{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_50210/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_50210","id":"gutenberg_50210","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50210","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Romance","Fantasy fiction","Love stories","Tannh\u00e4user -- Fiction","Venus (Roman deity) -- Fiction"],"text":"THE STORY OF\n\nVENUS AND TANNH\u00c4USER\n\n\nin which is set forth an exact account of the manner of State held by\nMadam Venus, Goddess and Meretrix, under the famous H\u00f6rselberg, and\ncontaining the Adventures of Tannh\u00e4user in that Place, his Repentance,\nhis Journeying to Rome and Return to the Loving Mountain.\n\n\nA ROMANTIC NOVEL\n\nBY\n\nAUBREY BEARDSLEY\n\n\nNow first printed from the Original Manuscript\n\n\nLONDON\n\nFOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION\n\nMCMVII\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF VENUS AND TANNH\u00c4USER\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD\n\n\nOnly a portion of this work, Beardsley's most ambitious literary\neffort, has hitherto been printed, with the title \"Under the Hill\". The\npresent work is a complete transcript of the whole of the manuscript as\noriginally projected by Beardsley. It has been deemed advisable, owing\nto the freedom of several passages, to issue only a limited number of\ncopies for the use of those literary students who are also admirers of\nBeardsley's wayward genius.\n\n\n\n            \"La chaleur du brandon Venus.\"\n                 _Le Roman de la Rose_, v. 22051.\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER I. HOW THE CHEVALIER TANNH\u00c4USER ENTERED INTO THE HILL OF VENUS.\n\nCHAPTER II. OF THE MANNER IN WHICH VENUS WAS COIFFED AND PREPARED FOR\nSUPPER.\n\nCHAPTER III. HOW VENUS SUPPED; AND THEREAFTER WAS MIGHTILY AMUSED BY\nTHE CURIOUS PRANKS OF HER ENTOURAGE.\n\nCHAPTER IV. HOW THE COURT OF VENUS BEHAVED STRANGELY AT HER SUPPER.\n\nCHAPTER V. OF THE BALLET DANCED BY THE SERVANTS OF VENUS.\n\nCHAPTER VI. OF THE AMOROUS ENCOUNTER WHICH TOOK PLACE BETWEEN VENUS AND\nTANNH\u00c4USER.\n\nCHAPTER VII. HOW TANNH\u00c4USER AWAKENED AND TOOK HIS MORNING ABLUTIONS IN\nTHE VENUSBERG.\n\nCHAPTER VIII. OF THE ECSTACY OF ADOLPHE, AND THE REMARKABLE\nMANIFESTATION THEREOF.\n\nCHAPTER IX. HOW VENUS AND TANNH\u00c4USER BREAKFASTED AND THEN DROVE THROUGH\nTHE PALACE GARDENS.\n\nCHAPTER X. OF THE 'STABAT MATER' SPIRIDION, AND DE LA PINE.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF\n\nVENUS AND TANNH\u00c4USER\n\nA ROMANTIC NOVEL\n\n\n\n                                  TO\n                 THE MOST EMINENT AND REVEREND PRINCE\n                         GIULIO POLDO PEZZOLI\n                   CARDINAL OF THE HOLY ROMAN CHURCH\n               TITULAR BISHOP OF S. MARIA IN TRASTAVERE\n                   ARCHBISHOP OF OSTIA AND VELLETRI\n                        NUNCIO TO THE HOLY SEE\n                                  IN\n                        NICARAGUA AND PATAGONIA\n                         A FATHER TO THE POOR\n                A REFORMER OF ECCLESIASTICAL DISCIPLINE\n                         A PATTERN OF LEARNING\n                      WISDOM AND HOLINESS OF LIFE\n               THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED WITH DUE REVERENCE\n                        BY HIS HUMBLE SERVITOR\n               A SCRIVENER AND LIMNER OF WORLDLY THINGS\n                          WHO MADE THIS BOOK\n                           AUBREY BEARDSLEY\n                                  TO\n                 THE MOST EMINENT AND REVEREND PRINCE\n                         GIULIO POLDO PEZZOLI\n\n\n\n\n_Most Eminent Prince_,\n\nI know not by what mischance the writing of epistles dedicatory has\nfallen into disuse, whether through the vanity of authors or the\nhumility of patrons. But the practice seems to me so very beautiful\nand becoming that I have ventured to make an essay in the modest art,\nand lay with formalities my first book at your feet. I have, it must\nbe confessed, many fears lest I shall be arraigned of presumption in\nchoosing so exalted a name as your own to place at the beginning of\nthese histories; but I hope that such a censure will not be too lightly\npassed upon me, for, if I am guilty, 'tis but of a most natural pride\nthat the accidents of my life should allow me to sail the little\npinnace of my wit under your protection.\n\nBut though I can clear myself of such a charge, I am still minded to\nuse the tongue of apology, for with what face can I offer you a book\ntreating of so vein and fantastical a thing as Love? I know that in\nthe judgment of many the amorous passion is accounted a shameful thing\nand ridiculous; indeed, it must be confessed that more blushes have\nrisen for Love's sake than for any other cause, and that lovers are an\neternal laughing-stock. Still, as the book will be found to contain\nmatter of deeper import than mere venery, inasmuch as it treats of the\ngreat contrition of its chiefest character, and of canonical things in\nits chapters, I am not without hopes that your Eminence will pardon my\nwriting of the Hill of Venus, for which exposition let my youth excuse\nme.\n\nThen I must crave your forgiveness for addressing you in a language\nother than the Roman, but my small freedom in Latinity forbids me to\nwander beyond the idiom of my vernacular. I would not for the world\nthat your delicate Southern ear should be offended by a barbarous\nassault of rude and Gothic words; but methinks no language is rude that\ncan boast polite writers, and not a few have flourished in this country\nin times past, bringing our common speech to very great perfection.\nIn the present age, alas! our pens are ravished by unlettered authors\nand unmannered critics, that make a havoc rather than a building, a\nwilderness rather than a garden. But, alack I what boots it to drop\ntears upon the preterit?\n\n'Tis not of our own shortcomings, though, but of your own great merits\nthat I should speak, else I should be forgetful of the duties I have\ndrawn upon myself in electing to address you in a dedication. 'Tis of\nyour noble virtues (though all the world know of 'em), your taste and\nwit, your care for letters, and very real regard for the arts, that I\nmust be the proclaimer.\n\nThough it be true that all men have sufficient wit to pass a judgment\non this or that, and not a few sufficient impudence to print the same\n(these last being commonly accounted critics), I have ever held that\nthe critical faculty is more rare than the inventive. 'Tis a faculty\nyour Eminence possesses in so great a degree that your praise or blame\nis something oracular, your utterance infallible as great genius or as\na beautiful woman. Your mind, I know, rejoicing in fine distinctions\nand subtle procedures of thought, beautifully discursive rather than\nhastily conclusive, has found in criticism its happiest exercise. 'Tis\npity that so perfect a Mec\u00e6nas should have no Horace to befriend, no\nGeorgies to accept; for the offices and function of patron or critic\nmust of necessity be lessened in an age of little men and little work.\nIn times past 'twas nothing derogatory for great princes and men of\nState to extend their loves and favour to poets, for thereby they\nreceived as much honour as they conferred. Did not Prince Festus with\npride take the master-work of Julian into his protection, and was not\nthe \u00c6neis a pretty thing to offer Caesar?\n\nLearning without appreciation is a thing of nought, but I know not\nwhich is greatest in you, your love of the arts or your knowledge of\n'em. What wonder, then, that I am studious to please you, and desirous\nof your protection? How deeply thankful I am for your past affections,\nyou know well, your great kindness and liberality having far outgone my\nslight merits fend small accomplishment that seemed scarce to warrant\nany favour. Alas! 'tis a slight offering I make you now, but, if\nafter glancing into its pages (say of an evening upon your terrace),\nyou should deem it worthy of the most remote place in your princely\nlibrary, the knowledge that it rested there would be reward sufficient\nfor my labours, and a crowning happiness to my pleasure in the writing\nof this slender book.\n\n     The humble and obedient servant of your Eminence,\n\n                                                   AUBREY BEARDSLEY.