Alfred de Musset - Passion's evil

Midnight sounded, and the salons of the Comtesse Gamiani still shone in a flood of light. The rounds and quadrilles continued animatedly, to the intoxicating sounds of the orchestra. The toilettes were marvelous, the jewels sparkled.

Gracious, assiduous, the mistress of the ban seemed to enjoy the success of her carefully planned fete, announced at great expense. She was observed to smile agreeably to, all the flattering words, to the customary phrases that each one prodigally used in payment for his presence.

Withdrawn in my habitual role of observer, I had already made more. than one remark which dispensed with my conversation to the Comtesse Gamiani the merit she was supposed to posses. I had quickly judged her, as it woman of the world, but it still remained for me to dissect her moral being, to carry the scalpel into the regions of her heart; and I know not what strange and unknown emotion withheld and stopped me in my examination. I felt an infinite pain to analyze the back, ground of this woman's existence, whose conduct nothing explained. Still young, and with an immense fortune, pretty in the eyes of a great number, this woman without relatives, without intimates, was in some way individually in the world. Alone, she spent an existence capable in all appearance of supporting more than one sharer.

Many a tongue had criticized, ending always by slandering, but, in the absence of proof, the Comtesse remained impenetrable.

Some applauded her as a Fedora, a woman without a heart, without temperament; others supposed her a spirit profoundly wounded, and who would in the future avoid crud deceptions.

Desiring to resolve my doubts, I placed under contribution all the resources of my logic, but all was in vain, I never arrived at a satisfactory conclusion.

I was about to quit the subject in despite, when, behind me, an old libertine raised his voice in an exclamation:

“Bah! she is a tribade.”

The word was like a flash of lightning, all fit together and was explained, there was no longer a possible contradiction.

A tribade! The word rings in the ears in a strange manner. Then it raises in you I know not what strange images of unknown voluptuosity, lascivious to excess. “Tis a luxurious rage, an infuriated lubricity, a horrible pleasure which remains forever unachieved.

Vainly I tried to put these ideas aside, by instants they moved my imagination to debauch. Already I saw the Comtesse nude, in the arms of another woman, with hair unbound, panting, broken, and still tormented by an aborted pleasure. My blood was on fire, my senses confused and I fell on a sofa like one in a faint.

Overcoming my emotions I calculated coldly what I must do to surprise the Comtesse; that I must do at any price. I decided to watch her during the night, and for that purpose to hide myself in her bedchamber.

The glass door of a clothes closet faced the bed. I perceived the advantage of that position and, screening myself with some of the costumes hanging there, I resigned myself to await the hour of the Sabbath.

I was hardly hidden when the Comtesse appeared, calling her maid, a young girl of a brown tint and striking figure.

“Julie, I will do without you this evening. Go to bed.”

“Ah! if you hear sounds in my chamber, do not disturb yourself. I wish to be alone.” These words almost presaged a drama. I applauded my own audacity.

Little by little the voices from the salon died out; the Comtesse remained alone with one of her friends, Mlle. Fanny B. Both were soon in the chamber, and before my eyes.

FANNY:

“What terrible weather! The rain is falling in torrents, and not a carriage.”

GAMIANI:

“I am as desolate as you, but unfortunately my carriage is at the repair shop.”

FANNY:

“My mother will be worried.”

GAMIANI:

“Have no fear, my dear Fanny, your mother is informed, she knows that you will pass the night with me. I offer you my hospitality.”

FANNY:

“In truth, you are too good. I will only cause you trouble.”

GAMIANI:

“Say rather a real pleasure. It will be an adventure to divert me. I would not send you to sleep alone in another chamber, we will remain together.”

FANNY:

“Why? I will only keep you from sleeping.”

GAMIANI:

“You stand too much on ceremony. See, we will be like two young friends at boarding school.” A sweet kiss reinforced this tender effusion.

GAMIANI:

“I will help with your undressing. My maid has retired, but we can do without her. Happy girl, how you are built, I admire your figure.”

FANNY:

“You find it good?”

GAMIANI:

“Ravishing!”

FANNY:

“You flatter me.”

GAMIANI:

“Oh! marvelous! It is enough to make one jealous. What whiteness!”

FANNY:

“As for that, I am no better than you. Frankly, you are whiter than I.”

GAMIANI:

“Don't think it, child. Take off everything like me. What! Embarrassed? One would think that I was a man. . There, look in that glass. . Paris would have thrown you the apple, you rogue! She smiles to see herself so fair. You well deserve a kiss on your forehead, your cheek, your lips. You are belle throughout, everywhere.”

The Comtesse's lips passed lasciviously, ardently over the girl's body. Surprised and trembling, Fanny submitted without understanding. They were a delicious couple, gull of grace, of lust and lascivious abandon and fearful modesty; One would have said it was an angel, a virgin, in the arms of a bacchante in furor.

What beauties placed before my sight, what a spectacle to arouse my senses!

FANNY:

“Oh! what are you doing! Stop. Madame, I beg you.”

GAMIANI:

“No! no!. . my Fanny, my child, my life, my joy! You see you are too beautiful! Oh! I love you! I love you!. . I am crazy!”

In vain the child struggled, her cries were smothered with kisses. Pressed and enlaced, her struggles were useless. The Comtesse carried her to the bed in her ardent embrace and threw her there like prey ready to be devoured.

FANNY:

“What are you doing? O God! Madame, but this is awful! I will call out! Let me alone, you make me afraid.”

And only kisses, more ardent, more animated, responded to her cries. With arms still more tightly enlaced, the two bodies formed but one.

GAMIANI:

“Fanny, be mine, all mine! Come, be my life! Tiens! It is pleasant! How you tremble, child! Ah! you yield!”

FANNY:

“You hurt, you hurt me! You are killing me! Ah! I am dying!”

GAMIANI:

“Yes, embrace me, my little one, my love! Press me closer. How beautiful you are all your pleasure Lascivious! you spend, you are happy! Oh God!”

Then passed a strange spectacle. The Comtesse, her eyes aflame, hair unbound, rolled and twisted on her victim, whose senses became active in their turn. Both renewed their bounds, their elans, smothering their sighs and cries with fiery kisses.

The bed creaked beneath the furious lunges of the Comtesse.

But soon, exhausted, broken, Fanny relaxed her arms. Pale, she remained immobile, like a fair corpse. The Comtesse became delirious. The pleasure killed her but did not satisfy. Furious, quivering, she leaped to the center of the chamber, where, rolling on the carpet, she excited herself by lascivious poses, crazily lubricious, provoking with her fingers all the excesses of pleasure.