VENUS IN FURS

Of this book, intended forprivate circulation, only1225 copies have beenprinted, and type afterwarddistributed. 

VENUS IN FURS

By

LEOPOLD VON SACHER-MASOCH

Translated from the German

By

FERNANDA SAVAGE

INTRODUCTION

Leopold von Sacher-Masoch was born in Lemberg, Austrian Galicia, onJanuary 27, 1836. He studied jurisprudence at Prague and Graz, and in1857 became a teacher at the latter university. He published severalhistorical works, but soon gave up his academic career to devotehimself wholly to literature. For a number of years he edited theinternational review, _Auf der Hohe_, at Leipzig, but later removed toParis, for he was always strongly Francophile. His last years he spentat Lindheim in Hesse, Germany, where he died on March 9, 1895. In 1873he married Aurora von Rumelin, who wrote a number of novels under thepseudonym of Wanda von Dunajew, which it is interesting to note is thename of the heroine of _Venus in Furs_. Her sensational memoirs whichhave been the cause of considerable controversy were published in 1906. 

During his career as writer an endless number of works poured fromSacher-Masoch's pen. Many of these were works of ephemeral journalism, and some of them unfortunately pure sensationalism, for economicnecessity forced him to turn his pen to unworthy ends. 

There is, however, a residue among his works which has a distinctliterary and even greater psychological value. His principal literaryambition was never completely fulfilled. It was a somewhatprogrammatic plan to give a picture of contemporary life in all itsvarious aspects and interrelations under the general title of the_Heritage of Cain_. This idea was probably derived from Balzac's_Comedie Humaine_. The whole was to be divided into six subdivisionswith the general titles _Love, Property, Money, The State, War, _ and_Death_. Each of these divisions in its turn consisted of six novels, of which the last was intended to summarize the author's conclusionsand to present his solution for the problems set in the others. 

This extensive plan remained unachieved, and only the first two parts, _Love_ and _Property_, were completed. Of the other sections onlyfragments remain. The present novel, _Venus in Furs_, forms the fifthin the series, _Love_. 

The best of Sacher-Masoch's work is characterized by a swiftnarration and a graphic representation of character and scene and arich humor. The latter has made many of his shorter stories dealingwith his native Galicia little masterpieces of local color. 

There is, however, another element in his work which has caused hisname to become as eponym for an entire series of phenomena at one endof the psycho-sexual scale. This gives his productions a peculiarpsychological value, though it cannot be denied also a morbid tingethat makes them often repellent. However, it is well to remember thatnature is neither good nor bad, neither altruistic nor egoistic, andthat it operates through the human psyche as well as through crystalsand plants and animals with the same inexorable laws. 

Sacher-Masoch was the poet of the anomaly now generally known as_masochism_. By this is meant the desire on the part of the individualaffected of desiring himself completely and unconditionally subject tothe will of a person of the opposite sex, and being treated by thisperson as by a master, to be humiliated, abused, and tormented, evento the verge of death. This motive is treated in all its innumerablevariations. As a creative artist Sacher-Masoch was, of course, on thequest for the absolute, and sometimes, when impulses in the humanbeing assume an abnormal or exaggerated form, there is just for amoment a flash that gives a glimpse of the thing in itself. 

If any defense were needed for the publication of work like Sacher-Masoch's it is well to remember that artists are the historians of thehuman soul and one might recall the wise and tolerant Montaigne'sessay _On the Duty of Historians_ where he says, "One may cover oversecret actions, but to be silent on what all the world knows, andthings which have had effects which are public and of so muchconsequence is an inexcusable defect. "

And the curious interrelation between cruelty and sex, again andagain, creeps into literature. Sacher-Masoch has not created anythingnew in this. He has simply taken an ancient motive and developed itfrankly and consciously, until, it seems, there is nothing further tosay on the subject. To the violent attacks which his books met hereplied in a polemical work, _Über den Wert der Kritik_. 

It would be interesting to trace the masochistic tendency as it occursthroughout literature, but no more can be done than just to allude toa few instances. The theme recurs continually in the _Confessions_ ofJean Jacques Rousseau; it explains the character of the chevalier inPrévost's _Manon l'Escault_. Scenes of this nature are found in Zola's_Nana_, in Thomas Otway's _Venice Preserved_, in Albert Juhelle's _LesPecheurs d'Hommes_, in Dostojevski. In disguised and unrecognized formit constitutes the undercurrent of much of the sentimental literatureof the present day, though in most cases the authors as well as thereaders are unaware of the pathological elements out of which theircharacters are built. 

