Teleny or the Reverse of the Medal (17 page)

As he did so, our cheeks slightly grazed each other; and that touch—perhaps because it was so imperceptible—vibrated through all my body, giving all the nerves around the veins a not unpleasant twinge. Our mouths were now in close contact, and still he did not kiss me; his lips were simply tantalizing mine, as if to make me more keenly conscious of our nature's affinity.

The nervous state in which I had been these last days rendered me ever so much the more excitable. I therefore longed to feel that pleasure which cools the blood and calms the brain, but he seemed disposed to prolong my eagerness, and to make me reach that pitch of inebriating sensuality that verges upon madness.

At last, when neither of us could bear our excitement any longer, we tore off our clothes, and then naked we rolled, the one on the other, like two snakes, trying to feel as much of each other as we could. To me it seemed that all the pores of my skin were tiny mouths that pouted out to kiss him.

'Clasp me—grip me—hug me!—tighter— tighter still! that I may enjoy your body!'

My rod, as tough as a piece of iron, slipped between his legs; and feeling itself tweaked, began to water, and a few tiny, viscid drops oozed out.

Seeing the way in which I was tortured, he at last took pity upon me. He bent down his head upon my phallus, and began to kiss it.

I, however, did not wish to taste this delightful pleasure by halves, or to enjoy this thrilling rapture alone. We therefore shifted our position, and in a twinkling I had in my mouth the thing at which he was tweaking so delightfully.

Soon that acrid milk, like the sap of the fig tree or the euphorbia, which seems to flow from the brain and the marrow, spouted out, and in its stead a jet of caustic fire was coursing through every vein and artery, and all my nerves were vibrating as if set in motion by some strong electric current.

Finally, the paroxysm of pleasure which is the delirium of sensuality began to abate, and I was left crushed and annihilated; then a pleasant state of torpor followed, and my eyes closed for a few seconds in happy oblivion.

Having recovered my senses, my eyes again fell on the repulsive, anonymous note; and I shuddered and nestled myself against Teleny as if for protection, so loathsome was truth, even then, to me.

'But you have not told me yet who wrote those horrible words.'

'Who? Why, the general's son, of course.'

'What! Briancourt?'

'Who else can it be. No one except him can have an inkling of our love; Briancourt, I am sure, has been watching us. Besides, look here,' he added, picking up the bit of paper, 'not wanting to write on paper with his crest or initials, and probably not having any other, he has written on a cartel deftly cut out of a piece of drawing paper. Who else but a painter could have done such a thing? By taking too many precautions, we sometimes compromise ourselves. Moreover, smell it. He is so saturated with attar of roses that everything he touches is impregnated with it.'

'Yes, you are right,' said I, musingly.

'Over and above all this, it is just the thing for him to do, not that he is bad at heart—'

'You love him!' said I, with a pang of jealousy, grasping his arm.

'No, I do not; but I am simply just towards him; besides you have known him from his childhood, and you must admit that he is not so bad, is he?'

'No, he is simply mad.'

'Mad? Well, perhaps a little more so than other men,' said my friend, smiling.

'What! you think all men crazy?'

'I only know one sane man—my shoemaker. He is only mad once a week—on Monday, when he gets jolly drunk.'

'Well, don't let us talk of madness any more. My father died mad, and I suppose that, sooner or later—'

'You must know,' said Teleny, interrupting me, 'that Briancourt has been in love with you for a long time.'

'With me?'

'Yes, but he thinks you dislike him.'

'I never was remarkably fond of him.'

'Now that I think it over, I believe that he would like to have us both together, so that we might form a kind of trinity of love and bliss.'

'And you think he tried to bring it about in that way.'

'In love and in war, every stratagem is good; and perhaps with him as with the Jesuits, “the end justifies the means,” Anyhow, forget this note completely, let it be like a midwinter night's dream.'

