The Romance of Violette

by Alexandre Dumas

  “Yes; but you said also you were willing to learn. Well, I will teach you.”

  I saw them pass before me in a state of perfect nudity.

  The Countess carried Violette to the bed and laid her across it, knelt on the black bearskin, parted her thighs and gazed longingly on that charming sanctuary of love; then suddenly, with nostrils dilated, her lips curled up, and with teeth like those of a panther eager for its prey, she pressed her lips to it.

  This mode of caressing is generally a cause of triumph for a woman who seeks to defeat a male rival. She must, by dint of skill and agility, leave no cause for regret to the mistress with whom she plays a part which is not natural to her.

  It seems that, when promising rapturous pleasures to Violette, the Countess had not made an empty boast. I felt rather jealous when I saw my dear little mistress roll about, writhe and pant, and almost faint under the greedy mouth which seemed to wish to inhale even her very soul.

  It is true that, for a painter, the sight was most interesting and amply compensated me for the little fit of jealousy to which I humbly confess I gave way.

  The Countess on her knees, and well settled on her heels, followed with her body, all the movements of Violette's body and her beauteous form writhed about so that I could have sworn she lost nothing in being the active instrument, and that perhaps she even gained something by it.

  At last both performers exhausted by their efforts, were fain to lie side by side and take a rest.

  “Ah!” murmured the Countess, “you must repay part of your debt to me.” And with these words she drew Violette close to her, took her hand, and placed it on that tawny part of her person which formed such a contrast to her blonde hair and black eyebrows.

  But Violette had her instructions and acted up to them marvellously. No doubt the Countess had occasion to find fault with her, for I heard her whisper: “That is not the right spot, your finger is too high… There, there; now it is too low. Do you not feel something there?

  Well that is where you must act. It is this tickling which brings pleasure. Ah! you are doing it on purpose, you naughty little thing!”

  “I assure you I am not,” replied Violette. “I am doing my best to please you.”

  “When you have hit the right place why do you withdraw your finger? There you are at it again!”

  “My finger slips.”

  “Oh! You have set me all afire, and you do nothing to extinguish the flames!”

  “Listen, my handsome lover,” said Violette, “let us try something else.”

  “What?”

  “Lie down on the bed with your head towards the mirror, and I will caress you with my mouth.

  “I will do all you wish.”

  The Countess lay at full length, with eyes to the ceiling, her thighs well parted and her body curved by the rotundity of the bed.

  This was the moment agreed upon, and I crawled out of the dressing room.

  “Am I in a convenient posture?” inquired Odette, with a final motion of her back.

  “Yes, I think you are,” replied Violette.

  “There now; you can begin.”

  I followed to the letter the instructions that were given to my little friend.

  “Is that the right place?” asked Violette.

  “Yes. And now… your mouth… And mind, if you do not give me pleasure, I shall strangle you.”

  I applied my mouth to the spot and had no trouble in finding the thing which Violette pretended not to have found. It was all the easier, because I noticed that in the case of the Countess it was longer than usual. It seemed to be the nipple of a. virgin's breast excited by a lover's lips. I seized it in my mouth, and rolled it gently between my lips.

  The Countess heaved a voluptuous sigh.

  “Oh!” said she, “that is just the thing; and I think that if you keep on like that… I think… I think you will no longer be in my debt.”

  I went on as she bid Violette, but drew the latter to me and pointed out to her the part she was to take in the trio.

  But with me Violette was not clumsy as with Odette. Divining the thousand caprices of love's pleasures, she placed her mouth where I had put her hand, and I found that she was doing to me the very counterpart of what I did to the Countess, save that there was a difference in the shape of the objects performed upon.

  The Countess seemed to experience the most voluptuous pleasures.

  “Oh! really,” said she, “it is just as I like it. Ah! you little story teller, you said I must teach you; but you are too clever… not so fast!… I wish it lasted forever… forever! Oh! your tongue…”

  Had I been able to speak I would have paid just the same compliments to Violette. The passionate child had certainly the instinct of all the artifices of love.

  I own I derived considerable pleasure from the caresses which I lavished upon the Countess. Never had I pressed my lips upon a sweeter peach. In this woman of twenty-eight all was firm and youthful as in a girl of sixteen. It was easy to perceive that the brutality of man had exercised itself there only to open a way for more delicate caresses.

  The Countess gave expression to her wonder and admiration.

  “Oh!” said she, “how strange, I never had such pleasure before. Oh! I will not let you go on unless you promise to commence again. The impression of your lips and your tongue is so sweet; I cannot keep it back any longer! It is coming! I feel it! I feel it! No! It cannot be Violette who gives me so much pleasure; it is impossible!”

  Violette did not at all feel inclined to reply.

  “Violette, tell me, is it you! Oh, no! That is impossible. You are too clever for a woman. A woman could never do this!”

