Venus In Furs by Sacher-Masoch Leopold Von

Author:Sacher-Masoch, Leopold Von [Sacher-Masoch, Leopold Von]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stiletto Books
Published: 2013-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

9

I leap out whenever the train stops, run to her carriage and await her commands with doffed cap. Now she wants a coffee, now a glass of water, then a little soup, then a basin with warm water to wash her hands, and so it goes on. She flirts with a couple of gentlemen who have come into her compartment. I am dying of envy but have to jump around like a rabbit in order to bring over what is required but not miss the train in so doing.

So the night comes on. I cannot eat anything or sleep; I have to breathe the same garlic stench as Polish farmers, Jews on business, and common soldiers, while whenever I step up into her carriage she is reclining on cushions in her comfortable furs, covered with animal pelts, looking like an Oriental despot. The men sit stiffly around her like Indian gods, hardly daring to breathe.

In Vienna, where she stays for one day to do some shopping, for above all a string of luxurious toiletries, she continues to treat me as her servant. At a respectful ten paces I walk behind her and she passes me the packets, without even honouring me with a friendly glance, and I just puff along behind like an overloaded donkey. Before we leave she takes away all my clothes as a gift for the hotel waiter and commands me to get dressed in her livery – a Cracovian costume in her colours, bright blue with red lapels and a red four-corner cap decorated with peacock feathers, which does not suit me too badly. The silver buckles carry her coat of arms. I feel as if I had been sold or my soul promised to the devil.

My beautiful devil takes me on a journey from Vienna to Florence. Instead of Poles in linen shirts and greasy-haired Jews I am now in the company of curly haired Italian farmers, a magnificent sergeant from the First Italian Grenadiers and a poor German painter. The tobacco smoke no longer smells of onions but of salami and cheese.

It is now night. I lie on my wooden bench feeling tortured, my arms and legs as if broken. But the story is yet poetic, the stars twinkle round about, the sergeant has a face like the Apollo Belvedere and the German painter sings a wonderful German song, and I think of the beautiful woman who sleeps regally and contentedly in her soft furs.

Florence, the bustle and the noise, importunate porters and carriages! Wanda chooses a vehicle and refuses the porters.

“Why hire a servant? Gregor – here’s the receipt. Fetch the luggage.”

She wraps herself in furs and sits quietly in the carriage while I bring over the cases, one by one. For one moment I collapse over the last one, a friendly carabiniere with an intelligent face stands beside me. She laughs.

“It must be heavy as it has all my furs inside." I stand on the box and wipe the glistening sweat from my forehead.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.