



Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Bodleian Library
in Oxford.





THE STORY OF

VENUS AND TANNHÄUSER


in which is set forth an exact account of the manner of State held by
Madam Venus, Goddess and Meretrix, under the famous Hörselberg, and
containing the Adventures of Tannhäuser in that Place, his Repentance,
his Journeying to Rome and Return to the Loving Mountain.


A ROMANTIC NOVEL

BY

AUBREY BEARDSLEY


Now first printed from the Original Manuscript


LONDON

FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION

MCMVII




THE STORY OF VENUS AND TANNHÄUSER




FOREWORD


Only a portion of this work, Beardsley's most ambitious literary
effort, has hitherto been printed, with the title "Under the Hill". The
present work is a complete transcript of the whole of the manuscript as
originally projected by Beardsley. It has been deemed advisable, owing
to the freedom of several passages, to issue only a limited number of
copies for the use of those literary students who are also admirers of
Beardsley's wayward genius.



            "La chaleur du brandon Venus."
                 _Le Roman de la Rose_, v. 22051.



CONTENTS


CHAPTER I. HOW THE CHEVALIER TANNHÄUSER ENTERED INTO THE HILL OF VENUS.

CHAPTER II. OF THE MANNER IN WHICH VENUS WAS COIFFED AND PREPARED FOR
SUPPER.

CHAPTER III. HOW VENUS SUPPED; AND THEREAFTER WAS MIGHTILY AMUSED BY
THE CURIOUS PRANKS OF HER ENTOURAGE.

CHAPTER IV. HOW THE COURT OF VENUS BEHAVED STRANGELY AT HER SUPPER.

CHAPTER V. OF THE BALLET DANCED BY THE SERVANTS OF VENUS.

CHAPTER VI. OF THE AMOROUS ENCOUNTER WHICH TOOK PLACE BETWEEN VENUS AND
TANNHÄUSER.

CHAPTER VII. HOW TANNHÄUSER AWAKENED AND TOOK HIS MORNING ABLUTIONS IN
THE VENUSBERG.

CHAPTER VIII. OF THE ECSTACY OF ADOLPHE, AND THE REMARKABLE
MANIFESTATION THEREOF.

CHAPTER IX. HOW VENUS AND TANNHÄUSER BREAKFASTED AND THEN DROVE THROUGH
THE PALACE GARDENS.

CHAPTER X. OF THE 'STABAT MATER' SPIRIDION, AND DE LA PINE.




THE STORY OF

VENUS AND TANNHÄUSER

A ROMANTIC NOVEL



                                  TO
                 THE MOST EMINENT AND REVEREND PRINCE
                         GIULIO POLDO PEZZOLI
                   CARDINAL OF THE HOLY ROMAN CHURCH
               TITULAR BISHOP OF S. MARIA IN TRASTAVERE
                   ARCHBISHOP OF OSTIA AND VELLETRI
                        NUNCIO TO THE HOLY SEE
                                  IN
                        NICARAGUA AND PATAGONIA
                         A FATHER TO THE POOR
                A REFORMER OF ECCLESIASTICAL DISCIPLINE
                         A PATTERN OF LEARNING
                      WISDOM AND HOLINESS OF LIFE
               THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED WITH DUE REVERENCE
                        BY HIS HUMBLE SERVITOR
               A SCRIVENER AND LIMNER OF WORLDLY THINGS
                          WHO MADE THIS BOOK
                           AUBREY BEARDSLEY
                                  TO
                 THE MOST EMINENT AND REVEREND PRINCE
                         GIULIO POLDO PEZZOLI




_Most Eminent Prince_,

I know not by what mischance the writing of epistles dedicatory has
fallen into disuse, whether through the vanity of authors or the
humility of patrons. But the practice seems to me so very beautiful
and becoming that I have ventured to make an essay in the modest art,
and lay with formalities my first book at your feet. I have, it must
be confessed, many fears lest I shall be arraigned of presumption in
choosing so exalted a name as your own to place at the beginning of
these histories; but I hope that such a censure will not be too lightly
passed upon me, for, if I am guilty, 'tis but of a most natural pride
that the accidents of my life should allow me to sail the little
pinnace of my wit under your protection.

But though I can clear myself of such a charge, I am still minded to
use the tongue of apology, for with what face can I offer you a book
treating of so vein and fantastical a thing as Love? I know that in
the judgment of many the amorous passion is accounted a shameful thing
and ridiculous; indeed, it must be confessed that more blushes have
risen for Love's sake than for any other cause, and that lovers are an
eternal laughing-stock. Still, as the book will be found to contain
matter of deeper import than mere venery, inasmuch as it treats of the
great contrition of its chiefest character, and of canonical things in
its chapters, I am not without hopes that your Eminence will pardon my
writing of the Hill of Venus, for which exposition let my youth excuse
me.

Then I must crave your forgiveness for addressing you in a language
other than the Roman, but my small freedom in Latinity forbids me to
wander beyond the idiom of my vernacular. I would not for the world
that your delicate Southern ear should be offended by a barbarous
assault of rude and Gothic words; but methinks no language is rude that
can boast polite writers, and not a few have flourished in this country
in times past, bringing our common speech to very great perfection.
In the present age, alas! our pens are ravished by unlettered authors
and unmannered critics, that make a havoc rather than a building, a
wilderness rather than a garden. But, alack I what boots it to drop
tears upon the preterit?

'Tis not of our own shortcomings, though, but of your own great merits
that I should speak, else I should be forgetful of the duties I have
drawn upon myself in electing to address you in a dedication. 'Tis of
your noble virtues (though all the world know of 'em), your taste and
wit, your care for letters, and very real regard for the arts, that I
must be the proclaimer.

Though it be true that all men have sufficient wit to pass a judgment
on this or that, and not a few sufficient impudence to print the same
(these last being commonly accounted critics), I have ever held that
the critical faculty is more rare than the inventive. 'Tis a faculty
your Eminence possesses in so great a degree that your praise or blame
is something oracular, your utterance infallible as great genius or as
a beautiful woman. Your mind, I know, rejoicing in fine distinctions
and subtle procedures of thought, beautifully discursive rather than
hastily conclusive, has found in criticism its happiest exercise. 'Tis
pity that so perfect a Mecænas should have no Horace to befriend, no
Georgies to accept; for the offices and function of patron or critic
must of necessity be lessened in an age of little men and little work.
In times past 'twas nothing derogatory for great princes and men of
State to extend their loves and favour to poets, for thereby they
received as much honour as they conferred. Did not Prince Festus with
pride take the master-work of Julian into his protection, and was not
the Æneis a pretty thing to offer Caesar?

Learning without appreciation is a thing of nought, but I know not
which is greatest in you, your love of the arts or your knowledge of
'em. What wonder, then, that I am studious to please you, and desirous
of your protection? How deeply thankful I am for your past affections,
you know well, your great kindness and liberality having far outgone my
slight merits fend small accomplishment that seemed scarce to warrant
any favour. Alas! 'tis a slight offering I make you now, but, if
after glancing into its pages (say of an evening upon your terrace),
you should deem it worthy of the most remote place in your princely
library, the knowledge that it rested there would be reward sufficient
for my labours, and a crowning happiness to my pleasure in the writing
of this slender book.

     The humble and obedient servant of your Eminence,

                                                   AUBREY BEARDSLEY.




