Part Three
Genealogy of immorals
I know I'm already in love with him although I
certainly know very little about the man, so I'll have to get some more
information. Summarizing: a Courvoisier, a socialite, a very distinguished
guest at prestigious parties, a sophisticated man, certainly an unhappy
man. If he is unhappy, there must be something that makes him unhappy; if
I can find his sore spot, he's mine. Proust teaches... Look up in phone
book, just for the hell of it. Find an army of 'Courvoisier' family,
Courvoisier A., de Courvoisier B., de Courvoisier C., there's at least one
for every letter of the alphabet. There is a whole group of them living in
the same building, between bd. des Capucines e bd. des Italiens. I want to
know more, I want to know about his family, what he does for a living
other than being a dandy, and other interesting things.
Bon jour, I would like to look at last year's
issues of Le Figaro, please. Second room on the right? Thank you. Yes, I'd
like to look at last year's issues of the Figaro. Yes, thank you. (Fill
out request form.) Here. Sit down and wait. Pick up magazine from small
table in between chairs, casually leaf through. Advertisements and
articles irrelevant but relaxing for the tense eye and mind. Large picture
of boat party on the Seine hits my eye, overleaf a small picture of a
couple of guests, and one of them looks a lot like Guillaume, but it's
hard to discern him from skimpy summer clothing (revealing a
well-proportioned, slightly muscular body) and ruffled hair contrasting
with a nice brown tan. The description underneath the picture spells out
all doubts: "Prince Guillaume de Courvoisier, honored guest of the
duchesse de Martinique. Cheering with baron Charles de Rochefort-Briac and
the young marquise de Montpelier." So, he is a prince, hein? All the
better, all much the better! Now that I think about it, it would have been
smarter to check the "Who's who", if I really want more
information... Madame, here's the microfilm. What? Ah, no thanks, I don't
need it anymore, I have to go now. Thanks anyway. Librarian desk clerk
obviously ticked she had to work for nothing. Stares at me reproachful as
I leave rom toward ref. dept. "Courant... Coutard... Courvoisier...
Alain, no. Antoine, no. Bertrand, no. Claude, no. Oh, here. Guillaume
(Hervé-Antoine-Marie, prince de, president des societes. Fils de ... né
le... Celibataire. ..." That is exactly what I want. Printed evidence
of nobility and wealth plus memory of virility suddenly go to my brains
and I get all excited. On the spur of the moment I am more than willing to
leave Jacques and wish he'd call as soon as I get home to tell him the
good news... No, that would be dumb; instead, I'll sleep with Guillaume
and disappear from his life forever. Or even better, I could... no, you'd
end up in the cooler. But if I... yes, oh yes, the excitement of crime
blushes my face.
Will he be at the Cascade? Back at the Grande
Cascade. A sinful purpose replenishes my heart, via expectations plus risk
impregnating my mind. Strange but strong feeling of certainty in
successful results, inexplicably sure of success. The polluting pride
happy of oncoming power, maddening happiness in positive knowledge of
forthcoming power over other lives, over other human beings, over the man
who has caused me prolonged pain and has kept me like a prisoner; over the
man we relish because we want to, because he fits our whim, because he
decorates and furnishes our ego. The fleeting moment of illusory power we
derive from achieving our set goals, instead of proving we have asserted
our will, only proves that we have been instruments of our own fate and
that of others. We often desire someone or something out of inexplicable
force, forgetting that rationalizations such as "it fits my
needs" or "it profits me" are only ways of hiding the fact,
pure and simple, that that very desire, as well as its subsequent
fulfillment, was caused by fate. It's obvious that I did not want
Guillaume, at first, because he was an aristocrat, although his apparent
wealth certainly gave me such a fancy, but it was pure fate that I should
have met him again at the party.
In the optimistic certainty of meeting him that
day I lost myself in a time that was fleeting by and stopped it for an
hour with increasing frenzy which soon turned into desperation. His
absence soon drove me restless and optimism because pessimism which in
turn generated self-reproach and self-pity. What should make me think that
he should be here right now, not spontaneously, not with a demi-mondaine.
Madeleine! I'm surprised at your naivete, you're usually more good at
this. Ashamed already for having humiliated myself in front of my
self-defeating ego (wouldn't it be possible that I'm not doing my best
because I'm afraid of Jacques? the sheep will turn into a lion),
determined not to make things worse, picked up my things and returned to
my place. But things have a way of turning out and pleasing our will, in
spite of our awkward, unconscious attempts to ruin it.
