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Grimm Ingrid In The Mirror Of Venus

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No. 01/6801
6th edition
Copyright © 1987 by
Wilhelm Heyne Verlag GmbH & Co. KG, Munich
For individual rights, see the list of sources
Printed in Germany 1991
Cover photo: laenderpress / F. P. G. Düsseldorf
Cover design: Atelier Ingrid Schütz, Munich
Typesetting: IBV Satz- und Datentechnik GmbH, Berlin
Printing and binding: Presse-Druck Augsburg
ISBN 3-453-02412-5
Erotic literature is not a male domain: writers
write about their sexuality. Your longings, your phant a
sien. Your aggressiveness. Your tenderness. Your sensuality. Your

Erotic stories told by

Angela Carter • Doris Lessing • Barbara

Sheen • Mary Flanagan • Elula Perrin

Brigitte Blobel • Jayne Anne Phillips

Anaïs Nin • Emmanuelle Arsan

Anne Marie Villefranche

Sandra Paretti • Maude Hutchins

Edna O’Brien • Erica Jong

Rahel Hutmacher


Bluebeard's room

I still remember that night: I was awake in my sleep
dare in a light delicious ecstasy of excitement that
burning cheeks on the flawless linen of the pillow
pressed while the pounding of my heart the thrusts of the
mimicked the large piston that kept pulling forward
bumped - the train that carried me through the night, away from Paris,
away from my girlhood, away from the white, fenced-in
The quiet of my mother's apartment, into the vast a
ren realms of marriage.
And I remember fondly imagining how
my mother at this very moment slowly in the narrow
Bedroom that I had left forever, and
folded and put away all my little belongings,
the thrown clothes that I would no longer need,
the scores for which there was no more room in my suitcases
sen was the concert programs I had left behind; I
imagined how she tied over this torn silk and
that faded photograph persisted with all the half-joyful,
half-worried feelings of a woman on her day's wedding day
ter. In the midst of my nuptial triumph, I felt that
Pain of loss, as if I had when he gave me the gold
Ripe put on the finger, ceased to be her child by
I became his wife.
Are you sure, she said, as the gigantic box
was delivered in the wedding dress
that he had bought for me, wrapped in gift paper
red ribbons like candied fruit for Christmas. Are you
sure you love him? There was also a dress for her
black silk, which shimmered dull like oil on water, cost a
rer than anything she has had since her adventurous childhood in Indo
China was born as the daughter of a rich tea plantation owner
would have. My eagle-faced, indomitable mother; what other
A conservatory student could boast of a mother
who stood up to a junk full of Chinese pirates,
a village cured of the plague and a raging one with one hand
Tiger killed before she was my age?
"Are you sure you love him?"
"I'm sure I want to marry him," I replied.
I didn't mean to say more. She sighed as if it were her wide r
strove to have her at last the specter of poverty from his
could scare away familiar space at our meager table.
Because my mother had herself with joys, scandals and
Despite begging for love's sake; and one
beautiful day her gallant soldier stayed at war forever and
left wife and child a fortune of tears that never
completely dried out, including a cigar box full of medals and
an old service revolver that my mother - because of all that
Hard work has become wonderfully eccentric - always with you in your pouch
carried herself in case she - as I always teasingly said - carried on the
Home from the shopkeeper by a secret pursuer over r
should be surprised.
From time to time lights flickered through like shooting stars
the lowered blinds as if the railroad man had l
We used all the train stations we passed for the celebration of the bride
festively illuminated. My silk nightgown was just off
the packaging has been taken and over my tips
Young girl breasts and my shoulders slipped, supple
like a garment made of heavy water; it teased and caressed
me now, and hair-raising ingratiating it pushed itself
between my thighs as I lay on the slim couch
tossed and turned restlessly. His kiss, his tongue and kiss
Teeth and the scratching of my beard gave me - if only
just as delicate as this nightgown of his - one
Premonition of our wedding night, full of lust for the
The moment we put it off in the big bed of his front
would lie in the sea and pinnacles n
proud mansion that was still beyond my imagination ...
Magic place, fairy castle with walls made only of sea spray, the
legendary place where he was born and where I,