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF VENUS AND TANNH\u00c4USER\n\nA ROMANTIC NOVEL\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nHOW THE CHEVALIER TANNH\u00c4USER ENTERED INTO THE HILL OF VENUS\n\n\nThe Chevalier Tannh\u00e4user, having lighted off his horse, stood\ndoubtfully for a moment beneath the ombre gateway of the Venusberg,\ntroubled with an exquisite fear lest a day's travel should have too\ncruelly undone the laboured niceness of his dress. His hand, slim and\ngracious as La Marquise du Deffand's in the drawing by Carmontelle,\nplayed nervously about the gold hair that fell upon his shoulders like\na finely curled peruke, and from point to point of a precise toilet,\nthe fingers wandered, quelling the little mutinies of cravat and ruffle.\n\nIt was taper-time; when the tired earth puts on its cloak of mists and\nshadows, when the enchanted woods are stirred with light footfalls and\nslender voices of the fairies, when all the air is full of delicate\ninfluences, and even the beaux, seated at their dressing-tables, dream\na little.\n\nA delicious moment, thought Tannh\u00e4user, to slip into exile.\n\nThe place where he stood waved drowsily with strange flowers, heavy\nwith perfume, dripping with odours. Gloomy and nameless weeds not to\nbe found in Mentzelius. Huge moths so richly winged they must have\nbanqueted upon tapestries and royal stuffs, slept on the pillars that\nflanked either side of the gateway, and the eyes of all the moths\nremained open, and were burning and bursting with a mesh of veins.\nThe pillars were fashioned in some pale stone, and rose up like hymns\nin the praise of Venus, for, from cap to base, each one was carved\nwith loving sculptures, showing such a cunning invention and such a\ncurious knowledge that Tannh\u00e4user lingered not a little in reviewing\nthem. They surpassed all that Japan has ever pictured from her maisons\nvertes, all that was ever painted on the pretty bathrooms of Cardinal\nLa Motte, and even outdid the astonishing illustrations to Jones'\n\"_Nursery Numbers_.\"\n\n\"A pretty portal,\" murmured the Chevalier, correcting his sash.\n\nAs he spake, a faint sound of singing was breathed out from the\nmountain, faint music as strange and distant as sea-legends that are\nheard in shells.\n\n\"The Vespers of Venus, I take it,\" said Tannh\u00e4user and struck a few\nchords of accompaniment ever so lightly upon his little lute. Softly\nacross the spell-bound threshold the song floated and wreathed itself\nabout the subtle columns till the moths were touched with passion, and\nmoved quaintly in their sleep. One of them was awakened by the intenser\nnotes of the Chevalier's lute-strings, and fluttered into his cave.\nTannh\u00e4user felt it was his cue for entry.\n\n\"Adieu,\" he exclaimed, with an inclusive gesture, and \"Good-bye,\nMadonna,\" as the cold circle of the moon began to show, beautiful and\nfull of enchantments. There was a shadow of sentiment in his voice as\nhe spake the words.\n\n\"Would to heaven,\" he sighed, \"I might receive the assurance of a\nlooking-glass before I make my d\u00e9but! However, as she is a goddess, I\ndoubt not her eyes are a little sated with perfection, and may not be\ndispleased to see it crowned with a tiny fault.\"\n\nA wild rose had caught upon the trimmings of his muff, and in the first\nflush of displeasure he would have struck it brusquely away, and most\nseverely punished the offending flower. But the ruffled mood lasted\nonly a moment, for there was something so deliciously incongruous in\nthe hardy petal's invasion of so delicate a thing, that Tannh\u00e4user\nwithheld the finger of resentment, and vowed that the wild rose should\nstay where it had clung--a passport, as it were, from the upper to the\nunderworld.\n\n\"The very excess and violence of the fault,\" he said, \"will be its\nexcuse;\" and, undoing a tangle in the tassel of his stick, stepped into\nthe shadowy corridor that ran into the bosom of the wan hill, stepped\nwith the admirable aplomb and unwrinkled suavity of Don John.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nOF THE MANNER IN WHICH VENUS WAS COIFFED AND PREPARED FOR SUPPER\n\n\nBefore a toilet that shone like the altar of N\u00f4tre Dame des Victoires,\nVenus was seated in a little dressing-gown of black and heliotrope.\nThe coiffeur Cosm\u00e9 was caring for her scented chevelure, and with tiny\nsilver tongs, warm from the caresses of the flame, made delicious\nintelligent curls that fell as lightly as a breath about her forehead\nand over her eyebrows, and clustered like tendrils about her neck. Her\nthree favourite girls, Pappelarde, Blanchemains, and Loreyne, waited\nimmediately upon her with perfume and powder in delicate flagons and\nfrail cassolettes, and held in porcelain jars the ravishing paints\nprepared by Chateline for those cheeks and lips that had grown a little\npale with anguish of exile. Her three favourite boys, Claude, Claire,\nand Sarrasine, stood amorously about with salver, fan and napkin.\nMillamant held a slight tray of slippers, Minette some tender gloves,\nLa Popelini\u00e8re, mistress of the robes, was ready with a frock of yellow\nand yellow. La Zambinella bore the jewels, Florizel some flowers,\nAmadour a box of various pins, and Vadius a box of sweets. Her doves,\never in attendance, walked about the room that was panelled with the\ngallant paintings of Jean Baptiste Dorat, and some dwarfs and doubtful\ncreatures sat here and there, lolling out their tongues, pinching each\nother, and behaving oddly enough. Sometimes Venus gave them little\nsmiles.\n\nAs the toilet was in progress, Priapusa, the fat manicure and fardeuse,\nstrode in and seated herself by the side of the dressing-table,\ngreeting Venus with an intimate nod. She wore a gown of white watered\nsilk with gold lace trimmings, and a velvet necklet of false vermilion.\nHer hair hung in bandeaux over her ears, passing into a huge chignon\nat the back of her head, and the hat, wide-brimmed and hung with a\nvallance of pink muslin, was floral with red roses.\n\nPriapusa's voice was full of salacious unction; she had terrible little\ngestures with the hands, strange movements with the shoulders, a short\nrespiration that made surprising wrinkles in her bodice, a corrupt\nskin, large horny eyes, a parrot's nose, a small loose mouth, great\nflaccid cheeks, and chin after chin. She was a wise person, and Venus\nloved her more than any of her other servants, and had a hundred pet\nnames for her, such as, Dear Toad, Pretty Pol, Cock-robin, Dearest Lip,\nTouchstone, Little Cough-drop, Bijou, Buttons, Dear Heart, Dick-dock,\nMrs Manly, Little Nipper, Cochon-de-lait, Naughty-naughty, Bless\u00e8d\nThing, and Trump.\n\nThe talk that passed between Priapusa and her mistress was of that\nexcellent kind that passes between old friends, a perfect understanding\ngiving to scraps of phrases their full meaning, and to the merest\nreference, a point. Naturally Tannh\u00e4user, the new comer, was discussed\na little. Venus had not seen him yet, and asked a score of questions on\nhis account that were delightfully to the point.\n\nPriapusa told the story of his sudden arrival, his curious wandering in\nthe gardens, and calm satisfaction with all he saw there, his impromptu\naffection for a slender girl upon the first terrace, of the crowd of\nfrocks that gathered round and pelted him with roses, of the graceful\nway he defended himself with his mask, and of the queer reverence he\nmade to the statue of the God of all gardens, kissing that deity with\na pilgrim's devotion. Just now Tannh\u00e4user was at the baths, and was\ncreating a most favourable impression.\n\nThe report and the coiffing were completed at the same moment.\n\n\"Cosm\u00e9,\" said Venus, \"you have been quite sweet and quite brilliant,\nyou have surpassed yourself to-night.\" \"Madam flatters me,\" replied the\nantique old thing, with a girlish giggle under his black satin mask.\n\"Gad, Madam; sometimes I believe I have no talent in the world, but\nto-night I must confess to a touch of the vain mood.\" It would pain me\nhorribly to tell you about the painting of her face; suffice it that\nthe sorrowful work was accomplished frankly, magnificently, and without\na shadow of deception.\n\nVenus slipped away the dressing-gown, and rose before the mirror in\na flutter of frilled things. She was adorably tall and slender. Her\nneck and shoulders were so wonderfully drawn, and the little malicious\nbreasts were full of the irritation of loveliness that can never be\nentirely comprehended, or ever enjoyed to the utmost. Her arms and\nhands were loosely but delicately articulated, and her legs were\ndivinely long. From the hip to the knee, twenty-two inches; from the\nknee to the heel, twenty-two inches, as befitted a Goddess.\n\nI should like to speak more particularly about her, for generalities\nare not of the slightest service in a description. But I am afraid that\nan enforced silence here and there would leave such numerous gaps in\nthe picture that it had better not be begun at all than left unfinished.