In all these strange and troubled waters of the human spirit one mightwish for something of the serene and simple attitude of the ancientworld. Laurent Tailhade has an admirable passage in his _Platres etMarbres_, which is well worth reproducing in this connection:

"Toutefois, les Hellènes, dans, leurs cités de lumière, de douceuret d'harmonie, avaient une indulgence qu'on peut nommer scientifiquepour les troubles amoureux de l'esprit. S'ils ne regardaient pasl'aliène comme en proie a la visitation d'un dieu (idée orientale etfataliste), du moins ils savaient que l'amour est une sorted'envoûtement, une folie où se manifeste l'animosité des puissancescosmiques. Plus tard, le christianisme enveloppa les âmes deténèbres. Ce fut la grande nuite. L'Église condamna tout ce qui luiparût neuf ou menaçant pour les dogmes implaçable qui reduisaient lemonde en esclavage. "

Among Sacher-Masoch's works, _Venus in Furs_ is one of the mosttypical and outstanding. In spite of melodramatic elements and otherliterary faults, it is unquestionably a sincere work, written withoutany idea of titillating morbid fancies. One feels that in the heromany subjective elements have been incorporated, which are adisadvantage to the work from the point of view of literature, but onthe other hand raise the book beyond the sphere of art, pure andsimple, and make it one of those appalling human documents whichbelong, part to science and part to psychology. It is the confessionof a deeply unhappy man who could not master his personal tragedy ofexistence, and so sought to unburden his soul in writing down thethings he felt and experienced. The reader who will approach the bookfrom this angle and who will honestly put aside moral prejudices andprepossessions will come away from the perusal of this book with adeeper understanding of this poor miserable soul of ours and a lightwill be cast into dark places that lie latent in all of us. 

Sacher-Masoch's works have held an established position in Europeanletters for something like half a century, and the author himself wasmade a chevalier of the Legion of Honor by the French Government in1883, on the occasion of his literary jubilee. When several years agocheap reprints were brought out on the Continent and attempts weremade by various guardians of morality--they exist in all countries--to have them suppressed, the judicial decisions were invariablyagainst the plaintiff and in favor of the publisher. Are Americanschildren that they must be protected from books which any Europeanschool-boy can purchase whenever he wishes? However, such seems to bethe case, and this translation, which has long been in preparation, consequently appears in a limited edition printed for subscribersonly. In another connection Herbert Spencer once used these words:"The ultimate result of shielding men from the effects of folly, is tofill the world with fools. " They have a very pointed application inthe case of a work like _Venus in Furs_. 

F. S. 

Atlantic CityApril, 1921

VENUS IN FURS

 _"But the Almighty Lord hath struck him, and hath delivered him into the hands of a woman. "_

--The Vulgate, Judith, xvi. 7. 

My company was charming. 

Opposite me by the massive Renaissance fireplace sat Venus; she wasnot a casual woman of the half-world, who under this pseudonym wageswar against the enemy sex, like Mademoiselle Cleopatra, but the real, true goddess of love. 

She sat in an armchair and had kindled a crackling fire, whosereflection ran in red flames over her pale face with its white eyes, and from time to time over her feet when she sought to warm them. 

Her head was wonderful in spite of the dead stony eyes; it was allI could see of her. She had wrapped her marble-like body in a hugefur, and rolled herself up trembling like a cat. 

"I don't understand it, " I exclaimed, "It isn't really cold anylonger. For two weeks past we have had perfect spring weather. Youmust be nervous. "

"Much obliged for your spring, " she replied with a low stony voice, and immediately afterwards sneezed divinely, twice in succession. "Ireally can't stand it here much longer, and I am beginning tounderstand--"

"What, dear lady?"

