Delphi complete works of.., p.219
Delphi Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (Illustrated), page 219
‘I did so. We both sipped a glass of Alkermes, which a servant-man brought in soon afterwards, and then I took my leave. She, however, only allowed me to go, after full assurance that I’d not fail to call the following day.
‘On the morrow I was there at the appointed hour. She first made me sit down by the bedside, to rest awhile. She pressed my hand and tenderly patted it — that hand, she said, which had done her so much good, and which was to operate marvelous cures ere long. “Only, doctor,” added she, simpering, “the pain has gone higher up.”
‘I could hardly keep from smiling, and I began to ask myself of what nature this pain was.
‘I set myself to rub. From the broad ankle my hand went up to the knee, then higher, and always higher, to her evident satisfaction. When at last it had reached the top of her legs,— “There, there, doctor! you have hit it,” she said, in a soft, purring voice; “how clever you are to find the right spot. Rub gently all around there. “Vfes, like that; neither higher up nor lower down — a little more broadwise, perhaps — just a leetle more in the middle, doctor! Oh, what good it does me to be rubbed like that! I feel quite another person; ever so much younger — quite frisky, in fact. Rub, doctor, rub!” And she rolled in the bed rapturously, after the fashion of an old tabby.
Then, all at once,— “But I think you are mesmerizing me, doctor! Oh, what fine blue eyes you have! I can see myself in your luminous pupils as in a mirror.” Thereupon, putting an arm round my neck, she began to pull me down on her, and to kiss me eagerly — or I ought rather to say, to suck me with two thick lips that felt against mine like huge horseleeches.
‘Seeing that I could not go on with my massage, and getting to understand at last what kind of friction she required, I pushed aside the tufts of coarse, crisp, and thick hair, I introduced the tip of my finger between the bulgy lips, and tickled, rubbed, and chafed the full-sized and frisky clitoris in such a way that I soon made it piss copiously; that, however — far from soothing and satisfying her — only titillated and excited her; so that after this there was no escaping from her clutches. She was, moreover, holding me by the right sort of handle, and I could not afford — like Joseph — to run away and leave it in her hand.
‘To calm her, therefore, nothing else was left to me but to get on top of her and administer another kind of massage, which I did with as good a grace as I could, although, as you are all aware, I never cared for women, and above all, for stale ones. Still — for a woman and an old one — she was not so bad, after all. Her lips were thick, fleshy, and bulgy; the sphincter had not got relaxed with age, the erectile tissue had lost none of its muscular strength, her grip was powerful, and the pleasure she gave me was not to be despised. I therefore poured two libations into her before I got from over her, during which time she from purring began to mew, and then actually to shriek like a screech-owl, so great was the pleasure she was deriving.
‘Whether true or not, she said that she had never felt such pleasure all her life. Anyhow, the cure I effected was a wonderful one, for she shortly afterwards quite recovered the use of her legs. Even N — n was proud of me. It is to her and to my arms that I owe my position as a masseur.’
‘Well, and that jewel!’ said I.
‘Yes, I was quite forgetting it. The summer came, so she had to leave town and go to a watering-place, where I had no wish to follow her; she consequently made me swear that I’d not have a single woman during her absence. I, of course, did so with an easy conscience and a light heart.
‘When she came back, she made me take my oath again, after which she unbuttoned my trousers, dragged out Sir Priapus, and in due form crowned him as a Rosiere.
‘I may say, however, that he was not at all stiff-necked and uppish; nay, he seemed so overcome — perhaps he thought he did not deserve this honor — that he bowed down his head quite meekly. I used to wear that jewel on my chain, but everyone kept asking me what it was. I told her of it, and she presented me with this chain and made me wear it round my neck.’
The agape had come to an end, the spiced aphrodisiac dishes, the strong drinks, the merry conversation, stirred up again our sluggish lust. Little by little the position on every couch became more provoking, the jokes more obscene, the songs more lascivious; the mirth was more uproarious, the brains were all aglow, the flesh was tingling with newly- awakened desire. Almost every man was naked, every phallus was stiff and stark; it seemed quite a pandemonium of lewdness.