\n\nThose who have only seen Venus in the Vatican, in the Louvre, in\nthe Uffizi, or in the British Museum, can have no idea of how very\nbeautiful and sweet she looked. Not at all like the lady in \"Lempri\u00e8re.\"\n\nPriapusa grew quite lyric over the dear little person, and pecked at\nher arms with kisses.\n\n\"Dear Tongue, you must really behave yourself,\" said Venus, and called\nMillamant to bring her the slippers.\n\nThe tray was freighted with the most exquisite and shapely pantoufles,\nsufficient to make Cluny a place of naught. There were shoes of grey\nand black and brown su\u00e8de, of white silk and rose satin, and velvet and\nsarcenet; there were some of sea-green sewn with cherry blossoms, some\nof red with willow branches, and some of grey with bright-winged birds.\nThere were heels of silver, of ivory, and of gilt; there were buckles\nof very precious stones set in most strange and esoteric devices;\nthere were ribands tied and twisted into cunning forms; there were\nbuttons so beautiful that the button-holes might have no pleasure till\nthey closed upon them; there were soles of delicate leathers scented\nwith mar\u00e9chale, and linings of soft stuffs scented with the juice of\nJuly flowers. But Venus, finding none of them to her mind, called for\na discarded pair of blood-red maroquin, diapered with pearls. These\nlooked very distinguished over her white silk stockings.\n\nAs the tray was being carried away, the capricious Florizel snatched as\nusual a slipper from it, and fitted the foot over his penis, and made\nthe necessary movements. That was Florizel's little caprice. Meantime,\nLa Popelini\u00e8re stepped forward with the frock.\n\n\"I shan't wear one to-night,\" said Venus. Then she slipped on her\ngloves.\n\nWhen the toilet was at an end all her doves clustered round her feet,\nloving to fr\u00f4ler her ankles with their plumes, and the dwarfs clapped\ntheir hands, and put their fingers between their lips and whistled.\nNever before had Venus been so radiant and compelling. Spiridion, in\nthe corner, looked up from his game of Spellicans and trembled. Claude\nand Clair, pale with pleasure, stroked and touched her with their\ndelicate hands, and wrinkled her stockings with their nervous lips, and\nsmoothed them with their thin fingers; and Sarrasine undid her garters\nand kissed them inside and put them on again, pressing her thighs with\nhis mouth. The dwarfs grew very daring, I can tell you. There was\nalmost a m\u00eal\u00e9e. They illustrated pages 72 and 73 of Delvau's Dictionary.\n\nIn the middle of it all, Pranzmungel announced that supper was ready\nupon the fifth terrace. \"Ah!\" cried Venus, \"I'm famished!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nHOW VENUS SUPPED AND THEREAFTER WAS MIGHTILY AMUSED BY THE CURIOUS\nPRANKS OF HER ENTOURAGE\n\n\nShe was quite delighted with Tannh\u00e4user, and, of course, he sat next\nher at supper.\n\nThe terrace, made beautiful with a thousand vain and fantastical\ndevices, and set with a hundred tables and four hundred couches,\npresented a truly splendid appearance. In the middle was a huge bronze\nfountain with three basins. From the first rose a many-breasted dragon,\nand four little Loves mounted upon swans, and each Love was furnished\nwith a bow and arrow. Two of them that faced the monster seemed to\nrecoil in fear, two that were behind made bold enough to aim their\nshafts at him. From the verge of the second sprang a circle of slim\ngolden columns that supported silver doves, with tails and wings spread\nout. The third, held by a group of grotesquely attenuated satyrs, was\ncentred with a thin pipe hung with masks and roses, and capped with\nchildren's heads.\n\nFrom the mouths of the dragon and the Loves, from the swans' eyes, from\nthe breasts of the doves, from the satyrs' horns and lips, from the\nmasks at many points, and from the childrens' curls, the water played\nprofusely, cutting strange arabesques and subtle figures.\n\nThe terrace was lit entirely by candles. There were four thousand of\nthem, not numbering those upon the tables. The candlesticks were of\na countless variety, and smiled with moulded coch\u00f4nneries. Some were\ntwenty feet high, and bore single candles that flared like fragrant\ntorches over the feast, and guttered till the wax stood round the\ntops in tall lances. Some, hung with dainty petticoats of shining\nlustres, had a whole bevy of tapers upon them, devised in circles, in\npyramids, in squares, in cuneiforms, in single lines regimentally and\nin crescents.\n\nThen on quaint pedestals and Terminal Gods and gracious pilasters of\nevery sort, were shell-like vases of excessive fruits and flowers that\nhung about and burst over the edges and could never be restrained. The\norange-trees and myrtles, looped with vermilion sashes, stood in frail\nporcelain pots, and the rose-trees were wound and twisted with superb\ninvention over trellis and standard. Upon one side of the terrace, a\nlong gilded stage for the comedians was curtained off with Pagonian\ntapestries, and in front of it the music-stands were placed. The tables\narranged between the fountain and the flight of steps to the sixth\nterrace were all circular, covered with white damask, and strewn with\nirises, roses, kingcups, colombines, daffodils, carnations and lilies;\nand the couches, high with soft cushions and spread with more stuffs\nthan could be named, had fans thrown upon them, and little amorous\nsurprise packets.\n\nBeyond the escalier stretched the gardens, which were designed so\nelaborately and with so much splendour that the architect of the F\u00eates\nd'Armailhacq could have found in them no matter for cavil, and the\nstill lakes strewn with profuse barges full of gay flowers and wax\nmarionettes, the alleys of tall trees, the arcades and cascades, the\npavilions, the grottoes, and the garden-gods--all took a strange tinge\nof revelry from the glare of the light that fell upon them from the\nfeast.\n\nThe frockless Venus and Tannh\u00e4user, with Priapusa and Claude and Clair,\nand Farcy, the chief comedian, sat at the same table. Tannh\u00e4user,\nwho had doffed his travelling suit, wore long black silk stockings,\na pair of pretty garters, a very elegant ruffled shirt, slippers\nand a wonderful dressing-gown. Claude and Clair wore nothing at\nall, delicious privilege of immaturity, and Farcy was in ordinary\nevening clothes. As for the rest of the company, it boasted some very\nnoticeable dresses, and whole tables of quite delightful coiffures.\nThere were spotted veils that seemed to stain the skin with some\nexquisite and august disease, fans with eye-slits in them through which\ntheir bearers peeped and peered; fans painted with postures and covered\nwith the sonnets of Sporion and the short stories of Scaramouche, and\nfans of big living moths stuck upon mounts of silver sticks. There were\nmasks of green velvet that make the face look trebly powdered; masks\nof the heads of birds, of apes, of serpents, of dolphins, of men and\nwomen, of little embryons and of cats; masks like the faces of gods;\nmasks of coloured glass, and masks of thin talc and of india-rubber.\nThere were wigs of black and scarlet wools, of peacocks' feathers, of\ngold and silver threads, of swansdown, of the tendrils of the vine,\nand of human hairs; huge collars of stiff muslin rising high above\nthe head; whole dresses of ostrich feathers curling inwards; tunics\nof panthers' skins that looked beautiful over pink tights; capotes of\ncrimson satin trimmed with the wings of owls; sleeves cut into the\nshapes of apocryphal animals; drawers flounced down to the ankles, and\nflecked with tiny, red roses; stockings clocked with f\u00eates galantes,\nand curious designs, and petticoats cut like artificial flowers. Some\nof the women had put on delightful little moustaches dyed in purples\nand bright greens, twisted and waxed with absolute skill; and some wore\ngreat white beards after the manner of Saint Wilgeforte. Then Dorat had\npainted extraordinary grotesques and vignettes over their bodies, here\nand there. Upon a cheek, an old man scratching his horned head; upon a\nforehead, an old woman teased by an impudent amor; upon a shoulder, an\namorous singerie; round a breast, a circlet of satyrs; about a wrist, a\nwreath of pale, unconscious babes; upon an elbow, a bouquet of spring\nflowers; across a back, some surprising scenes of adventure; at the\ncorners of a mouth, tiny red spots; and upon a neck, a flight of birds,\na caged parrot, a branch of fruit, a butterfly, a spider, a drunken\ndwarf, or, simply, some initials. But most wonderful of all were the\nblack silhouettes painted upon the legs, and which showed through a\nwhite silk stocking like a sumptuous bruise.