Alexandre Dumas - The Romance of Violette

At this moment Fanny was seventeen and papa got his wife to imagine that it was she herself who had decided that their daughter needed no governess. She could go out with her music-mistress now and again; with lady friends or her mamma; by herself in the motor-car, or in a taxi, but never on foot-and after all was he not there to take her out with him, if she got dull, now and again? Mrs. Sandcross, as usual, was pleased to find her paragon of a husband good enough to trouble himself about his daughter, until she got married. Mr. Sandcross frowned as he heard the last word, curtly saying he would see all about that in good time, and leaving his better half, he took Fanny out to a music-hall where a very smutty revue was being played. The actresses wore no shoulder-straps to their low-necked costumes, and he liked to see his daughter blush, when the brazen hussies showed the slobbering stallites the black bouquets of their armpits.

It was not the first time by far that the father and daughter had gone to spend the evening at a place of entertainment, but Sandcross had never experienced the sharp pangs of lustful yearning that thrilled him on this occasion. He had indulged in extra wine at dinner at home, and towards the end of the repast had called for a bottle of champagne to be uncorked, of which Fanny had partaken.

In the carriage her sapphire orbs were sparkling with rays of light. She felt jolly and told her father so. He replied by placing his arm round her waist and kissing her cheek. She was not surprised; he often did so. But she did think he was really too affectionate that evening, for he kept his arm behind her all the way to the music-hall, and his face was near her shoulder. He eagerly inhaled the natural, sweet fragrance arising from her full frame, and regretted that the scent which she used so liberally half effaced the true perfume of womankind. Sandcross made remarks on his daughter's dress, criticising the fit of the corsage, enabling him to pass his feverish trembling ringers over her proudly swelling breasts, until she pushed his hand away with a laugh, telling her pa how ticklish she was. It must not be thought that she had the slightest lascivious feelings while her papa tried to tousle her as much as he dared, not wishing to disarrange her toilette in the cramped carriage, for despite all her enlightenment, or perhaps because of her comprehension of sensual secrets, she had as yet never experienced the slightest thrill of melting consciousness in the innermost recesses of her temple of love.

She only thought her father was quite too awfully tender-hearted when he had enjoyed a good dinner and an extra glass of wine.

All the evening, in the private box, papa sat close behind her. She felt his hot breath on her neck and ears; and his knees pressed into her hard buttocks as they fully covered the seat of her chair. At every obscene joke, his elbow nudged her, or he touched her arm. She smiled at him archly, but would quickly open her fan, or take up her glasses with a vacant air of infantile wonderment.

She was greatly admired, and Sandcross revelled in the atmosphere of admiration environing his offspring. Between the acts, men in faultless evening dress came and stood in front of the box, twisting their moustaches, shooting out their cuffs, and trying to ogle her, some timidly, others with bold, offensive effrontery. Then she was full of joy, as she felt coming towards her the ardent desire of these libidinous men about town. They all wanted her; she knew it and felt it, her pretty little nostrils fluttering as she inhaled the invisible incense of their exasperated manhood. She knew too that they had no thought of pure affection, or devotion in the state of matrimony. Fanny was aware that their eyes were undressing her and the idea that they all longed to see her naked and wanted to get into bed with her to accomplish that mysterious penetration which it appeared was so delightful, made her heart beat with a sensation of great rapture, as she coolly noted the combined effects of her beauty, tasteful dress, and fine eyes. Other feelings, deeper and more intoxicating, would doubtless come soon, once Pygmalion should appear to animate the organs of her sex with the sacred spark of pleasure, but at present all was dormant in her grotto of Venus.

In the motor-car, papa was still more pressing. He talked of the actresses on the stage, of the be-jewelled harlots in the auditorium, and compared their charms with those of his daughter. The leading lady in the obscene play they had just witnessed was not so well made as my darling, Mr. Sandcross remarked. She was too fat here, and not well pulled in there; while as for her thighs, they were as thick almost at the knee as up here, and at every “here” and “there", his hands pinched, pressed and patted the corresponding parts of his own girl's body, but she only languidly pushed his encroaching fingers away with a gesture of impatience.

They had a supper at a restaurant which kept open all night, and where an orchestra started playing when the theatres closed. All the tables were engaged by noted whores, and catalogued and classified married women; leaders of feminine fashion, who were known for their long retinues of lovers, their openly avowed normal vices, and their scarcely hidden abnormal tastes.

A gorgeous female of about thirty-five years of age was supping at a table opposite them and she never took her eyes off lovely Fanny. Sandcross saw the languid imploring glances directed at his daughter and called her attention to the insistent leer of the painted lady. Miss Sandcross stared at her papa with widely opened eyes and coolly replied that she had seen and noted everything.

“She showed me the end of her tongue just now-the silly creature!” said Fanny. “Wouldn't you have liked to have seen her doing that?”

“Yes, indeed I would!” replied Sandcross, drinking a second petit verre. “Try and get her on again. Smile at her a little, Fan, and perhaps she'll do it once more. She's dying to kiss you, you know!”

“Don't be so stupid, pa!” replied Miss Sandcross, coldly and scornfully, but without a blush or a movement either of approval or disgust. “Wouldn't it be better to pay and go at once? It's awfully late and these people will be getting noisy soon and begin to throw things at each other as usual. And you'll be incapable of conducting me out of here, for if we don't hurry I shall have to carry you myself!”

Papa, always attentive to the smallest wish of his adored girl, soon led her to the car, and held her tight to him all the way home. He was dying to kiss her, but did not dare. Fanny merely said that he was a most horrible papa when he was tipsy, and sat quietly half asleep, yawning now and again, one hemisphere of her splendid backside resting on his knee, while his left arm encircled her waist, his hand clasped over her left breast, and his lips almost touching her right ear.

All was quiet when they reached the sumptuous flat of the Boulevard Haussmann where Mr. Sandcross lived. The servants were on the sixth floor according to the custom in Paris, and Mrs. Sandcross was fast asleep, having eaten too much-gormandizing was her only vice- snoring heavily in her own room, for her husband had long since slept away from her for reasons that can be well understood.

Fanny was tired and dying to get to bed, although her father wished her to sit with him a little while in the dining-room, while he mixed himself a whisky and soda. She refused and left him. He wanted to kiss her as she said good-night, but she demurred with a laugh, saying that he had embraced her enough that evening, and pirouetting saucily, retired to her own chamber.

Sandcross stood erect in the middle of the room, staring after her. He trembled with lust and undefined desire; the blood rushing to his head and obscuring his vision. She must be his. None but he should possess her. But how and when? He knew from his experience of womankind that she had as yet no real feelings of sensual excitement, and there was little chance that he as her father would ever be able to arouse them. Yet he longed for her, and the thought of the crime he was meditating never once entered his mind. There was no thought of enjoyment increased by incest such as might have struck some worn-out debauchee. He loved Fanny with all the strength of his soul, and he had never felt like this with any other woman. It was his first love and his last.