Delphi Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (Illustrated) (246 page)

She uttered the faintest of cries, but he had already clasped her in his arms.

‘Leave me! leave me! or I’ll call for help.’

‘Call as much as you like, darling; but no one can or will come to your aid before I have had you, for I swear by the Virgin Mary that I’ll not leave this room before I’ve enjoyed you. If that bougre can use you for his pleasure, so shall I. If he has not — well, after all it is better to be a poor man’s wife than a rich man’s whore; and you know whether I have been wanting to marry you or not.’

Saying these words, holding her with one hand clasped as in a vise, her back against him, he tried with the other to twist her head round so as to get to her lips; but, seeing that he could not, he pressed her down on the bed. Holding her by the nape of the neck, he thrust his other hand between her legs and gripped her middle parts in his brawny palm.

Being ready beforehand, thrusting himself between her parted legs, he began to press his instrument against the lower part of the half- opened lips.

Swollen and dry as they had remained after my attempt, his good-sized turgid phallus slipped, and the tip lodged itself at the upper corner. Then, like a heavy laden stamen when kissed by the deflowering wind scatters its pollen on the open ovaries around it, so, hardly had the turgid and overflowing phallus touched the tiny clitoris when it jutted forth its sappy seed not only on it, but it squirted over all the surrounding parts. As she felt her stomach and thighs bathed by the warm fluid, it seemed to her that she was burnt by some scalding corrosive poison, and she writhed as if in pain.

But the more she struggled, the greater was the pleasure he felt, and his groans and the gurgling that seemed to mount from his middle parts up to his throat, testified to the rapture in which he was. He rested for a moment but his organ lost none of its strength or stiffness, her contortions only excited him the more. Putting his huge hand between her legs, he uplifted her on the bed, higher than she was, and brutally holding her down, he pressed the fleshy extremity of the glans against her, and the lips bathed in the slimy fluid parted asunder easily.

It was hardly a question with him now of pleasure given or received, it was the wild overpowering eagerness which the male brute displays in possessing the female, for you might have killed him, but he would not have let go his hold. He thrust at her with all the mighty heaviness of a bull; with another effort, the glans was lodged between the lips, another one more, half the column was already in, when it was stopped by the as yet unperforated but highly dilated virginal membrane. Feeling himself thus stopped at the outer orifice of the vagina he felt a moment of exultation.

He kissed her head with rapture.

‘You are mine,’ he cried with joy; ‘mine for life and death, mine for ever and ever.’

She evidently must have compared his wild delight with my cold indifference, and yet she tried to scream, but his hand stopped her mouth. She bit him, still he did not heed it.

Then, regardless of the pain he was causing, heedless of the strain he was giving the prisoner lodged in its narrow cage, he clasped her with all his strength, and with a last powerful thrust the vulva was not only reached but crossed; the membrane — so strong in the poor girl — was slit, his Priapus was lodged deep into the vagina, and it slid up to the neck of the womb.

She uttered a loud, shrill, piercing cry of pain and anguish, and the scream vibrating through the stillness of the night was heard all over the house. Regardless of any consequences of the noises already heard in answer to the scream, regardless of the blood gushing forth, he rapturously plunged and re- plunged his lance in the wound he had made, and his groans of pleasure were mixed with her plaintive wail.

Finally he pulled his limber weapon out of her; she was free, but senseless and faint.

I was just upon the steps, when I heard the crv. Althouqh I was not thinkinq of the poor qirl, still, at once it seemed to me as if I recognized her voice, I flew up the steps, I rushed into the house, and I found the cook pale and trembling in the passage.

‘Where is Catherine?’

‘In her room — I — I think.’

‘Then, who screamed?’

‘But — but I don’t know. Perhaps she did.’

‘And why don’t you go to help her?’

‘The door is locked,’ said she, looking aghast.

I rushed to the door. I shook it with all my strength.

‘Catherine, open! What’s the matter?’

At the sound of my voice the poor girl came back to life.

With another mighty shake I burst the lock. The door opened.

I had just time enough to catch sight of the girl in her blood-stained chemise.