  The Countess tried to raise herself up, but with my hands firmly pressed to her breasts I kept her down. Besides the supreme sensation was nigh; I was quite aware of that. So I redoubted my efforts, and my moustache began to play its part in the tickling. The Countess writhed and almost shrieked; then I felt the climax had come; my lips gave the finishing touch, and the amorous spasm shook the whole frame of the Countess.

  My excitement had also reached the highest pitch, and I gave way to it at the very same moment.

  Violette was lying half dead at my feet.

  I had not sufficient strength left to prevent the Countess from rising from the bed.

  At a single glance she realized how matters stood, and, springing up, she cried out with anger.

  “Well, dear Violette,” said I, “I have done my best to quarrel with the Countess. You must now be the peacemaker.”

  Thereupon I retreated to the dressing room.

  Then a stormy scene took place. I heard cries, reproaches, and finally sighs, and I looked out, and saw Violette who had taken my place near the Countess, doing her best to make my peace with her.

  “Ah!” said the Countess, when Violette had concluded her speech. “I must say that this is good; but just now it was exquisite!”

  And she gave me her hand. So we were friends again.

  CHAPTER VII

  In the agreement drawn up between the belligerents it was enacted:

  First, that Violette should remain my sole property.

  Second, that I should lend her occasionally to the Countess, but always in my presence.

  Thirdly, that I should play with the Countess the part of a woman just as much as I pleased, but never that of a man.

  The agreement was drawn up in triple copies and duly signed by the contracting parties. A clause was added by which it was agreed that in case Violette and the Countess failed to fulfil any of the conditions of the said agreement, I should thereby be entitled for a space of time not exceeding the duration of their crim con., to rights on the Countess similar to those I enjoyed over Violette.

  Violette feared at first that my love for her would be diminished in consequence of the kind of association agreed upon. I might have entertained a similar fear, but this new mode of life, far from having the expected result, only fanned the fire of our love into
fiercer flames by enhancing its pleasures.

  As we strictly adhered to the various clauses of our agreement, there could be no jealousy on either side.

  But such was not the case with the Countess. Every time I acted the part of a lover with Violette, the young girl was compelled to transmit my caresses, in another form to the Countess.

  As I had not bound myself with respect to the Countess, in the same way that she was bound to me-that is, that she was never to touch Violette except in my presence-I could enjoy my dear little mistress as often as I liked, and I never found my happiness incomplete because of the absence of the Countess. I must own that, as an artist, I derived much benefit from this mode of living. Often, in the midst of our passionate embraces, I would jump off the bed, seize my album and pencil, and, far from seeking to impede the fiery ardour of my two models, I excited it to the utmost, so as to produce lascivious and novel combinations which exhibited their beauteous forms in new and delightful outlines.

  But all this did not make me forget Violette's plans for the future, and her natural bent for a theatrical career.

  I made her learn Racine's Iphigenie, Moliere's La Fausse Agnes, and Hugo's Marion Delorme, and I perceived that she had great talent for acting light comedy.

  The countess had been educated at the Convent des Oiseaux, and had there frequently taken a part in various comedies at holiday times, as is customary at ladies' educational establishments. Her tall figure and almost masculine voice allowed her to impart to her stage play and delivery a certain masterly colour.

  So I derived much pleasure from seeing them act together, when, draped in the real Greek robes which leave certain parts of the body in a nude state, they gave themselves up to the sweet and yet powerful accents of passion which distinguish Racine's masterpiece.

  When I had made sure of her inborn vocation, and taken the advice of one of my friends, a well-known playwright, I asked him for a letter of recommendation to a certain professor of the dramatic art.

  He gave it to me with a smile, saying that I should warn Violette of the amorous disposition of M.X.

  I took Violette to M.X. and handed the letter to him. We made her act three different parts in succession, and this gentleman came also to the conclusion that she was most fitted for light comedy.

  He gave her the part of Cherubin to learn. Everything went well for the first three weeks, but after, Violette one evening threw herself on my neck, and shaking her head, said to me:

  “Christian, I cannot go any more to M.X.”

  I asked her the reason.

  My friend's suppositions had been realized. During the first four or five lessons the master showed his pupils nothing but truly brotherly regard, but once, under pretence of teaching her how to match the stage play with the delivery, he put his hands upon her person and took liberties with her. Violette was obliged to shrink from his touch, which looked more like that of a lover than that of a teacher.

  Violette settled with him for the price of her lessons, and never returned to his place.

  It thus became necessary to provide her with another professor.

  The new one acted very nearly in the same manner as the first.

  One day, at the hour appointed for the lesson, she did not find him in his study, but saw on his desk an open book instead of the Moliere which usually served for her part.

  It was an obscene book with engravings to match the text. Instinctively she glanced at it. The title was Philosophic Therese.

  This title did not enlighten her, but the first engraving she came upon was unmistakable.

  This book might have been left there by chance. Violette declared such was not the case, and that she would not go to that professor again.

  Violette was as passionate as could be, but she did not like indecencies. During the three years she lived with me, we went through the entire scale of Love's ardent caresses, but never did a coarse word issue from her lips.