"I am beginning to believe the unbelievable and to understand the un-understandable. All of a sudden I understand the Germanic virtue ofwoman, and German philosophy, and I am no longer surprised that youof the North do not know how to love, haven't even an idea of whatlove is. "

"But, madame, " I replied flaring up, "I surely haven't given you anyreason. "

"Oh, you--" The divinity sneezed for the third time, and shruggedher shoulders with inimitable grace. "That's why I have always beennice to you, and even come to see you now and then, although I catcha cold every time, in spite of all my furs. Do you remember the firsttime we met?"

"How could I forget it, " I said. "You wore your abundant hair inbrown curls, and you had brown eyes and a red mouth, but I recognizedyou immediately by the outline of your face and its marble-likepallor--you always wore a violet-blue velvet jacket edged withsquirrel-skin. "

"You were really in love with the costume, and awfully docile. "

"You have taught me what love is. Your serene form of worship let meforget two thousand years. "

"And my faithfulness to you was without equal!"

"Well, as far as faithfulness goes--"

"Ungrateful!"

"I will not reproach you with anything. You are a divine woman, butnevertheless a woman, and like every woman cruel in love. "

"What you call cruel, " the goddess of love replied eagerly, "issimply the element of passion and of natural love, which is woman'snature and makes her give herself where she loves, and makes her loveeverything, that pleases her. "

"Can there be any greater cruelty for a lover than theunfaithfulness of the woman he loves?"

"Indeed!" she replied. "We are faithful as long as we love, but youdemand faithfulness of a woman without love, and the giving ofherself without enjoyment. Who is cruel there--woman or man? You ofthe North in general take love too soberly and seriously. You talkof duties where there should be only a question of pleasure. "

"That is why our emotions are honorable and virtuous, and ourrelations permanent. "

"And yet a restless, always unsatisfied craving for the nudity ofpaganism, " she interrupted, "but that love, which is the highest joy, which is divine simplicity itself, is not for you moderns, youchildren of reflection. It works only evil in you. _As soon as youwish to be natural, you become common. _ To you nature seems somethinghostile; you have made devils out of the smiling gods of Greece, andout of me a demon. You can only exorcise and curse me, or slayyourselves in bacchantic madness before my altar. And if ever one ofyou has had the courage to kiss my red mouth, he makes a barefootpilgrimage to Rome in penitential robes and expects flowers to growfrom his withered staff, while under my feet roses, violets, andmyrtles spring up every hour, but their fragrance does not agree withyou. Stay among your northern fogs and Christian incense; let uspagans remain under the debris, beneath the lava; do not disinter us. Pompeii was not built for you, nor our villas, our baths, our temples. You do not require gods. We are chilled in your world. "

The beautiful marble woman coughed, and drew the dark sables stillcloser about her shoulders. 

"Much obliged for the classical lesson, " I replied, "but you cannotdeny, that man and woman are mortal enemies, in your serene sunlitworld as well as in our foggy one. In love there is union into asingle being for a short time only, capable of only one thought, onesensation, one will, in order to be then further disunited. And youknow this better than I; whichever of the two fails to subjugate willsoon feel the feet of the other on his neck--"

"And as a rule the man that of the woman, " cried Madame Venus withproud mockery, "which you know better than I. "

"Of course, and that is why I don't have any illusions. "

"You mean you are now my slave without illusions, and for thatreason you shall feel the weight of my foot without mercy. "

"Madame!"

"Don't you know me yet? Yes, I am _cruel_--since you take so muchdelight in that word-and am I not entitled to be so? Man is the onewho desires, woman the one who is desired. This is woman's entire butdecisive advantage. Through his passion nature has given man intowoman's hands, and the woman who does not know how to make him hersubject, her slave, her toy, and how to betray him with a smile in theend is not wise. "

"Exactly your principles, " I interrupted angrily. 

"They are based on the experience of thousands of years, " shereplied ironically, while her white fingers played over the dark fur. "The more devoted a woman shows herself, the sooner the man sobersdown and becomes domineering. The more cruelly she treats him and themore faithless she is, the worse she uses him, the more wantonly sheplays with him, the less pity she shows him, by so much the more willshe increase his desire, be loved, worshipped by him. So it hasalways been, since the time of Helen and Delilah, down to Catherinethe Second and Lola Montez. "

"I cannot deny, " I said, "that nothing will attract a man more thanthe picture of a beautiful, passionate, cruel, and despotic woman whowantonly changes her favorites without scruple in accordance with herwhim--"

"And in addition wears furs, " exclaimed the divinity. 