THE STORY OF VENUS AND TANNHÄUSER

A ROMANTIC NOVEL




CHAPTER I


HOW THE CHEVALIER TANNHÄUSER ENTERED INTO THE HILL OF VENUS


The Chevalier Tannhäuser, having lighted off his horse, stood
doubtfully for a moment beneath the ombre gateway of the Venusberg,
troubled with an exquisite fear lest a day's travel should have too
cruelly undone the laboured niceness of his dress. His hand, slim and
gracious as La Marquise du Deffand's in the drawing by Carmontelle,
played nervously about the gold hair that fell upon his shoulders like
a finely curled peruke, and from point to point of a precise toilet,
the fingers wandered, quelling the little mutinies of cravat and ruffle.

It was taper-time; when the tired earth puts on its cloak of mists and
shadows, when the enchanted woods are stirred with light footfalls and
slender voices of the fairies, when all the air is full of delicate
influences, and even the beaux, seated at their dressing-tables, dream
a little.

A delicious moment, thought Tannhäuser, to slip into exile.

The place where he stood waved drowsily with strange flowers, heavy
with perfume, dripping with odours. Gloomy and nameless weeds not to
be found in Mentzelius. Huge moths so richly winged they must have
banqueted upon tapestries and royal stuffs, slept on the pillars that
flanked either side of the gateway, and the eyes of all the moths
remained open, and were burning and bursting with a mesh of veins.
The pillars were fashioned in some pale stone, and rose up like hymns
in the praise of Venus, for, from cap to base, each one was carved
with loving sculptures, showing such a cunning invention and such a
curious knowledge that Tannhäuser lingered not a little in reviewing
them. They surpassed all that Japan has ever pictured from her maisons
vertes, all that was ever painted on the pretty bathrooms of Cardinal
La Motte, and even outdid the astonishing illustrations to Jones'
"_Nursery Numbers_."

"A pretty portal," murmured the Chevalier, correcting his sash.

As he spake, a faint sound of singing was breathed out from the
mountain, faint music as strange and distant as sea-legends that are
heard in shells.

"The Vespers of Venus, I take it," said Tannhäuser and struck a few
chords of accompaniment ever so lightly upon his little lute. Softly
across the spell-bound threshold the song floated and wreathed itself
about the subtle columns till the moths were touched with passion, and
moved quaintly in their sleep. One of them was awakened by the intenser
notes of the Chevalier's lute-strings, and fluttered into his cave.
Tannhäuser felt it was his cue for entry.

"Adieu," he exclaimed, with an inclusive gesture, and "Good-bye,
Madonna," as the cold circle of the moon began to show, beautiful and
full of enchantments. There was a shadow of sentiment in his voice as
he spake the words.

"Would to heaven," he sighed, "I might receive the assurance of a
looking-glass before I make my début! However, as she is a goddess, I
doubt not her eyes are a little sated with perfection, and may not be
displeased to see it crowned with a tiny fault."

A wild rose had caught upon the trimmings of his muff, and in the first
flush of displeasure he would have struck it brusquely away, and most
severely punished the offending flower. But the ruffled mood lasted
only a moment, for there was something so deliciously incongruous in
the hardy petal's invasion of so delicate a thing, that Tannhäuser
withheld the finger of resentment, and vowed that the wild rose should
stay where it had clung--a passport, as it were, from the upper to the
underworld.

"The very excess and violence of the fault," he said, "will be its
excuse;" and, undoing a tangle in the tassel of his stick, stepped into
the shadowy corridor that ran into the bosom of the wan hill, stepped
with the admirable aplomb and unwrinkled suavity of Don John.




CHAPTER II


OF THE MANNER IN WHICH VENUS WAS COIFFED AND PREPARED FOR SUPPER


Before a toilet that shone like the altar of Nôtre Dame des Victoires,
Venus was seated in a little dressing-gown of black and heliotrope.
The coiffeur Cosmé was caring for her scented chevelure, and with tiny
silver tongs, warm from the caresses of the flame, made delicious
intelligent curls that fell as lightly as a breath about her forehead
and over her eyebrows, and clustered like tendrils about her neck. Her
three favourite girls, Pappelarde, Blanchemains, and Loreyne, waited
immediately upon her with perfume and powder in delicate flagons and
frail cassolettes, and held in porcelain jars the ravishing paints
prepared by Chateline for those cheeks and lips that had grown a little
pale with anguish of exile. Her three favourite boys, Claude, Claire,
and Sarrasine, stood amorously about with salver, fan and napkin.
Millamant held a slight tray of slippers, Minette some tender gloves,
La Popelinière, mistress of the robes, was ready with a frock of yellow
and yellow. La Zambinella bore the jewels, Florizel some flowers,
Amadour a box of various pins, and Vadius a box of sweets. Her doves,
ever in attendance, walked about the room that was panelled with the
gallant paintings of Jean Baptiste Dorat, and some dwarfs and doubtful
creatures sat here and there, lolling out their tongues, pinching each
other, and behaving oddly enough. Sometimes Venus gave them little
smiles.

As the toilet was in progress, Priapusa, the fat manicure and fardeuse,
strode in and seated herself by the side of the dressing-table,
greeting Venus with an intimate nod. She wore a gown of white watered
silk with gold lace trimmings, and a velvet necklet of false vermilion.
Her hair hung in bandeaux over her ears, passing into a huge chignon
at the back of her head, and the hat, wide-brimmed and hung with a
vallance of pink muslin, was floral with red roses.

Priapusa's voice was full of salacious unction; she had terrible little
gestures with the hands, strange movements with the shoulders, a short
respiration that made surprising wrinkles in her bodice, a corrupt
skin, large horny eyes, a parrot's nose, a small loose mouth, great
flaccid cheeks, and chin after chin. She was a wise person, and Venus
loved her more than any of her other servants, and had a hundred pet
names for her, such as, Dear Toad, Pretty Pol, Cock-robin, Dearest Lip,
Touchstone, Little Cough-drop, Bijou, Buttons, Dear Heart, Dick-dock,
Mrs Manly, Little Nipper, Cochon-de-lait, Naughty-naughty, Blessèd
Thing, and Trump.

The talk that passed between Priapusa and her mistress was of that
excellent kind that passes between old friends, a perfect understanding
giving to scraps of phrases their full meaning, and to the merest
reference, a point. Naturally Tannhäuser, the new comer, was discussed
a little. Venus had not seen him yet, and asked a score of questions on
his account that were delightfully to the point.

Priapusa told the story of his sudden arrival, his curious wandering in
the gardens, and calm satisfaction with all he saw there, his impromptu
affection for a slender girl upon the first terrace, of the crowd of
frocks that gathered round and pelted him with roses, of the graceful
way he defended himself with his mask, and of the queer reverence he
made to the statue of the God of all gardens, kissing that deity with
a pilgrim's devotion. Just now Tannhäuser was at the baths, and was
creating a most favourable impression.

The report and the coiffing were completed at the same moment.

"Cosmé," said Venus, "you have been quite sweet and quite brilliant,
you have surpassed yourself to-night." "Madam flatters me," replied the
antique old thing, with a girlish giggle under his black satin mask.
"Gad, Madam; sometimes I believe I have no talent in the world, but
to-night I must confess to a touch of the vain mood." It would pain me
horribly to tell you about the painting of her face; suffice it that
the sorrowful work was accomplished frankly, magnificently, and without
a shadow of deception.

Venus slipped away the dressing-gown, and rose before the mirror in
a flutter of frilled things. She was adorably tall and slender. Her
neck and shoulders were so wonderfully drawn, and the little malicious
breasts were full of the irritation of loveliness that can never be
entirely comprehended, or ever enjoyed to the utmost. Her arms and
hands were loosely but delicately articulated, and her legs were
divinely long. From the hip to the knee, twenty-two inches; from the
knee to the heel, twenty-two inches, as befitted a Goddess.