As I turn in rue de Berri, before reaching rue
Mozart, I find a green Jaguar parked in front of the large, dark apartment
building. My heart starts throbbing and popping and hopping. Cross the
threshold, where Alexia lives, hints of jealousy pin-needles inside,
Guillaume descending theatrical staircase. Green-olive pin-striped suit,
red-tie, his hair loosely flopping in the air as he descends, looking
divine. Oh hi! You, the person I was looking for. (here?) Hello to you,
monsieur. In the midst of cheers and salutations I give him the
interrogative look, which he immediately interprets right. They told me
you would be here. Well, here I am. He's definitely in a much happier mood
than last night. Going up to Alexia's? She's having a tea-party. I know, I
gave her my best just a minute ago... I was looking for you. Well... a
moment of indecision gets me in the eye and I flick, bum! Well, I better
go, I'm already late. (I would much rather skip boring party and join him
for some unpredictably sensational adventure, but that would be a bad
move, he'd think I'm easy.) He doesn't seem to rest satisfied with parting
without something else. How about dinner, later? That would be lovely.
Then I'll pick you up at six-thirty? Yes, that's really great; see you
soon! Take care.
Part Four
Tea for two
Good afternoon, Alexia! Well, what a pleasure,
Madeleine. I'm sorry to be late, but... Oh, I suppose you met your knight
down in the hall, but that's quite all right. I told you you would make up
last night. Make up? Oh, come on, don't try to fake it with me. Aren't you
going to let me in? Oh, of course, I am so sorry!! I'm such a space-case!
(yea, a real space-cadette) Come in, come in. Hi girls! Berenice and
Aglaya are sitting in the little sofa with a little dish of pastries on
their laps. Sophie is sitting in a chair with a cup of tea between her
hands and Estelle is standing by the tea-table. They are all talking
animately, but stop for one second to cheer my entrance in the salon.
Speaking of the devil! Thank you for the compliment. You know, Patricia
told me you and Gilles were... he he he, how can I say that, Sophie? Don't
ask me, I don't do certain things, at least now with princes!! They are
all giggling amused and perhaps happy for me... yes, they are too stupid
to feel any envy. But of all, Alexia is the most curious and is eager to
hear my details. Well, tell me, what do you think of Gilles? Isn't he
adorable? I don't know much about him yet, we just talked. Talk, you just
talked? We saw him five minutes ago, he was looking for you, he was in
such a hurry! Isn't it so, girls? Oh, yes! He didn't even look at us, he
was so cute! You must have really hit him on target! You were right.
So, you have nothing to talk about that you
always have to talk about me when I'm not around? That's not true, sure we
share a couple of thoughts about your latest catch, but you're not so
interesting that... What Estelle is trying to say is that we were talking
about literature. What a roundabout way of saying it, if you pardon the
expression. You wouldn't happen to know something that I don't know about
me, would you? But of course not, what a silly question. Well, then tell
me, what were you talking about when I interrupted you? Nothing, just
literature. That's nice. Alexia is pouring me a come tea in a nicely
decorated cup and hands it over to me. Thanks. This tea is simply
delicious, really superlative. What is it? Ceylon daisy. Daisy? Never
heard of that one. I swear, Alexia, you always beat me with these
novelties. I know, she really has nose, doesn't she? No big deal, Aglaya,
I just have some luck for these things. And she is smiling knowing
perfectly well it's true the contrary. Sure, call it luck! So, anyway,
what kind of literature were yo gals discussing? Giggle, giggle. Oh,
please stop it with this secret! Either tell me or shut up forever! Alexia
lifts the dish of pastries.
Have a pastry. No thanks. Oh, come on, they are
so good. You're not on diet perhaps, are you? You're so skinny! Yii yii!