\n\nThe supper provided by the ingenious Rambouillet was quite beyond\nparallel. Never had he created a more exquisite menu. The _consomm\u00e9\nimpromptu_ alone would have been sufficient to establish the immortal\nreputation of any chef. What, then, can I say of the _Dorade bouillie\nsauce mar\u00e9chale_, the _rago\u00fbt aux langues de carpes_, the _ramereaux\n\u00e0 la charni\u00e8re_, the _ciboulette de gibier \u00e0 l'espagnole_, the _pat\u00e9\nde cuisses d'oie aux pois de Monsalvie_, the _queues d'agneau au clair\nde lune_, the _artichauts \u00e0 la Grecque_, the _charlotte de pommes \u00e0\nla Lucy Waters_, the _bombes \u00e0 la mar\u00e9e_, and the _glaces aux rayons\nd'or_? A veritable tour de cuisine that surpassed even the famous\nlittle suppers given by the Marquis de R\u00e9chale at Passy, and which the\nAbb\u00e9 Mirliton pronounced \"impeccable, and too good to be eaten.\"\n\nAh! Pierre Antoine Berquin de Rambouillet; you are worthy of your\ndivine mistress!\n\nMere hunger quickly gave place to those finer instincts of the pure\ngourmet, and the strange wines, cooled in buckets of snow, unloosed\nall the d\u00e9collet\u00e9 spirits of astonishing conversation and atrocious\nlaughter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nHOW THE COURT OF VENUS BEHAVED STRANGELY AT HER SUPPER\n\n\nAt first there was the fun with the surprise packets that contained\nmyriads of amusing things, then a general criticism of the decorations,\neveryone finding a delightful meaning in the fall of festoon, turn of\ntwig, and twist of branch. Pulex, as usual, bore the palm for insight\nand invention, and to-night he was more brilliant than ever. He leant\nacross the table and explained to the young page, Macfils de Martaga,\nwhat thing was intended by a certain arrangement of roses. The young\npage smiled and hummed the refrain of \"La petite balette.\" Sporion,\ntoo, had delicate perceptions, and was vastly entertained by the\ndisposition of the candelabra.\n\nAs the courses advanced, the conversation grew bustling and more\npersonal. Pulex and Cyril and Marisca and Cathelin opened a fire of\nraillery. The infidelities of Cerise, the difficulties of Brancas,\nSarmean's caprices that morning in the lily garden, Thorilliere's\ndeclining strength, Astarte's affection for Roseola, Felix's impossible\nmember, Cathelin's passion for Sulpilia's poodle, Sola's passion\nfor herself, the nasty bite that Marisca gave Chloe, the \u00e9pilatiere\nof Pulex, Cyril's diseases, Butor's illness, Maryx's tiny cemetery,\nLesbia's profound fourth letter, and a thousand amatory follies of the\nday were discussed.\n\nFrom harsh and shrill and clamant, the voices grew blurred and\ninarticulate. Bad sentences were helped out by worse gestures, and at\none table, Scabius could only express himself with his napkin, after\nthe manner of Sir Jolly Jumble in the \"Soldier's Fortune\" of Otway.\nBasalissa and Lysistrata tried to pronounce each other's names, and\nbecame very affectionate in the attempt, and Tala, the tragedian, robed\nin ample purple, and wearing plume and buskin, rose to his feet, and\nwith swaying gestures began to recite one of his favourite parts. He\ngot no further than the first line, but repeated it again and again,\nwith fresh accents and intonations each time, and was only silenced by\nthe approach of the asparagus that was being served by satyrs costumed\nin white muslin.\n\nClitor and Sodon had a violent struggle over the beautiful Pella, and\nnearly upset a chandelier. Sophie became very intimate with an empty\nchampagne bottle, swore it had made her enciente, and ended by having\na mock accouchment on the top of the table; and Belamour pretended to\nbe a dog, and pranced from couch to couch on all fours, biting and\nbarking and licking. Mellefont crept about dropping love philtres into\nglasses. Juventus and Ruella stripped and put on each other's things,\nSpelto offered a prize for whoever should come first, and Spelto won\nit! Tannh\u00e4user, just a little gris\u00e9, lay down on the cushions and let\nJulia do whatever she liked.\n\nI wish I could be allowed to tell you what occurred round table 15,\njust at this moment. It would amuse you very much, and would give you\na capital idea of the habits of Venus' retinue. Indeed, for deplorable\nreasons, by far the greater part of what was said and done at this\nsupper must remain unrecorded and even unsuggested.\n\nVenus allowed most of the dishes to pass untasted, she was so\nengaged with the beauty of Tannh\u00e4user. She laid her head many times\non his robe, kissing him passionately; and his skin, at once firm\nand yielding, seemed to those exquisite little teeth of hers, the\nmost incomparable pasture. Her upper lip curled and trembled with\nexcitement, showing the gums. Tannh\u00e4user, on his side, was no less\ndevoted. He adored her all over and all the things she had on, and\nburied his face in the folds and flounces of her linen, and ravished\naway a score of frills in his excess. He found her exasperating, and\ncrushed her in his arms, and slaked his parched lips at her mouth. He\ncaressed her eyelids softly with his finger tips, and pushed aside the\ncurls from her forehead, and did a thousand gracious things, tuning\nher body as a violinist tunes his instrument before he plays upon it.\nPriapusa snorted like an old war horse at the sniff of powder, and\ntickled Tannh\u00e4user and Venus by turns, and slipped her tongue down\ntheir throats, and refused to be quiet at all until she had had a\nmouthful of the Chevalier. Claude, seizing his chance, dived under\nthe table and came up the other side just under the queen's couch,\nand before she could say \"One!\" he was taking his coffee \"aux deux\ncolonnes.\" Clair was furious at his friend's success, and sulked for\nthe rest of the evening.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nOF THE BALLET DANCED BY THE SERVANTS OF VENUS\n\n\nAfter the fruits and fresh wines had been brought in by a troop of\nwoodland creatures, decked with green leaves and all sorts of Spring\nflowers, the candles in the orchestra were lit, and in another moment\nthe musicians bustled into their places. The wonderful Titurel de\nSchentefleur was the chef d'orchestre, and the most insidious of\nconductors. His baton dived into a phrase and brought out the most\nmagical and magnificent things, and seemed rather to play every\ninstrument than to lead it. He could add a grace even to Scarlatti\nand a wonder to Beethoven. A delicate, thin, little man with thick\nlips and a nez retrouss\u00e9, with long black hair and curled moustache,\nin the manner of Moli\u00e8re. What were his amatory tastes, no one in the\nVenusberg could tell. He generally passed for a virgin, and Cathos had\nnicknamed him \"The Solitaire.\"\n\nTo-night he appeared in a court suit of white silk, brilliant with\ndecorations. His hair was curled into resplendent ringlets that\ntrembled like springs at the merest gesture of his arm, and in his ears\nswung the diamonds given him by Venus.\n\nThe orchestra was, as usual, in its uniform of red vest and breeches\ntrimmed with gold lace, white stockings and red shoes. Titurel had\nwritten a ballet for the evening's divertissement, founded upon De\nBergerac's comedy of \"Les Bacchanales de Fanfreluche,\" in which the\naction and dances were designed by him as well as the music.\n\n\nI\n\nThe curtain rose upon a scene of rare beauty, a remote Arcadian valley,\nand watered with a dear river as fresh and pastoral as a perfect fifth\nof this scrap of Tempe. It was early morning, and the re-arisen sun,\nlike the prince in the \"Sleeping Beauty,\" woke all the earth with\nhis lips. In that golden embrace the night dews were caught up and\nmade splendid, the trees were awakened from their obscure dreams, the\nslumber of the birds was broken, and all the flowers of the valley\nrejoiced, forgetting their fear of the darkness.\n\nSuddenly, to the music of pipe and horn, a troop of satyrs stepped out\nfrom the recesses of the woods, bearing in their hands nuts and green\nboughs and flowers and roots and whatsoever the forest yielded, to heap\nupon the altar of the mysterious Pan that stood in the middle of the\nstage; and from the hills came down the shepherds and shepherdesses,\nleading their flocks and carrying garlands upon their crooks. Then a\nrustic priest, white-robed and venerable, came slowly across the valley\nfollowed by a choir of radiant children.