The Romance of Violette

by Alexandre Dumas

  The Romance of Violette

  Alexandre Dumas Pere

  PREFACE

  I have spent thousands of years in this earthly world, it would appear, and the spiritualistic component of my own being must have been successively transmitted in the continuity of human creatures, before it became my privilege to be one of the denizens of the planet of Mars, my present dwelling.

  “How happy he will be,” will exclaim those unfortunate mortals who still weep on earth, “for has he not left our vale of tears?”

  No such thing! You are entirely mistaken, for I feel very dull here, in spite of the evident superiority, as a place of residence, of the planet I am now exploring.

  Indeed, I frequently suffer from fits of depression, and often glance back longingly on a past which was not unmixed with bliss. That is why you behold me now with pen in hand, calling up the most pleasurable recollections of my earthly life and trying to retrace them to the reader.

  I must own to many sins in the course of my terrestrial incarnations. My future readers will therefore understand why, among the outlines, which like dim shadows are evoked before my eyes, I look upon those of women with the most gratified feelings.

  She who now receives my slumbering sensations, numbed, alas, by the ethereal poetry of the ambient atmosphere in which I breathe when on earth, went by euphonious name of Violette. She gave me all the joys of that paradise promised to the faithful by Mahomet, and when she died my grief was unspeakable.

  Nobody now knows who was concealed under this pretty pseudonym. I may therefore freely pen her history, that of our loves! She had no other!

  Before entrusting these sheets to the amorous zephyr which is to waft them on to the desk of some enterprising publisher, I would have my future readers know that they are not exactly suitable for young ladies.

  And now, squeamish reader, and you, bashful lady, who are fearful of calling a spade a spade, you have had due warning; therefore tarry you a while, or else go no further, for these pages were not designed for you.

  Let only those follow me, who understand love, and practise thy sweet science, O voluptas! the author

  CHAPTER I

  I was thirty years of age when I made the acquaintance of Violette.

  I lived at the time on the fourth floor of a rather fine house in the Rue de Rivoli, just beneath rooms occupied by domestics and young girls employed in a linen drapery establishment on the ground floor under the arcades.

  I was then on intimate terms with a very handsome and aristocratic lady. Her complexion was of that description which Theophile Gautier celebrates in his Emaux et Camees. Her hair was such as that with which Aeschylus adorns Electra's head and which compares to the fair corn of Argolide. But the lady had become rather too plump and stout at an early period of her career, and highly incensed at her premature embonpoint, displeased with herself and all the world, she worried all those who approached her, as if they should be made responsible for her misfortune.

  As a consequence our intimacy went on the decline, and though I duly provided for all her wants and whims, I made no effort to bring into closer vicinity our respective bedchambers, situated at opposite ends of the suite of rooms. I had made choice of my own for the sake of the fine view on the Tuileries. I aspired already to be an author, and truly nothing can be finer, sweeter, more refreshing for a writer than the sight of this sombre mass of foliage formed by the ancient trees of the garden.

  In summer the wood pigeons sport and frolic about the tall bough till twilight, when calm and silence begin to reign in their aerial abodes.

  At ten o'clock the tattoo is heard and the gates are closed, and when the night is fine the moon slowly sails along the heavens, leaving its silvery track on the lofty tree tops.

  Sometimes a light breeze makes the pale light tremble in the rustling leaves, which then seem to awaken, to live, and breathe of love and pleasure.

  And by degrees, the noises of the big city grow more and more faint and distant to the ear which rests in the enjoyment of this delightful silence, while the eye gazes admiringly on the chateau and the dark, deep majestic masses of the huge trees. Often I would thus remain for hours at my window, dreaming and wrapped in thought.

  What were the subjects of my dreams? I could hardly tell. I probably dreamt of what one dreams when one is thirty years of age; of love, of the women one has seen, and more often still, of those unseen as yet.

  And in truth, are not the charms of the unknown fair ones the most potent of all?

  There are men unfavoured by nature, whose hearts never thrill under a ray of sunlight. They live on as if in a kind of semi-darkness and accomplish as a duty, not as a joy, the act which is the supreme happiness of life, and which brings such rapture to the senses that if it lasted a minute instead of lasting five seconds it would kill even a Hercules.

  These men in their passage through life, eat, drink and sleep; they indeed beget children, but they will never be able to say: “I have loved!” And surely is there anything worth living for, unless it be love?

  I was wrapped in one of those dreams which have neither horizon nor limits, in which heaven and earth are mingled; I had just heard the bell in the neighbouring clock tower chime two o'clock, when I thought I heard a knock at my door. But perhaps I was mistaken, so I listened. The knock was repeated. Wondering who could come to visit me at this unwonted hour I ran to the door and opened it.

  A young girl, almost a child slipped in and said:

  “Oh, let me take refuge here, monsieur, I beseech you!”