I should like to speak more particularly about her, for generalities
are not of the slightest service in a description. But I am afraid that
an enforced silence here and there would leave such numerous gaps in
the picture that it had better not be begun at all than left unfinished.

Those who have only seen Venus in the Vatican, in the Louvre, in
the Uffizi, or in the British Museum, can have no idea of how very
beautiful and sweet she looked. Not at all like the lady in "Lemprière."

Priapusa grew quite lyric over the dear little person, and pecked at
her arms with kisses.

"Dear Tongue, you must really behave yourself," said Venus, and called
Millamant to bring her the slippers.

The tray was freighted with the most exquisite and shapely pantoufles,
sufficient to make Cluny a place of naught. There were shoes of grey
and black and brown suède, of white silk and rose satin, and velvet and
sarcenet; there were some of sea-green sewn with cherry blossoms, some
of red with willow branches, and some of grey with bright-winged birds.
There were heels of silver, of ivory, and of gilt; there were buckles
of very precious stones set in most strange and esoteric devices;
there were ribands tied and twisted into cunning forms; there were
buttons so beautiful that the button-holes might have no pleasure till
they closed upon them; there were soles of delicate leathers scented
with maréchale, and linings of soft stuffs scented with the juice of
July flowers. But Venus, finding none of them to her mind, called for
a discarded pair of blood-red maroquin, diapered with pearls. These
looked very distinguished over her white silk stockings.

As the tray was being carried away, the capricious Florizel snatched as
usual a slipper from it, and fitted the foot over his penis, and made
the necessary movements. That was Florizel's little caprice. Meantime,
La Popelinière stepped forward with the frock.

"I shan't wear one to-night," said Venus. Then she slipped on her
gloves.

When the toilet was at an end all her doves clustered round her feet,
loving to frôler her ankles with their plumes, and the dwarfs clapped
their hands, and put their fingers between their lips and whistled.
Never before had Venus been so radiant and compelling. Spiridion, in
the corner, looked up from his game of Spellicans and trembled. Claude
and Clair, pale with pleasure, stroked and touched her with their
delicate hands, and wrinkled her stockings with their nervous lips, and
smoothed them with their thin fingers; and Sarrasine undid her garters
and kissed them inside and put them on again, pressing her thighs with
his mouth. The dwarfs grew very daring, I can tell you. There was
almost a mêlée. They illustrated pages 72 and 73 of Delvau's Dictionary.

In the middle of it all, Pranzmungel announced that supper was ready
upon the fifth terrace. "Ah!" cried Venus, "I'm famished!"




CHAPTER III


HOW VENUS SUPPED AND THEREAFTER WAS MIGHTILY AMUSED BY THE CURIOUS
PRANKS OF HER ENTOURAGE


She was quite delighted with Tannhäuser, and, of course, he sat next
her at supper.

The terrace, made beautiful with a thousand vain and fantastical
devices, and set with a hundred tables and four hundred couches,
presented a truly splendid appearance. In the middle was a huge bronze
fountain with three basins. From the first rose a many-breasted dragon,
and four little Loves mounted upon swans, and each Love was furnished
with a bow and arrow. Two of them that faced the monster seemed to
recoil in fear, two that were behind made bold enough to aim their
shafts at him. From the verge of the second sprang a circle of slim
golden columns that supported silver doves, with tails and wings spread
out. The third, held by a group of grotesquely attenuated satyrs, was
centred with a thin pipe hung with masks and roses, and capped with
children's heads.

From the mouths of the dragon and the Loves, from the swans' eyes, from
the breasts of the doves, from the satyrs' horns and lips, from the
masks at many points, and from the childrens' curls, the water played
profusely, cutting strange arabesques and subtle figures.

The terrace was lit entirely by candles. There were four thousand of
them, not numbering those upon the tables. The candlesticks were of
a countless variety, and smiled with moulded cochônneries. Some were
twenty feet high, and bore single candles that flared like fragrant
torches over the feast, and guttered till the wax stood round the
tops in tall lances. Some, hung with dainty petticoats of shining
lustres, had a whole bevy of tapers upon them, devised in circles, in
pyramids, in squares, in cuneiforms, in single lines regimentally and
in crescents.

Then on quaint pedestals and Terminal Gods and gracious pilasters of
every sort, were shell-like vases of excessive fruits and flowers that
hung about and burst over the edges and could never be restrained. The
orange-trees and myrtles, looped with vermilion sashes, stood in frail
porcelain pots, and the rose-trees were wound and twisted with superb
invention over trellis and standard. Upon one side of the terrace, a
long gilded stage for the comedians was curtained off with Pagonian
tapestries, and in front of it the music-stands were placed. The tables
arranged between the fountain and the flight of steps to the sixth
terrace were all circular, covered with white damask, and strewn with
irises, roses, kingcups, colombines, daffodils, carnations and lilies;
and the couches, high with soft cushions and spread with more stuffs
than could be named, had fans thrown upon them, and little amorous
surprise packets.

Beyond the escalier stretched the gardens, which were designed so
elaborately and with so much splendour that the architect of the Fêtes
d'Armailhacq could have found in them no matter for cavil, and the
still lakes strewn with profuse barges full of gay flowers and wax
marionettes, the alleys of tall trees, the arcades and cascades, the
pavilions, the grottoes, and the garden-gods--all took a strange tinge
of revelry from the glare of the light that fell upon them from the
feast.

The frockless Venus and Tannhäuser, with Priapusa and Claude and Clair,
and Farcy, the chief comedian, sat at the same table. Tannhäuser,
who had doffed his travelling suit, wore long black silk stockings,
a pair of pretty garters, a very elegant ruffled shirt, slippers
and a wonderful dressing-gown. Claude and Clair wore nothing at
all, delicious privilege of immaturity, and Farcy was in ordinary
evening clothes. As for the rest of the company, it boasted some very
noticeable dresses, and whole tables of quite delightful coiffures.
There were spotted veils that seemed to stain the skin with some
exquisite and august disease, fans with eye-slits in them through which
their bearers peeped and peered; fans painted with postures and covered
with the sonnets of Sporion and the short stories of Scaramouche, and
fans of big living moths stuck upon mounts of silver sticks. There were
masks of green velvet that make the face look trebly powdered; masks
of the heads of birds, of apes, of serpents, of dolphins, of men and
women, of little embryons and of cats; masks like the faces of gods;
masks of  glass, and masks of thin talc and of india-rubber.
There were wigs of black and scarlet wools, of peacocks' feathers, of
gold and silver threads, of swansdown, of the tendrils of the vine,
and of human hairs; huge collars of stiff muslin rising high above
the head; whole dresses of ostrich feathers curling inwards; tunics
of panthers' skins that looked beautiful over pink tights; capotes of
crimson satin trimmed with the wings of owls; sleeves cut into the
shapes of apocryphal animals; drawers flounced down to the ankles, and
flecked with tiny, red roses; stockings clocked with fêtes galantes,
and curious designs, and petticoats cut like artificial flowers. Some
of the women had put on delightful little moustaches dyed in purples
and bright greens, twisted and waxed with absolute skill; and some wore
great white beards after the manner of Saint Wilgeforte. Then Dorat had
painted extraordinary grotesques and vignettes over their bodies, here
and there. Upon a cheek, an old man scratching his horned head; upon a
forehead, an old woman teased by an impudent amor; upon a shoulder, an
amorous singerie; round a breast, a circlet of satyrs; about a wrist, a
wreath of pale, unconscious babes; upon an elbow, a bouquet of spring
flowers; across a back, some surprising scenes of adventure; at the
corners of a mouth, tiny red spots; and upon a neck, a flight of birds,
a caged parrot, a branch of fruit, a butterfly, a spider, a drunken
dwarf, or, simply, some initials. But most wonderful of all were the
black silhouettes painted upon the legs, and which showed through a
white silk stocking like a sumptuous bruise.