Her loose hair was all dishevelled. Her eyes were gleaming with a wild fire. Her face was contorted by pain, shame, and madness. She looked like Cassandra after she had been violated byAjax’s soldiers.

As she stood, not far from the window, her glances from the coachman fell upon me with loathing and scorn.

She now knew what the love of men was. She rushed to the casement. I bounded towards her, but forestalling me, she leapt out before the coachman or myself could prevent her; and although I caught the end of her garment, her weight tore it, and I was left with a rag in my hand.

We heard a heavy thud, a scream, a few groans, then silence.

The girl had been true to her word.

CHAPTER
6

This shocking suicide of our maid absorbed all my thoughts for a few days, and gave me no slight amount of trouble and worry for some time afterwards.

Besides, as I was no casuist, I asked myself whether I had not had some share in prompting her to commit such a rash act; I therefore tried to make amends to the coachman, at least, by helping him as much as I could out of his trouble. Moreover, if I had not been fond of the girl, I had really tried to love her, so that I was greatly upset by her death.

My manager, who was far more my master than I was his, seeing the shattered state of my nerves, persuaded me to undertake a short business journey, which otherwise he would have had to make himself.

All these circumstances obliged me to keep my thoughts away from Teleny, who had lately engrossed them so entirely. I therefore tried to come to the conclusion that I had quite forgotten him; and I was already congratulating myself on having mastered a passion that had rendered me contemptible in my own eyes.

On my return home I not only shunned him, but I even avoided reading his name in the papers — nay, whenever I saw it on the bills in the street, I turned my head away from it, notwithstanding all the attraction it had for me; such was the fear I had of falling under his magic spell. And yet, was it possible for me to continue avoiding him? Would not the slightest accident bring us together again? And then — ?

I tried to believe that the power he had over me had vanished, and that it was not possible for him to acquire it again. Then, to make doubly sure, I resolved to cut him dead the first time we met. Moreover I was in hopes he would leave the town — for some time at least, if not forever.

Not long after my return, I was with my mother in a box at the theatre, when all at once the door opened and Teleny appeared in the doorway.

On seeing him I felt myself grow pale and then red, my knees seemed to be giving way, my heart began to beat with such mighty thumps that my breast was ready to burst. For a moment, I felt all my good resolutions give way; then, loathing myself for being so weak, I snatched up my hat, and — scarcely bowing to the young man — I rushed out of the box like a madman, leaving my mother to apologize for my strange behavior. No sooner was I out than I felt drawn back, and I almost returned to beg his forgiveness. Shame alone prevented me from doing so.

When I re-entered the box, my mother, vexed and astonished, asked me what had made me act in such a boorish way to the musician, whom everybody welcomed and made much of.

Two months ago, if I remember rightly,’ said she, ‘there was hardly another pianist like him; and now, because the press has turned against him, he is even below being bowed to.’

‘The press is against him? said I, with uplifted eyebrows.

‘What! have you not read how bitterly he has been criticized of late?’

‘No, I have had other matters to think about than pianists.’

‘Well, of late he seems to have been out of sorts. His name has appeared on the bills several times, and then he has not played; while at the last concerts he went through his pieces in a most humdrum, lifeless way, so verv different from his former brilliant execution.’

I felt as if a hand was gripping at my heart within my breast, still I tried to keep my features as indifferent as possible.

‘I am sorry for him,’ I said, listlessly; ‘but then, I daresay the ladies will console him for the taunts of the press, and thus blunt the points of theirarrows.’

My mother shrugged her shoulders and drew down the corners of her lips disdainfully. She little guessed either my thoughts, or how bitterly I regretted the way in which I had acted towards the young man whom — well, it was useless to mince matters any longer, or to give myself the lie — I still loved. Yes, loved more than ever — loved to distraction.

On the morrow, I looked for all the papers in which his name was mentioned, and I found — it may perhaps be vanity on my part to think so — that from the very day I had ceased to attend his concerts, he had been playing wretchedly, until at last his critics, once so lenient, had all joined against him, endeavoring to bring him to a better sense of the dutv he owed to his art, to the public, and to himself.