Then, taking the obnoxious bit of paper, he placed it on the glowing embers; first it writhed and crackled, then a sudden flame burst forth and consumed it. An instant afterwards, it was nothing but a little, black, crumpled thing, on which tiny, fiery snakes were hastily chasing and then swallowing each other as they met.

Then came a puff from the crackling logs, and it mounted and disappeared up the chimney like a little black devil.

Naked as we were on the low couch in front of the fireplace, we clasped and hugged each other fondly.

'It seemed to threaten us before it disappeared, did it not? I hope Briancourt will never come between us.'

'We'll defy him,' said my friend, smiling; and taking hold of my phallus and of his own, he brandled them both. 'This,' said he, 'is the most efficient exorcism in Italy against the evil eye. Moreover he has doubtless forgotten both you and me by this time—nay, even the very idea of having written this note.'

'Why?'

'Because he has found a new lover.'

'Who, the Spahi officer?'

'No, a young Arab. Anyhow, we'll know who it is by the subject of the picture he is going to paint. Some time ago he was only dreaming of a pendant to the three Graces, which to him represented the mystic trinity of tribadism.'

A few days afterwards we met Briancourt in the green room of the Opera. When he saw us, he looked away and tried to shun us. I would have done the same.

'No,' said Teleny, 'let us go and speak to him and have matters out. In such things never show the slightest fear. If you face the enemy boldly, you have already half vanquished him.' Then, going up to him and dragging me with him,—'Well,' said he, stretching out his hand, 'what has become of you? It is some days since we have seen each other.'

'Of course,' he replied, 'new friends make us forget old ones.'

'Like new pictures old ones. By the bye, what sketch have you begun?'

'Oh, something glorious!—a picture that will make a mark, if any does.'

'But what is it?'

'Jesus Christ.'

'Jesus Christ?'

'Yes, since I knew Achmet, I have been able to understand the Saviour. You would love Him, too,' he added, 'if you could see those dark, mesmeric eyes, with their long and jetty fringe.'

'Love whom,' said Teleny, 'Achmet or Christ?'

'Christ, of course!' quoth Briancourt, shrugging his shoulders. 'You would be able to fathom the influence He must have had over the crowd. My Syrian need not speak to you, he lifts his eyes upon you and you grasp the meaning of his thoughts. Christ, likewise, never wasted His breath spouting cant to the multitude. He wrote on the sand and could thereby “look the world to law.” As I was saying, I shall paint Achmet as the Saviour, and you,' he added to Teleny, 'as John, the disciple He loved; for the Bible clearly says and continually repeats that He loved this favorite disciple.'

'And how will you paint Him?'

'Christ erect, clasping John, who hugs Him, and who leans his head on his friend's bosom. Of course there must be something lovably soft and womanly in the disciple's look and attitude; he must have your visionary violet eyes and your voluptuous mouth. Crouched at their feet there will be one of the many adulterous Marys, but Christ and the other—as John modestly terms himself, as if he were his Master's mistress—look down at her with a dreamy, half-scornful, half-pitiful expression.'

'And will the people understand your meaning?'

'Anybody who has any sense will. Besides, to render my idea clearer, I'll paint a pendant to it: “Socrates—the Greek Christ, with Alcibiades, his favorite disciple.” The woman will be Xantippe.' Then turning to me, he added, 'But you must promise to come and sit for Alcibiades.'

'Yes,' said Teleny, 'but on one condition.'

'Name it.'

'Why did you write Camille that note?'

'What note?' he asked, his face turning red.

'Come—no gammon!'

'How did you know I wrote it?'

'Like Zadig, I saw the traces of the dog's ears.'

'Well, as you know it's me, I'll tell you frankly, it was because I was jealous.'

'Of whom?'

'Of you both. Yes, you may smile, but it's true.'

Then turning towards me, 'I've known you since we both were but little more than toddling babies, and I've never had that from you,'—and he cracked his thumbnail on his upper teeth— 'while he,' pointing to Teleny, 'comes, sees, and conquers. Anyhow, it'll be for some future time. Meanwhile, I bear you no grudge; nor do you for that stupid threat of mine, I'm sure.'