one day, maybe the heir would bring. Our Be
mood, my fate.
Over the irregular rattle of the train I could hear his
hear steady, steady breath. Only the connecting door
separated me from my husband and it was open. If
I propped myself up on my elbow, I recognized its dark
Lion head and caught a touch of that luscious male
The scent of leather and spice that always surrounded him and the
but sometimes, in the advertising period, had suggested that
he had entered my mother's parlor, because although he did
was a great man, he moved as gently as on velvet soles,
as if his step turned the carpets into snow.
He liked to surprise me in my self-absorbed
Loneliness at the piano. He asked that he not be announced
then silently opened the door and slipped quietly behind me,
with a bouquet of hothouse flowers or a box of marrons
glacés, put his gift on the keys and covered his hands
over my eyes while I was still in a prelude from Debu s
sy was sunk. But the scent of spicy leather has it
always betrayed; after my first shock I was always back
forced to feign surprise in order not to disappoint him
He was older than me. He was much older than me; its dark
Mane ran through silver threads. But its strange, difficult
and almost waxy face was not furrowed from experience
tion. On the contrary, experience seemed perfect
to have washed smooth, like a stone on the bank, whose foot
that the recurring tides have worn away.
And sometimes, when he quietly listened to me play, those
heavy eyelids lowered over the eyes, which are so completely lackluster
were that it always disturbed me, then his face came to me
like a mask, as if his real face, the face,
which mirrors all the life he had before us
got to know each other, yes: before I was even born, as if
that face would be behind the mask. Or anywhere else. As
whether he put aside the face he had lived with for so long
to give my youth a face that still
was not marked by the years.
Maybe I could see him somewhere undisguised. Somewhere.
But where?
Perhaps in that castle to which the train was now taking us
wonderful castle in which he was once born.
Even when he asked me if I wanted to marry him and
I answered "Yes!" he showed the clumsy Ge
composure. I know a man is like a flower
strange, but sometimes it seemed like a lily to me. Yes,
a lily. Completely filled with the strange, ominous calm
a sensitive plant, like the cemetery lilies with theirs
Cobra heads, the white leaves of which are rolled out of a flesh
that meets the touch as firmly and confidently as
Parchment. When I told him I wanted to marry him, I was touched
not a single muscle in this face. He only hit one
long and exhausted sigh. I thought: 'Oh! How much
must he want me! 'And it was as if the imponderable Ge
weight his desire a power that I cannot resist
could not because she was violent, but because she was
was so attractive.
He had the ring in a leather lined with red velvet
case with you, a fire opal, the size of a pigeon's egg, in one
ornate circles of old dark gold. My old children r
woman who still lived with my mother and me drove
back in horror before this ring: "Opals bring bad luck," said
you. But this opal ring had belonged to his mother, before that his
Grandmother and her mother, one of his ancestors once had him
I got a gift from Katharina von Medici ... Since unden k
At times it was worn by every bride who moved into the castle. "He has
then gave him to his other women and him to himself
asked the old woman gruffly. But they
was conceited and only hid her indescribable joy
about my good game - your little marquise - behind one
Facade of constant nagging. With this remark, of course
had she met me. I shrugged and turned to her
defiantly his back. I didn't want to think of it like him in front of me
had loved other women, but the thought of it tormented me
often in the nocturnal hours when self-confidence is so
is threadbare.
I was seventeen years old and knew nothing of the world; my
Marquis had been married more than once and I was
still a little puzzled that he is after all the others now
had chosen me. Did he no longer mourn his own
last woman? Tz, tz, did my old nanny. And even
my mother had hesitated to introduce her daughter to a man from
to tear her side, who was only recently widowed. A
Romanian countess, a lady of the great world. When I met him
met, she was only three months dead, in a boating accident, in
his home in Brittany. Her body was never found
but I rummaged through all the old society magazines that
kept my nanny in a suitcase under her bed,
until I discovered her photography. Sharp features a hü b
