by Wolf, Jack
Some small Alteration in her Voice, or in her Eyes, I knew not what, gave me the Courage to believe her. I cleared my Throat and took a deep Breath.
“I wish that it were Boys,” I said. I spoke slowly. “It is not. There is a Demon within me, Mrs Haywood. I have Desires, Longings, that no Man should have. Dreadful Longings.”
“Do you crave the Lash?”
“What?”
“How now, Sir,” she said. “You are not the only Gentleman to have such exotick Tastes. Why, I have among my Patrons an highly respected Member of the Privy Council who comes every Tuesdaye for a Whipping.”
“It is not that!” I exclaimed. “I have tried it— it doth nothing. The Evil is within mine Hands, and in my Head, and my—” Yet again I came to an abrupt Halt. This Time, however, it was not thro’ Fear of what I should say. As I spoke, mine Imagination was running wild upon an hundred things, too terrible to voice, and my Lusts had at once arisen, like a Volcano.
Mrs Haywood looked over my State, stood up, and took mine Hand again. “My Dear,” she said, with surprizing Friendliness. “I would very much like you to meet Pauline.”
* * *
Taking a Candle in her Hand, despite the Daye, Mrs Haywood led me thro’ the House and several Pad-locked Doors, which she took Care to seal again after our Passage, till we came to a low attick Bedroom furnished intirely in burgundy Satin and dark Iron. A low Fire burned within the Grate, with a Sopha before it, just as in my Laboratory, and the Room was comfortably warm. Supine upon the Bed was a young Woman, wearing only a night-Shift, her Ankles and her Wrists secured by thick Shackles, such as I had seen upon Prisoners, to the bed Posts. I caught my Breath.
“Pauline,” said Mrs Haywood softly, approaching the Bed. “Pauline, my Dear, you have a Visitor.”
Pauline—but I did not believe that to be her true Name—opened her Eyes, and looked upon Mrs Haywood with such a Gaze as Lovers use, between themselves, when they are alone. She was neither particularly young, nor pretty; being quite scrawny, with a hardened Face; and yet there was a Quality about her, of Grace, perhaps, that I had never before seen in a Woman and could never have imagined in a Whore.
Mrs Haywood turned to me and held out her Hand for me to grasp. It was well that she did. I was beginning to feel as tho’ I might fall down. God help me, I thought. Nat’s Orgy was nothing compared to this. Then she waved her other Hand, and to my farther Surprize, from the darkest Corner of the Room shuffled an old Whore, dresst intirely in shabby Black, and carrying a laced Pocket, which, with a wordless and clumsy Curtsey, she handed to Mrs Haywood before returning to an Armchair, in which, I realised, she had been seated.
Mrs Haywood unlaced the Pocket and withdrew the Keys to Pauline’s Shackles. The Locks opened without Sound, without Resistance. Finally, the Woman was free. I wanted to watch her stretch her sore Limbs, to apply Salve to the raw Skin where her Shackles had chafed; she did neither. She knelt before us on the Bed, her Eyes cast down.
“Turn around,” Mrs Haywood said. “And lift up your Gown.”
Pauline obeyed at once. Mrs Haywood raised the Candle close by her Hindquarters, so that I might see more clearly.
“Great God!” I said.
The Woman’s Buttocks and Thighs were criss-crosst by a great Number of savage Weals, some red, some black, some fading to dull yellow, some mere Scars. Some, I perceived, had been formed by the Action of a Whip; still others bore the smooth, sharp Outline of the Birch, deathly white Flesh upraised about a single scarlet Thread, where the soft Skin had been rippt open by the Blow. She had lifted the night-Dress only to her Waist, but I could discern the Traces of still more Welts, still more Cuts, extending upwards over the soft Tissue of her Ribs towards her Scapulae.
I was horrified, and yet; and yet—a dark Wonder began to shiver and to rise within me, black as the Wave that once had consumed me; glorious and terrible as Joy.
Half unthinking, I stretched forwards mine other Arm, and at a Nod from Mrs Haywood, I carefully caressed the devastated Flesh. The Ridges of scar Tissue were surprizing hard against my Fingertips, but between them, Pauline’s Skin was delicate as Spidersilk.
“Oh,” I said. “She is beautifull.”
Desire began to pulse within me. Desire to hurt; Desire, Desire.
“You may whip her, or fuck her, as you please,” Mrs Haywood said.