The supper provided by the ingenious Rambouillet was quite beyond
parallel. Never had he created a more exquisite menu. The _consommé
impromptu_ alone would have been sufficient to establish the immortal
reputation of any chef. What, then, can I say of the _Dorade bouillie
sauce maréchale_, the _ragoût aux langues de carpes_, the _ramereaux
à la charnière_, the _ciboulette de gibier à l'espagnole_, the _paté
de cuisses d'oie aux pois de Monsalvie_, the _queues d'agneau au clair
de lune_, the _artichauts à la Grecque_, the _charlotte de pommes à
la Lucy Waters_, the _bombes à la marée_, and the _glaces aux rayons
d'or_? A veritable tour de cuisine that surpassed even the famous
little suppers given by the Marquis de Réchale at Passy, and which the
Abbé Mirliton pronounced "impeccable, and too good to be eaten."

Ah! Pierre Antoine Berquin de Rambouillet; you are worthy of your
divine mistress!

Mere hunger quickly gave place to those finer instincts of the pure
gourmet, and the strange wines, cooled in buckets of snow, unloosed
all the décolleté spirits of astonishing conversation and atrocious
laughter.




CHAPTER IV


HOW THE COURT OF VENUS BEHAVED STRANGELY AT HER SUPPER


At first there was the fun with the surprise packets that contained
myriads of amusing things, then a general criticism of the decorations,
everyone finding a delightful meaning in the fall of festoon, turn of
twig, and twist of branch. Pulex, as usual, bore the palm for insight
and invention, and to-night he was more brilliant than ever. He leant
across the table and explained to the young page, Macfils de Martaga,
what thing was intended by a certain arrangement of roses. The young
page smiled and hummed the refrain of "La petite balette." Sporion,
too, had delicate perceptions, and was vastly entertained by the
disposition of the candelabra.

As the courses advanced, the conversation grew bustling and more
personal. Pulex and Cyril and Marisca and Cathelin opened a fire of
raillery. The infidelities of Cerise, the difficulties of Brancas,
Sarmean's caprices that morning in the lily garden, Thorilliere's
declining strength, Astarte's affection for Roseola, Felix's impossible
member, Cathelin's passion for Sulpilia's poodle, Sola's passion
for herself, the nasty bite that Marisca gave Chloe, the épilatiere
of Pulex, Cyril's diseases, Butor's illness, Maryx's tiny cemetery,
Lesbia's profound fourth letter, and a thousand amatory follies of the
day were discussed.

From harsh and shrill and clamant, the voices grew blurred and
inarticulate. Bad sentences were helped out by worse gestures, and at
one table, Scabius could only express himself with his napkin, after
the manner of Sir Jolly Jumble in the "Soldier's Fortune" of Otway.
Basalissa and Lysistrata tried to pronounce each other's names, and
became very affectionate in the attempt, and Tala, the tragedian, robed
in ample purple, and wearing plume and buskin, rose to his feet, and
with swaying gestures began to recite one of his favourite parts. He
got no further than the first line, but repeated it again and again,
with fresh accents and intonations each time, and was only silenced by
the approach of the asparagus that was being served by satyrs costumed
in white muslin.

Clitor and Sodon had a violent struggle over the beautiful Pella, and
nearly upset a chandelier. Sophie became very intimate with an empty
champagne bottle, swore it had made her enciente, and ended by having
a mock accouchment on the top of the table; and Belamour pretended to
be a dog, and pranced from couch to couch on all fours, biting and
barking and licking. Mellefont crept about dropping love philtres into
glasses. Juventus and Ruella stripped and put on each other's things,
Spelto offered a prize for whoever should come first, and Spelto won
it! Tannhäuser, just a little grisé, lay down on the cushions and let
Julia do whatever she liked.

I wish I could be allowed to tell you what occurred round table 15,
just at this moment. It would amuse you very much, and would give you
a capital idea of the habits of Venus' retinue. Indeed, for deplorable
reasons, by far the greater part of what was said and done at this
supper must remain unrecorded and even unsuggested.

Venus allowed most of the dishes to pass untasted, she was so
engaged with the beauty of Tannhäuser. She laid her head many times
on his robe, kissing him passionately; and his skin, at once firm
and yielding, seemed to those exquisite little teeth of hers, the
most incomparable pasture. Her upper lip curled and trembled with
excitement, showing the gums. Tannhäuser, on his side, was no less
devoted. He adored her all over and all the things she had on, and
buried his face in the folds and flounces of her linen, and ravished
away a score of frills in his excess. He found her exasperating, and
crushed her in his arms, and slaked his parched lips at her mouth. He
caressed her eyelids softly with his finger tips, and pushed aside the
curls from her forehead, and did a thousand gracious things, tuning
her body as a violinist tunes his instrument before he plays upon it.
Priapusa snorted like an old war horse at the sniff of powder, and
tickled Tannhäuser and Venus by turns, and slipped her tongue down
their throats, and refused to be quiet at all until she had had a
mouthful of the Chevalier. Claude, seizing his chance, dived under
the table and came up the other side just under the queen's couch,
and before she could say "One!" he was taking his coffee "aux deux
colonnes." Clair was furious at his friend's success, and sulked for
the rest of the evening.




CHAPTER V


OF THE BALLET DANCED BY THE SERVANTS OF VENUS


After the fruits and fresh wines had been brought in by a troop of
woodland creatures, decked with green leaves and all sorts of Spring
flowers, the candles in the orchestra were lit, and in another moment
the musicians bustled into their places. The wonderful Titurel de
Schentefleur was the chef d'orchestre, and the most insidious of
conductors. His baton dived into a phrase and brought out the most
magical and magnificent things, and seemed rather to play every
instrument than to lead it. He could add a grace even to Scarlatti
and a wonder to Beethoven. A delicate, thin, little man with thick
lips and a nez retroussé, with long black hair and curled moustache,
in the manner of Molière. What were his amatory tastes, no one in the
Venusberg could tell. He generally passed for a virgin, and Cathos had
nicknamed him "The Solitaire."

To-night he appeared in a court suit of white silk, brilliant with
decorations. His hair was curled into resplendent ringlets that
trembled like springs at the merest gesture of his arm, and in his ears
swung the diamonds given him by Venus.

The orchestra was, as usual, in its uniform of red vest and breeches
trimmed with gold lace, white stockings and red shoes. Titurel had
written a ballet for the evening's divertissement, founded upon De
Bergerac's comedy of "Les Bacchanales de Fanfreluche," in which the
action and dances were designed by him as well as the music.


I

The curtain rose upon a scene of rare beauty, a remote Arcadian valley,
and watered with a dear river as fresh and pastoral as a perfect fifth
of this scrap of Tempe. It was early morning, and the re-arisen sun,
like the prince in the "Sleeping Beauty," woke all the earth with
his lips. In that golden embrace the night dews were caught up and
made splendid, the trees were awakened from their obscure dreams, the
slumber of the birds was broken, and all the flowers of the valley
rejoiced, forgetting their fear of the darkness.

