That woman’s appalling character electrified me; I did as she—and in all my life I had never tasted keener pleasures. The certainty that through my villainies the man I held in my arms would only retire out of my embrace to fall into death’s, this perfidious, this barbarous idea contributed such a potent spice to my fucking that I swooned away during its crisis.
“Hurry, let’s up and away,” I said to my friends as soon as I returned to my senses; “we do not wish to be in this cellar when their gripes begin.”
We ascended to daylight. Raphael, who had neither participated in the games nor been included in their cruel aftermath, continued to act as our guide; as for the nine men we left behind, although we were never to hear tell of them again, what befell them is certain, for the means we employed for our atrocity were too reliable to fail of grisly success.
“And so, my dear,” I said to Clairwil, “we are now to conclude that villainy has so far progressed in you that you are no longer capable of being fucked by a man without desiring his death?”
“’Tis only too true,” my friend acknowledged; “beloved Juliette, rare are they who understand what it means, to age in crime. Its roots reach so deep inside us, it becomes to such a degree one with our existence, that, precisely, we breathe for it alone. Will you believe that I regret those instants in my life when I am not soiled by some horror? My desire is to do nothing else; I would that no idea enter my head but it tend toward crime, that my hands toil at nothing but to bring about what my brain has just conceived. Oh, Juliette! how mighty are the delights of evil-doing, how the mind catches fire at the thought of violating, with impunity, all the laughable prohibitions which hold men captive. What superiority one achieves over them by breaking, as we do, all the rules which confine them, by transgressing their laws, profaning their religion, by denying, insulting, jeering at their execrable God; by defying even the disgusting precepts which, as they dare say, comprise the primary duties Nature enjoins upon us. Ah, not to be able to find something hideous enough, of sufficient magnitude, that, I tell you, is the cause of my grief today; however frightful a given crime may be, still it falls short of what my mind strives toward. Could I set the planet ablaze, even so would I curse the Nature that had provided only one world for my desires to feast upon.”
Conversing in that strain, we strolled through the rest of the countryside around Baiae, where every twenty paces brings one to the remains of some precious monument; and at last, by an agreeable lane bordered by evergreen hedges, we came to the banks of Lake Avernus. Altogether disappeared was that noxious atmosphere which, in bygone days, used to cause overflying birds to fall dead into the lake; the quality of its waters and therefore of the air above has long since changed, ’tis today a very wholesome place, and in all the country one of those most congenial to a philosophic spirit. It was here that Aeneas sacrificed to the gods of the underworld before setting off along those tenebrous paths which the sibyl bade him take. And to the left is that sibyl’s grotto, still easy of access. ’Tis a cave, one hundred eighty feet long, eleven wide, nine high. Examine the place with a little care, free yourself a little from the romantic notions the poets and the historians have handed down to us, and you speedily recognize this sibyl for what she was, a procuress, and this lair of hers a whorehouse. That interpretation is only borne out by a more thorough survey of the premises; and if, when studying them, one refers oneself to Petronius’ ideas rather than to Virgil’s descriptions, one will not come away with any other opinion.
A cluster of orange trees, which, near the opposite shore, rises from within a Temple of Pluto, makes for a sight as picturesque as any in the world. We visited those ruins, plucked some oranges, and started back toward Pozzuoli, passing between the still existing tombs lining the Appian Way on both its sides. There, we could not keep from exclaiming against the ridiculous attitude the Romans observed toward the dead. We sat us down by Faustina’s tomb, and Olympia gave voice to the observations which follow.