cute, funny and spoiled monkey, expressive and
bizarre charm like from a dark, radiantly beautiful,
wild but urbane creature, its natural environment
the jungle of a luxurious interior decorator
must, with indoor palms and tame screeching parrots.
And the woman in front of her? Her face was public property
they all painted them, but I liked the Redon engraving
best of all - 'evening star at the edge of the night'. Who your bone i
enigmatic grace, never would have guessed that she was bartender in
a café on Montmartre until Puvis de Chava n
nes she had discovered and made her flat breasts and
to reveal her narrow hips for his brush. And yet
if absinthe had gotten her, at least one had a good time
And the first of all his ladies? The luxury diva - me
she had heard Isolde sing as a child, musically like early on
I was when I got to go to the opera on my birthday.
My first opera - I had heard her sing Isolde. With
what blazing passion she had radiated from the stage!
It was obvious that she would die young. We sat
at the top of the rank, halfway in the heaven of the gods, anyway
I was almost blinded by her. And my father, who was still back then
lived (oh how long ago), grabbed my sticky
little hand to comfort me in the last act, but everything
what I heard was the glory of her voice.
He had been married three times during my own
short lifetime, with three different graces, and now
he had, as if to demonstrate his picky taste
ren, asked me to step into this gallery of beautiful women,
me, a poor widow child with mouse-colored hair who
still showing the kinks from the braids that I got
had only recently been redeemed, with bony hips and
nervous pianist fingers.
He was rich like Croesus. The evening before our wedding -
a simple matter, only at the registry office, because
his countess had only recently faded - he had my mother
and invited me - strange coincidence - to ›Tristan und Isolde‹.
And truly, my heart swelled and hurt so much
'Liebestod' so that I thought I really ought to love him. Yes. The
I did. I was by his side and all eyes were on me. The
Whispering crowd in the foyer parted around us like the Red Sea
to let through. My skin crackled when he touched me.
How much my life had changed since I was
for the first time heard these voluptuous melodies that so much
carry deadly passion within you! Now we were sitting in a box
in red velvet armchairs, and during the break brought us in
Lackey with weft and wig a silver bucket with ice cream
chilled champagne. The foam pearled over the edge of mine
Glass and wet my hands, and I thought: my key
it's spilling over. I was wearing a Poiret dress. He had my wide r
aspiring mother urges him to buy me the equipment
could. How else could I have come to him? In double
stuffed underwear, flimsy aprons, serger skirts,
worn things off the rack. So I wore on this
Opera evening a looped, sliding something made of white
Muslin tied under the breast with a silk cord.
And everyone stared at me. And his wedding present.
His wedding present, it wrapped around my neck. A
narrow chain of rubies, two thumbs wide, like an outside
usually precious, slit throat.
After the reign of terror in the first days of Dire k
toriums came under the aristocrats entrons the guillotine
were, the mocking fashion, a dead band around the
Neck just where the hatchet goes through him
would have separated a red ribbon as a reminder of the wound. And
his grandmother, who loved it, had the tape
set with rubies. A gesture of luxurious contempt!
That night at the opera is just happening to me again ... That
white dress; the fragile child in it and the flashing ones
fiery red jewels around his neck, as bright as the blood in arteries.
I saw how he looked at me in the gold-rimmed mirrors
the appraising eye of the connoisseur who appraises a horse
tet, or a housewife who slaughtered the meat in the market
viewed on the chopping block. I still had that expression
never seen him, I didn't even know that this existed, this one
undisguised carnal greed; it became strangely gigantic
through the monocle jammed in his left eye. If I
noticed how he looked at me lustfully, I lowered my eyes,
but looking away from him I caught my own
Image in the mirror. And suddenly I saw myself like him, my pale one
Face, the way my muscles like thin wire from the
Neck protruded. I saw how good this cruel collar was to me
was standing. And I felt for the first time in my innocent
and sheltered life in myself potencies of depravity,
that took my breath away
The next day we were married.