About a week afterwards, I again went to hear him play.

As he came in, I was surprised to see the change wrought in him in that short space of time; he was not only careworn and dejected, but pale, thin, and sickly-looking. He seemed, in fact, to have grown ten years older in those few days. There was in him that alteration which my mother had noticed in me on her return from Italy; but she, of course, had attributed it to the shock my nerves had just received.

As he came on, some few persons tried to cheer him by clapping their hands, but a low murmur of disapproval, followed by a slight hissing sound, stopped these feeble attempts at once. He seemed scornfully indifferent to both sounds. He sat listlessly down, like a person worn out by fever, but, as one of the musical reporters stated, the fire of art began all at once to glow within his eyes. He cast a sidelong glance on the audience, a searching look full of love and of thankfulness.

Then he began to play, not as if his task were a weary one, but as if he were pouring out his heavily-laden soul; and the music sounded like the warbling of a bird which, in its attempt to captivate its mate, pants forth its flood of rapture, resolved either to conquer or to die in profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

It is needless to say that I was thoroughly overcome, while the whole crowd was thrilled by the sweet sadness of his song.

The piece finished, I hurried out — frankly, in the hope of meeting him. While he had been playing, a mighty struggle had been going on within myself — between my heart and my brain; and the glowing senses asked cold reason, what was the use of fighting against an ungovernable passion? I was, indeed, ready to forgive him for all I had suffered, for after all, had I any right to be angry with him?

As I entered the room he was the first — nay, the only person I saw. A feeling of indescribable delight filled my whole being, and my heart seemed to bound forth towards him. All at once, however, all my rapture passed away, my blood froze in my veins, and love gave way to anger and hatred. He was arm-in-arm with Briancourt, who, openly congratulating him on his success, was evidently clinging to him like the ivy to the oak. Briancourt’s eyes and mine met; in his there was a look of exultation; in mine, of withering scorn.

As soon as Teleny saw me, he at once broke loose from Briancourt’s clutches, and came up to me. Jealousy maddened me, I gave him the stiff est and most distant of bows and passed on, utterly disregarding his outstretched hands.

I heard a slight murmur amongst the bystanders, and as I walked away I saw with the corner of my eye his hurt look, his blushes that came and went, and his expression of wounded pride. Though hot-tempered, he bowed resignedly, as if to say: ‘Be it as you will,’ and he went back to Briancourt, whose face was beaming with satisfaction.

Briancourt said, ‘He has always been a cad, a tradesman, a proud parvenu!’ just loud enough for the words to reach my ear. ‘Do not mind him.’

‘No,’ added Teleny, musingly, ‘it is I who am to blame, not he.’

Little did he understand with what a bleeding heart I walked out of the room, yearning at every step to turn back, and to throw my arms around his neck before everybody, and beg his forgiveness.

I wavered for a moment, whether to go and offer him my hand or not. Alas! do we often yield to the warm impulse of the heart? Are we not, instead, always guided by the advice of the calculating, conscience-muddled, clay-cold brain?

It was early, yet I waited for some time in the street, watching for Teleny to come out. I had made up my mind that if he was alone, I would go and beg his pardon for my rudeness.

After a short time, I saw him appear at the door with Briancourt.

My jealousy was at once rekindled, I turned on my heels and walked off. I did not want to see him again. On the morrow I would take the first train and go — anywhere, out of the world if I could.

This state of feeling did not last long; and my rage being somewhat subdued, love and curiosity prompted me again to stop. I did so. I looked round; they were nowhere to be seen; still I had wended my steps towards Teleny’s house.

I walked back. I glanced down the neighboring streets; they had quite disappeared.

Now that he was lost to sight, my eagerness to find him increased. They had, perhaps, gone to Briancourt’s. I hurried on in the direction of his house.

All at once, I thought I saw two figures like them at a distance. I hastened on like a madman. I lifted up the collar of my coat, I pulled my soft felt hat over my ears, so as not to be recognized, and followed them on the opposite sidewalk.

