Читать книгу TELENY (AN EROTICA) - Oscar Wilde - Страница 4

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I finally came to my senses. Being now thoroughly awake, my mother made me understand that hearing me groan and shriek, she had come in to see if I were unwell. Of course I hastened to assure her that I was in perfect health, and had only been the prey of a frightful nightmare. She thereupon put her fresh hand upon my hot forehead. The soothing touch of her soft hand cooled the fire burning within my brain, and allayed the fever raging in my blood.

When I was quietened, she made me drink a bumper of sugared water flavored with essence of orange-flowers, and then left me. I once more dropped off to sleep. I awoke, however, several times, and always to see the pianist before me.

On the morrow likewise, when I came to myself, his name was ringing in my ears, my lips were muttering it, and my first thoughts reverted to him. I saw him — in my mind’s eye — standing there on the stage, bowing before the public, his burning glances rivetted on mine.

I lay for some time in my bed, drowsily contemplating that sweet vision, so vague and indefinite, trying to recall his features which had got mixed up with those of the several statues of Antinous which I had seen.

Analyzing my feelings, I was now conscious that a new sensation had come over me — a vague feeling of uneasiness and unrest. There was an emptiness in me, still I could not understand if the void was in my heart or in my head. I had lost nothing and yet I felt lonely, forlorn, nay almost bereaved. I tried to fathom my morbid state, and all I could find out was that my feelings were akin to those of being homesick or mothersick, with this simple difference, that the exile knows what his cravings are, but I did not. It was something indefinite like the Sehnsucht of which the Germans speak so much, and which they really feel so little.

The image of Teleny haunted me, the name of Rene was ever on my lips. I kept repeating it over and over for dozens of times. What a sweet name it was! At its sound my heart was beating faster. My blood seemed to have become warmer and thicker. I got up slowly. I loitered over my dress. I stared at myself within the looking glass, and I saw Teleny in it instead of myself; and behind him rose our blended shadows, as I had seen them on the pavement the evening before.

Presently the servant tapped at the door; this recalled me to self-consciousness. I saw myself in the glass, and found myself hideous, and for the first time in my life I wished myself good-looking — nay, entrancingly handsome.

The servant who had knocked at the door informed me that my mother was in the breakfast-room, and had sent to see if I were unwell. The name of my mother recalled my dream to my mind, and for the first time I almost preferred not meeting her.

— Still, you were then on good terms with your mother, were you not?

— Certainly. Whatever faults she might have had, no one could have been more affectionate; and though she was said to be somewhat light and fond of pleasure, she had never neglected me.

— She struck me, indeed, as a talented person, when I knew her.

— Quite so; in other circumstances she might have proved even a superior woman. Very orderly and practical in all her household arrangements, she always found plenty of time for everything. If her life was not according to what we generally call ‘the principles of morality,’ or rather, Christian hypocrisy, the fault was my father’s, not hers, as I shall perhaps tell you some other time.

As I entered the breakfast-room, my mother was struck with the change in my appearance, and she asked me if I was feeling unwell.

‘I must have a little fever,’ I replied; ‘besides, the weather is so sultry and oppressive.’

‘Oppressive?’ quoth she, smiling.

‘Is it not?’

‘No; on the contrary, it is quite bracing. See, the barometer has risen considerably.’

‘Well, then, it must have been your concert that upset my nerves.’

‘My concert!’ said my mother, smiling, and handing me some coffee.

It was useless for me to try to taste it, the very sight of it turned me sick.

My mother looked at me rather anxiously.

‘It is nothing, only for some time back I have been getting sick of coffee.’

‘Sick of coffee? You never said so before.’

‘Did I not?’ I said absently.

‘Will you have some chocolate, or some tea?’

‘Can I not fast for once?’

‘Yes, if you are ill — or if you have some great sin to atone for.’

I looked at her and shuddered. Could she be reading my thoughts better than myself?

‘A sin?’ quoth I, with an astonished look.

‘Well, you know even the righteous — ‘

‘And what then?’ I said, interrupting her snappishly; but to make up for my supercilious way of speaking, I added in gentler tones:

‘I do not feel hungry; still, to please you, I’ll have a glass of champagne and a biscuit.’

‘Champagne, did you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘So early in the morning, and on an empty stomach?’

‘Well, then I’ll have nothing at all,’ I answered pettishly. ‘I see you are afraid I’m going to turn drunkard.’

My mother said nothing, she only looked at me wistfully for a few minutes, an expression of deep sorrow was seen in her face, then — without adding another word — she rang the bell and ordered the wine to be brought.

— But what made her so sad?

— Later on, I understood that she was frightened that I was already getting to be like my father.

— And your father — ?

— I’ll tell you his story another time.

