M. Debreyne - The Ribald Monk

— Dear me! exclaimed Choisy, amused, am I to be “Raped” by all the women who want to satisfy their curiosity about me?

— That is the consequence of the enigma you are setting them, my dear.

So saying, the marchioness had put on her mask again, ready to leave, but just before she adjusted her mask, Choisy managed to steal a last kiss, which was warm, tender, and lasted a long time.

– I think, after all, he said that I had better pass off as a woman-for I would then have more freedom to make love without danger.

And he thought of the stratagem he had used to deceive the vigilance of the rich merchant of Murano by disguising himself as a woman.

— Are you sure you would incur no danger? she asked, smiling, and what about the risk of men pursuing you, thinking you are a real woman?

— I can take care of that! he said, let's hope that now you know the way to my house, you will — We shall have to make an arrangement, she broke in, good bye, my dear!

And she left him, as anonymously as she had come in.

Alone, he meditated upon her last sentence. What did she mean by making an arrangement? Did she mean that she would ensure that she would have the exclusivity of his love? Yet, he felt capable of contenting both the brunette Francesca and this marchioness who was a perfect living example of the famous blonde Venetian beauties. But he would have to be cautious, for now that the marchioness knew about his affairs with Francesca, she would probably be jealous, and everything was possible in Venice, the city of intrigues.

Yes, he reflected, Venice was really living up to its reputation of the capital of love. And he felt a voluptuous contentment in realizing it.

So Choisy continued to flit about from one Venice palace to another, arousing curiosity everywhere he went, and Francesca and Flavia de Rubo congratulated themselves on having such an ingenious and untiring lover. And they were pleased about their affairs being kept secret. The rich merchant of Verano did not suspect the night revelries of his mistress, and the marquess of Rubo still thought his wife was a model of virtue, and if some gossiper had told them the truth they would not have believed him. Nor would Choisy have ever been found out but for the marchioness's sudden sexual frenzy which induced her to spy on him.

Choisy was a lucky man indeed, and he knew it, for he had two mistresses, the brunette Francesca and the blonde Flavia, which varied his fare of love. Francesca was quite an expert in love-making. Should Choisy have experienced a sexual weakness, she would have known the way to arouse. She would have put on her best perfume and her most alluring clothes, she would have wiggled her hips just a little while walking and she would have held herself erect, with her stomach drawn in and her bust thrust prominently forward, and she would have worn her most audacious decollete, or else the likewise exciting opposite consisting of a blouse buttoned primly up to her neck but setting off to perfection the voluptuous curves of her bosom, also, she knew the fine art of caresses, and not necessarily the direct ones, but also those fleeting ones that make a man want more. But she never had to resort to any of those devices to arose Choisy's desire, for he was ever ripe-ready for her whenever he visited her and whatever her sexual greed was.

Nor had Flavia any complaint about her lover. Every time she managed to escape from her palace and join Choisy at his hotel she spent with him an hour or two and behaved like a bitch in heat. She did everything to him and wanted everything done to her, and, at the end, sighing contentedly she boasted to herself that if ever Choisy wanted to deceive her he would have no means to do so, for she had emptied him of all his virility. Or so of course she thought. For in reality there was always enough left in him, and he knew ways and means of making a woman come many times and yet be sparing in his own efforts. He did not behave like a young stripling too generous with his sap, but rather like a connoisseur who knew how to enjoy keeping in his energy and giving it away at the opportune moment. And so, quite often, only an hour or so after having enjoyed an amorous hour with Flavia, Choisy went to Francesca and experienced no weakness whatever. So, thanks to his ability and cleverness, Choisy managed to make his two mistresses believe firmly that he belonged exclusively to one woman alone.

To crown this charming imposture and place a convenient red-herring across the track, Choisy paid an assiduous court to Charlotte de Ransac, so that she herself and everyone else around her believed him in lover with her. She believed that Choisy had been unsuccessful in finding a mistress to his taste, so had come back to wooing her in the hope of winning her heart one day. Such is the vanity of women. Mrs. de Ransac firmly believed she was better than all the others and her conceit made her blind to the truth. So she savoured her would-be victory and took pleasure in arousing Choisy's desire by more or less openly flirting with him, which was playing into the hands of the marchioness, thus being covered up most conveniently and sheltered from any suspicion befalling her.

As for Mr. de Ransac himself, he smiled condescendingly at his wife's encouragements to Choisy, as he thought she was only playing with him. He could never seriously entertain the idea that Choisy might ever become his wife's lover, for was not Choisy openly an accomplice of the king's brother's antics of doubtful taste. In other words, Mr. de Ransac was among those people who firmly believed Choisy to be a homosexual because of his friendship with the king's brother and his masquerading as a woman.

Choisy did not fail to notice Mrs. de Ransac's recently avowed interest in himself. And he felt proud of it. He also tried hard to avail himself of the opportunity, although he knew that she would be far from an easy prey, for Charlotte had great matrimonial loyalty. But he never gave up, for he knew that it was not in character with women in general to remain for ever faithful to one man.

His unfailing acumen soon told him that Charlotte was falling into her own trap and that, by trying to arouse Choisy's desire, she was arousing her own towards him.

— She is like a ripening fruit, he thought, let me wait for the right moment and she will fall into my hand like a ripe pear from a tree.

But did he really want her? It was to him more a point of honour than a real desire. He wanted to avenge himself on his failure to win her love when he had tried hard to do so in Paris. Indeed, he doubted that she should be such a good loving creature as Francesca or Flavia. No, she would just represent another victory. She did not look sensual. Her complexion was of a pleasant freshness but her eyes did not throw out any promising sparks that are such an unmistakable sign to connoisseurs, nor had her lips the fleshy consistency that was an open invitation to kisses, as for her way of dressing, it did not reveal any voluptuous forms that make a man want to caress. On the whole he did not expect to get out of her any pleasurable sensual experience.

But there was no doubt about it: she was no longer the indifferent woman she used to be. She appeared at times so nervous that it could only be explained by a more and more imperious sexual impulse, she was still coquettish, but not in the same way-she had ceased to be merely ironical.

One day, Mr. de Ransac was sent away on a mission in Vicenza by the ambassador. During her husband's absence, all her friends invited her in order to make her feel less alone, and Choisy regularly joined her, thus strengthening everyone's belief that he was in love with her.

One evening, Choisy was one of the first guests to leave, and Charlotte de Ransac appreciated it as a tactful gesture. She went back to her apartments later, feeling quite happy with having been invited by such attentionate friends. As she came into her house, she was surprised not to find her maid waiting for her. She went into her bedroom and started undressing by herself.