Desire, both like and unlike that which had driven me to attack Viviane, drummed hard thro’out my Body. It beat fierce and fast within mine Hands, within my Loins, a Passion overwhelming, irresistible, and yet seeming now as if it were mine own, a Part of me. I suddenly understood that not only could I do whatever I liked to this Pauline, but that she would not struggle, or curse, but would accept, without Resentment or Disgust, every Mortification I should lay upon her Flesh. The Realisation caused mine Head to reel, and my Body to sway a little as I stood. I remembered how I had forced Viviane to her Knees and thus forced back the Drumming. I recalled the cruel Delight I had taken in her Pain as I had twisted her Arm, and she had screamed aloud; the Power, ultimate as it had then seemed, in that Instant; transfiguring every Atom of my Body, of my Mind, of my frightened Soule.
Was it Wickedness? Perhaps.
Pauline shuddered under my Caress, and the candle Flame flickered.
“Shall you whip her?” Mrs Haywood asked.
“No,” I said. “Not yet.” The Truth was that I did not know how. I feared lest I should misjudge my Blow and infict some lasting Injury upon her Kidneys, or her Spine.
“Very well.” Mrs Haywood smiled, and releasing mine Hand from her Grasp, she departed the Room, pulling the Door shut behind her. The old Whore coughed in her Corner.
Was it Wickedness? I could not tell. I did not care. Horrour and Lust had merged in me to cast a Shaddowe over my Will. I knew that I should not have fought it, even if I could have.
“Take off your Gown,” I instructed Pauline. My Voice sounded thick and greedy in mine Ears. With the same obedient Grace she had shewn Mrs Haywood, Pauline complied, and I at last beheld her in her Nakedness.
The fresh Skin of her Back was latticed with a Plethora of Lashes, red and black and white. I stroked mine Hand along the undulating Depression of her Spine, feeling the Expansion and Contraction of her Ribcage as she breathed, the crimson Rhythm of her Heartbeat.
Swiftly, but with shaking Hands, I unlaced my Breeches. I could hear mine own Breath, raw and fast within the warm Stillness. I placed mine Hand upon the Base of her Cranium and pushed her forwards, Face down upon the Bed in front of me. I hesitated for an Instant, then the red Shaddowe fell once more across mine Heart, and I reached between her Thighs and pulled them open to reveal the pale Slit of her Cunt, hairless and smooth as Glass. With the Fingers of my free Hand I spread apart both Pairs of Lips, then climbed upon the Bed behind her. I entered her as forcibly, as intirely, as I dared; then the whole World turned to Scarlet.
Minutes later, I collapsed, with mine Heart hammering within me and every Muscle in my Body turned to Water. I withdrew, lay down beside her on the silken Sheets, and for the first Time, properly looked into her Face.
Pauline’s Face was flushed, her thin Lips swollen. My Reason slowly coming back to me, I reflected that it was strangely gratifying to think that I might have somehow given her Pleasure, despite that she was but a Whore and I had not thought of it once. Then I thought of mine Experiment and could not decide whether it had proved Failure or Success. I had lain with a Woman, I had experienced Pleasure, but under such Circumstances that I could hardly imagine mine Innocence to have been regained. I thought of Margaret, and of how she should have chided if I had left her so precipitantly after a mere Minute. But there was, in Truth, no Comparison. Margaret would never have suffered the Indignities of Lash and Shackle that had both debased and elevated this Pauline.
I caught my near Hand within Pauline’s Hair and dragged her down to lie beside me. “What is your Name?” I asked her. “Your real Name, not the one that Mrs Haywood hath given you.”
>
She blinked, surprized. “Polly Smith,” she said, at last. Her Accent was that of my native Berkshire.
“Mine is Mr Hart,” I told her. “We will meet again, I think. If ‘meet’ can be said to be the proper Word.”
Polly Smith smiled, and averted her Gaze.
“Doth my Countenance offend you?” I asked.
Polly looked puzzled. “No, Sir,” she said.
“Then why look you away?”
In Answer, Polly turned her Eyes towards me, and meeting mine without the least Trace of Shame, she said. “You better hit me.”
“Wherefore?”
“No one wants to buy a Pig in a Poke,” Polly said. “You ’aven’t made me bawl.”
I stared at her in Admiration, and no little Disbelief. Her Expression was intirely serious, without Sophistry or Deceit. But I did not want to hurt her. That Passion had been pacified in me when I had fucked her, and I could not at Will re-agitate it. Yet, if I did not hurt her, why was I here, and not with pretty Juliette?
