The Romance of Violette

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!