The train slowed and jerked to a halt. Lights, metal i
a loud clang, a voice calling the name of an unknown
Place that no one ever wants to visit, the silence of the
Night, the rhythm of his breath with which I from now on
should sleep all my life. And I couldn't sleep.
I sat up secretly, pulled the blinds up about s and
leaned against the cold window that steamed up instantly through the
Warmth of my breath; I looked out at the dark lane
climb to these rectangles of cozy lantern light that
for warmth, company and a dinner with bratwü r
The first thing that looked like the one that was already in a pan for the station master
hissed on the stove, and his children were already stuck
stuffed and asleep in her bed in the brick house
with the painted shutters n ... All the little things of the
Everyday life from which I started out through my brilliant marriage
Into marriage, into exile; I felt it, I knew it; that I from
now would always be alone. But that had to do with that
by now familiar weight of fire opal who like
the magic ball of a gypsy glowed so that I closed my eyes
Couldn't get away from it when I was playing the grand piano.
This ring, the ruby ​​blood band, the closet full of clothes
by Poiret and Worth, its scent of Russian leather - all of that
was in league with one another to seduce me so completely
that I couldn't say it had me even one
For a moment I felt sorry for the world of sandwiches and
Maman escaped as if pulled by a string, like a child
toy, when the train began to snort like that, happy
Sensing the distance into which he led me.
The first gray streaks of dawn flitted
across the sky, and a ghostly half-light seeped into it
Sleeping car. I didn't hear any change in his breath, however
my sharpened, excited senses told me that he was awake now
was looking at me. A huge man, an enormous man, and
his eyes, dark and motionless like the old ones
Egyptians painted on their sarcophagi were on me
directed. I felt a certain tension in the middle of my stomach
Because I was watched like that, in such silence. A strike
wood flickered. He lit a cigar, 'Romeo y
Julieta, as fat as a child's arm.
"Soon," he said in his echoing voice, like one
The bell rang, and all of a sudden I felt a clear advance
a horror that lasted only as long as the match
flickered and I saw his broad white face as if it were
floated disembodied over the sheet, illuminated from below like
a grotesque carnival mask. Then the flame went out
Cigar glowed and filled the compartment with a familiar one
Scent that made me think of my father as he thought of me
little girl in a warm cloud of his Havana
wrapped up before he kissed me and left and died.
When my husband reached out to me and took me down the steep stairs
When I got down from the train, I immediately smelled the scent of iodine and
Salt of the ocean. It was November; the trees were shriveled
mert under the atlantic storms and bald, and the lonely
The platform was deserted, only his leather-clad one
Chauffeur waited submissively next to the shiny black one
Automobile. It was cold; I pulled my fur tightly around me, a cover
of black and white, ermine and sable in wide stripes,
with a collar from which my head protruded like the goblet
a wild flower. I swear before I met him
I was never vain. The bell struck, the train broke loose again
and left us in this lonely place where only he and me
got off. Oh, what a miracle: this whole thing
Only him had any form of steel and steam
stopped for sake. The richest man in France.
The chauffeur eyed me; he was now secretly comparing me
with the countess, the painter's model and the opera singer? I
hid me in the furs as if they were an arrangement of
soft shields. My husband wanted me to mine
Opal wore a glacé glove, a boastful, theatrical a
lic gesture - but at the moment when the mocking
Chauffeur saw its shimmering shine, he smiled when
would that be proof that I was his master's wife.
And we drove into the awakening morning that is now the ha l
beneath the sky covered with a winter bouquet, pink like
Roses, orange in color like tiger lilies, as if my husband had one
Ordered for me at the florist all over the world. The day
broke all around me like a cool dream.
Sea, sand, a sky that melts into the sea - a land
shank of hazy pastel tones that look as if they are constantly