After I had gulped down a glass or two of champagne, I felt revived by the exhilarating wine; our conversation then turned on the concert, and although I longed to ask my mother if she knew anything about Teleny, still I durst not utter the name which was foremost on my lips, nay I had even to restrain myself not to repeat it aloud every now and then.

At last my mother spoke of him herself, commending first his playing and then his beauty.

‘What, do you find him good-looking?’ I asked abruptly.

‘I should think so,’ she replied, arching her eyebrows in an astonished way, ‘is there anybody who does not? Every woman finds him an Adonis; but then you men differ so much from us in your admiration for your own sex, that you sometimes find insipid those whom we are taken up with. Anyhow, he is sure to succeed as an artist, as all the ladies will be falling in love with him.’

I tried not to wince upon hearing these last words, but do what I could, it was impossible to keep my features quite motionless.

My mother, seeing me frown, added, smilingly:

‘What, Camille, are you going to become as vain as some acknowledged belle, who cannot hear anybody made much of without feeling that any praise given to another woman is so much subtracted from what is due to her?’

‘All women are free to fall in love with him if they choose,’ I answered snappishly, ‘you know quite well that I never piqued myself either on my good looks or upon my conquests.’

‘No, it is true, still, today you are like the dog in the manger, for what is it to you whether the women are taken up with him or not, especially if it is such a help to him in his career?’

‘But cannot an artist rise to eminence by his talent alone?’

‘Sometimes,’ she added with an incredulous smile, ‘though seldom, and only with that superhuman perseverance which gifted persons often lack, and Teleny — ‘

My mother did not finish her phrase in words, but the expression of her face, and above all of the corners of her mouth, revealed her thoughts.

‘And you think that this young man is such a degraded being as to allow himself to be kept by a woman, like a — ‘

‘Well, it is not exactly being kept — at least, he would not consider it in that light. He might, moreover, allow himself to be helped in a thousand ways other than by money, but his piano would be his gagnepain.’

‘Just like the stage is for most ballet-girls; then I should not like to be an artist.’

‘Oh! they are not the only men who owe their success to a mistress, or to a wife. Read “Bel Ami,” and you will see that many a successful man, and even more than one celebrated personage, owes his greatness to — ‘

‘A woman?’

‘Exactly; it is always: Cherchezla femme.’

‘Then this is a disgusting world.’

‘Having to live in it, we must take the best of it we can, and not take matters quite so tragically as you do.’

‘Anyhow, he plays well. In fact, I never heard anyone play like he did last night.’

‘Yes, I grant that last night he did play brilliantly, or, rather, sensationally; but it also must be admitted that you were in a rather morbid state of health and mind, so that music must have had an uncommon effect upon your nerves.’

‘Oh! you think there was an evil spirit within me troubling me, and that a cunning player — as the Bible has it — was alone able to quiet my nerves.’

My mother smiled.

‘Well, nowadays, we are all of us more or less like Saul; that is to say, we are all occasionally troubled with an evil spirit.’

Thereupon her brow grew clouded, and she interrupted herself, for evidently the remembrance of my late father came to her mind; then she added, musingly —

‘And Saul was really to be pitied.’

I did not give her an answer. I was only thinking why David had found favor in Saul’s sight. Was it because ‘he was ruddy, and withal of a beautiful countenance, and goodly to look to’? Was it also for this reason that, as soon as Jonathan had seen him, ‘the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul’?

Was Telen^s soul knit with my own? Was I to love and hate him, as Saul loved and hated David? Anyhow, I despised myself and my folly. I felt a grudge against the musician who had bewitched me; above all, I loathed the whole of womankind, the curse of the world.

All at once my mother drew me from my gloomy thoughts.

‘You are not going to the office today, if you do not feel well,’ said she, after a while.

— What! you were in trade then, were you?

— Yes, my father had left me a very profitable business, and a most trustworthy and excellent manager who for years had been the soul of the house. I was then twenty-two, and my part in the concern was to pocket the lion’s share of the profits. Still, I must say I not only had never been lazy, but, moreover, was rather serious for a young man of my age, and, above all, in my circumstances. I had but one hobby — a most harmless one. I was fond of old majolica, old fans, and old lace, of which I have now a rather fine collection.

— The finest one I ever saw.

— Well, I went to the office as usual, but do what I could it was quite impossible for me to settle down to any kind of work.

Telen^s vision was mixing itself up with whatever I happened to be doing, muddling everything up. Moreover, my mother’s words were ever present to my mind. Every woman was in love with him, and their love was necessary to him. I thereupon tried hard to banish him from my thoughts. ‘Where there is a will there is a way,’ said I to myself, ‘so I shall soon get rid of this foolish, maudlin infatuation.’

— But you did not succeed, did you?