One of the guests showed us how to make a Priapean fountain, or the proper way of sipping liqueurs. He got a young Ganymede to pour a continuous thread of Chartreuse out of a long-beaked silver ewer down on Briancourt’s chest. The liquid trickled down the stomach and through the tiny curls of the jet- black, rose-scented hair, all along the phallus, and into the mouth of the man kneeling in front of him. The three men were so handsome, the group so classic, that a photograph was taken of it by limelight.
‘It’s very pretty,’ said the Spahi, ‘but I think I can show you something better still.’
‘And what is that?’ asked Briancourt.
‘The way they eat preserved dates stuffed with pistachioes in Algiers; and as you happen to have some on the table, we can try it.’
The old general chuckled, evidently enjoying the fun.
The Spahi then made his bedfellow go on all fours, with his head down and his backside up; then he carefully placed the dates where he wanted them.
‘Wait, don’t get up yet,’ said the Spahi, ‘I haven’t yet quite finished; let me just put the fruit of the tree of knowledge into it.’ Thereupon he got on him, and taking his instrument in his hand, he pressed it into the hole in which the dates had been; and slippery as the gap was, it disappeared entirely after a thrust or two.
At the sight of this tableau vivant of hellish concupiscence, all our blood rose bubbling to our heads. Everyone seemed eager to enjoy what those men were feeling. Every unhooded phallus was not only full of blood, but as stiff as a rod of iron, and painful in its erection. Everyone was writhing as if tormented by an inward convulsion. I myself, not inured to such sights, was groaning with pleasure, maddened by Teleny’s exciting kisses, and by the doctor, who was pressing his lips on the soles of my feet.
Finally, by the lusty thrusts the Spahi was now giving, we understood that the last moment had come. It was like an electric shock amongst us all.
‘They enjoy, they enjoy!’ was the cry, uttered from every lip.
All the couples were cleaving together, kissing each other, rubbing their naked bodies one against the other, trying what new excess their lechery could devise.
When at last the Spahi pulled his limp organ out, the sodomized man fell senseless on the couch, all covered with perspiration.
‘Ah!’ said the Spahi, quietly lighting a cigarette, ‘what pleasures can be compared with those of the Cities of the Plain? The Arabs are right. They are our masters in this art; for there, if every man is not passive in his manhood, he is always so in early youth and in old age, when he cannot be active any longer. They — unlike ourselves — know by long practice how to prolong this pleasure for an everlasting time. Their instruments are not huge, but they swell out to goodly proportions. They are skilled in enhancing their own pleasure by the satisfaction they afford to others. They do not flood you with watery sperm, they squirt on you a few thick drops that burn you like fire. How smooth and glossy their skin is! What a lava is bubbling in their veins! They are not men, they are lions; and they roar to lusty purpose.’
‘You must have tried a good many, I suppose?’
‘Scores of them; I enlisted for that, and I must say I did enjoy myself. Why, Viscount, your implement would only tickle me agreeably, if you could only keep it stiff long enough.’
Then pointing to a broad flask that stood on the table, ‘Why, that bottle there could, I think, be easily thrust in me, and only give me pleasure.’
‘Will you try?’ said many voices.
‘Why not?’
‘No, you had better not,’ warned Dr. Charles, who had crept by my side.
‘Why, what is there to be afraid of?’
‘It is a crime against nature,’ said the physician, smiling.
‘In fact, it would be worse than buggery, it would be bottlery,’ laughed Briancourt.
For all answer the Spahi threw himself face upwards on the ledge of the couch, with his bum uplifted towards us. Then two men went and sat on either side, so that he might rest his legs on their shoulders.
‘Who will have the goodness to moisten and lubricate the edges a little?’