'You don't know what miserable days and sleepless nights you made me pass.'

'Did I? I'm sorry; forgive me. You know I'm mad—everyone says so,' he exclaimed, grasping both our hands; 'and now that we are friends you must come to my next symposium.'

'When is it to be?' asked Teleny.

'On Tuesday week.'

Then turning to me, 'I'll introduce you to a lot of pleasant fellows who'll be delighted to make your acquaintance, and many of whom have long been astonished that you are not one of us.'

The week passed quickly. Joy soon made me forget the dreadful anxiety caused by Briancourt's card.

A few days before the night fixed for the feast,—'How shall we dress for the symposium?' asked Teleny.

'How? Is it to be a masquerade?'

'We all have our little hobbies. Some men like soldiers, others sailors; some are fond of tightrope dancers, others of dandies. There are men who, though in love with their own sex, only care for them in women's clothes.
L'habit ne fait pas le moine
is not always a truthful proverb, for you see that even in birds the males display their gayest plumage to captivate their mates.'

'And what clothes should you like me to wear, for you are the only being I care to please?' I said.

'None.'

'Oh! but—'

'You'll feel shy, to be seen naked?'

'Of course.'

'Well, then, a tight-fitting cycling suit; it shows off the figure best'

'Very well; and you?'

'I'll always dress exactly as you do.'

On the evening in question we drove to the painter's studio, the outside of which was, if not quite dark, at least very dimly lighted. Teleny tapped three times, and after a little while Briancourt himself came to open.

Whatever faults the general's son had, his manners were those of the French nobility, therefore perfect; his stately gait might even have graced the court of the
grand Monarque;
his politeness was unrivalled—in fact, he possessed all those 'small, sweet courtesies of life,' which, as Sterne says, 'beget inclinations to love at first sight.' He was about to usher us in, when Teleny stopped him.

'Wait a moment,' said he, 'could not Camille have a peep at your harem first? You know he is but a neophyte in the Priapean creed. I am his first lover.'

'Yes, I know,' interrupted Briancourt, sighing, 'and I cannot say sincerely, may you long be the last.'

'And not being inured to the sight of such revelry he will be induced to run away like Joseph from Mrs. Potiphar.'

'Very well, do you mind giving yourself the trouble to come this way?'

And with these words he led us through a dimly-lighted passage and up a winding staircase into a kind of balcony made out of old Arab
moucharabie,
brought to him by his father from Tunis or Algiers.

'From here you can see everything without being seen, so ta-ta for a while, but not for long, as supper will soon be served.'

As I stepped in this kind of loggia and looked down into the room, I was, for a moment, if not dazzled, at least perfectly bewildered. It seemed as if from this everyday world of ours I had been transported into the magic realms of fairyland. A thousand lamps of varied form filled the room with a strong yet hazy light. There were wax tapers upheld by Japanese cranes, or glowing in massive bronze or silver candlesticks, the plunder of Spanish altars; star-shaped or octagonal lamps from Moorish mosques or Eastern synagogues; curiously-wrought iron cressets of tortured and fantastic designs; chandeliers of numerous, iridescent glasswork reflected in Dutch gilt, or Castel-Durante majolica sconces.

Though the room was very large, the walls were all covered with pictures of the most lascivious nature; for the general's son, who was very rich, painted mostly for his own delight. Many were only half-finished sketches, for his ardent yet fickle imagination could not dwell long on the same subject, nor could his talent for invention be long satisfied with the same way of painting.

In some of his imitations of the libidinous Pompeian encaustics he had tried to fathom the secrets of a bygone art. Some pictures were executed with the minute care and the corrosive paints of Leonardo da Vinci; while others looked more like Greuze's pastels, or wrought in Watteau's delicate hues. Some flesh tints had the golden haze of the Venetian school, while—