Suddenly, to the music of pipe and horn, a troop of satyrs stepped out
from the recesses of the woods, bearing in their hands nuts and green
boughs and flowers and roots and whatsoever the forest yielded, to heap
upon the altar of the mysterious Pan that stood in the middle of the
stage; and from the hills came down the shepherds and shepherdesses,
leading their flocks and carrying garlands upon their crooks. Then a
rustic priest, white-robed and venerable, came slowly across the valley
followed by a choir of radiant children.

The scene was admirably stage-managed, and nothing could have been more
varied yet harmonious than this Arcadian group. The service was quaint
and simple, but with sufficient ritual to give the corps-de-ballet an
opportunity of showing its dainty skill. The dancing of the satyrs was
received with huge favour, and when the priest raised his hand in final
blessing, the whole troop of worshippers made such an intricate and
elegant exit that it was generally agreed that Titurel had never before
shown so fine an invention.

Scarcely had the stage been empty for a moment, when Sporion entered,
followed by a brilliant rout of dandies and smart women. Sporion was a
tall, slim, depraved young man with a slight stoop, a troubled walk, an
oval impassable face, with its olive skin drawn tightly over the bone,
strong scarlet lips, long Japanese eyes, and a great gilt toupet. Round
his shoulders hung a high-collared satin cape of salmon pink, with long
black ribands untied and floating about his body. His coat of sea-green
spotted muslin was caught in at the waist by a scarlet sash with
scalloped edges, and frilled out over the hips for about six inches.
His trousers, loose and wrinkled, reached to the end of the calf, and
were brocaded down the sides, and ruched magnificently at the ankles.
The stockings were of white kid, with stalls for the toes, and had
delicate red sandals strapped over them. But his little hands, peeping
out from their frills, seemed quite the most insinuating things, such
supple fingers tapering to the point, with tiny nails stained pink,
such unquenchable palms, lined and mounted like Lord Fanny's in "Love
at all Hazards," and such blue-veined, hairless backs! In his left hand
he carried a small lace handkerchief broidered with a coronet.

As for his friends and followers they made the most superb and insolent
crowd imaginable, but to catalogue the clothes they had on would
require a chapter as long as the famous tenth in Pénillière's history
of underlinen. On the whole they looked a very distinguished chorus.

Sporion stepped forward and explained with swift and various gesture
that he and his friends were tired of the amusements, wearied with the
poor pleasures offered by the civil world, and had invaded the Arcadian
valley hoping to experience a new frisson in the destruction of some
shepherd's or some satyr's naïveté, and the infusion of their venom
among the dwellers of the woods.

The chorus assented with languid but expressive movements.

Curious, and not a little frightened, at the arrival of the worldly
company, the sylvans began to peep nervously at those subtle souls
through the branches of the trees, and one or two fauns and a shepherd
or so crept out warily. Sporion and all the ladies and gentlemen made
enticing sounds and invited the rustic creatures with all the grace in
the world to come and join them. By little batches they came, lured by
the strange looks, by the scents and the doings, and by the brilliant
clothes, and some ventured quite near, timorously fingering the
delicious textures of the stuffs. Then Sporion and each of his friends
took a satyr or a shepherd or something by the hand, and made the
preliminary steps of a courtly measure, for which the most admirable
combinations had been invented, and the most charming music written.

The pastoral folk were entirely bewildered when they saw such
restrained and graceful movements, and made the most grotesque and
futile efforts to imitate them.

Dio mio, a pretty sight! A charming effect too was obtained by the
intermixture of stockinged calf and hairy leg, of rich brocaded bodice
and plain blouse, of tortured head-dress and loose untutored locks.

When the dance was ended, the servants of Sporion brought on champagne,
and, with many pirouettes, poured it magnificently into slender
glasses, and tripped about plying those Arcadian mouths that had never
before tasted such a royal drink.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Then the curtain fell with a pudic rapidity.


II

'Twas not long before the invaders began to enjoy the first fruits
of their expedition, plucking them in the most seductive manner with
their smooth fingers, and feasting lip and tongue and tooth, whilst
the shepherds and satyrs and shepherdesses fairly gasped under the
new joys, for the pleasure they experienced was almost too keen and
too profound for their simple and untilled natures. Fanfreluche and
the rest of the rips and ladies tingled with excitement and frolicked
like young lambs in a fresh meadow. Again and again the wine was
danced round, and the valley grew as busy as a market day. Attracted
by the noise and merrymaking, all those sweet infants I told you of,
skipped suddenly on to the stage, and began clapping their hands and
laughing immoderately at the passion and the disorder and commotion,
and mimicking the nervous staccato movements they saw in their pretty
childish way.

In a flash, Fanfreluche disentangled himself and sprang to his feet,
gesticulating as if he would say, "Ah, the little dears!" "Ah, the
rorty little things!" "Ah, the little ducks!" for he was so fond of
children. Scarcely had he caught one by the thigh than a quick rush was
made by everybody for the succulent limbs; and how they tousled them
and mousled them! The children cried out, I can tell you. Of course
there were not enough for everybody, so some had to share, and some had
simply to go on with what they were doing before.

I must not, by the way, forget to mention the independent attitude
taken by six or seven of the party, who sat and stood about with
half-closed eyes, inflated nostrils, clenched teeth, and painful,
parted lips, behaving like the Duc de Broglio when he watched the
amours of the Regent d'Orléans.

Now as Fanfreluche and his friends began to grow tired and exhausted
with the new debauch, they cared no longer to take the initiative,
but, relaxing every muscle, abandoned themselves to passive joys,
yielding utterly to the ardent embraces of the intoxicated satyrs, who
waxed fast and furious, and seemed as if they would never come to the
end of their strength. Full of the new tricks they had learnt that
morning, they played them passionately and roughly, making havoc of
the cultured flesh, and tearing the splendid frocks and dresses into
ribands. Duchesses and Maréchales, Marquises and Princesses, Dukes
and Marshalls, Marquesses and Princes, were ravished and stretched
and rumpled and crushed beneath the interminable vigour and hairy
breasts of the inflamed woodlanders. They bit at the white thighs and
nozzled wildly in the crevices. They sat astride the women's chests
and consummated frantically with their bosoms; they caught their prey
by the hips and held it over their heads, irrumating with prodigious
gusto. It was the triumph of the valley.

High up in the heavens the sun had mounted and filled all the air
with generous warmth, whilst shadows grew shorter and sharper. Little
light-winged papillons flitted across the stage, the bees made music
on their flowery way, the birds were very gay and kept up a jargoning
and refraining, the lambs were bleating upon the hill side, and the
orchestra kept playing, playing the uncanny tunes of Titurel.




CHAPTER VI


OF THE AMOROUS ENCOUNTER WHICH TOOK PLACE BETWEEN VENUS AND TANNHÄUSER


Venus and Tannhäuser had retired to the exquisite little boudoir or
pavilion Le Con had designed for the queen on the first terrace, and
which commanded the most delicious view of the parks and gardens. It
was a sweet little place, all silk curtains and soft cushions. There
were eight sides to it, bright with mirrors and candelabra, and rich
with pictured panels, and the ceiling, dome shaped and some thirty feet
above the head, shone obscurely with gilt mouldings through the warm
haze of candle light below. Tiny wax statuettes dressed theatrically
and smiling with plump cheeks, quaint magots that looked as cruel as
foreign gods, gilded monticules, pale celadon vases, clocks that said
nothing, ivory boxes full of secrets, china figures playing whole
scenes of plays, and a world of strange preciousness crowded the
curious cabinets that stood against the walls. On one side of the room
there were six perfect little card tables, with quite the daintiest and
most elegant chairs set primly round them; so, after all, there may be
some truth in that line of Mr Theodore Watts,--

    "I played at piquet with the Queen of Love."

