereupon, not only stood still, and let him palp her at his will, but she pressed her mouth against his burning lips and drank up his breath. Moreover she opened her thighs so that his fingers might penetrate into her secret parts, and as he softly tickled her, murmurs of pleasure and cooings of delight escaped from her. When he had thus sported with her, toyed with the edge of her lips, passed his hands over her thighs, over the small rounded lobes of her posterior parts, his prickle standing out huge and stiff, he took her small delicate hand and placed it within her soft palm. No sooner had she felt it than she started back, shocked, and seemed about to waken from some horrid dream in which she had been handling a viper or a loathsome toad; his arm, however, brought her back and glued her against his body, whilst his dark pupils darted again their mesmeric fire into her brain. Once more she yielded tamely, she took hold of his yard and toyed with it, fingered his cullious so gently that it eemed as if they were fanned by a softs breeze, making him thereby feel the most pleasurable titillation.
She had no will whatever of her own, but was only the reflexion of what he himself felt. To prove his power to the utmost, he doffed off his tattered shirt and breeches and remained mother-naked before her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pressed her down, she yielded and fell on her knees before him. He then made her take the fleshy, snub, bean-like tip of his phallus and suck it with as much pleasure as if it had been the most delicate Parisian sweet meat.
But he soon lifted her up again, and taking off all her clothes, he laid her low on his hard and dirty pallet; he again kissed her on her mouth, he toyed with her, he hugged her to his breast, and then the lust that coursed within his veins kindled up all her blood—both lay side by side tingling with excitement, maddened with rapturous sensuality. Having opened her thighs wide apart, and placed himself between her legs, he took the yard in his hand and point-blanked it on the opening of her cleft. Then he crossed himself devoutly three times, and asked a blessing of the Virgin Mary for what he was about to do, after which he thrust at her with all his might.
His, however, was a sore trial, sore indeed in every sense! Her slit was very narrow, his tool exceedingly bulky, so all that he could do was to wriggle and rub the glans twixt her thin lips. Although he was as strong as a prize-fighter, and his battering-ram was as hard and as powerful an one as you could well behold, still he was unable to break down the bulwark of her virginity, though he did manage to belch forth his fire into her very womb. Then as he spouted out his sperm, his joints relaxed, and he sank down senseless on her; the slit thus opened a little, but still the priceless pearl was not pierced even by that last lusty blow.
After a short rest he was about to have another goat her, but he perceived that the first glimmers of dawn were already lighting up the sky with their pale saffron light, so he bade the young girl rise and betake herself home.
She got up, put on her chemise and gown, and always in her trance-like state, crept quietly to her room, lay down upon her bed, and unconcerned, went off to sleep.
On the morrow when she woke, at the usual hour, the adventures of the night seemed to her like a bewildering night-mare.