— No! the more I tried not to think of him, the more I did think. Have you in fact ever heard some snatches of a half-remembered tune ringing in your ears? Go where you will, listen to whatever you like, that tune is ever tantalizing you. You can no more recollect the whole of it than you can get rid of it. If you go to bed it keeps you from falling asleep; you slumber and you hear it in your dreams; you wake, and it is the very first thing you hear. So it was with Teleny; he actually haunted me, his voice — so sweet and low — was ever repeating in those unknown accents: Oh! friend, my heart doth yearn for thee.

And now his lovely image never left my eyes, the touch of his soft hand was still on mine, I even felt his scented breath upon my lips; thus in that eager longing, every now and then I stretched my arms to seize and to strain him to my breast, and the hallucination was so strong in me that soon I fancied I could feel his body on my own.

A strong erection thereupon took place, which stiffened every nerve and almost made me mad; but though I suffered, still, the pain I felt was sweet.

— Excuse my interrupting you, but had you never been in love before you had met Teleny?

— Never.

— Strange.

— Why so?

— At two-and-twenty?

— Well, you see I was predisposed to love men and not women, and without knowing it I had always struggled against the inclinations of my nature. It is true that several times I thought I had already been in love, still it was only upon knowing Teleny that I understood what real love was. Like all boys I had believed myself bound to feel spoony, and I had done my best to persuade myself that I was deeply smitten. Having once casually come across a young girl with laughing eyes, I had concluded that she was just what an ideal Dulcinea ought to be; I therefore followed her about, every time I met her, and sometimes even tried to think of her at odd moments, when I had nothing to do.

— And how did the affair end?

— In a most ridiculous way. The thing happened, I think, about a year or two before I left the Lycee; yes, I remember, it was during the midsummer holidays, and the very first time I had ever travelled alone.

Being of a rather shy disposition, I was somewhat flurried and nervous at having to elbow my way through the crowd, to hurry and push about to get my ticket, to take care so as not to get into a train going in the wrong direction.

The upshot of all this was that, before being thoroughly aware of it, I found myself seated in front of the girl I believed myself in love with, and moreover in a carriage reserved for the fair sex.

Unfortunately, in the same carriage there was a creature who surely could not go under that denomination; for, although I cannot swear as to her sex, I can take my oath she was not fair. In fact, as far as I can remember her, she was a real specimen of the wandering English old maid, clad in a waterproof coat something like an ulster. One of those heterogenous creatures continually met with on the Continent, and I think everywhere else except in England; for I have come to the conclusion that Great Britain manufactures them especially for exportation. Anyhow, I had hardly taken my place, when —

‘Monseer,’ says she, in a snarling, barking way, ‘cette compartement est reserved for dames soules.’

I suppose she meant ‘seules,’ but at that moment, confused as I was, I took her at her word.

‘Dames soules!’ — ‘drunken ladies!’ said I, terrified, looking around at all the ladies.

My neighbors began to titter.

‘Madame says that this carriage is reserved for ladies,’ added the mother of my girl, ‘of course a young man is not — well, not expected to smoke here, but — ‘

‘Oh! if that is the only objection I certainly shall not allow myself to smoke.’

‘No, no!’ said the old maid, evidently much shocked, ‘vous exit, go out, ou moi crier! Garde,’ she shouted out of the window, ‘faites go out cette monseer!’

The guard appeared at the door, and not only ordered, but ignominiously turned me out of that carriage, just as if I had been a second Col. Baker.

I was so ashamed of myself, so mortified, that my stomach — which had always been delicate — was actually quite upset by the shock I had received, therefore no sooner had the train started than I began to be, first uncomfortable, then to feel a rumbling pain, and at last a pressing want, so much so that I could hardly sit down on my seat, squeeze as much as I could, and I dared not move for fear of the consequences.

After some time the train stopped for a few minutes, no guard came to open the carriage door, I managed to get up, no guard was to be seen, no place where I could ease myself. I was debating what to do when the train started off.

The only occupant of the carriage was an old gentleman, who — having told me to make myself comfortable, or rather to put myself at my ease — went off to sleep and snored like a top; I might as well have been alone.

I formed several plans for unburdening my stomach, which was growing more unruly every moment, but only one or two seemed the answer; and yet I could not put them into execution, for my lady-love, only a few carriages off, was every now and then looking out of the window, so it would never have done if, instead of my face, she all at once saw — my full moon. I could not for the same reason use my hat as what the Italians call — a comodina, especially as the wind was blowing strongly towards her.

The train stopped again, but only for three minutes. What could one do in three minutes, especially with a stomach-ache like mine? Another stoppage; two minutes. By dint of squeezing I now felt that I could wait a little longer. The train moved and then once more came to a standstill. Six minutes. Now was my chance, or never. I jumped out.

It was a kind of country station, apparently a junction, and everybody was getting out.