Nothing in the pavilion was more beautiful than the folding screens
painted by De La Pine, with Claudian landscapes--the sort of things
that fairly make one melt, things one can lie and look at for hours
together, and forget the country can ever be dull and tiresome. There
were four of them, delicate walls that hem in an amour so cosily, and
make room within room.

The place was scented with huge branches of red roses, and with a faint
amatory perfume breathed out from the couches and cushions--a perfume
Chateline distilled in secret and called L'Eau Lavante.

Those who have only seen Venus at the Louvre or the British Museum, at
Florence, at Naples, or at Rome, can have not the faintest idea how
sweet and enticing and gracious, how really exquisitely beautiful she
looked lying with Tannhäuser upon rose silk in that pretty boudoir.
Cosmé's precise curls and artful waves had been finally disarranged at
supper, and strayed ringlets of the black hair fell loosely over her
soft, delicious, tired, swollen eye-lids. Her frail chemise and dear
little drawers were torn and moist, and clung transparently about her,
and all her body was nervous and responsive. Her closed thighs seemed
like a vast replica of the little bijou she held between them; the
beautiful tétons du derrière were as firm as a plump virgin's cheek,
and promised a joy as profound as the mystery of the Rue Vendôme, and
the minor chevelure, just profuse enough, curled as prettily as the
hair upon a cherub's head.

Tannhäuser, pale and speechless with excitement, passed his gem-girt
fingers brutally over the divine limbs, tearing away smock and pantalon
and stocking, and then, stripping himself of his own few things, fell
upon the splendid lady with a deep-drawn breath!

It is, I know, the custom of all romancers to paint heroes who can
give a lady proof of their valliance at least twenty times a night.
Now Tannhäuser had no such Gargantuan facility, and was rather
relieved when, an hour later, Priapusa and Doricourt and some others
burst drunkenly into the room and claimed Venus for themselves. The
pavilion soon filled with a noisy crowd that could scarcely keep
its feet. Several of the actors were there, and Lesfesses, who had
played Fanfreluche so brilliantly, and was still in his make-up, paid
tremendous attention to Tannhäuser. But the Chevalier found him quite
uninteresting off the stage, and rose and crossed the room to where
Venus and the manicure were seated.

"How tired the dear baby looks," said Priapusa. "Shall I put him in his
little cot?"

"Well, if he's as sleepy as I am," yawned Venus, "you can't do better."

Priapusa lifted her mistress off the pillows, and carried her in her
arms in a nice, motherly way.

"Come along, children," said the fat old thing, "come along; it's time
you were both in bed."




CHAPTER VII


HOW TANNHÄUSER AWAKENED AND TOOK HIS MORNING ABLUTIONS IN THE VENUSBERG


It is always delightful to wake up in a new bedroom. The fresh
wall paper, the strange pictures, the positions of doors and
windows--imperfectly grasped the night before--are revealed with all
the charm of surprise when we open our eyes the next morning.

It was about eleven o'clock when Tannhäuser awoke and stretched himself
deliciously in his great plumed four-post bed, and nursed his waking
thoughts, and stared at the curious patterned canopy above him. He was
very pleased with the room, which certainly was chic and fascinating,
and recalled the voluptuous interiors of the elegant amorous Baudouin.
Through the tiny parting of the long, flowered window curtains, the
Chevalier caught a peep of the sun-lit lawns outside, the silver
fountains, the bright flowers, and the gardeners at work.

"Quite sweet," he murmured, and turned round to freshen the frilled
silk pillows behind him; "and what delightful pictures," he continued,
wandering with his eyes from print to print that hung upon the
rose-striped walls. Within the delicate, curved frames lived the
corrupt and gracious creatures of Dorat and his school; slim children
in masque and domino, smiling horribly, exquisite letchers leaning over
the shoulders of smooth doll-like ladies, and doing nothing particular,
terrible little pierrots posing as mulierasts, or pointing at something
outside the picture, and unearthly <DW2>s and strange women mingling in
some rococo room lighted mysteriously by the flicker of a dying fire
that throws huge shadows upon wall and ceiling. One of the prints
showing how an old marquis practised the five-finger exercise, while in
front of him his mistress offered her warm fesses to a panting poodle,
made the chevalier stroke himself a little.

After the chevalier got up, he slipped off his dainty night-dress,
posturing elegantly before a long mirror, and made much of himself. Now
he would bend forward, now lie upon the floor, now stand upright, and
now rest upon one leg and let the other hang loosely till he looked as
if he might have been drawn by some early Italian master. Anon he would
lie upon the floor with his back to the glass, and glance amorously
over his shoulder. Then with a white silk sash he draped himself in a
hundred charming ways. So engrossed was he with his mirrored shape that
he had not noticed the entrance of a troop of serving boys, who stood
admiringly but respectfully at a distance, ready to receive his waking
orders. As soon as the chevalier observed them he smiled sweetly, and
bade them prepare his bath.

The bathroom was the largest and perhaps the most beautiful apartment
in his splendid suite. The well-known engraving by Lorette that forms
the frontispiece to Millevoye's "Architecture du XVIIIme siècle," will
give you a better idea than any words of mine of the construction and
decoration of the room. Only, in Lorette's engraving, the bath sunk
into the middle of the floor is a little too small.

Tannhäuser stood for a moment, like Narcissus, gazing at his reflection
in the still scented water, and then just ruffling its smooth surface
with one foot, stepped elegantly into the cool basin, and swam round it
twice, very gracefully.

"Won't you join me?" he said, turning to those beautiful boys who stood
ready with warm towels and perfume. In a moment they were free of their
light morning dress, and jumped into the water and joined hands, and
surrounded the Chevalier with a laughing chain.

"Splash me a little," he cried, and the boys teased him with water
and quite excited him. He chased the prettiest of them and bit his
fesses, and kissed him upon the perineum till the dear fellow banded
like a Carmelite, and its little bald top-knot looked like a great pink
pearl under the water. As the boy seemed anxious to take up the active
attitude, Tannhäuser graciously descended to the passive--a generous
trait that won him the complete affections of his valets de bain, or
pretty fish, as he called them, because they loved to swim between his
legs.

However, it is not so much at the very bath itself, as in the drying
and delicious frictions, that a bather finds his chiefest pleasures,
and Tannhäuser was more than satisfied with the skill his attendants
displayed in the performance of those quasi amorous functions. The
delicate attention they paid his loving parts aroused feelings within
him that almost amounted to gratitude; and when the rites were ended,
any touch of home-sickness he might have felt before was utterly
dispelled.

After he had rested a little, and sipped his chocolate, he wandered
into the dressing-room. Daucourt, his valet de chambre, Chenille, the
perruquier and barber, and two charming young dressers, were awaiting
him and ready with suggestions for the morning toilet. The shaving
over, Daucourt commanded his underlings to step forward with the suite
of suits from which he proposed Tannhäuser should make a choice. The
final selection was a happy one. A dear little coat of pigeon rose silk
that hung loosely about his hips, and showed off the jut of his behind
to perfection; trousers of black lace in flounces, falling--almost
like a petticoat--as far as the knee; and a delicate chemise of white
muslin, spangled with gold and profusely pleated.

The two dressers, under Daucourt's direction, did their work superbly,
beautifully, leisurely, with an exquisite deference for the nude, and a
really sensitive appreciation of Tannhäuser's scrumptious torso.