“Two things I have never understood, my friends,” that amiable and witty woman began, “they are respect for the dead, and respect for the wishes of the dead. Assuredly, both these superstitions relate to the notions people entertain touching the immortality of the soul; for were they convinced materialists, were they wholly persuaded that we are nought but an amalgam of mere material elements, that once smitten by death, our dissolution is complete, then respect shown to bits of decomposed matter would appear such palpable nonsense that nobody would think to espouse it. But our pride is loath to acknowledge this certitude of no longer existing; instead, we prefer to believe that the shades of the departed, yet hovering around his corpse, expect consideration to be shown to this derelict; one dreads offending them, and thus, without realizing it, one slips into the worst impiety and the most entire absurdity. So let us make thoroughly our own the doctrine that once we are dead, absolutely nothing of us exists anymore, and that this mortal coil we leave on earth is nothing else than what our excrements were, when we dropped them at the foot of a tree in those days when we were alive. Well-penetrated by this system, we would sense that to a cadaver neither honor nor concern nor duties are owing; that the only treatment it merits, far less for its sake than for ours, is burial, incineration, or to be fed to scavengers; but that homages, sepulchers, prayers, memorials are not in any wise its due, and all of them nothing but the tributes stupidity pays to vanity, tributes which philosophy annihilates. To be sure, this that I advance clashes with all religious beliefs, ancient and modern, but ’tis not to you that it is necessary to prove that nothing is more absurd than religions, all based upon the loathsome fable of the soul’s eternal indestructibility and upon the ridiculous existence of a God. There is no stupidity religions have omitted to revere; and you know just as well as I, my friends, that when one examines a human institution, the first thing one must do is discard all religious notions. They are poison to lucidity.”
“I am perfectly of our companion’s mind,” said Clairwil, “although odd as it may seem, there are libertines who have constructed passions upon a foundation of those beliefs. In Paris I often saw one man pay its weight in gold for the body of any freshly interred adolescent, boy or girl, who had met with a violent death: he would have them brought to his house, and would commit no end of horrors upon those still well-preserved corpses.”
“It has been understood for a long time,” I pointed out, “that the enjoyment of a recently assassinated individual may be truly very voluptuous; the constriction of the anus is especially appreciated by men.”
“Also,” said Clairwil, “there is a kind of imaginary impiety therein to heat the mind, and for a certainty I would try it if my sex permitted.”
“This fantasy ought by all rights to lead to murder,” I proposed to my friends, “for once a cadaver becomes an agreeable plaything, one is already on the edge of a deed which would multiply one’s pleasures.”
“Probably,” Clairwil rejoined, “but that need not disturb us. If it is a great pleasure to kill, you will agree that it can hardly be a great evil.”
And as it was well on in the afternoon, we hastened to regain Pozzuoli, passing by way of the ruins of Cicero’s handsome villa.
It was late when we returned; a crowd of lazzaroni stood waiting at our gate. Raphael explained that since report had gone out that we were friendly toward men, most of those in the neighborhood had come to offer their services.
“You have nothing to fear,” our guide continued, “they are decent people, they know that you pay well, they will fuck you accordingly. In my country we are straightforward about these matters; and you are not the first lady travelers to have felt our muscles.”
“Taxing as the day has been,” said Clairwil, “it would be wrong for us to turn away men of good will. I have always found that further exercise does more to relax the frame than mere repose: come, surrendering ourselves to the labors of Love, we shall forget those of Apollo….”
But as at this point Nature’s
demands had all been met; as, sated on debauchery, we could indulge in nothing further save from libertinage, we flung ourselves into the nastiest excesses.