  We settled accounts with this new professor, and then began pondering as to the means of protecting her against such attempts.

  I hit upon the plan of procuring for her a lady teacher. I sought the advice of one of my friends, a celebrated actress. She was intimate with a very clever young lady who had achieved success at the Odeon and Porte Saint Martin. Her name was Florence. Unfortunately this was falling out of the frying pan into the fire, as Florence had the reputation of being one of the most active tribades in Paris.

  She never would be married and never had a lover, as far as people knew.

  The Countess, Violette and myself held a council. I did not wish to widen the circle of my acquaintances, being fully aware of the drawbacks of a life shared in a thousand ways. Nevertheless I was bent upon developing to its full extent the artistic talent of my dear little mistress.

  I pondered a while, and had a conversation with the Countess. I perceived, from the expression of her bright eyes, that the subject of our discussion moved her strongly. Thereupon I quickly persuaded her to introduce herself to the great actress as an admirer of her talents, and to represent Violette as a young girl in whom she took the utmost interest, but at the same time to show a tinge of jealousy sufficiently marked to render Florence cautious. At the very time the actress had just created a part in which she was enabled to give expression to the peculiar passion which she had received from nature. The Countess, who felt much inclination for the part she was about to undertake, took a monthly subscription for a private box in Florence's theatre.

  The Countess had assumed masculine garb. She went to her box and raising the green screen, remained visible only to the actress.

  It goes without saying that she was exquisite in her fancy dress, consisting of a black velvet frock coat lined with satin, pale green trousers, a buff waistcoat and cherry coloured necktie. Small black moustaches, which matched the eyebrows, aided in making her pass for a young dandy of eighteen.

  An expensive bouquet, from the most fashionable florist, lay on a chair near her, and at a convenient moment she threw it at Florence's feet.

  An actress to whom bouquets worth thirty or forty francs are thrown four night in succession cannot fail to condescend to glance at the box whence they came.

  Florence did glance and saw in the box a charming youth who looked like a collegian. She thought him handsome and amusing and said to herself, “What a pity he is not a woman!”

  The next night and following nights the same enthusiasm was displayed by the young man, and the same regret secretly expressed by the actress.

  On the fifth night a note was affixed to the bouquet.

  Florence saw it but her indifference for our sex caused her to lay it aside. When at home she suddenly thought of it.

  She had just partaken of a rather cheerless supper, and was dreaming by the fireplace. She called her maid.

  “Mariette,” said she, “there was a note in tonight's bouquet. Give it to me.”

  Mariette brought it in on a china dish.

  Florence opened and perused it. At the first line she felt much interested. It was penned in this style:

  “Indeed, charming Florence, it is with brow flushed with shame that I write to you, but expect that I shall add, like a madman. Have compassion on me, for I am obliged to confess that I am not what I appear to be, and I must add, I love you like a madwoman!”

  “Now rail at me! despise me; spurn me away-all will be sweet to me, even insults, coming from you!

  ODETTE.”

  At the words “I love you like a madwoman” Florence uttered a cry.

  Then, as she had no secrets from her maid:

  “Mariette! Mariette!” she cried, quite elated. “It is a woman!”

  “I suspected as much,” replied the maid.

  “You foolish, girl, why did you not tell me?”

  “I was afraid of being mistaken.”

  “Ah!” murmured Florence, “how pretty she must be!”

  Then after a pause of a few seconds, she asked in a languid voice:
/>
  “Where are the bouquets?”

  “Madame knows well that, thinking they came from a man, she ordered them thrown away.”

  “But tonight's bouquet.”

  “It is still here.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Mariette handed it to her.

  Florence took it and looked at it with a pleased smile.

  “Do you not think it splendid?”

  “Not more so than the others.”

  “Do you not think so?”

  “Madame has not even looked at them.”

  “Ah!” said Florence, laughing. “I shall not be so ungrateful in the case of this one. Help me to undress, Mariette.”

  “Madame will not keep it in her room, I hope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there is a magnolia, some lilac and other strongly scented flowers, which may give you a headache.”

  “There is no danger of that.”

  “I beseech Madame to let me take the bouquet away.”

  “No such thing.” f Madame wishes to be asphyxiated, she is free to do so, of course.”

  “If one could be asphyxiated with flowers, don't you think it would be better to die thus at once, instead of lingering on for three or four years with consumption, as my fate will probably be?”

  Florence had a short fit of dry cough.

  “Should Madame die in three or four years,” said Mariette, whilst undressing her mistress, “it will be because Madame wished it.”

  “How do you make that out?”

  “I heard what the doctor said to madame yesterday.”

  “What! You heard it?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then you were listening!”

  “No. I was in the dressing room… One hears sometimes without trying to.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “He said it would be better for you to have three or four lovers than to do what you do when you are alone!”

  Florence pouted as if in disgust.

  “I do not like men!” said she, inhaling the perfume of the bouquet.

  “Will madame sit down while I pull off her stockings?” asked Mariette.