Many seemed anxious to give themselves that pleasure, but it was allotted to one who had modestly introduced himself as a maitre de langues, ‘although with my proficiency’ — he added— ‘I might well call myself professor in the noble art.’ He was indeed a man who bore the weight of a great name, not only of old lineage — never sullied by any plebeian blood — but also famous in war, statesmanship, in literature and in science. He went on his knees before that mass of flesh, usually called an arse, pointed his tongue like a lance-head, and darted it in.
‘Now,’ said he, with the pride of an artist who has just finished his work, ‘my task is done.’
Another person had taken the bottle, and had rubbed it over with the grease of a pate de foie gras, then he began to press it in.
‘Aie, aie!’ said the Spahi, biting his lips; ‘it is a tight fit, but it’s in at last.’
‘Am I hurting you?’
‘It did pain a little, but now it’s all over,’ and he began to groan with pleasure.
The Spahi’s face expressed a mixture of acute pain and intense lechery; all the nerves of his body seemed stretched and quivering, as if under the action of a strong battery; his eyes were half closed, and the pupils had almost disappeared, his clenched teeth were gnashed, as the bottle was, every now and then, thrust a little further in. His phallus, which had been limp and lifeless when he had felt nothing but pain, was again acquiring its full proportions; then all the veins in it began to swell, the nerves to stiffen themselves to their utmost.
‘Do you want to be kissed?’ asked someone, seeing how the rod was shaking.
‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘I feel enough as it is.’
‘What is it like?’
‘A sharp and yet an agreeable irritation from my bum up to my brain.’
In fact his whole body was convulsed, as the bottle went slowly in and out, ripping and almost quartering him.
The hand of the manipulator was convulsed. He gave the bottle a strong shake.
We were all breathless with excitement, seeing the intense pleasure the Spahi was feeling, when all at once, amidst the perfect silence that followed each of the soldier’s groans, a slight shivering sound was heard, which was at once succeeded by a loud scream of pain and terror from the prostrate man, of horror from the other. The bottle had broken; the handle and part of it came out, cutting all the flesh that pressed against it, the other part remained engulfed within the anus.
CHAPTER 8
Time passed —
— Of course, time never stops, so it is useless to sav that it passed. Tell me, rather, what became of the poor Spahi?
— He died, poor fellow! At first there was a general sauve qui peut from Briancourt’s. Dr. Charles sent for his instruments and extracted the pieces of glass, and I was told that the poor young man suffered the most excruciating pains like a Stoic without uttering a cry or a groan; his courage was indeed worthy of a better cause. The operation finished, Dr. Charles told the sufferer that he ought to be transported to the hospital, for he was afraid that an inflammation might take place in the pierced parts of the intestines.
‘What!’ said he; ‘go to the hospital, and expose myself to the sneers of all the nurses and doctors — never!’
‘But,’ said his friend, ‘should inflammation set in— ‘
‘It would be all up with me?’
‘I am afraid so.’
‘And is it likely that the inflammation will take place?’
‘Alas! more than likely.’
‘And if it does — ?’
Dr. Charles looked serious, but gave no answer.
‘It might be fatal?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’ll think it over. Anyhow, I must go home — that is, to my lodgings, to put some things to rights.’
In fact, he was accompanied home, and there he begged to be left alone for half an hour.
As soon as he was by himself, he locked the door of the room, took a revolver and shot himself. The cause of the suicide remained a mystery to everybody except ourselves.
This, and another case which happened shortly afterwards, cast a dampness on us all, and for some time put an end to Briancourt’s symposiums.
— And what was this other case?
— One you have most likely read about, for it was in all the papers at the time it occurred. An elderly gentleman, whose name I have quite forgotten, was silly enough to be caught in the very act of sodomizing a soldier — a lusty young recruit lately arrived from the country. The case made a great ado, for the gentleman occupied a foremost position in society, and was, moreover, not only a person of unblemished reputation, but a most religious man besides.