She's right, try at least one of the cream puffs, you'll see. Anyway, we
were talking about libertine literature. Yum, you're right, these cream
puffs are the end of the world. Ha, you like them? Where did you find
them? Alexia, failing to hide patted ego, reveals precious source of
pastry: you know, it's that little bakery behind the Madeleine. The
Madeleine, hein? Ha ha ha! Pardonnez-moi, Aglaya, go on. Thank you. Sophie
maintains that Laclos is more realistic and entertaining because he
doesn't repeat himself. More than whom? Well, Sade. I maintain, instead,
that Sade is far better, because he attempts to prove a philosophy which
would work, if only everybody thought like him. You could say the same
thing about Hitler, you know? At this remark Estelle's Jewish soul withers
with horror. Personally hate made unconfortable, but can't apologize in
middle of argument. So, what you're saying is that good philosophy is a
valid excuse for poor literature? No, I didn't say that. I'm saying that
he's much more political than Laclos. Laclos is only trying to entertain
but in his novel, although several of the themes are also present in Sade,
yet he does not shock us or offend us. Well, excu-u-use me! What if I
don't like to be offended? Whereas Sade, by shocking our traditional
values, goes farther and offers a remedy to the void that he has created
in us. And you call that a remedy? Sex? Sophie and I look at each other in
surprised amusement. I think you're giving the guy more credit than he
deserves. Not at all, speaks assertively Estelle, forgetting horrors just
reevoked. I agree with her for the political part of the story; she is
right to the extent that he's political, and a radical political too, but
I refute her interpretation of his offering a new system of values.
He does not want to give us any set of values. He
simply believes that values, just like laws, are created only to keep the
weak man down, the masses, to keep them subjugated. Sade does not try to
revolutionize the system, he likes the system, don't forget he is an
aristocrat. He knows that revolutions always end up instantiating another
system of laws, equivalent to the old one, and therefore these laws are as
false as the ones it tries to replace. You wouldn't call him Nietzschean,
would you? Why not? Only he differs from Nietzsche in that he's not
preoccupied with understanding the present system. All he does is show us
that it doesn't work. Would he say the same thing today, you think? The
point is mute. He does not live today. Maybe some of our young
aristocrats, or few, perhaps, today are adopting his system, perhaps they
are putting in practice his theories on love, and we don't even know who
they are! Well, if you are right and they exist, they wouldn't have the
courage to reclamize them to us, who would want to date them? Oh, don't be
so sure about that; I think there are plenty of women who would be more
than happy to... But that is absolutely awful! Do you think they exist,
these young Sadians? I'm pretty sure they do, and you? I don't deny it,
but even if this were so? As long as they don't try any of their fancy
stuff with me... Yeah, what about if one of these young Sadian bades
seduces you and forces you to do certain "things" or else...?
I'd be happy to oblige. Madeleine! You don't mean that! You don't know
what you're talking about! Oh, sure, it's all fine and dandy with you
gals, as long as they don't touch your pretty shapes, right? You all seem
to have forgotten one thing about Sade: he vindicates the right to
pleasure, to aesthetics, to beauty at all costs. Trapped as you are in
your bourgeois discourses, immersed as you are in all your pseudo-liberal
judgments of Sade, you have forgotten the real message, didn't you? What
message? The message of being maimed? No thanks, I can do without it. I
see, you have forgotten indeed. But there is one, at the core of your
so-called "philosophy": the search for the beautiful above all,
even at the cost of death. Ah no, this I cannot accept, not even from you,
Madeleine! It's so horrible! Madeleine, I'm surprised at you! Jacques
managed to pervert your mind! What's the matter, girls? Did your
emancipation and liberation leave you all of a sudden? I see, excuse me,
but it seems to me that equal rights means you have the right to deny
yourself (and deny yourself pleasure) to others. Why is this? Is it
because in giving pleasure to others you have discovered that you are
deriving pleasure yourself? And perhaps, to admit of this, for you
signifies you are back into the slavery stage, you are mere
pleasure-workers, is this what bothers you? Why deny it? What gives you
the right to pick and choose the moment and the man? Do you think they do?
Is it maybe that for the very reason that a man wants pleasure from you
without asking, that precludes a priori your enjoyment?
They are all shocked by my words, and stare at me
with a mixture of surprise and horror and don't have the faintest idea of
how to deal with me now. I feel like laughing, but realize they are less
fortunate than me in their experience with love/sex. Sophie finally
resumes the word. How can you say, how can you believe all that, after all
the things you have suffered with Jacques? That doesn't change anything,
Jacques is a different problem. Poor Madeleine! Don't you realize you are
defending rape, you are defending crime? And what if I do? Crime can be
very exciting. Aglaya, who's been silent so far, with some irritation
finally concludes: It's obvious that you've never been raped, you don't
know what you're talking about. Temptation of laughing becomes concrete.
Wrong again. (Compassionate, condoning expressions dutifully worn by my
honorable friends. Will Guillaume be my Sade? Query as exciting as
fantastic.) Aglaya is struck by a guilt-attack. I'm sorry, I didn't know.
