Teleny or the Reverse of the Medal (5 page)

My first infatuation was for a young Hercules of a butcher, who came courting our maid —a pretty girl, as far as I can remember. He was a stout athletic fellow with sinewy arms, who looked as if he could have felled an ox with a blow of his fist.

I often used to sit and watch him unawares, noting every expression of his face while he was making love, almost feeling the lust he felt himself.

How I did wish he would speak to me instead of joking with my stupid maid. I felt jealous of her although I liked her very much. Sometimes he used to take me up and fondle me, but that was very seldom; one day, however, when—apparently excited—he had tried hard to kiss her, and had not succeeded, he took me up and greedily pressed his lips against mine, kissing me as if he were parched with thirst.

Although I was but a very little child, still I think this act must have brought about an erection, for I remember every pulse of mine was fluttering. I still remember the pleasure I felt when—like a cat—I could rub myself against his legs, nestle between his thighs, sniff him like a dog, or pat and paddle him; but, alas! he seldom heeded me.

My greatest delight in my boyhood was to see men bathing. I could hardly keep myself from rushing up to them; I should have liked to handle and kiss them all over. I was quite beyond myself when I saw one of them naked.

A phallus acted upon me, as—I suppose—it does upon a very hot woman; my mouth actually watered at its sight, especially if it was a good-sized, full-blooded one, with an unhooded thick and fleshy glans.

Withal, I never understood that I loved men and not women. What I felt was that convulsion of the brain that kindles the eyes with a fire full of madness, an eager bestial delight, a fierce sensual desire. Love, I thought, was a quiet drawing-room flirtation, something soft, maudlin and aesthetic, quite different from that passion full of rage and hatred which was burning within me. In a word, much more of a sedative than an aphrodisiac.

—Then, I suppose you had never had a woman?

—Oh, yes! several; though by chance, rather than by choice. Nevertheless, for a Frenchman of my age, I had begun life rather late. My mother—although considered a very light person, much given to pleasure—had taken more care of my bringing up than many serious, prosy, fussy women would have done; for she always had a great deal of tact and observation. Therefore I had never been put as a boarder into any school, for she knew that such places of education are—as a rule—only hotbeds of vice. Who is the
interne
of either sex who has not begun life by tribadism, onanism, or sodomy.

My mother, besides, was frightened lest I might have inherited my father's sensual disposition, and she, therefore, did her best to withhold from me all early temptations, and in fact she really succeeded in keeping me out of mischief.

I was therefore at fifteen and sixteen far more innocent than any of my school fellows, yet I managed to hide my utter ignorance by pretending to be more profligate and
blase.

Whenever they spoke of women—and they did so every day—I smiled knowingly, so that they soon came to the conclusion that 'still waters run deep.'

—And you knew absolutely nothing?

—I only knew that there was something about putting it in and pulling it out.

At fifteen, I was one day in our garden, strolling listlessly about in a little meadow by the roadside at the back of the house.

I was walking on the mossy grass, as soft as a velvety carpet, so that my footsteps were not heard. All at once I stopped by an old disused kennel, which often served me as a seat.

When I got there I heard a voice within it. I bent down my ear, and listened without moving. Thereupon I heard a young girl's voice say:

'Put it in and then pull it out; then put it in again, and pull it out; and so on for some time.'

'But I can't put it in,' was the reply.

'Now,' said the first. 'I open my hole widely with both my hands. Push it in; stick it in— more—much more—as much as you can.'

'Well—but take away your fingers.'

'There—it's all out again; try and push it in.'

'But I can't. Your hole is shut,' muttered the boy's voice.

'Press down.'

'But why have I to put it in?'

'Well, you see my sister has a soldier for her good friend; and they always do like that when they are alone together. Haven't you seen the cocks jump on the hens, and peck at them? Well, they also do like that, only my sister and the soldier kiss and kiss; so that it takes them a long time to do it.'

'And he always puts it in and pulls it out?'

'Of course; only just at the end my sister always tells him to mind and not finish it in her, so that he may not make her a child. So now, if you wish to be my good friend—as you say you want—push it in—with your fingers, if you can't otherwise; but pay attention and don't finish in me, because you may make me a child.'

Thereupon I peeped in, and I saw our gardener's youngest daughter—a girl of ten or twelve—stretched on her back, while a little vagrant of about seven was sprawling over her, trying his best to put her instructions into practice.

That was my first lesson, and I had thereby a faint inkling of what men and women do when they are lovers.

—And you were not curious to know more about the matter?

—Oh, yes! Many a time I should have yielded to the temptation, and have accompanied my friends in their visit to some wenches—whose charms they always extolled in a peculiar low, nasal, goatish voice, and with an unexplainable shivering of the whole body—had I not been kept back by the fear of being laughed at by them and by the girls themselves; for I should still have been as inexperienced in knowing what to do with a woman as Daphnis himself, before Lycenion had slipped under him, and thus initiated him into the mysteries of love; and yet hardly more initiation is required in the matter than for the new-born babe to take to the breast.

—But when did your first visit to a brothel take place?

—Upon leaving college, when the mystic laurel and bays had wreathed our brows. According to tradition we were to partake of a farewell supper and make jolly together, before separating on our divers paths in life.

—Yes, I remember those merry suppers of the Quartier Latin.

—When the supper was over—

—And everyone more or less tipsy—

—Precisely; it was agreed that we should pass the evening in visiting some of the houses of nightly entertainment. Although I was myself rather merry, and usually up to any kind of joke, still I felt somewhat shy, and would willingly have given my friends the slip, rather than expose myself to their ridicule and to all the horrors of syphilis; but do what I could it was impossible to get rid of them.