\n\nThe scene was admirably stage-managed, and nothing could have been more\nvaried yet harmonious than this Arcadian group. The service was quaint\nand simple, but with sufficient ritual to give the corps-de-ballet an\nopportunity of showing its dainty skill. The dancing of the satyrs was\nreceived with huge favour, and when the priest raised his hand in final\nblessing, the whole troop of worshippers made such an intricate and\nelegant exit that it was generally agreed that Titurel had never before\nshown so fine an invention.\n\nScarcely had the stage been empty for a moment, when Sporion entered,\nfollowed by a brilliant rout of dandies and smart women. Sporion was a\ntall, slim, depraved young man with a slight stoop, a troubled walk, an\noval impassable face, with its olive skin drawn tightly over the bone,\nstrong scarlet lips, long Japanese eyes, and a great gilt toupet. Round\nhis shoulders hung a high-collared satin cape of salmon pink, with long\nblack ribands untied and floating about his body. His coat of sea-green\nspotted muslin was caught in at the waist by a scarlet sash with\nscalloped edges, and frilled out over the hips for about six inches.\nHis trousers, loose and wrinkled, reached to the end of the calf, and\nwere brocaded down the sides, and ruched magnificently at the ankles.\nThe stockings were of white kid, with stalls for the toes, and had\ndelicate red sandals strapped over them. But his little hands, peeping\nout from their frills, seemed quite the most insinuating things, such\nsupple fingers tapering to the point, with tiny nails stained pink,\nsuch unquenchable palms, lined and mounted like Lord Fanny's in \"Love\nat all Hazards,\" and such blue-veined, hairless backs! In his left hand\nhe carried a small lace handkerchief broidered with a coronet.\n\nAs for his friends and followers they made the most superb and insolent\ncrowd imaginable, but to catalogue the clothes they had on would\nrequire a chapter as long as the famous tenth in P\u00e9nilli\u00e8re's history\nof underlinen. On the whole they looked a very distinguished chorus.\n\nSporion stepped forward and explained with swift and various gesture\nthat he and his friends were tired of the amusements, wearied with the\npoor pleasures offered by the civil world, and had invaded the Arcadian\nvalley hoping to experience a new frisson in the destruction of some\nshepherd's or some satyr's na\u00efvet\u00e9, and the infusion of their venom\namong the dwellers of the woods.\n\nThe chorus assented with languid but expressive movements.\n\nCurious, and not a little frightened, at the arrival of the worldly\ncompany, the sylvans began to peep nervously at those subtle souls\nthrough the branches of the trees, and one or two fauns and a shepherd\nor so crept out warily. Sporion and all the ladies and gentlemen made\nenticing sounds and invited the rustic creatures with all the grace in\nthe world to come and join them. By little batches they came, lured by\nthe strange looks, by the scents and the doings, and by the brilliant\nclothes, and some ventured quite near, timorously fingering the\ndelicious textures of the stuffs. Then Sporion and each of his friends\ntook a satyr or a shepherd or something by the hand, and made the\npreliminary steps of a courtly measure, for which the most admirable\ncombinations had been invented, and the most charming music written.\n\nThe pastoral folk were entirely bewildered when they saw such\nrestrained and graceful movements, and made the most grotesque and\nfutile efforts to imitate them.\n\nDio mio, a pretty sight! A charming effect too was obtained by the\nintermixture of stockinged calf and hairy leg, of rich brocaded bodice\nand plain blouse, of tortured head-dress and loose untutored locks.\n\nWhen the dance was ended, the servants of Sporion brought on champagne,\nand, with many pirouettes, poured it magnificently into slender\nglasses, and tripped about plying those Arcadian mouths that had never\nbefore tasted such a royal drink.\n\n    *    *    *    *    *    *    *\n\nThen the curtain fell with a pudic rapidity.\n\n\nII\n\n'Twas not long before the invaders began to enjoy the first fruits\nof their expedition, plucking them in the most seductive manner with\ntheir smooth fingers, and feasting lip and tongue and tooth, whilst\nthe shepherds and satyrs and shepherdesses fairly gasped under the\nnew joys, for the pleasure they experienced was almost too keen and\ntoo profound for their simple and untilled natures. Fanfreluche and\nthe rest of the rips and ladies tingled with excitement and frolicked\nlike young lambs in a fresh meadow. Again and again the wine was\ndanced round, and the valley grew as busy as a market day. Attracted\nby the noise and merrymaking, all those sweet infants I told you of,\nskipped suddenly on to the stage, and began clapping their hands and\nlaughing immoderately at the passion and the disorder and commotion,\nand mimicking the nervous staccato movements they saw in their pretty\nchildish way.\n\nIn a flash, Fanfreluche disentangled himself and sprang to his feet,\ngesticulating as if he would say, \"Ah, the little dears!\" \"Ah, the\nrorty little things!\" \"Ah, the little ducks!\" for he was so fond of\nchildren. Scarcely had he caught one by the thigh than a quick rush was\nmade by everybody for the succulent limbs; and how they tousled them\nand mousled them! The children cried out, I can tell you. Of course\nthere were not enough for everybody, so some had to share, and some had\nsimply to go on with what they were doing before.\n\nI must not, by the way, forget to mention the independent attitude\ntaken by six or seven of the party, who sat and stood about with\nhalf-closed eyes, inflated nostrils, clenched teeth, and painful,\nparted lips, behaving like the Duc de Broglio when he watched the\namours of the Regent d'Orl\u00e9ans.\n\nNow as Fanfreluche and his friends began to grow tired and exhausted\nwith the new debauch, they cared no longer to take the initiative,\nbut, relaxing every muscle, abandoned themselves to passive joys,\nyielding utterly to the ardent embraces of the intoxicated satyrs, who\nwaxed fast and furious, and seemed as if they would never come to the\nend of their strength. Full of the new tricks they had learnt that\nmorning, they played them passionately and roughly, making havoc of\nthe cultured flesh, and tearing the splendid frocks and dresses into\nribands. Duchesses and Mar\u00e9chales, Marquises and Princesses, Dukes\nand Marshalls, Marquesses and Princes, were ravished and stretched\nand rumpled and crushed beneath the interminable vigour and hairy\nbreasts of the inflamed woodlanders. They bit at the white thighs and\nnozzled wildly in the crevices. They sat astride the women's chests\nand consummated frantically with their bosoms; they caught their prey\nby the hips and held it over their heads, irrumating with prodigious\ngusto. It was the triumph of the valley.\n\nHigh up in the heavens the sun had mounted and filled all the air\nwith generous warmth, whilst shadows grew shorter and sharper. Little\nlight-winged papillons flitted across the stage, the bees made music\non their flowery way, the birds were very gay and kept up a jargoning\nand refraining, the lambs were bleating upon the hill side, and the\norchestra kept playing, playing the uncanny tunes of Titurel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nOF THE AMOROUS ENCOUNTER WHICH TOOK PLACE BETWEEN VENUS AND TANNH\u00c4USER\n\n\nVenus and Tannh\u00e4user had retired to the exquisite little boudoir or\npavilion Le Con had designed for the queen on the first terrace, and\nwhich commanded the most delicious view of the parks and gardens. It\nwas a sweet little place, all silk curtains and soft cushions. There\nwere eight sides to it, bright with mirrors and candelabra, and rich\nwith pictured panels, and the ceiling, dome shaped and some thirty feet\nabove the head, shone obscurely with gilt mouldings through the warm\nhaze of candle light below. Tiny wax statuettes dressed theatrically\nand smiling with plump cheeks, quaint magots that looked as cruel as\nforeign gods, gilded monticules, pale celadon vases, clocks that said\nnothing, ivory boxes full of secrets, china figures playing whole\nscenes of plays, and a world of strange preciousness crowded the\ncurious cabinets that stood against the walls. On one side of the room\nthere were six perfect little card tables, with quite the daintiest and\nmost elegant chairs set primly round them; so, after all, there may be\nsome truth in that line of Mr Theodore Watts,--\n\n    \"I played at piquet with the Queen of Love.