How long ago? Why, does it matter? Would you like to share it with us?
Like? Excuse me, I thought I wasn't supposed to like. You don't have to
talk about it, if you don't want to. I can see you're still bitter about
it. (Oh, how bourgeois!)
All right, since you're so eager to hear a horror
story... I was 12 and he was gorgeous, my father's boss. (I can see they
are getting edgy and excited about my seamy story, let's make them happy!)
My father and I went on a cruise, it was one of those trips organized by
the corporation. Of course, all of his colleagues were there, and
naturally his boss. And your mother? She had already passed away. Oh, I'm
sorry... Don't be, she was sick as a dog, it was best for her. Anyway, one
afternoon, while most of the people on the ship were on deck playing
social games, I was resting alone in my cabin, reading a book, leisurely
bored with life. I heard knocking at the door, I opened and there he was!
He got in easily, I was so surprised I could hardly offer any resistance,
and besides, I had such a crush on him, I wouldn't have lost the
opportunity he was offering me. He closed the door behind and started
making love to me. I was surprised, paralyzed, I had no idea of how to
react. I only had a vague idea of what he was doing. I thought it was
sinful, and disgusting; plus he was married; I was not prepared to be
cooperative, but I could not resist and was too ashamed to admit I was
actually enjoying myself so that I didn't. Then, later on, when my father
came back, I surprised myself, had no difficulty hiding everything. I was
afraid he might get angry, and perhaps I was also trying to protect him,
Giulio. The excitement of the secret was stronger than the shame, and that
made me act as what I thought would be the most inveterate of sinners. At
dinner, everything went smooth, as if nothing had ever happened. Well, I
thought everything was over. He was very loving and affectionate with his
wife and never once he looked at me. But inside me I remembered those
caresses and loving ways had been for me. I had the first idea of what it
meant to be a mistress, swallow pride and jealousy and preserve dear in
your heart the forbidden secret. Madeleine, it does not really should like
a rape. (Well, what do you expect from improvisation?) I wish I had been
raped like that! I disagree, look! he took advantage of her, too young to
realize what was going on, and besides, he was her father's boss; oh what
a pig! Would you please stop talking about me as if I weren't here? I'm
sorry, you'll have to forgive her, she's such a virgin, aren't you,
Aglaya? Can I go on, now? There is more to it? Of course. Please, tell us
everything. Next day, more or less same thing happened. We were all on the
beach, but, as soon as everybody went to the boat, I found myself alone
with him again. This time, I actually tried to rebel, but he was too
strong for me. Then, the third time it happened, he told me that if I kept
being kind to him and silent about it, he would reward me. I can't believe
my father didn't suspect a thing, but he certainly did not try to stop it
either. When we came back from the cruise, my father got a lofty
promotion. I got a pearl necklace. That's the part I enjoyed the most. So,
you're right, it wasn't very traumatic, I still feel kind of grateful to
him. There's a lesson for you all. Don't you realize he perverted your
young mind? He's responsible for these horrible views on sex you have now.
Look straight in Aglaya's eyes. Sorry, I meant... (no, she doesn't know
what she meant.) Well, sorry girls, but I think I better go now, I've
bored you enough with my stupid experiences. Oh, not at all, but I must go
now too. What's the matter? You are not going to desert me already, are
you? It's still early. I'm sorry, Lavinia, but I do have a lot of things
to do. Oh god, it's already ten past six, I'm late! Next time, Lavinia.
Good night, good night, it was a splendid little chat we had. Bye. Return
to rue Mozart, lift to my flat, promises promises.
Part Five
Consummation
6:30 Hi. Where are we going tonight? Veuleauvent
(i.e., puff-pastry). Oh, that's a nice place, I think. (My
understatement--Guillaume was evidently working on making the isle du bois
"our islet".) Would he know about Jacques? Would he know I'm
risking my own skin for this "pleasure"? I don't want him to
know, I don't want him to be in a position in which he could show his
cowardice, because nobody can face Jacques without fear. And I, even I can
stand Jacques, I fear but I stick to my position, Jacques is not going to
run my life. I want this man, this man is my door to grandeur, to
prestige, that prestige I lost so long ago...maybe even to marriage...
Princesse Madeleine de Courvoisier, has a certain ring to it. My companion
has not lost his good mood, and is quite talkative at the table, eating
little bites of duck, surrounded by so many other elegant and
sophisticated people, all seem to be cheerful, all so colorful and pretty.