  I motioned her to be silent and softly shut the door. I then encircled her waist to my arm and took her to my bedroom. There I was enabled to have a view of the bird just escaped from its cage and which had flown to me for protection.

  My supposition was correct; it was indeed a lovely girl, barely fifteen, straight and pliant as a reed, though her form already showed signs of womanhood.

  I placed my hand on her bosom by chance, and I felt a living globe as firm as marble.

  The mere contact sent a thrill through my veins. There are indeed women who have received from nature the fascinating gift of exciting sensual desires at the slightest touch.

  “How frightened I was!” she murmured.

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes! How fortunate that you were not yet in bed!”

  “And what was the cause of that great fright?”

  “Monsieur Beruchet.”

  “Who is this Monsieur Beruchet?”

  “The husband of the seamstress with whom I worked below.”

  “And pray tell me, what did this Monsieur Beruchet do to you?”

  “But you will keep me all night, will you not?”

  “I shall keep you as long as you like. It is not my custom to turn pretty girls out of doors.”

  “Oh, I am only a little girl. I am not a pretty girl.”

  “Well! well!” I gave a look at her bosom and what I saw through the half-opened chemise gave me reason to think she was not such a little girl as all that.

  “Tomorrow, at break of day, I must go!” she murmured softly.

  “And where will you go?”

  “To my sister's.”

  “Your sister-and where does she live?”

  “No. 4 Rue Chaptal.”

  “Your sister lives in the Rue Chaptal?”

  “Yes, on the first floor. She has two rooms and will lend me one.”

  “And tell me, what is your sister doing in the Rue Chaptal?”

  “She works for milliners' shops. Monsieur Ernest helps her.”

  “Is she older than you?”

  “Yes, two years older.”

  “What is her name?”

  “Marguerite.”<
br />
  “And what is yours?”

  “Violette.”

  “It seems that in your family they were partial to the names of flowers.”

  “Oh yes, Mamma did like them so!”

  “Is your mamma no more?”

  “No, Monsieur.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Rose.”

  “Well, they did like the names of flowers! And your father?”

  “Oh, he is quite well.”

  “And what is his trade?”

  “He is a keeper at the gates of Lille.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Rouchat.”

  “But I perceive that I have been asking you questions for an hour, and I have not enquired of you why Monsieur Beruchet frightened you so?”

  “Because he always tried to kiss me.”

  “You don't say so!”

  “He followed me everywhere, and I never dared to go without a light into the back shop, because I was always sure of finding him there.”

  “Then you did not like him to kiss you?”

  “Oh, not at all!”

  “And why were you displeased so?”

  “Because he is so ugly, and then I thought he did not only want to kiss me.”

  “But what did he want else?”

  “I don't know.”

  I looked at her to see whether she wasn't making fun of me. But I perceived from her innocent look, that she was perfectly in earnest.

  “Well, then, what did he do, besides kissing you?”

  “He came up to my room yesterday when I was in bed; at least I think it was he, and he tried to open my door.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No, but during the day, he said: 'Do not shut your door as you did yesterday, little one, I have something of importance to tell you.'“

  “And you locked your door all the same.”

  “Oh, yes I did. More securely than ever.”

  “Did he come?”

  “Yes, he did come. He tried all he could to open the door. He tapped and tapped; then he knocked louder. Then he said 'It is I, little Violette'. You may well imagine that I gave no reply. I was shaking with fright in my bed. The more he said, 'It is I', the more he called me darling Violette, the more I put my blanket over my head. At last after waiting at least half an hour, he went away grumbling.”

  “All day he looked sulky so that I was in hopes he would leave me alone tonight. I was half undressed, as you see me, when I thought of bolting the door. But the bolt had been taken off during the day and there was no lock there; so, without losing a moment I ran off and knocked at your door. Oh! how lucky I did so!” And the child threw her arms around my neck.

  “So you're not frightened of me?”

  “Oh, no!”

  “And if I wished to kiss you, would you run away?”

  “See now,” said she, and she applied her humid and fresh mouth to my parched lips.

  I could not help keeping my lips on hers for a few seconds while I caressed her teeth with the tip of my tongue. She closed her eyes and leaned her head backwards, saying: “Oh, how nice, is that kind of kiss!”

  “You've never been kissed that way?” I inquired.

  “No,” she said, passing her tongue over her burning lips. “Is it the usual way?”

  “Yes, when you love the person.”

  “Then, you do love me?”

  “If I am not yet in love with you I am afraid I soon shall be.”

  “Just like me!”

  “So much the better!”

  “And what do people do who love one another?”

  “They exchange kisses as we just have done.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that is funny. It seemed to me I wished for something else; as if this kiss, however sweet it may be, were only the beginning of love.”

  “What did you feel?”

  “I cannot say; a kind of languid sensation in all my body. A pleasure such as I have experienced sometimes in dreams.”

  “And when you awoke after these dreams, how did you feel?”

  “I was quite exhausted.”

  “Did you never have that sensation except in a dream?”