\"\n\nNothing in the pavilion was more beautiful than the folding screens\npainted by De La Pine, with Claudian landscapes--the sort of things\nthat fairly make one melt, things one can lie and look at for hours\ntogether, and forget the country can ever be dull and tiresome. There\nwere four of them, delicate walls that hem in an amour so cosily, and\nmake room within room.\n\nThe place was scented with huge branches of red roses, and with a faint\namatory perfume breathed out from the couches and cushions--a perfume\nChateline distilled in secret and called L'Eau Lavante.\n\nThose who have only seen Venus at the Louvre or the British Museum, at\nFlorence, at Naples, or at Rome, can have not the faintest idea how\nsweet and enticing and gracious, how really exquisitely beautiful she\nlooked lying with Tannh\u00e4user upon rose silk in that pretty boudoir.\nCosm\u00e9's precise curls and artful waves had been finally disarranged at\nsupper, and strayed ringlets of the black hair fell loosely over her\nsoft, delicious, tired, swollen eye-lids. Her frail chemise and dear\nlittle drawers were torn and moist, and clung transparently about her,\nand all her body was nervous and responsive. Her closed thighs seemed\nlike a vast replica of the little bijou she held between them; the\nbeautiful t\u00e9tons du derri\u00e8re were as firm as a plump virgin's cheek,\nand promised a joy as profound as the mystery of the Rue Vend\u00f4me, and\nthe minor chevelure, just profuse enough, curled as prettily as the\nhair upon a cherub's head.\n\nTannh\u00e4user, pale and speechless with excitement, passed his gem-girt\nfingers brutally over the divine limbs, tearing away smock and pantalon\nand stocking, and then, stripping himself of his own few things, fell\nupon the splendid lady with a deep-drawn breath!\n\nIt is, I know, the custom of all romancers to paint heroes who can\ngive a lady proof of their valliance at least twenty times a night.\nNow Tannh\u00e4user had no such Gargantuan facility, and was rather\nrelieved when, an hour later, Priapusa and Doricourt and some others\nburst drunkenly into the room and claimed Venus for themselves. The\npavilion soon filled with a noisy crowd that could scarcely keep\nits feet. Several of the actors were there, and Lesfesses, who had\nplayed Fanfreluche so brilliantly, and was still in his make-up, paid\ntremendous attention to Tannh\u00e4user. But the Chevalier found him quite\nuninteresting off the stage, and rose and crossed the room to where\nVenus and the manicure were seated.\n\n\"How tired the dear baby looks,\" said Priapusa. \"Shall I put him in his\nlittle cot?\"\n\n\"Well, if he's as sleepy as I am,\" yawned Venus, \"you can't do better.\"\n\nPriapusa lifted her mistress off the pillows, and carried her in her\narms in a nice, motherly way.\n\n\"Come along, children,\" said the fat old thing, \"come along; it's time\nyou were both in bed.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nHOW TANNH\u00c4USER AWAKENED AND TOOK HIS MORNING ABLUTIONS IN THE VENUSBERG\n\n\nIt is always delightful to wake up in a new bedroom. The fresh\nwall paper, the strange pictures, the positions of doors and\nwindows--imperfectly grasped the night before--are revealed with all\nthe charm of surprise when we open our eyes the next morning.\n\nIt was about eleven o'clock when Tannh\u00e4user awoke and stretched himself\ndeliciously in his great plumed four-post bed, and nursed his waking\nthoughts, and stared at the curious patterned canopy above him. He was\nvery pleased with the room, which certainly was chic and fascinating,\nand recalled the voluptuous interiors of the elegant amorous Baudouin.\nThrough the tiny parting of the long, flowered window curtains, the\nChevalier caught a peep of the sun-lit lawns outside, the silver\nfountains, the bright flowers, and the gardeners at work.\n\n\"Quite sweet,\" he murmured, and turned round to freshen the frilled\nsilk pillows behind him; \"and what delightful pictures,\" he continued,\nwandering with his eyes from print to print that hung upon the\nrose-striped walls. Within the delicate, curved frames lived the\ncorrupt and gracious creatures of Dorat and his school; slim children\nin masque and domino, smiling horribly, exquisite letchers leaning over\nthe shoulders of smooth doll-like ladies, and doing nothing particular,\nterrible little pierrots posing as mulierasts, or pointing at something\noutside the picture, and unearthly fops and strange women mingling in\nsome rococo room lighted mysteriously by the flicker of a dying fire\nthat throws huge shadows upon wall and ceiling. One of the prints\nshowing how an old marquis practised the five-finger exercise, while in\nfront of him his mistress offered her warm fesses to a panting poodle,\nmade the chevalier stroke himself a little.\n\nAfter the chevalier got up, he slipped off his dainty night-dress,\nposturing elegantly before a long mirror, and made much of himself. Now\nhe would bend forward, now lie upon the floor, now stand upright, and\nnow rest upon one leg and let the other hang loosely till he looked as\nif he might have been drawn by some early Italian master. Anon he would\nlie upon the floor with his back to the glass, and glance amorously\nover his shoulder. Then with a white silk sash he draped himself in a\nhundred charming ways. So engrossed was he with his mirrored shape that\nhe had not noticed the entrance of a troop of serving boys, who stood\nadmiringly but respectfully at a distance, ready to receive his waking\norders. As soon as the chevalier observed them he smiled sweetly, and\nbade them prepare his bath.\n\nThe bathroom was the largest and perhaps the most beautiful apartment\nin his splendid suite. The well-known engraving by Lorette that forms\nthe frontispiece to Millevoye's \"Architecture du XVIIIme si\u00e8cle,\" will\ngive you a better idea than any words of mine of the construction and\ndecoration of the room. Only, in Lorette's engraving, the bath sunk\ninto the middle of the floor is a little too small.\n\nTannh\u00e4user stood for a moment, like Narcissus, gazing at his reflection\nin the still scented water, and then just ruffling its smooth surface\nwith one foot, stepped elegantly into the cool basin, and swam round it\ntwice, very gracefully.\n\n\"Won't you join me?\" he said, turning to those beautiful boys who stood\nready with warm towels and perfume. In a moment they were free of their\nlight morning dress, and jumped into the water and joined hands, and\nsurrounded the Chevalier with a laughing chain.\n\n\"Splash me a little,\" he cried, and the boys teased him with water\nand quite excited him. He chased the prettiest of them and bit his\nfesses, and kissed him upon the perineum till the dear fellow banded\nlike a Carmelite, and its little bald top-knot looked like a great pink\npearl under the water. As the boy seemed anxious to take up the active\nattitude, Tannh\u00e4user graciously descended to the passive--a generous\ntrait that won him the complete affections of his valets de bain, or\npretty fish, as he called them, because they loved to swim between his\nlegs.\n\nHowever, it is not so much at the very bath itself, as in the drying\nand delicious frictions, that a bather finds his chiefest pleasures,\nand Tannh\u00e4user was more than satisfied with the skill his attendants\ndisplayed in the performance of those quasi amorous functions. The\ndelicate attention they paid his loving parts aroused feelings within\nhim that almost amounted to gratitude; and when the rites were ended,\nany touch of home-sickness he might have felt before was utterly\ndispelled.\n\nAfter he had rested a little, and sipped his chocolate, he wandered\ninto the dressing-room. Daucourt, his valet de chambre, Chenille, the\nperruquier and barber, and two charming young dressers, were awaiting\nhim and ready with suggestions for the morning toilet. The shaving\nover, Daucourt commanded his underlings to step forward with the suite\nof suits from which he proposed Tannh\u00e4user should make a choice. The\nfinal selection was a happy one. A dear little coat of pigeon rose silk\nthat hung loosely about his hips, and showed off the jut of his behind\nto perfection; trousers of black lace in flounces, falling--almost\nlike a petticoat--as far as the knee; and a delicate chemise of white\nmuslin, spangled with gold and profusely pleated.\n\nThe two dressers, under Daucourt's direction, did their work superbly,\nbeautifully, leisurely, with an exquisite deference for the nude, and a\nreally sensitive appreciation of Tannh\u00e4user's scrumptious torso.