— What! do you think it possible for a truly religious man to be addicted to such a vice?
— Of course it is. Vice renders us superstitious; and what is superstition save an obsolete and discarded form of worship. It is the sinner and not the saint that needs a Saviour, an intercessor, and a priest; if you have nothing to atone for, what is the use of religion to you? Religion is no bridle to a passion, which — though termed against nature — is so deeply engrafted in our nature that reason can neither cool nor mask it. The Jesuits are, therefore, the only real priests. Far from damning you, like ranting dissenters do, they have at least a thousand palliations for all the diseases which they cannot cure — a balm for every heavy-laden conscience.
But to return to our story. When the young soldier was asked by the judge how he could thus degrade himself, and sully the uniform he wore,— ‘M. le Juge,’ quoth he, ingenuously, ‘the gentleman was very kind to me. Moreover, being a very influential person, he promised me ‘ un avancement dans le corps’ (an advancement in the body)!
Time passed, and I lived happily with Teleny — for who would not have been happy with him, handsome, good, and clever as he was? His playing now was so genial, so exuberant with lusty life, so beaming with sensual happiness, that he was daily becoming a greater favorite, and all the ladies were more than ever in love with him; but what did I care, was he not wholly mine?
— What! you were not jealous?
— How could I be jealous, when he never gave me the slightest cause. I had the key of his house, and could go there at any moment of the day or night. If he ever left town I invariably accompanied him. No, I was sure of his love, and therefore of his fidelity, as he likewise had perfect faith in me.
He had, however, one great defect — he was an artist, and had an artist’s lavishness in the composition of his character. Although he now gained enough to live comfortably, his concerts did not yet afford him the means to live in the princely way he did. I often lectured him on that score; he invariably promised me not to throw away his money, but alas! there was in the web of his nature some of the yarn of which my namesake’s mistress — Manon Lescaut — was made.
Knowing that he had debts, and that he was often worried with duns, I begged him several times to give me his accounts, that I might settle all his bills, and allow him to begin life afresh. He would not have me even speak of such a thing.
‘I know myself,’ he said, ‘better than you do; if I accept once, I’ll do so again, and what will be the upshot? I’ll end by being kept by you.’
‘And where is the great harm?’ was my reply. ‘Do you think I’d love you less for it?’
‘Oh! no; you perhaps might love me even more on account of the money I cost you — for we are often fond of a friend according to what we do for him — but I might be induced to love you less; gratitude is such an unbearable burden to human nature. I am your lover, it is true, but do not let me sink lower than that, Camille,’ he said, with a wistful eagerness.
‘See! since I knew you, have I not tried to make ends meet? Some day or other I might even manage to pay off old debts; so do not tempt me any more.’
Thereupon, taking me in his arms, he covered me with kisses.
How handsome he was just then! I think I can see him, leaning on a dark-blue satin cushion, with his arms under his head, as you are leaning now, for you have many of his feline, graceful ways.
We had become inseparable, for our love seemed to wax stronger every day, and with us ‘fire never drove out fire,’ but, on the contrary, it grew on what it fed; so I lived far more with him than at home.
My office did not take up much of my time, and I only remained there just long enough to attend to my business, and also to leave him some moments to practice. The remainder of the day we were together.
At the theatre we occupied the same box, alone, or with my mother. Neither of us accepted, as was soon known, any invitation to whatsoever entertainment where the other was not also a guest. At the public promenades we either walked, rode or drove together. In fact, had our union been blessed by the Church, it could not have been a closer one. Let the moralist after that explain to me the harm we did, or the law-giver that would apply to us the penalty inflicted to the worst of criminals, the wrong we did to society.
Although we did not dress alike, still — being almost of the same build, of about the same age, as well as of identical tastes — the people, who saw us always arm-in-arm, ended by not being able to think of the one apart from the other.
Our friendship had become almost proverbial, and ‘No Rene without Camille’ had become a kind of by-word.