CHAPTER VIII


OF THE ECSTACY OF ADOLPHE, AND THE REMARKABLE MANIFESTATION THEREOF


When all was said and done, the Chevalier tripped off to bid good
morning to Venus. He found her wandering, in a sweet white muslin
frock, upon the lawn outside, plucking flowers to deck her little
déjeuner. He kissed her lightly upon the neck.

"I'm just going to feed Adolphe," she said, pointing to a little
reticule of buns that hung from her arm. Adolphe was her pet unicorn.
"He is such a dear," she continued; "milk-white all over excepting his
black eyes, rose mouth and nostrils, and scarlet John."

The unicorn had a very pretty palace of its own, made of green foliage
and golden bars--a fitting home for such a delicate and dainty beast.
Ah, it was indeed a splendid thing to watch the white creature roaming
in its artful cage, proud and beautiful, and knowing no mate except the
Queen herself.

As Venus and Tannhäuser approached the wicket, Adolphe began prancing
and curvetting, pawing the soft turf with his ivory hoofs, and
flaunting his tail like a gonfalon. Venus raised the latch and entered.

"You mustn't come in with me--Adolphe is so jealous," she said, turning
to the Chevalier who was following her; "but you can stand outside and
look on; Adolphe likes an audience." Then in her delicious fingers she
broke the spicy buns, and with affectionate niceness, breakfasted her
ardent pet. When the last crumbs had been scattered, Venus brushed her
hands together and pretended to leave the cage, without taking any more
notice of Adolphe. Every morning she went through this piece of play,
and every morning the amorous unicorn was cheated into a distressing
agony lest that day should have proved the last of Venus's love. Not
for long, though, would she leave him in that doubtful, piteous state,
but running back passionately to where he stood, make adorable amends
for her unkindness.

Poor Adolphe! How happy he was, touching the Queen's breasts with his
quick tongue-tip. I have no doubt that the keener scent of animals must
make women much more attractive to them than to men; for the gorgeous
odour that but faintly fills our nostrils must be revealed to the brute
creation in divine fulness. Anyhow, Adolphe sniffed as never a man did
around the skirts of Venus. After the first charming interchange of
affectionate delicacies was over, the unicorn lay down upon his side,
and, closing his eyes, beat his stomach wildly with the mark of manhood!

Venus caught that stunning member in her hands and lay her cheek
along it; but few touches were wanted to consummate the creature's
pleasure. The Queen bared her left arm to the elbow, and with the
soft underneath of it made amazing movements horizontally upon the
tight-strung instrument. When the melody began to flow, the unicorn
offered up an astonishing vocal accompaniment. Tannhäuser was amused to
learn that the etiquette of the Venusberg compelled everybody to await
the outburst of these venereal sounds before they could sit down to
déjeuner.

Adolphe had been quite profuse that morning.

Venus knelt where it had fallen, and lapped her little apéritif!




CHAPTER IX


HOW VENUS AND TANNHÄUSER BREAKFASTED AND THEN DROVE THROUGH THE PALACE
GARDENS


The breakfasters were scattered over the gardens in têtes-à-têtes and
tiny parties. Venus and Tannhäuser sat together upon the lawn that lay
in front of the Casino, and made havoc of a ravishing déjeuner. The
Chevalier was feeling very happy. Everything around him seemed so white
and light and matinal; the floating frocks of the ladies, the scarce
robed boys and satyrs stepping hither and thither elegantly, with meats
and wines and fruits; the damask tablecloths, the delicate talk and
laughter that rose everywhere; the flowers' colour and the flowers'
scent; the shady trees, the wind's cool voice, and the sky above that
was as fresh and pastoral as a perfect fifth. And Venus looked so
beautiful. Not at all like the lady in Lemprière.

"You're such a dear!" murmured Tannhäuser, holding her hand.

At the further end of the lawn, and a little hidden by a rose-tree, a
young man was breakfasting alone. He toyed nervously with his food now
and then, but for the most part leant back in his chair with unemployed
hands, and gazed stupidly at Venus.

"That's Felix," said the Goddess, in answer to an enquiry from the
Chevalier; and she went on to explain his attitude. Felix always
attended Venus upon her little latrinal excursions, holding her,
serving her, and making much of all she did. To undo her things, to
lift her skirts, to wait and watch the coming, to dip a lip or finger
in the royal output, to stain himself deliciously with it, to lie
beneath her as the favours fell, to carry off the crumpled, crotted
paper--these were the pleasures of that young man's life. Truly there
never was a queen so beloved by her subjects as Venus. Everything
she wore had its lover. Heavens! how her handkerchiefs were filched,
her stockings stolen! Daily, what intrigues, what countless ruses
to possess her merest frippery! Every scrap of her body was adored.
Never, for Savaral, could her ear yield sufficient wax! Never, for
Pradon, could she spit prodigally enough! And Saphius found a month an
interminable time.

After breakfast was over, and Felix's fears lest Tannhäuser should have
robbed him of his capricious rights had been dispelled, Venus invited
the Chevalier to take a more extensive view of the gardens, parks,
pavilions, and ornamental waters. The carriage was ordered. It was a
delicate, shell-like affair, with billowy cushions and a light canopy,
and was drawn by ten satyrs, dressed as finely as the coach-men of the
Empress Pauline the First.

The drive proved interesting and various, and Tännhauser was quite
delighted with almost everything he saw.

And who is not pleased when on either side of him rich lawns are spread
with lovely frocks and white limbs,--and upon flower-beds the dearest
ladies are implicated in a glory of underclothing,--when he can see
in the deep cool shadows of the trees warm boys entwined, here at the
base, there in the branch,--when in the fountain's wave Love holds his
court, and the insistent water burrows in every delicious crease and
crevice?

A pretty sight, too, was little Rosalie, perched like a postilion upon
the painted phallus of the god of all gardens. Her eyes were closed
and she was smiling as the carriage passed. Round her neck and slender
girlish shoulders there was a cloud of complex dress, over which bulged
her wig-like flaxen tresses. Her legs and feet were bare, and the toes
twisted in an amorous style. At the foot of the statue lay her shoes
and stockings and a few other things.

Tannhäuser was singularly moved at this spectacle, and rose out of
all proportion. Venus slipped the fingers of comfort under the lace
flounces of his trousers, saying, "Is it all mine? Is it all mine?" and
doing fascinating things. In the end, the carriage was only prevented
from being overturned by the happy interposition of Priapusa, who
stepped out from somewhere or other just in time to preserve its
balance.

How the old lady's eye glistened as Tannhäuser withdrew his panting
blade! In her sincere admiration for fine things, she quite forgot
and forgave the shock she had received from the falling of the gay
equipage. Venus and Tannhäuser were profuse with apology and thanks,
and quite a crowd of loving courtiers gathered round, consoling and
congratulating in a breath.

The Chevalier vowed he would never go in the carriage again, and
was really quite upset about it. However, after he had had a little
support from the smelling-salts, he recovered his self possession, and
consented to drive on further.

The landscape grew rather mysterious. The park, no longer troubled and
adorned with figures, was full of grey echoes and mysterious sounds;
the leaves whispered a little sadly, and there was a grotto that
murmured like the voice that haunts the silence of a deserted oracle.
Tannhäuser became a little triste. In the distance, through the trees,
gleamed a still, argent lake--a reticent, romantic water that must have
held the subtlest fish that ever were. Around its marge the trees and
flags and fleurs de luce were unbreakably asleep.

The Chevalier fell into a strange mood, as he looked at the lake. It
seemed to him that the thing would speak, reveal some curious secret,
say some beautiful word, if he should dare wrinkle its pale face with a
pebble.