I would ask you to come up, but last time you
were not nice, you were in such a hurry...! I'm sorry, my dove, I should
know better. I assure you it is not like me to be rude. It must have been
my presence, then. On the contrary, your presence soothed my mood
considerably, preventing it to grow violent. You, violent? Feel arousal
rising up my guts, like a viscous magma filling up my whole self, somehow
the idea of violence in him seems quite desirable. He's standing in front
of me in the hall of my building. I look at him with all the sweetness and
appeal I'm capable of showing, gently caress his cheek, draw him closer.
He looks at me intently, slowly approaches my lips, his breath enveloping
my skin, we kiss. This first preliminary voluptuous kiss is immediately
followed by an even more daring, even more voluptuous and sinful one. He
has trapped my body against the entrance wall. We are merging into each
other's arms. His hands run all over my clothes, pulping, testing,
verifying the merchandise. My hands tremblingly hold his head, intertwine
to massage his neck and fondle his light hair. Upstairs, let's go
upstairs.
We don't interrupt our petting and kissing even
in the elevator, raving desire, burning whispers. His ardor flatters me,
his ways seduce me, his presence loves me. We slide inside, slipping
through the door. Fire his perversion reveals itself haunting the walls of
Jacques' apartment, my alcove, in the sheets, where we wrestle desperately
searching for pleasure, lost in a labyrinth of feverish lust. We are back
in the forest, sinking in bushes entangled in branches, moaning and
screaming and intoxicating ourselves with mad gluttony of the flesh.
Satiated we lay on the sheets damp with humors and sweat. I'm still glued
to his hairless chest, save for a few reddish blond hairs sprinkled around
his nibbles and around his penis. His lean muscular body is so beautiful,
so noble, I cannot get enough of it. I purr by his side, breathing words
of submission. His arm around my neck and shoulders protectively speaks of
affection. "I love you" Three little innocent words but
magically repeated in a chorus of anything but platonic relation, they
arise at symbol of that profound, more physical rapture which ties
together. Many times repeated, every time as if it were the first, as if
the meaning of them were completely different, but what else to call it?
The young hours of the night were sleepless spent journey through the
exploration of our differences, the search for our similarities. Very few
words exchanged, strong physical language told the complete story, the
desperate urge of our approaches as if they were the last human contact
before death.
Never tired, never exhausted we pursued our
impossible union, that ideal desire that two souls immersed into physical
bond in vain pursuit, for the physical union is utopia. Never enough,
never never... red dawn light bleeding through the white curtains,
striking the devilish eyes of evil portrait, sneering at our sin, silent
witness of my disobedience to Jacques, light hitting Guillaume's hair,
hitting his naked white body. Again? I want more, more. But more than
this, one cannot ask. For us, for him, for me, society, time, life had
come to a stop. Only reality was our two bodies, madly exploring things as
yet unexplored, trying experiments yet untried, never realizing night and
day were alternating with excruciating velocity. Another dawn, another
sunset, then dawn again, then sunset. You can't stay here for too long,
you must go now. Why? Please! Tears already coming to my eyes, in vain I
was trying to retain them, to cover them with my hands in vain. His
pitiful hand caressing my wet cheek, his eyes merging with mine to
understand, to uncover what secret I was failing to conceal. What is the
matter? Why can't I stay? You can't, don't make me say why. He understood,
he read it in my soul, and he offered a remedy, which I refused at first,
but when he brushed off those few scruples that Jacques had left intact in
me, I gave up, I agreed, I enthusiastically agreed.
At dawn he finally left. I had been right and
wrong at the same time. His pleasantly surprising perversion confirmed
earlier suspicions, but did only increase the whimsical desire he stirred
up. A mysterious transcendental strangle had bound us together. Another
call from Jacques, recently fallen into oblivion. Hello pussy! I'm coming
home tomorrow. That is great, honey, I'm looking forward to seeing you
again. Manage to conceal true state of mind, hope on the horizon
electrifying. I'm glad to hear you're in a much better mood today, happy
to hear you will welcome me back properly. And then you're coming to Italy
with me, you'll see me race at Monza, you should like that, hein, pussy?
(And, of course, watch him getting "introduced" to sexy Italian
girls.) It's wonderful, Jacques, I'm happy you're back. "Hang up and
run to me!" That is good, I like that. Anything new with you,
anything I should know? No, not really... Well, then, I'll see you
tomorrow. OK, my love, can't wait. Bye.
(2 - continued)
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