Thirty men culled from among better than a hundred, and whose members were gigantic, encloseted themselves with us; not one of them was over thirty years of age, not one had a weapon under thirteen inches in length by eight around; ten little peasant girls of between seven and twelve, whom we bought for their weight in gold, were also included in those orgies. After a magnificent dinner during which some three hundred bottles of Falerno were consumed, we opened by marshaling all the pricks in a row, lightly exciting them ourselves; next, we formed all those rascals in single file, so that they made up a long chaplet, each with his prick in the ass of the man ahead; the ten little girls, naked, frigged us in the meantime. We reviewed the formation, verified the introductions, fondled all the balls, and tongued all the mouths; turning, we retraced our steps, this time presenting our buttocks to be kissed by each of the chaplet’s thirty elements. They had all been severely warned against any careless discharging in one another’s behinds; as soon as they were at peak erection, they were, one by one, to move forward out of line, place their foaming engine in the hands of a little girl who would promptly bring it over and stopper either one of our asses or one of our cunts. Thus were we had thirty times over; after that we each took five men upon the body, this making six teams, which fucked us team by team; there was a prick in each aperture, one in the mouth or else niched between the breasts when it was too big for oral accommodation, then one in either hand. Throughout this scene, the ten little girls, perched on chairs, formed a circle around us, with orders to sprinkle us with shit and urine. For my part, I can think of nothing which arouses me more than one such inundation; I like to be bathed in it when I fuck; soon we were presenting asses only. Sprawled upon three little girls whose tongues were tickling us in the mouth, about the cunt, and thrilling upon the clitoris, we received three successive sodomizations from each of our thirty servants. That done, three of them cunt-sucked us, three sucked our mouths, we frigged one with each hand, and each of us was wet upon the belly or the nipples by a discharge wheedled from a prick by one of the little girls; the little girls then frigged all thirty upon our clitorises; one of them not engaged in frigging, wet, smeared, rubbed that delicate part with the sperm her companion made spurt, while a third, squatting over our faces, gave us an open cunt or asshole to lick.
A flagellation followed. We whipped the men who, at the same time, were doing the same to the children; next, we had ourselves bound, our hands were raised, our wrists tied to the bedposts, our ankles to the foot of the bed; and each man administered us a hundred strokes: while being beaten we pissed on the faces of three little girls who placed themselves between our thighs for this ceremony; after that, we surrendered the ten minors to our thirty fuckers, who depucelated and ravaged all ten of them, before and behind. Then we gave those ten children a vigorous fustigation, while the men kicked our asses with all their might: incredibly irritated by this treatment, we had ourselves more soundly drubbed by them; it was only when they had beaten us to the floor that they obtained, through this triumph, the right to embugger us yet again, and while we were enduring this latest affront, four of them at a time would come forward and fart, piss, and shit all over our faces; we did the same sort of thing to the little girls, who were obliged to swallow what we ejected upon them; finally, we affixed silken ribbons to the ceiling and tied all the pricks up in the air this way, rubbed all the balls with brandy, set fire to them and from this concluding rite we each of us obtained one last ejaculation in the womb or in the bowels, depending upon the individual assailant’s whim.
Foreigners in this town, although authorized by the King, whose patents of impunity were in our pocket, we desisted from further excesses so as not to arouse the populace; and having distributed much money to all that rabble and sent it contentedly on its way, we lay down for a few hours’ rest; then rose up and went forth to resume our interesting perambulations. We made a rapid tour of the isles, Procida and Ischia, and went back the next day to Naples, en route inspecting all sorts of wreckage fascinating for its antiquity, and many country villas, delightful through their location.
Ferdinand had sent out for news of us; we went to tell him of the powerful impression made upon us by the beauties of the region around his capital. He proposed to take us, several days later, to a supper at the residence of the Prince Francavilla, the richest lord in Naples, and at the same time the greatest bugger.
“They defy the imagination,” the King assured us, “the prodigies he acquits himself of in this kind. I shall ask him not to let our presence incommode him,” the monarch went on, “and explain that we are only paying a visit in order to examine philosophically his debauches.”
We accepted. The Queen was with us.
In all Italy, nothing equals Francavilla’s magnificence and grand spending; there are sixty places set at his table every day, his guests are waited upon by two hundred domestics, all of the very fairest mien. The Prince, to receive us, had had a temple of Priapus raised in a grove in his garden. Mysterious pathways bordered by orange trees and myrtle led to this wondrously lighted sanctuary; columns wreathed with roses and lilacs were surmounted by a cupola beneath which stood an altar covered with soft grass, to the right; to the left, a table set for six; in the center, a great basket of flowers, whose shoots and festoons, laden with colored lampions, rose in garlands to the summit of the cupola. Different groups of practically naked youths, three hundred of them all told, were scattered about wherever there was space available, and atop the altar of grass appeared Francavilla, standing underneath the emblem of Priapus, deity in whose shrine we were forgathered; groups of children went forward by turns to bow down before the Prince.