melt. A landscape with all that flow into one another
Debussy harmonies, like the etudes I played for him,
the dreams I had that afternoon in the princess' drawing room
where I first met him, between Teeta s
sen and cupcakes, me, an orphan, out of charity
hired to serve them their digestive music.
Oh, and his castle! The fairytale solitude of the place;
plus the hazy blue turrets, the courtyard, the gate with the
Spießen, his castle, which was right on the bay, sea birds
screeching around the roofs, the cellar vaults overlook the
green and purple fickle ocean that is the whole place
cut off from land for half a day by the flood n ...
This castle, neither at home on the mainland nor in the sea,
a mysterious, amphibious place that reflects the grandeur of the
Resisted earth and waves alike, possessed the
Melancholy of a mermaid who crouches on her rock and
Waiting endlessly for a loved one who has long since died in the distance
ken is. This place was such a lovely, sad sea siren.
It was low tide; at this early hour of the morning the driveway loomed up
out of the water. When the car hit the damp stones between
drove the deep water, he took my hand with him
the ostentatious witch's ring, pressed my fingers and kissed
extremely tenderly on the palm of your hand. His face
was as calm as I knew it to be, as calm as a thick frozen one
a pond, but his lips, which are between the black lines
whose beard always looked so strangely red and naked,
now slightly twisted. He smiled; he was called his bride by sic h
welcome home.
Not a room, not a hallway in which the sea did not rustle, and all of them
Ceilings, all walls, on which the pictures in strict order
of his ancestors with their dark eyes and their pale skin
Sifter had streaks from the refracted light of the
Waves that kept moving; this light-filled,
mumbling castle in which I was the mistress, me, the little one
Music student whose mother had sold all of her jewelry
even her wedding ring to meet the conservatory fees
to be able to pay.
It all started with a trial by fire - my first meeting
with the housekeeper who runs this extraordinary machinery
kept going silently, these n lock-shaped anchors
Ocean liners, no matter who was on the navigating bridge;
how insignificant, I thought, would be my authority here! she had
a friendly, pale, indifferent and unpleasant one
Face under the immaculately starched white linen hood that
Costume of this area. Her greeting was correct but lifeless
and made me shiver, daydreaming I dared to give myself strength
to take something out of my position ... thought briefly how
I mean my old nanny, who was so beloved, but on her
coziest way inept person to take their place
could put. What a misconception! He explained to me
that this woman had been his foster mother and his family in
feudal complicity. “She belongs so much
Complicity was connected. “She belongs so much to the house
like myself, my dear. ”Now her slim lip offered me
pen a proud little smile. You would be my ally e
be as long as i was his. And with that I had to free myself
to give.
But it would be easy to be satisfied here. In the tower m
suite that he had intended for me, I was able to go far beyond the given
I took a look at the Atlantic and imagine I was the me e
res queen. A Bechstein grand piano stood for in the music room
me, and on the wall there was also a wedding present,
a medieval Flemish panel of Saint Cecilia
their sky organ. In the somewhat stiff charm of the saints
with their pale chubby cheeks and curled brown ones
I saw myself hair the way I might have liked to be.
A loving sensitivity that I haven't seen in him yet
tet warmed me. Then he led me over a petite one
Spiral staircase to my bedchamber; before the housekeeper
Disappeared discreetly, she gave him giggling and in her breton i
native language with presumably drastic blessings
for newlyweds. I didn't understand. Which he, schmu n
tenting, refusing to translate.
And there was the great, inherited marriage bed, almost as big as
my little room at home, with inlaid demon faces
Ebony, enamel, gold leaf; and then the white tulle front
hanging puffed up by the sea breeze. Our bed. And
surrounded by so many mirrors! Mirrors on all walls, in
stately frame of ornate gold, the more white
Lilies threw back than I'd ever seen in my life. He had