I was not mistaken. Then they branched off; I after them. Whither were they going in these lonely parts?

So as not to attract their attention I stopped where I saw an advertisement. I slackened, and then quickened my pace. Several times I saw their heads come in close contact, and then Briancourt’s arm encircled Teleny’s waist.

All this was far worse than gall and wormwood to me. Still, in my misery, I had one consolation; this was to see that, apparently, Teleny was yielding to Briancourt’s attentions instead of seeking them.

At last they reached the Quai de — , so busy in the daytime, so lonely at night. There they seemed to be looking for somebody, for they either turned round, scanned the persons they met, or stared at men seated on the benches that are along the quay. I continued following them.

As my thoughts were entirely absorbed, it was some time before I noticed that a man, who had sprung up from somewhere, was walking by my side. I grew nervous; for I fancied that he not only tried to keep pace with me but also to catch my attention, for he hummed and whistled snatches of songs, coughed, cleared his throat, and scraped his feet.

All these sounds fell upon my dreamy ears, but failed to arouse my attention. All my senses were fixed on the two figures in front of me. He therefore walked on, then turned round on his heels, and stared at me. My eyes saw all this without heeding him in the least.

He lingered once more, let me pass, walked on at a brisker pace, and was again beside me. Finally, I looked at him. Though it was cold, he was but slightly dressed. He wore a short, black velvet jacket and a pair of light grey, closely-fitting trousers marking the shape of the thighs and buttocks like tights.

As I looked at him he stared at me again, then smiled with that vacant, vapid, idiotic, facial contraction of a raccrocheuse. Then, always looking at me with an inviting leer, he directed his steps towards a neighboring Vespasienne.

‘What is there so peculiar about me?’ I mused, that the fellow is ogling me in that way?’

Without turning round, however, or noticing him any further, I walked on, my eyes fixed on Teleny.

As I passed by another bench, someone again scraped his feet and cleared his throat, evidently bent on making me turn my head. I did so. There was nothing more remarkable about him than there was in the first man I met. Seeing me look at him, he either unbuttoned or buttoned up his trousers.

After a while I again heard steps coming from behind; the person was close up to me. I smelt a strong scent — if the noxious odor of musk or of patchouli can be called a scent.

The person touched me slightly as he passed by. He begged my pardon; it was the man of the velvet jacket, or his Dromio. I looked at him as he again stared at me and grinned. His eyes were painted with khol, his cheeks were dabbed with rouge. He was quite beardless. For a moment, I doubted whether he was a man or a woman; but when he stopped again before the column I was fully persuaded of his sex.

Someone else came with mincing steps, and shaking his buttocks, from behind one of these pissoirs. He was an old, wiry, simpering man as shrivelled as a frost-bitten pippin. His cheeks were very hollow, and his projecting cheekbones very red; his face was shaven and shorn, and he wore a wig with long, fair, flaxen locks.

He walked in the posture of the Venus of Medici; that is, with one hand on his middle parts, and the other on his breast. His looks were not only very demure, but there was an almost maidenly coyness about the old man that gave him the appearance of a virgin-pimp.

He did not stare, but cast a sidelong glance at me as he went by. He was met by a workman — a strong and sturdy fellow, either a butcher or a smith by trade. The old man would evidently have slunk by unperceived, but the workman stopped him. I could not hear what thev said, for thouqh thev were but a few steps away, they spoke in that hushed tone peculiar to lovers; but I seemed to be the object of their talk, for the workman turned and stared at me as I passed. They parted.

The workman walked on for twenty steps, then he turned on his heel and walked back exactly on a line with me, seemingly bent on meeting me face to face.

I looked at him He was a brawny man, with massive features; clearly, a fine specimen of a male. As he passed by me he clenched his powerful fist, doubled his muscular arm at the elbow, and then moved it vertically hither and thither a few times, like a piston-rod in action, as it slipped in and out of the cylinder.

Some signs are so evidently clear and full of meaning that no initiation is needed to understand them. This workman’s sign was one of them.