  “Yes, indeed, just now, when you kissed me.”

  “Am I then the first man who ever kissed you?”

  “In that way, you are. My father often kissed me, but it was not at all the same thing.”

  “Then you are still a virgin?”

  “Virgin, what does that mean?”

  Evidently, from her tone she was sincere!”

  I took pity, or rather I felt respect for that innocence which then put itself so entirely at my mercy. It seemed as if it were a crime to rob her of that sweet treasure, which she unconsciously possessed, and which, when once given away, is lost forever.

  “And now let us talk seriously, my dear girl,” I said, releasing her from my embrace.

  “Oh, you are not going to send me away, surely?”

  “No, I am too happy to have you here.” Then, after a pause: “Listen,” I said, “this is what we are going to do. We will go and fetch your clothes.”

  “Very well, and where shall I go?”

  “That's my business. First of all let us go to your room.”

  “And Monsieur Beruchet?”

  “It is probable that he has left, for it is nearly three o'clock in the morning.”

  “What shall we do in my room?”

  “We will take away all your things.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I shall take you with your little luggage to a room in town, whence you will write to Monsieur Beruchet a letter which I shall dictate. Are you willing?”

  “Oh, I shall do as you bid me.”

  How charming this confidence of innocence and youth! The darling girl, she would certainly have done all I bade her, there and then.

  We went up to the lockless room, and put her scanty belongings into a carpetbag.

  Violette finished dressing herself, we came downstairs, and, as there were no cabs about, we set out arm in arm, as happy and light-hearted as two school chums, repaired to the Rue Saint Augustin, where I kept a room for a night's debauch when I felt so inclined.

  An hour later I was home again, without having tried to make further progress in my amours with Violette.

  CHAPTER II

  The room which I kept in the Rue Saint Augustin was not in a lodging house. It was a room which I had furnished myself, in view of its destination, with such taste as would have satisfied the most dainty lady.

  It was hung all around in carnation velvet; the window curtains and bed curtains were of the same material. The bed was covered with velvet also, and the whole set off by Torsells and bands of gold satin.

  A looking glass occupied the whole of the wall inside the bed and corresponded with the mirror placed between the two windows so that images were reproduced ad infinitum.

  The rest of the furniture was in keeping with this elegant decoration. A bath was hidden in a sofa and a large bearskin made the pretty feet which rested on it look still whiter.

  A pretty little lady's maid, whose only functions were to keep the room in order and to attend to the different lady visitors, had her room on the same landing.

  I bade her prepare a bath in the dressing room without awaking the occupant of the bedroom.

  We entered without a light, and only lit a night lamp in a vase of rose coloured Bohemian glass. Then I turned away to allow the young girl to undress freely, an operation which in her innocence she would have done in my presence. After which I kissed her on both eyes, bade her good night and returned home as I said before.

  In spite of the emotions of the day, Violette went to bed, where she nestled like a little pussy. She said goodbye with a yawn, and I am sure she must have been fast asleep before I was well in the street.

  As for me, the case was different, and I could not close my eyes. I confess-that b
osom from which my hand had rebounded, that mouth which had been glued to my lips that half opened chemise which had disclosed such lovely treasures-the recollection kept me awake and in a state of great excitement.

  I am certain male readers will not ask for any explanation of my conduct, for they fully understand why I stopped half way.

  But lady readers more inquisitive or more ignorant of certain articles of our code, will surely wish to know why I went no further.

  I must say that it was not for lack of desire, but Violette, as I stated before, was barely fifteen years old, and then she was so innocent that it would have seemed like a crime to take possession of charms given away, so to speak, without any consciousness of the seriousness of the act. And again, I must add, that I am one of those who delight in the relish of all the preliminary delicacies of love, all the voluptuousness of its most complicated pleasures.

  Innocence is a flower which should be left unculled as long as possible on its stalk, and should be plucked only leaf by leaf.

  A rosebud will sometimes be a week in bursting into a full blown flower. Besides, I like pleasure without attendant remorse; and within the walls of the city which so well defended itself against the invader in 1792 there existed a veteran whose old age I respected.

  The worthy man did not seem as if he would have committed suicide on account of the mishap of his eldest daughter, but perhaps he loved more tenderly his youngest-perhaps he had formed for her future plans which I did not like to upset. Besides, I have always noticed that with patience everything goes well for everybody.

  I thus pondered until daybreak. Pent up with fatigue, I at last closed my eyes and slept on till eight o'clock.

  I got up hastily, as Violette must have been an early riser. I told my man that I should probably not be home for breakfast, I hailed a cab, and in five minutes was at the house in Rue Saint Augustin.

  I went upstairs four steps at a time, and my heart beat as if this were my first love.

  I entered the room noiselessly. Not only was Violette fast asleep, but she had not even moved.

  However, the blankets were partly drawn back, and, as her chemise was half opened, one of her breasts was exposed to my view.