“What will you do?” I asked her. “When your Backside is as tough as Leather, and no Man will even look at you? When Mrs Haywood hath no longer any Use for you, and you can be of no Use to yourself?”
She smiled. “Mrs Haywood will always have a Use for me,” she said. “The Thing is whether I ’ave any Use for you.”
I drew back my free Hand and struck her hard across the Face.
CHAPTER TEN
To the open Amusement of Saunders Welch, I became a frequent Visitor to Mrs Haywood’s Establishment. He might have been somewhat less diverted had he been at all aware of the Nature of the Activity in which I was participating. Mr Welch had strong Views, as did both Brothers Fielding, on Violence between Men and Women. But the Innocent who had feared that he was devilish had gone; his Place taken by a Fiend who feared I knew not what.
I still enjoyed, occasionally, to fuck, but these Times were becoming rarer. The Act itself delighted me no more now than it had ever done, but sometimes it was necessary for me to surrender to the red Mist and throw Polly, or one of the other experienced Whores, to the Floor, or pin her down upon a Bed. Mrs Haywood did not offer me her pretty young Girls any more.
Under Mrs Haywood’s Tutelage, and the expressionless Visage of the old Whore, I dedicated Houres to the Acquisition and Perfection of my Form with the Lash, the Cat, the Scourge, and the Birch Rod. I diligently practised the fine Art of binding Ankles, Wrists, and Knees in such Ways as to induce the most exquisite Agonies, without dangerously limiting the Flow of Blood; which, as Harvey had proved before me, doth indeed pass betwixt the Heart and the Extremities at a tremendous Rate. I became adept at provoking Screams of the truest Pitch and Intensity; bright Rainbows of refracted Anguish that lit up the Room. The purest Shrieks often would be enough to bring me compleat Satisfaction.
Sometimes, when I was still at the Start of this Education, I imagined My Self in my Laboratory, and the Whore before me my Subject, as I had imagined Viviane; but these Phantasms really disturbed me more than they delighted, and after a short while I gave up their Pretense.
Outside the Brothel, I became more confident. I sang, I skippt, I whistled. I carried Trays for Mary and even kissed her upon the Cheek when her Husband and Brother-in-Law were nowhere near. Life was become a Joy to me instead of a Chore. I even began to forget mine apparent Madness. No longer did I study Descartes and Locke with the Desperation of a condamned Man. I suffered no Delusion, no Phrenzy, no Melancholia. If I had, verily, been mad once, I thought, I never need be so again. Perhaps I never had been. Perhaps the Disorders my Senses had suffered indeed had sprung from some other Cause. Perhaps I had eaten something rotten. Perhaps I had been exceptionally drunk. Perhaps there had been in the Aire some Drugge.
Fascinating, the Possibility that the non-natural things could effect such an Alteration upon my Perceptions.
This Mutation in my Spirits, and the Change it wrought upon mine whole Demeanour, made an unlooked-for Impression upon John Fielding, who before had considered me to be both troubled and troublesome. Upon St Lucie’s Daye, he called me into his Presence to deliver a Rebuke upon my Conduct. The after-dinner Room was still, and apart from that given by the lively Fire, without Light. I stood, mute and resentful, before the Chimney-piece, my Face more than half in Shaddowe.
“’Twere preferable,” he said, sitting back in his Chair and staring unnervingly in my very Direction thro’ his darkened Glasses, “that you devote less of your Time, and your Father’s Fortune, to Whoring.”
“’Tis not excessive,” I protested.
Mr Fielding laughed, the first Time I had ever heard him to do so. It was not an unkind Laugh, and it carried about it some small Intimations of Regret. “And that were ever the Defense!” he said. “But it will not wash out in your Case, Tristan. Mr Welch has told me; you call upon Mrs Haywood three Dayes out of every seven, and nine in this past Fortnight. Your Whoring is excessive; and, I suspect, obsessive also.”
I felt my Colour rise within my Cheeks. It was not for Mr Fielding to judge the Quality of my Whoring, I thought, nor for Saunders Welch to bear Witness to him upon it. But I said nothing.
“It is clear to me that you are restless and bored,” Mr Fielding went on. “Exactly as I should expect from a young Man of your Wit and Intelligence who hath no useful Occupation to pursue. Therefore, my Brother and I have made Arrangements for you to begin your Studies in Anatomy with Dr William Hunter.”