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nOF THE ECSTACY OF ADOLPHE, AND THE REMARKABLE MANIFESTATION THEREOF\n\n\nWhen all was said and done, the Chevalier tripped off to bid good\nmorning to Venus. He found her wandering, in a sweet white muslin\nfrock, upon the lawn outside, plucking flowers to deck her little\nd\u00e9jeuner. He kissed her lightly upon the neck.\n\n\"I'm just going to feed Adolphe,\" she said, pointing to a little\nreticule of buns that hung from her arm. Adolphe was her pet unicorn.\n\"He is such a dear,\" she continued; \"milk-white all over excepting his\nblack eyes, rose mouth and nostrils, and scarlet John.\"\n\nThe unicorn had a very pretty palace of its own, made of green foliage\nand golden bars--a fitting home for such a delicate and dainty beast.\nAh, it was indeed a splendid thing to watch the white creature roaming\nin its artful cage, proud and beautiful, and knowing no mate except the\nQueen herself.\n\nAs Venus and Tannh\u00e4user approached the wicket, Adolphe began prancing\nand curvetting, pawing the soft turf with his ivory hoofs, and\nflaunting his tail like a gonfalon. Venus raised the latch and entered.\n\n\"You mustn't come in with me--Adolphe is so jealous,\" she said, turning\nto the Chevalier who was following her; \"but you can stand outside and\nlook on; Adolphe likes an audience.\" Then in her delicious fingers she\nbroke the spicy buns, and with affectionate niceness, breakfasted her\nardent pet. When the last crumbs had been scattered, Venus brushed her\nhands together and pretended to leave the cage, without taking any more\nnotice of Adolphe. Every morning she went through this piece of play,\nand every morning the amorous unicorn was cheated into a distressing\nagony lest that day should have proved the last of Venus's love. Not\nfor long, though, would she leave him in that doubtful, piteous state,\nbut running back passionately to where he stood, make adorable amends\nfor her unkindness.\n\nPoor Adolphe! How happy he was, touching the Queen's breasts with his\nquick tongue-tip. I have no doubt that the keener scent of animals must\nmake women much more attractive to them than to men; for the gorgeous\nodour that but faintly fills our nostrils must be revealed to the brute\ncreation in divine fulness. Anyhow, Adolphe sniffed as never a man did\naround the skirts of Venus. After the first charming interchange of\naffectionate delicacies was over, the unicorn lay down upon his side,\nand, closing his eyes, beat his stomach wildly with the mark of manhood!\n\nVenus caught that stunning member in her hands and lay her cheek\nalong it; but few touches were wanted to consummate the creature's\npleasure. The Queen bared her left arm to the elbow, and with the\nsoft underneath of it made amazing movements horizontally upon the\ntight-strung instrument. When the melody began to flow, the unicorn\noffered up an astonishing vocal accompaniment. Tannh\u00e4user was amused to\nlearn that the etiquette of the Venusberg compelled everybody to await\nthe outburst of these venereal sounds before they could sit down to\nd\u00e9jeuner.\n\nAdolphe had been quite profuse that morning.\n\nVenus knelt where it had fallen, and lapped her little ap\u00e9ritif!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nHOW VENUS AND TANNH\u00c4USER BREAKFASTED AND THEN DROVE THROUGH THE PALACE\nGARDENS\n\n\nThe breakfasters were scattered over the gardens in t\u00eates-\u00e0-t\u00eates and\ntiny parties. Venus and Tannh\u00e4user sat together upon the lawn that lay\nin front of the Casino, and made havoc of a ravishing d\u00e9jeuner. The\nChevalier was feeling very happy. Everything around him seemed so white\nand light and matinal; the floating frocks of the ladies, the scarce\nrobed boys and satyrs stepping hither and thither elegantly, with meats\nand wines and fruits; the damask tablecloths, the delicate talk and\nlaughter that rose everywhere; the flowers' colour and the flowers'\nscent; the shady trees, the wind's cool voice, and the sky above that\nwas as fresh and pastoral as a perfect fifth. And Venus looked so\nbeautiful. Not at all like the lady in Lempri\u00e8re.\n\n\"You're such a dear!\" murmured Tannh\u00e4user, holding her hand.\n\nAt the further end of the lawn, and a little hidden by a rose-tree, a\nyoung man was breakfasting alone. He toyed nervously with his food now\nand then, but for the most part leant back in his chair with unemployed\nhands, and gazed stupidly at Venus.\n\n\"That's Felix,\" said the Goddess, in answer to an enquiry from the\nChevalier; and she went on to explain his attitude. Felix always\nattended Venus upon her little latrinal excursions, holding her,\nserving her, and making much of all she did. To undo her things, to\nlift her skirts, to wait and watch the coming, to dip a lip or finger\nin the royal output, to stain himself deliciously with it, to lie\nbeneath her as the favours fell, to carry off the crumpled, crotted\npaper--these were the pleasures of that young man's life. Truly there\nnever was a queen so beloved by her subjects as Venus. Everything\nshe wore had its lover. Heavens! how her handkerchiefs were filched,\nher stockings stolen! Daily, what intrigues, what countless ruses\nto possess her merest frippery! Every scrap of her body was adored.\nNever, for Savaral, could her ear yield sufficient wax! Never, for\nPradon, could she spit prodigally enough! And Saphius found a month an\ninterminable time.\n\nAfter breakfast was over, and Felix's fears lest Tannh\u00e4user should have\nrobbed him of his capricious rights had been dispelled, Venus invited\nthe Chevalier to take a more extensive view of the gardens, parks,\npavilions, and ornamental waters. The carriage was ordered. It was a\ndelicate, shell-like affair, with billowy cushions and a light canopy,\nand was drawn by ten satyrs, dressed as finely as the coach-men of the\nEmpress Pauline the First.\n\nThe drive proved interesting and various, and T\u00e4nnhauser was quite\ndelighted with almost everything he saw.\n\nAnd who is not pleased when on either side of him rich lawns are spread\nwith lovely frocks and white limbs,--and upon flower-beds the dearest\nladies are implicated in a glory of underclothing,--when he can see\nin the deep cool shadows of the trees warm boys entwined, here at the\nbase, there in the branch,--when in the fountain's wave Love holds his\ncourt, and the insistent water burrows in every delicious crease and\ncrevice?\n\nA pretty sight, too, was little Rosalie, perched like a postilion upon\nthe painted phallus of the god of all gardens. Her eyes were closed\nand she was smiling as the carriage passed. Round her neck and slender\ngirlish shoulders there was a cloud of complex dress, over which bulged\nher wig-like flaxen tresses. Her legs and feet were bare, and the toes\ntwisted in an amorous style. At the foot of the statue lay her shoes\nand stockings and a few other things.\n\nTannh\u00e4user was singularly moved at this spectacle, and rose out of\nall proportion. Venus slipped the fingers of comfort under the lace\nflounces of his trousers, saying, \"Is it all mine? Is it all mine?\" and\ndoing fascinating things. In the end, the carriage was only prevented\nfrom being overturned by the happy interposition of Priapusa, who\nstepped out from somewhere or other just in time to preserve its\nbalance.\n\nHow the old lady's eye glistened as Tannh\u00e4user withdrew his panting\nblade! In her sincere admiration for fine things, she quite forgot\nand forgave the shock she had received from the falling of the gay\nequipage. Venus and Tannh\u00e4user were profuse with apology and thanks,\nand quite a crowd of loving courtiers gathered round, consoling and\ncongratulating in a breath.\n\nThe Chevalier vowed he would never go in the carriage again, and\nwas really quite upset about it. However, after he had had a little\nsupport from the smelling-salts, he recovered his self possession, and\nconsented to drive on further.\n\nThe landscape grew rather mysterious. The park, no longer troubled and\nadorned with figures, was full of grey echoes and mysterious sounds;\nthe leaves whispered a little sadly, and there was a grotto that\nmurmured like the voice that haunts the silence of a deserted oracle.\nTannh\u00e4user became a little triste. In the distance, through the trees,\ngleamed a still, argent lake--a reticent, romantic water that must have\nheld the subtlest fish that ever were. Around its marge the trees and\nflags and fleurs de luce were unbreakably asleep.\n\nThe Chevalier fell into a strange mood, as he looked at the lake. It\nseemed to him that the thing would speak, reveal some curious secret,\nsay some beautiful word, if he should dare wrinkle its pale face with a\npebble.