fill the whole room with lilies to greet the bride
essen, his young bride. The young bride turned into a multitude
of girls I saw in the mirrors, all of them
in their elegant navy blue costumes for the trip,
Madame, or for a walk. A maid had already met
taken care of the fur. From now on there would always be one
Maid to take care of everything.
"Look," he said with a gesture at all the elegant girls
chen, "I've bought a whole harem!"
I realized that I was trembling. I found it difficult to breathe. I
couldn't look him in the eye and turned his head away
out of pride, out of shyness, and watched a dozen
Husbands as they approached me in as many mirrors
and slowly, carefully and teasingly unbutton my jacket
and let it slide off my shoulders. Enough! No more!
Away with the skirt; and next the apricot colored Le i
blouse that cost more than the dress for my first one
Communion. The play of the waves outside in the cold sun
glittered on his monocle, his movements appeared to me
intentionally raw, vulgar. The blood rushed to my face again and
stayed there.
And yet, I had imagined it - it would be
giving formal undressing to the bride, a ritual from the Bo r
dell. As safe as my life was, even in the
ordinary bohemian in which I lived could give me clues
not miss his world.
He undressed me like a gourmet, as if he were the leaves
loosened by artichokes, but special finesse is allowed
not introduce; this artichoke was not a special feast
for the eater, he still felt a greedy haste. He made
with a weary appetite for a familiar dish.
And when there was nothing left but my scarlet, trembling one
Kern, I saw in the mirror the living image of an engraving by
Rops from his collection that he had shown me when it was us
our engagement allowed us to be alone n ... that
Child with skinny limbs, except for buttoned ankle boots
and gloves that covered the face with the hand as
the face would be the last refuge of his modesty; and the
old voluptuary with the monocle who examined her limb for
Element. He in his English tailor's suit; she naked like a
slaughtered lamb. Most pornographic of all confrontations
gen. This is how my buyer revealed his purchase. And exactly how
in the opera, when I got my meat for the first time with his Au
I felt appalled that I was aroused.
Immediately he closed my legs like a book and I saw again
the peculiar movement of his lips that suggested he was
Not now. Later. Anticipation is the greatest part of pleasure
my little love
And I started shaking like a racehorse before the race
but also from a kind of fear, for I felt both, one
strange, impersonal turmoil at the thought of the
Love and at the same time a reluctance that I do not understand
before his white, heavy flesh, that much
had too much in common with these large bouquets of lilies in the
huge glass jugs that filled my bedroom, lilies of
Funeral directors with the heavy stamens that
Color your fingers yellow like you had them in turmeric
submerged. The lilies that I always associate with him know
are. And stain some.
This scene from the life of a voluptuary was sudden
ended abruptly. It turns out that he did business i
gen has; his property, his businesses - including yours
Honeymoon? Even now, said the red lips that made me
kissed before he left me alone with my confused senses -
a damp, silk brushing from his beard; a hint
the tip of his tongue. Disgruntled, I wrapped myself in a negligee
from old lace and sipped the hot chocolate that gave me the
Brought maid as breakfast; after that because it's my second
Was nature, I couldn't help but go into the music room
go and sit down by my wing right away.
However, my fingers only brought a few high-pitched discrepancies
out: not in tune t ... not quite right in tune; but I
was gifted with perfect pitch and couldn't go any further
play. Sea air is bad for wings; we are going to play a piano
need tuners if I am to continue my studies, and
he must live here! I closed the lid, slightly angry
with disappointment; what should I do now, how should I do the long
Hours of sea-light pass before my husband put me to bed
I shuddered when I thought about it.
His library was apparently the source of his signature fragrance
of Russian leather. Row upon row of brown and olive-colored e
ner books with leather covers and gold-embossed spines that