The guard bawled out: ‘Les voyageurs pour — en voiture.’

‘Where is the lavatory?’ I enquired of him. He attempted to shove me into the train. I broke loose, and asked the same question of another official.

‘There,’ said he, pointing to the water-closet, ‘but be quick.’

I ran towards it, I rushed into it without looking where I went. I violently pushed open the door.

I heard first a groan of ease and of comfort, followed by a splash and a waterfall, then a screech, and I saw my English damsel, not sitting, but perched upon the closet seat.

The engine whistled, the bell rang, the guard blew his horn, the train was moving.

I ran back as fast as I could, regardless of consequences, holding my falling trousers in my hands, and followed by the wrathful, screeching English old maid, very much like a wee chicken running away from an old hen.

— And —

— Everyone was at the carriage windows laughing at my misadventure.

A few days afterwards I was with my parents at the Pension Bellevue, at the baths of N — , when, on going down to the table d’hote dinner, I was surprised to find the young lady in question seated with her mother, almost opposite to the place usually occupied by my parents. Upon seeing her, I, of course, blushed scarlet, I sat down, and she and the elderly lady exchanged glances and smiled. I wriggled on my chair in a most uncomfortable way, and I dropped the spoon which I had taken up.

‘What is the matter with you, Camille?’ asked my mother, seeing me grow red and pale.

‘Oh, nothing! Only I — I — that is to say, my — my stomach is rather out of order,’ said I, in a whisper, finding no better excuse on the spur of the moment.

‘Your stomach again?’ said my mother, in an undertone.

‘What, Camille! have you the belly-ache?’ said my father, in his offhand way, and with his stentorian voice.

I was so ashamed of myself and so upset, that, hungry as I was, my stomach began to make the most fearful rumbling noises.

Everyone at table, I think, was giggling, when all at once I heard a well-known, snarling, barking, shrill voice say —

‘Gaason, demandez that monseer not to parler cochonneries at table.’

I cast a glance towards the side whence the voice proceeded, and, sure enough, that horrible, wandering English old maid was there.

I felt as if I could have sunk under the table for shame, seeing everyone stare at me. Anyhow, I had to bear it; and at last the lengthy meal came to an end. I went up to my room, and, for that, I saw nothing more of my acquaintances.

On the morrow I met the young girl out with her mother. When she saw me, her laughing eyes had a merrier twinkle than ever. I durst not look at her, much less follow her about as I was wont to do.

There were several other girls at the pension, and she soon got to be on friendly terms with them, for she was in fact a universal favorite. I, on the contrary, kept aloof from everyone, feeling sure that my mishap was not only known but had become a general topic of conversation.

One afternoon, a few days afterwards, I was in the vast garden of the pension, hidden behind some ilex shrubs, brooding over my ill luck, when all at once I saw Rita — for her name was Marguerite — walking in a neighboring alley, together with several other girls.

I had no sooner perceived her when she told her friends to go on, whilst she began to lag behind.

She stopped, turned her back upon her companions, lifted up her dress far above her knee, and displayed a very pretty though rather thin leg encased in a close-fitting, black silk stocking. The string which attached the stocking to her unmentionables had got undone, and she began to tie it.

By bending low I might quietly have peeped between her legs, and seen what the slit of her pantaloons afforded to the view; but it never came into my head to do so. The fact is, I had really never cared for her or for any other woman. I only thought, now is my time to find her alone and to bow to her, without having all the other girls to giggle at me. So I quietly got out of my hiding-place, and advanced towards the next alley.

As I turned the corner, what a sight did I see! There was the object of my sentimental admiration, squatted on the ground, her legs widely opened apart, her skirts all carefully tucked up.

— So at last you saw — — A faint glimpse of pinkish flesh, and a stream of yellow liquid pouring down and flowing on the gravel, bubbling with much froth, accompanied by the rushing sound of many waters, while, as if to greet my appearance, a rumbling noise like that of an unctuous cannonade came from behind. — And what did you do? — Don’t you know we always do the things which ought not to be done, and leave undone the things which ought to be done, as I think the Prayer Book says? So, instead of slipping away unperceived, and hiding behind a bush to try and have a glimpse at the mouth from which the rill escaped, I foolishly remained stock still, speechless, dumbfounded. It was only when she lifted up her eyes that I recovered the use of my tongue.

‘Oh, mademoiselle! pardon!’said I; ‘but really I did not know that you were here — that is to say that — ‘

Sot — stupide — imbecile — bete — animal!’quoth she, with quite a French volubility, rising and getting as red as a peony. Then she turned her back on me, but only to face the wandering old maid, who appeared at the other end of the avenue, and who greeted her with a prolonged ‘Oh!’ that sounded like the blast of a fog-trumpet.

— And —

— And the only love I ever had for a woman thus came to an end.