"I should be frightened to do that, though," he said to himself. Then
he wondered what there might be upon the other side; other gardens,
other gods? A thousand drowsy fancies passed through his brain.
Sometimes the lake took fantastic shapes, or grew to twenty times its
size, or shrunk into a miniature of itself, without ever once losing
its unruffled calm, its deathly reserve. When the water increased, the
Chevalier was very frightened, for he thought how huge the frogs must
have become. He thought of their big eyes and monstrous wet feet, but
when the water lessened, he laughed to himself, whilst thinking how
tiny the frogs must have grown. He thought of their legs that must
look thinner than spiders', and of their dwindled croaking that never
could be heard. Perhaps the lake was only painted, after all. He had
seen things like it at the theatre. Anyhow, it was a wonderful lake, a
beautiful lake, and he would love to bathe in it, but he was sure he
would be drowned if he did.




CHAPTER X


OF THE STABAT MATER, SPIRIDION, AND DE LA PINE


When he woke up from his day-dream, he noticed that the carriage was
on its way back to the palace. They stopped at the Casino first, and
stepped out to join the players at petits chevaux. Tannhäuser preferred
to watch the game rather than play himself, and stood behind Venus, who
slipped into a vacant chair and cast gold pieces upon lucky numbers.
The first thing that Tannhäuser noticed was the grace and charm, the
gaiety and beauty of the croupiers. They were quite adorable even
when they raked in one's little losings. Dressed in black silk, and
wearing white kid gloves, loose yellow wigs and feathered toques:
with faces oval and young, bodies lithe and quick, voices silvery
and affectionate, they made amends for all the hateful arrogance,
disgusting aplomb, and shameful ugliness of the rest of their kind.

The dear fellow who proclaimed the winner was really quite delightful.
He took a passionate interest in the horses, and had licked all the
paint off their petits couillons!

You will ask me, no doubt, "Is that all he did?" I will answer, "Not
quite," as the merest glance at their petits derrières would prove.

In the afternoon light that came through the great silken-blinded
windows of the Casino, all the gilded decorations, all the chandeliers,
the mirrors, the polished floor, the painted ceiling, the horses
galloping round their green meadow, the fat rouleaux of gold and
silver, the ivory rakes, the fanned and strange frocked crowd of dandy
gamesters looked magnificently rich and warm. Tea was being served.
It was so pretty to see some plushed little lady sipping nervously,
and keeping her eyes over the cup's edge intently upon the slackening
horses. The more indifferent left the tables and took their tea in
parties here and there.

Tannhäuser found a great deal to amuse him at the Casino. Ponchon was
the manager, and a person of extra-ordinary invention. Never a day but
he was ready with a new show--a novel attraction. A glance through the
old Casino programmes would give you a very considerable idea of his
talent. What countless ballets, comedies, comedy-ballets, concerts,
masques, charades, proverbs, pantomimes, tableaux-magiques, and
peep-shows excentriques; what troupes of marionettes, what burlesques!

Ponchon had an astonishing flair for new talent, and many of the
principal comedians and singers at the Queen's Theatre and Opera House
had made their first appearance and reputation at the Casino.

This afternoon the pièce de résistance was a performance of Rossini's
Stabat Mater, an adorable masterpiece. It was given in the beautiful
Salle des Printemps Parfumés. Ah! what a stunning rendering of the
delicious demodé pièce de décadence. There is a subtle quality about
the music, like the unhealthy bloom upon wax fruit, that both orchestra
and singer contrived to emphasize with consummate delicacy.

The Virgin was sung by Spiridion, that soft incomparable alto. A
miraculous virgin, too, he made of her. To begin with, he dressed
the rôle most effectively. His plump legs up to the feminine hips of
him, were in very white stockings, clocked with a false pink. He wore
brown kid boots, buttoned to mid-calf, and his whorish thighs had thin
scarlet garters round them. His jacket was cut like a jockey's, only
the sleeves ended in manifold frills, and round the neck, and just upon
the shoulders, there was a black cape. His hair, dyed green, was curled
into ringlets, such as the smooth Madonnas of Morales are made lovely
with, and fell over his high egg-shaped creamy forehead, and about his
ears and cheeks and back.

The alto's face was fearful and wonderful--a dream face. The eyes
were full and black, with puffy blue rimmed hemispheres beneath them,
the cheeks, inclining to fatness, powdered and dimpled, the mouth was
purple and curved painfully, the chin tiny, and exquisitely modelled,
the expression cruel and womanish. Heavens! how splendid he looked and
sounded.

An exquisite piece of phrasing was accompanied with some curly gesture
of the hand, some delightful undulation of the stomach, some nervous
movement of the thigh, or glorious rising of the bosom.

The performance provoked enthusiasm--thunders of applause. Claude and
Clair pelted the thing with roses, and carried him off in triumph to
the tables. His costume was declared ravishing. The men almost pulled
him to bits, and mouthed at his great quivering bottom! The little
horses were quite forgotten for the moment.

Sup, the penetrating, burst through his silk fleshings, and thrust
in bravely up to the hilt, whilst the alto's legs were feasted upon
by Pudex, Cyril, Anquetin, and some others. Ballice, Corvo, Quadra,
Senillé, Mellefont, Theodore, Le Vit, and Matta, all of the egoistic
cult, stood and crouched round, saturating the lovers with warm douches.

Later in the afternoon, Venus and Tannhäuser paid a little visit to
De La Pine's studio, as the Chevalier was very anxious to have his
portrait painted. De La Pine's glory as a painter was hugely increased
by his reputation as a fouteur, for ladies that had pleasant memories
of him looked with a biassed eye upon his fêtes galantes merveilleuses,
portraits and folies bergères.

Yes, he was a bawdy creature, and his workshop a regular brothel.
However, his great talent stood in no need of such meretricious and
phallic support, and he was every whit as strong and facile with his
brush as with his tool!

When Venus and the Chevalier entered his studio, he was standing amid a
group of friends and connoisseurs who were liking his latest picture.
It was a small canvas, one of his delightful morning pieces. Upon an
Italian balcony stood a lady in a white frock, reading a letter. She
wore brown stockings, straw- petticoats, white shoes, and a
Leghorn hat. Her hair was red and in a chignon. At her feet lay a tiny
Japanese dog, painted from the Queen's favourite "Fanny," and upon the
balustrade stood an open empty bird cage. The background was a stretch
of Gallic country, clusters of trees cresting the ridges of low hills,
a bit of river, a chateau, and the morning sky.

De La Pine hastened to kiss the moist and scented hand of Venus.
Tannhäuser bowed profoundly and begged to have some pictures shown him.
The gracious painter took him round his studio.

Cosmé was one of the party, for De La Pine just then was painting his
portrait--a portrait, by the way, which promised to be a veritable chef
d'oeuvre, Cosmé was loved and admired by everybody. To begin with, he
was pastmaster in his art, that fine, relevant art of coiffing; then
he was really modest and obliging, and was only seen and heard when he
was wanted. He was useful; he was decorative in his white apron, black
mask, and silver suit; he was discreet.

The painter was giving Venus and Tannhäuser a little dinner that
evening, and he insisted on Cosmé joining them. The barber vowed he
would be de trop, and required a world of pressing before he would
accept the invitation. Venus added her voice, and he consented.

Ah I what a delightful little partie carré it turned out. The painter
was in purple and full dress, all tassels and grand folds. His hair
magnificently curled, his heavy eye-lids painted, his gestures large
and romantic, he reminded one a little of Maurel playing Wolfram in the
second act of the Opera of Wagner.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Venus and Tannhäuser, by 
Aubrey Beardsley

*** 