Monsieur Venus (Decadence from Dedalus) by Rachilde;Liz Heron

Author:Rachilde;Liz Heron
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-08-05T12:46:00+00:00

"Since we are all scum together!" Marie Silvert had said ... For the rest of the night this phrase kept Raoule from love's caresses. All recall of the Greek splendours with which she surrounded her present-day idol was suddenly swept aside, like a veil blown in the wind, and the daughter of the Venerandes perceived base things whose existence she had not even suspected. A chain is riven between all women who love ...

... At the moment when she gives herself to her honest husband, the honest wife is in the same position as the prostitute in the moment of her surrender to her lover.

Nature made these victims naked, and society has merely clothed them. Without their garments nothing stands between them, the only difference is that of physical beauty; so sometimes the victor is the prostitute.

Christian philosophers have spoken of purity of intention, but they have never disputed this point during a love struggle ... At least we do not think so! They would have found it too distracting.

Thus Raoule saw herself on the same level as the age old scarlet woman ... And if her advantage was that of beauty, it was not that of pleasure: this she gave, but did not receive.

All monsters have a moment when they weary; she was wearied ... Jacques wept.

At dawn she left the studio, took a hansom cab and returned to her mansion.

While waiting for luncheon, she had a fencing bout with one of her cousins, a cretinous fop but adept with weapons, then she discussed a planned journey with her aunt. Departure had to be immediate, before the onset of wet weather. At this the canoness demurred over charitable visits to be completed, bills to be settled, a cook to be replaced. Wealth is truly bothersome at times, society too tedious, the ways of the world thoroughly trying.

Yet the new Sappho could not yet make the leap from Leucas. A throbbing pain from the deepest recesses of her flesh warned her that her gaiety was ever attached to a mortal being. Like inventors impeded by an obstacle as they put the final touches to their work, she hoped, despite the mire, to see in Jacques' shining eyes another patch of her sky that she would people once more with chimeras.

Three days passed. Jacques did not write. Marie did not come. As for Raittolbe, he maintained an absolute neutrality. Raoule, who had no patience with uncertainty, one evening donned her masculine attire and sped to boulevard Montparnasse. As she entered she met Marie Silvert. The latter greeted her with an obsequious smile and withdrew, without any hint in her demeanour of what had passed between them. Jacques was at work on decorative monograms on writing paper. It was a commission Raoule had paid for in advance with extremely warm kisses.

An exquisite calm pervaded the studio, and the light of the lamp, whose shade was lowered, illuminated only the adorable countenance of Jacques. Nay, these were not the features of an abject

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