“Most honored Lord,” the Queen said to him as she made her entrance, “we have come to this hallowed place to partake sympathetically of your pleasures, to meditate before your mysteries; proceed as you are wont to do; enjoy the multiple homages about to be rendered you; we wish but to contemplate them.”
Banks of flowers lay opposite the altar, we sat ourselves down upon them; the god descended, bent over the altar, and the ceremony began.
Francavilla offered the world’s most comely ass to our view; to two young children, stationed hard by that notable posterior, was entrusted the care of opening it, of wiping it, and of guiding toward the hole the monstrous members which, by the score, were shortly to fling into the sanctum sanctoris; twelve other children readied the pricks. I had never in all my days seen any service more nimbly accomplished. Thus prepared, those splendid members moved from hand to hand until they arrived in those of the children appointed to introduce them; they disappeared then into the ass of the patient: they came back out again, they were replaced by others; and all that with an effortlessness, a smoothness, a promptitude which compel wonder. In less than two hours, all the three hundred pricks had sped into Francavilla’s fundament, who, once everything had been gulped greedily down, turned our way, and spat, following a violent pollution by a pair of young Ganymedes, a few drops of watery whitish sperm, the emission whereof having occasioned him five or six piercing shrieks, restored him completely to calm.
He then addressed us. “My ass is in a calamitous state,” he declared, stepping toward us; “your wish was to see it treated unsparingly, I have satisfied you. I venture to say, by the by, that not one of you dear ladies has ever in her life been fucked as I have just been.”
“Gracious, no,” said Clairwil, still deeply impressed by the demonstration we had witnessed, “but I am prepared to measure my endurance against yours whenever you like, Prince, and whether in the ass, whether in the cunt, I wager I can outfuck you.”
“Softly, dear heart, softly,” said Charlotte, “you have seen only a mild sample of what my cousin Francavilla is capable of; without flinching, he would stand up to ten battalions.”
“Let him bring his armies
on,” Clairwil rejoined with her usual plainspokenness; “but, Sire, does your Prince fancy we are going to be content with having watched his display of prowess?”
“Here, most certainly,” the King replied, “for however beauteous you be, Mesdames, you must understand that among all these young men, there is not one who would be induced even to touch you.”
“Why, ’tis not as though we were without asses—”
“Not one,” Francavilla affirmed, “not one would be tempted thereby, and were bullying finally to sway him, I would never again accept to hold commerce with the weakling.”
“That is what they call cleaving to one’s faith,” said Clairwil, “and I don’t blame them for it. So let us at least have some supper, since there is to be no fucking; let Comus recompense us, if he possibly can, for the cruel privations Cypris makes us endure.”
“You express it admirably,” said Francavilla.
The greatest supper ever seen by mortal eyes was therewith served by the Ganymedes, and the six places occupied by the King, the Queen, the Prince, my two sisters, and myself. There is no describing the delicacy and the magnificence of the fare: dishes and wines from all the countries of the world arrived in lavish profusion and uninterruptedly, and, mark of unheard-of luxury, nothing that was put on the table was taken off it: a viand or a wine was scarcely brought on when it was emptied into huge silver troughs, out of the bottom of which everything flowed away into the ground.
“The wretched might profit from these leavings,” said Olympia.
“Wretched? Our existence upon earth denies that of our inferiors,” Francavilla explained; “I loathe the mere idea that what is of no use to us could afford relief to someone else.”
“His heart is as hard as his ass is generous,” remarked Ferdinand.
Juliette Page 113