They called me a sneak, they imagined that I wanted to spend the evening with some mistress, a pretty
grisette,
or a fashionable
cocotte,
for the term
horizontale
had not yet come into fashion. Another hinted that I was tied to my mammy's apron-strings, that my dad had not allowed me to take the latch-key. A third said that I wanted to go and
'menarmi la rilla'
as Aretino crudely expresses it.

Seeing that it was impossible to escape, I consented with a good grace to accompany them.

A certain Biou, young in years, but old in craft, who—like an elderly tomcat—had, at sixteen, already lost an eye in a battle of love, (having got some syphilitic virus into it), proposed to show us life in the unknown parts of the real Quartier Latin.

'First,' said he, 'I'll take you to a place where we'll spend little and have some jolly fun; it'll just put us
“en train”
and from there we'll go to another house, to fire off our pistols, or I should rather say our revolvers, for mine is a seven shot barrel.'

His single eye twinkled with delight, and his trousers were stirred from within as he said this. We all agreed to his proposal, I especially feeling quite glad that I might at first remain only a spectator. I wondered, however, what the sight would be like.

We had an endless drive through the narrow straggling streets, alleys, and by-ways, where painted women appeared in gorgeous dresses at the filthy windows of some wretched houses.

As it was getting late, all the shops were now shut, except the fruiterers, who sold fried fish, mussels, and potatoes. These disgorged an offensive smell of dirt, grease, and hot oil, which mixed itself up with the stench of the gutters and that of the cesspools in the middle of the streets.

In the darkness of the ill-lighted thoroughfares more than one
cafe chantant
and beerhouse flared with red gaslights, and as we passed them we felt the puffs of warm, close air reeking with alcohol, tobacco, and sour beer.

All those streets were thronged with a motley crowd. There were tipsy men with scowling, ugly faces, slipshod vixens, and pale, precociously withered children all tattered and torn, singing obscene songs.

At last we came to a kind of slum, where the carriages stopped before a low, beetling-browed house which seemed to have suffered from water on the brain when a child. It had a crazy look; and being, moreover, painted in yellowish-red, its many excoriations gave it the appearance of having some loathsome, scabby, skin disease. This place of infamous resort seemed to forewarn the visitor of the illness festering within its walls.

We went in at a small door, up a winding, greasy, slippery staircase, lighted by an asthmatic, flickering gaslight. Although I was loath to lay my hand on the bannisters, it was almost impossible to mount those muddy stairs without doing so.

On the first landing we were greeted by a grey-haired old hag, with a bloated yet bloodless face. I really do not know what made her so repulsive to me—perhaps it was her sore and lashless eyes, her mean expression, or her trade—but the fact is, I had never in all my life seen such a ghoul-like creature. Her mouth with its toothless gums and its hanging lips seemed like the sucker of some polypus; it was so foul and slimy.

She welcomed us with many low curtsies and fawning words of endearment, and ushered us into a low and tawdry room, where a flaring petroleum light shed its crude sheen all around.

Some frowsy curtains at the windows, a few old armchairs, and a long, battered, and much-stained divan completed the furniture of this room, which had a mixed stench of musk and onions; but, as I was just then gifted with a rather strong imagination, I at times detected— or I thought I did—a smell of carbolic acid and of iodine; albeit the loathsome smell of musk overpowered all other odors.

In this den, several—what shall I call them? —sirens? no harpies! were crouched, or lolled about.

Although I tried to put on a most indifferent,
blase
look, still my face must have expressed all the horror I felt. This is then, said I to myself, one of those delightful houses of pleasure, of which I have heard so many glowing tales?

These painted-up Jezebels, cadaverous or bloated, are the Paphian maids, the splendid votaresses of Venus, whose magic charms make the senses thrill with delight, the houris on whose breasts you swoon away and are ravished into paradise.

My friends seeing my utter bewilderment began to laugh at me. I thereupon sat down and tried stupidly to smile.

Three of those creatures at once came up to me; one of them, putting her arms round my neck, kissed me, and wanted to dart her filthy tongue into my mouth; the others began to handle me most indecently. The more I resisted, the more bent they seemed on making a Laocoon of me.

—But why were you singled out as their victim?

—I really do not know, but it must have been because I looked so innocently scared, or because my friends were all laughing at my horror-stricken face.

One of those poor women—a tall dark girl, an Italian, I believe—was evidently in the very last stage of consumption. She was in fact a mere skeleton, and still—had it not been for the mask of chalk and red with which her face was covered—traces of a former beauty might still have been discerned in her; seeing her now, anyone not inured to such sights could not but feel a sense of the deepest pity.

The second was red-haired, gaunt, pockmarked, goggle-eyed and repulsive.

The third: old, short, squat and obese; quite a bladder of fat. She went by the name of the
cantiniere.

The first was dressed in grass-green, or prassino; the red-haired strumpet wore a robe which once must have been blue; the old slut was clad in yellow.

All these dresses, however, were stained and very much the worse for wear. Besides, some slimy viscid fluid which had left large spots everywhere, made them seem as if all the snails of Burgundy had been crawling over them.

I managed to get rid of the two younger ones, but I was not so successful with the
cantiniere.

Having seen that her charms, and all her little endearments, had no effect upon me, she tried to rouse my sluggish senses by more desperate means.

As I said before, I was sitting upon the low divan; she thereupon stood in front of me and pulled her dress up to her waist, thus exhibiting all her hitherto hidden attractions. It was the first time I had seen a naked woman, and this one was positively loathsome. And yet, now that I think of it, her beauty might well be compared with that of the Shulamite, for her neck was like the tower of David, her navel resembled a round goblet, her belly a huge heap of blighted wheat. Her hair, beginning from her waist and falling down to her knees, was not exactly like a flock of goats—as the hair of Solomon's bride—but in quantity it surely was like that of a good-sized black sheepskin.