“I thought it to have been forgot,” I stammered.
“Not so,” Mr Fielding said. “My Brother and I came to the Conclusion that it were better if you were not faced with too much Expectation immediate upon your Arrival. Now you are settled, it is best that you proceed upon your Education.”
I stared at Mr Fielding, and I was glad, deeply glad, that he could not see my Face, for I had no Control of it. If it had but occurred to the Brothers Fielding to inform me at the first of their Decision—but it had not and so here I stood; my Mind, for sure, as clean and sharp as a Lancet, but mine Hands as cruel as a Cut, and my Soule so steept in Vice it might as well been given straight up to the Devil. And all this come about because I feared to have been forgot! How was I now to go to Dr Hunter and study Dissection and Medicine; how could I stand within his Rooms and state that I wished to study Pain in order to prevent it? How could I, in short, convince him of a Creed in which I did not now believe? I could not. And yet, if I were to say that I had changed my Mind and no longer felt deserving of the Prize I had dedicated mine whole Life to achieving, I should be conceding not only my Soule, but a clear Victory.
No, no! I shook My Self, recalled to Mind those Justifications I had taken Comfort from when Doubts about mine Habit had before assailed me. It was true, I told My Self, that mine were not common Tastes, but my Vice was minor in Comparison to many. I did not desire Children, or Beasts. Moreover, it was not necessarily true that I was intirely evil. How could I be evil when the bright Sunne stroaked me, the Rains kissed me, and the Beauty of Creation arched over me in the blue Bowl of the winter Sky? How could I be evil when I took such Care that the Screams that pealed about mine Ears were followed always by the Chimes of sweet Relief when Pain came to an End? How could I be evil when I felt so happy?
The Rector had been wrong. The Tutor had been wrong. I had been wrong.
Whatever the Cause and Nature of my Need, it did not unfit me for the Study of Anatomy or the furtherance of the Human Condition. It was mine; mine was therefore its Comprehension, mine its Control. It dictated nothing. It would make no Difference.
“I shall be glad,” I said, “to begin Work with Dr Hunter as soon as may be.”
“You have until the twentieth of January to prepare yourself. And you had better explain to Mrs Haywood that she will not be seeing you so often in the Future. I am sure that this Intelligence will leave her quite bereft, but she will recover.”
I could not determine whether it would seem impudent if I were to laugh, so I remained silent
. Mr Fielding sighed, and leaned back in his Chair. Then, to my Surprize, he removed his Wigg, ran his Fingers across the Stubble that covered his Head, and scratched his Scalp.
“Damned things, Wiggs,” he said. “Ridiculously expensive, in constant Need of Maintenance, and as full of Lice as this wretched City. Why do we wear them?”
I was not certain whether his Question was rhetorical, but I ventured upon an Answer. “Habit,” I said. “And the Fashion, Sir.”
“Fashion! Ha! Naught but a Means to delude and torment innocent Men and Women. What Virtue hath Fashion, truly?”
I looked down at My Self. My grey silk Frock, which I had purchased from my Taylor only two Dayes since, gleamed in the Firelight with the perfect Sheen of newly polished Pewter. I had delighted in the Knowledge that its Shade was matched exactly by that of my Shoes, and that the silver Buttons of the Frock had been cast with the same Imprint as the Buckles thereof. I looked up.
“None, Sir, I suppose—excepting perhaps an aesthetic one.”
“Do you believe that Virtue and Beauty are, therefore, equivalent?”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“And yet the most thorough Corruption may lurk within the fairest of Breasts. In Medicine, Sir, as you will see; and in Law, and certainly too within the Human Soule.”
“But what of non-Human things?” I protested. “I was thinking of the Beauty of a clear Sky, or of a Seabird in Flight against a Cloud, or a musical Note, perfect in its Execution. Are these things not good?”
“Of the three,” John Fielding said. “Only the third hath any Good I can appreciate. But continue, Tristan.”
“If they have any Good,” I said, “’tis surely by respect of some Virtue that inhere within them; and this Virtue, plainly, is Beauty.”
“Then you have suggested that Beauty is a Virtue, but not that Virtue is Beauty.”
“Is not Virtue beautifull, Sir?”
“Truly, it is; because Beauty inheres within it, as it inheres within a clear Sky or a Note of perfect Musick. But you must not confuse a Quality inherent in a thing with the thing itself.”