\n\n\"I should be frightened to do that, though,\" he said to himself. Then\nhe wondered what there might be upon the other side; other gardens,\nother gods? A thousand drowsy fancies passed through his brain.\nSometimes the lake took fantastic shapes, or grew to twenty times its\nsize, or shrunk into a miniature of itself, without ever once losing\nits unruffled calm, its deathly reserve. When the water increased, the\nChevalier was very frightened, for he thought how huge the frogs must\nhave become. He thought of their big eyes and monstrous wet feet, but\nwhen the water lessened, he laughed to himself, whilst thinking how\ntiny the frogs must have grown. He thought of their legs that must\nlook thinner than spiders', and of their dwindled croaking that never\ncould be heard. Perhaps the lake was only painted, after all. He had\nseen things like it at the theatre. Anyhow, it was a wonderful lake, a\nbeautiful lake, and he would love to bathe in it, but he was sure he\nwould be drowned if he did.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nOF THE STABAT MATER, SPIRIDION, AND DE LA PINE\n\n\nWhen he woke up from his day-dream, he noticed that the carriage was\non its way back to the palace. They stopped at the Casino first, and\nstepped out to join the players at petits chevaux. Tannh\u00e4user preferred\nto watch the game rather than play himself, and stood behind Venus, who\nslipped into a vacant chair and cast gold pieces upon lucky numbers.\nThe first thing that Tannh\u00e4user noticed was the grace and charm, the\ngaiety and beauty of the croupiers. They were quite adorable even\nwhen they raked in one's little losings. Dressed in black silk, and\nwearing white kid gloves, loose yellow wigs and feathered toques:\nwith faces oval and young, bodies lithe and quick, voices silvery\nand affectionate, they made amends for all the hateful arrogance,\ndisgusting aplomb, and shameful ugliness of the rest of their kind.\n\nThe dear fellow who proclaimed the winner was really quite delightful.\nHe took a passionate interest in the horses, and had licked all the\npaint off their petits couillons!\n\nYou will ask me, no doubt, \"Is that all he did?\" I will answer, \"Not\nquite,\" as the merest glance at their petits derri\u00e8res would prove.\n\nIn the afternoon light that came through the great silken-blinded\nwindows of the Casino, all the gilded decorations, all the chandeliers,\nthe mirrors, the polished floor, the painted ceiling, the horses\ngalloping round their green meadow, the fat rouleaux of gold and\nsilver, the ivory rakes, the fanned and strange frocked crowd of dandy\ngamesters looked magnificently rich and warm. Tea was being served.\nIt was so pretty to see some plushed little lady sipping nervously,\nand keeping her eyes over the cup's edge intently upon the slackening\nhorses. The more indifferent left the tables and took their tea in\nparties here and there.\n\nTannh\u00e4user found a great deal to amuse him at the Casino. Ponchon was\nthe manager, and a person of extra-ordinary invention. Never a day but\nhe was ready with a new show--a novel attraction. A glance through the\nold Casino programmes would give you a very considerable idea of his\ntalent. What countless ballets, comedies, comedy-ballets, concerts,\nmasques, charades, proverbs, pantomimes, tableaux-magiques, and\npeep-shows excentriques; what troupes of marionettes, what burlesques!\n\nPonchon had an astonishing flair for new talent, and many of the\nprincipal comedians and singers at the Queen's Theatre and Opera House\nhad made their first appearance and reputation at the Casino.\n\nThis afternoon the pi\u00e8ce de r\u00e9sistance was a performance of Rossini's\nStabat Mater, an adorable masterpiece. It was given in the beautiful\nSalle des Printemps Parfum\u00e9s. Ah! what a stunning rendering of the\ndelicious demod\u00e9 pi\u00e8ce de d\u00e9cadence. There is a subtle quality about\nthe music, like the unhealthy bloom upon wax fruit, that both orchestra\nand singer contrived to emphasize with consummate delicacy.\n\nThe Virgin was sung by Spiridion, that soft incomparable alto. A\nmiraculous virgin, too, he made of her. To begin with, he dressed\nthe r\u00f4le most effectively. His plump legs up to the feminine hips of\nhim, were in very white stockings, clocked with a false pink. He wore\nbrown kid boots, buttoned to mid-calf, and his whorish thighs had thin\nscarlet garters round them. His jacket was cut like a jockey's, only\nthe sleeves ended in manifold frills, and round the neck, and just upon\nthe shoulders, there was a black cape. His hair, dyed green, was curled\ninto ringlets, such as the smooth Madonnas of Morales are made lovely\nwith, and fell over his high egg-shaped creamy forehead, and about his\nears and cheeks and back.\n\nThe alto's face was fearful and wonderful--a dream face. The eyes\nwere full and black, with puffy blue rimmed hemispheres beneath them,\nthe cheeks, inclining to fatness, powdered and dimpled, the mouth was\npurple and curved painfully, the chin tiny, and exquisitely modelled,\nthe expression cruel and womanish. Heavens! how splendid he looked and\nsounded.\n\nAn exquisite piece of phrasing was accompanied with some curly gesture\nof the hand, some delightful undulation of the stomach, some nervous\nmovement of the thigh, or glorious rising of the bosom.\n\nThe performance provoked enthusiasm--thunders of applause. Claude and\nClair pelted the thing with roses, and carried him off in triumph to\nthe tables. His costume was declared ravishing. The men almost pulled\nhim to bits, and mouthed at his great quivering bottom! The little\nhorses were quite forgotten for the moment.\n\nSup, the penetrating, burst through his silk fleshings, and thrust\nin bravely up to the hilt, whilst the alto's legs were feasted upon\nby Pudex, Cyril, Anquetin, and some others. Ballice, Corvo, Quadra,\nSenill\u00e9, Mellefont, Theodore, Le Vit, and Matta, all of the egoistic\ncult, stood and crouched round, saturating the lovers with warm douches.\n\nLater in the afternoon, Venus and Tannh\u00e4user paid a little visit to\nDe La Pine's studio, as the Chevalier was very anxious to have his\nportrait painted. De La Pine's glory as a painter was hugely increased\nby his reputation as a fouteur, for ladies that had pleasant memories\nof him looked with a biassed eye upon his f\u00eates galantes merveilleuses,\nportraits and folies berg\u00e8res.\n\nYes, he was a bawdy creature, and his workshop a regular brothel.\nHowever, his great talent stood in no need of such meretricious and\nphallic support, and he was every whit as strong and facile with his\nbrush as with his tool!\n\nWhen Venus and the Chevalier entered his studio, he was standing amid a\ngroup of friends and connoisseurs who were liking his latest picture.\nIt was a small canvas, one of his delightful morning pieces. Upon an\nItalian balcony stood a lady in a white frock, reading a letter. She\nwore brown stockings, straw-coloured petticoats, white shoes, and a\nLeghorn hat. Her hair was red and in a chignon. At her feet lay a tiny\nJapanese dog, painted from the Queen's favourite \"Fanny,\" and upon the\nbalustrade stood an open empty bird cage. The background was a stretch\nof Gallic country, clusters of trees cresting the ridges of low hills,\na bit of river, a chateau, and the morning sky.\n\nDe La Pine hastened to kiss the moist and scented hand of Venus.\nTannh\u00e4user bowed profoundly and begged to have some pictures shown him.\nThe gracious painter took him round his studio.\n\nCosm\u00e9 was one of the party, for De La Pine just then was painting his\nportrait--a portrait, by the way, which promised to be a veritable chef\nd'oeuvre, Cosm\u00e9 was loved and admired by everybody. To begin with, he\nwas pastmaster in his art, that fine, relevant art of coiffing; then\nhe was really modest and obliging, and was only seen and heard when he\nwas wanted. He was useful; he was decorative in his white apron, black\nmask, and silver suit; he was discreet.\n\nThe painter was giving Venus and Tannh\u00e4user a little dinner that\nevening, and he insisted on Cosm\u00e9 joining them. The barber vowed he\nwould be de trop, and required a world of pressing before he would\naccept the invitation. Venus added her voice, and he consented.\n\nAh I what a delightful little partie carr\u00e9 it turned out. The painter\nwas in purple and full dress, all tassels and grand folds. His hair\nmagnificently curled, his heavy eye-lids painted, his gestures large\nand romantic, he reminded one a little of Maurel playing Wolfram in the\nsecond act of the Opera of Wagner.","title":"The Story of Venus and Tannh\u00e4user: A Romantic Novel","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":11219}