Octave volumes in bright red saffiano leather. A softly padded r
tes leather sofa to fall in. A lectern, like an eagle with
Carved out spread wings, with one open
Edition of Huysmans ’› Làbas ‹on it, from a very exquisite i
th private print, bound like a missal, metal studded,
with gemstones made of colored glass. The thick carpets on
the ground, in the vibrant blue of the sky and the red of the
of the most precious heart and soul, came from Isfahan and Bukhara; the
dark parquet shone; plus the drowsy music of the sea
and an apple wood fire. The flames danced over Buc h
back in a glass cabinet, the still stiff, new issues
contained. Eliphas Levy, the name didn't mean anything to me. I threw one
cursory glance at a title or two: ›The Initiation‹, ›Der
Key to the Secret ‹,› The Secret of the Box of the
Pandora, 'and yawned. There was nothing here that a seventeen year old
Girl could have captivated that on the first hug
waiting. I would like to have a book with cheap paper
had; I would like to have myself on the carpet in front of the crackle
curled up the fire, sunk into a pulp novel and
sucked sticky liqueur chocolates. If I rang after that, I would
I'm sure a maid will bring me chocolates.
Nevertheless, I opened the doors of this bookcase and
rummaged around idly. I think I knew, I knew
by a certain tingling sensation in the fingertips, even before
I had opened the narrow volume without a title, what I had
would find in it. When he showed me the rop he was doing
had bought fresh and praised it lovingly, he hadn’t been there
already recognized as a connoisseur in this field? But
I hadn't expected this, with this girl whom the
Tears hung on her cheeks like glued-on pearls, her ge
ill a split fig among the great balls of hers
Buttocks, on top of which a knotted nine-tailed cat
while a black masked man with the
fingering his member with his free hand, which is so steep
judges above like the curved sword he holds. The picture had
a title: ›Punished Curiosity‹. My mother had me with the
full accuracy of her eccentric nature explains what
happens between lovers; I was innocent but not naive.
›Eulalia's adventure in the harem of the Great Turk‹ was to Im
According to the press, it was printed in Amsterdam in 1748, a rare one
Collector's item. Did any ancestor from this town have it?
Brought the north yourself? Or did my husband have it for himself
bought in one of those dusty little bookstores, the one on the left
Its where you always find an old man through his centimeter thick
ken glasses staring at whether you dare to put your treasures in
to take the hand n ... I turned the pages in one
Anticipation of fear, the print had faded. Another
Steel engraving: ›The Sacrifice of the Sultan's Wives‹. I would know
enough, because what I saw in this book took my breath away
Suddenly the leather smell with which the library opened
was soaked, stabbing intense; a shadow fell on the massacre.
“My little nun found the prayer books, not
he asked with a strange mixture of ridicule and
Appetite; then when he got my excruciating and angry annoyance
noticed, he laughed out loud at me, pulled the book out of the
Hands and put it on the sofa.
“Did the dirty pictures frighten my child? A
Little girls are not allowed to play with the adults' toys
play until it learns how to use it, don't
Then he kissed me. And this time without hesitation. He
kissed me and placed his hand imperiously on my chest,
under the old tip. I stumbled on the spiral staircase leading to the
The bedroom led to the carved, gilded bed
to whom he was conceived. I stammered foolishly: “We have
not had lunch yet; and besides, it's brighter
So I can see you better.
He ordered me to put on my collar, the family heirloom
a woman who had escaped the guillotine. With trembling
With my fingers I closed the thing around my neck. It was freezing and
made me shiver. He twisted my hair into a rope and lifted it
it off my shoulders so that he can underneath the downy hollow
kissed my ears better; it made me shudder.
And he kissed the flaming rubies too. He kissed her before
he kissed my mouth. He hummed delightedly, “And everything you do
remained was only the melodious sound of her pearl string. "
A dozen husbands pierced a dozen brides
while outside in the empty sky the screeching Mö
who swayed on invisible harnesses.

I came to my senses because the phone kept ringing. He

lay next to me like a felled oak and breathed with a gasp as if
he would have wrestled with me. In the course of this one-sided battle
I had seen his deadly composure shatter like one
Porcelain vase that is thrown against the wall. I had it
screaming at the climax and uttering blasphemous curses etc.
hear food, I was bleeding. And maybe I had his Ge
sight seen without a mask; but maybe not. I was
in any case thrown completely off course by the loss of mine
I gathered myself together again, felt for the cloisonné-
Cabinet next to the bed that hid the phone, and
reported me. His agent in New York. Urgent.
I shook him awake, rolled over on my side, and
wrapped his arms around my exhausted body. His
Voice hummed like a distant beehive. My husband My
Consort who so lovingly fill my bedroom with lilies
made it look like a mortuary. These sleepy ones
Lilies, nodding with their heavy heads and their lush,
exuding intrusive incense, reminiscent of spoiled meat
After speaking to the agent, he turned
to me and caressed the ruby ​​collar that gave me de nak
ken, but this time with such tenderness that I
did not flinch and he caressed my breasts. My
Darling, my little love, my child, did it hurt her?
He's so sorry, such a force, but couldn't
to change; because you see, he loves her so ... And these love arias
from his mouth my tears poured violently. I'm clapping
reminded me of him as if only the one who gave me the agony
added, consoled me that I had her
have to suffer. For a while he mumbled with one
Voice I had never heard before, a voice like that
gentle appeasement of the sea. But then he twisted it
Strands of my hair from the buttons of his tuxedo jacket
briefly kissed my cheek and said the agent had been with me
reported such an urgent business from New York that he
had to set off as soon as the tide had subsided. Away from it
the castle? Away from France! And at least six weeks
to stay away.
"It's our honeymoon!"
A business, a risky company with a profit
chance of millions was on the brink, he said. He retired
back from me to his waxy calm; I was
another little girl, I didn't understand And so he gave
Understanding my hurt vanity with no words I have
Already had too many honeymoons to even see them in the slightest
most urgent. I know very well that this child
that I dead with a handful of colored stones and the furs
Bought beasts, didn't run away from me. But if he is his
Agents in Paris had phoned him for the coming
Book a flight to the United States on the day - just one full day
quick call, my little one - then we would have time
to have dinner together.
I had to be content with that.
A Mexican dish, pheasant with hazelnuts and Sch o
Colade, lettuce, white, fatty cheese, a sorbet made from muscatel milk, etc.
ben and Asti spumante. So that everything was solemn, a festive one
Champagne from Krug. And then bitter black coffee in
precious little cups, so delicate that the birds that are on them
were painted, cast shadows. I took Cointreau, he took one
Cognac in the library, which were purple velvet curtains
drawn in and locked out the night; he pulled me on his
Kneel in a leather armchair by the flickering wood fire. He
I had the chaste little Poiret robe made of white mus
let selin tighten; he seemed to particularly like it
my breasts shimmered through the see-through fabric, said
he, like soft white doves in sleep, each with a rosy one
open eye. But I was not allowed to take off the ruby ​​collar
men that began to make me uncomfortable, I was still allowed to
Pinning up loose hair, the sign of a just roughened b
ten virginity that still remains like a wound between us
was standing. He twisted my hair around his fingers until I pulled it together
twitched; If I remember correctly, I said very little.
"The girl will have changed the sheets by now," said
he, “we don't hang the bloody sheets out the window
to prove to all of Brittany that you were a virgin, that
no longer happens in these civilized times. But I want to
Tell you it was the first time in all of my marriages
sen that I have such a flag to my curious tenants
could have shown. "
Then I realized, in a surprised shock, how much he was
my innocence must have irritated - the soft music, he had
said, my ignorance, like ›La terrass e des audiences
au clair de lune ‹, played on a piano in an ethereal way
Grades. Don't forget how uncomfortable I am in
this luxurious environment felt the discomfort mine
had been a constant companion in the long time in which this
grave satyr, who now gently mistreated my hair for me
advertised. The knowledge that he will please my naivete
had prepared, made me more courageous again. Courage! I'm going
one day behave like a fine lady here
is born into it, even if only with the help of underla s
Then he pulled slowly and teasingly, as if he were giving a child a
wanted to make a key ring out of a
Secret pocket in his jacket - one key at a time
ren, a key, as he said, for every lock in this house.
Keys of all kinds - huge, ancient, black ice n
things, others slender and delicate, almost baroque, thin leaves
Yale key for safes and chests. And during his rejection
I should guard them all.
I eyed the heavy ring with caution. Until this one
At the moment I hadn't given the slightest thought to
the practical consequences of being married to one
big house, big fortune, big man,
whose key ring was as huge as that of a prison warden
ters. There were awkward, ancient keys to the dungeons, because
We had sufficient dungeons, although they were closed
Wine cellars were remodeled; the dusty bottles lay r
were on shelves in all the deep torture holes in the rock
whom the castle was built. These are the keys to
the kitchen rooms, this is the key to the picture gallery, one
Treasury, in five centuries of diligent collectors
well filled - ah! He foresaw that I would spend hours there
He had developed a taste for the Symbolists, he revealed
me with a flare of greed He owned Moreau's great i
ge portrait of his first wife, the famous ›sanctified
Sacrifice ‹with the imprint of the fine chains on the thru
shining skin. I knew the genesis of this
Painting? How she felt when she first saw her clothes
came straight from her bar on Montmartre,
had quite inadvertently wrapped in her blush that covered red
her breasts, her shoulders, her arms, her whole body? He