"What do you mean by that?"

"I know your predilection. "

"Do you know, " I interrupted, "that, since we last saw each other, you have grown very coquettish. "

"In what way, may I ask?"

"In that there is no way of accentuating your white body to greateradvantage than by these dark furs, and that--"

The divinity laughed. 

"You are dreaming, " she cried, "wake up!" and she clasped my armwith her marble-white hand. "Do wake up, " she repeated raucously withthe low register of her voice. I opened my eyes with difficulty. 

I saw the hand which shook me, and suddenly it was brown as bronze;the voice was the thick alcoholic voice of my cossack servant whostood before me at his full height of nearly six feet. 

"Do get up, " continued the good fellow, "it is really disgraceful. "

"What is disgraceful?"

"To fall asleep in your clothes and with a book besides. " He snuffedthe candles which had burned down, and picked up the volume which hadfallen from my hand, "with a book by"--he looked at the title page--"by Hegel. Besides it is high time you were starting for Mr. Severin's who is expecting us for tea. "

"A curious dream, " said Severin when I had finished. He supportedhis arms on his knees, resting his face in his delicate, finelyveined hands, and fell to pondering. 

I knew that he wouldn't move for a long time, hardly even breathe. This actually happened, but I didn't consider his behavior as in anyway remarkable. I had been on terms of close friendship with him fornearly three years, and gotten used to his peculiarities. For itcannot be denied that he was peculiar, although he wasn't quite thedangerous madman that the neighborhood, or indeed the entire districtof Kolomea, considered him to be. I found his personality not onlyinteresting--and that is why many also regarded me a bit mad--but toa degree sympathetic. For a Galician nobleman and land-owner, andconsidering his age--he was hardly over thirty--he displayedsurprising sobriety, a certain seriousness, even pedantry. He livedaccording to a minutely elaborated, half-philosophical, half-practical system, like clock-work; not this alone, but also by thethermometer, barometer, aerometer, hydrometer, Hippocrates, Hufeland, Plato, Kant, Knigge, and Lord Chesterfield. But at times he hadviolent attacks of sudden passion, and gave the impression of beingabout to run with his head right through a wall. At such times everyone preferred to get out of his way. 

While he remained silent, the fire sang in the chimney and the largevenerable samovar sang; and the ancient chair in which I sat rockingto and fro smoking my cigar, and the cricket in the old walls sangtoo. I let my eyes glide over the curious apparatus, skeletons ofanimals, stuffed birds, globes, plaster-casts, with which his roomwas heaped full, until by chance my glance remained fixed on apicture which I had seen often enough before. But to-day, under thereflected red glow of the fire, it made an indescribable impressionon me. 

It was a large oil painting, done in the robust full-bodied mannerof the Belgian school. Its subject was strange enough. 

A beautiful woman with a radiant smile upon her face, with abundanthair tied into a classical knot, on which white powder lay like asoft hoarfrost, was resting on an ottoman, supported on her left arm. She was nude in her dark furs. Her right hand played with a lash, while her bare foot rested carelessly on a man, lying before her likea slave, like a dog. In the sharply outlined, but well-formedlinaments of this man lay brooding melancholy and passionatedevotion; he looked up to her with the ecstatic burning eye of amartyr. This man, the footstool for her feet, was Severin, butbeardless, and, it seemed, some ten years younger. 

"_Venus in Furs_, " I cried, pointing to the picture. "That is the wayI saw her in my dream. "

"I, too, " said Severin, "only I dreamed my dream with open eyes. "

"Indeed?"

"It is a tiresome story. "

"Your picture apparently suggested my dream, " I continued. "But dotell me what it means. I can imagine that it played a role in yourlife, and perhaps a very decisive one. But the details I can only getfrom you. "

"Look at its counterpart, " replied my strange friend, withoutheeding my question. 

The counterpart was an excellent copy of Titian's well-known "Venuswith the Mirror" in the Dresden Gallery. 

"And what is the significance?"

Severin rose and pointed with his finger at the fur with whichTitian garbed his goddess of love. 

"It, too, is a 'Venus in Furs, '" he said with a slight smile. "Idon't believe that the old Venetian had any secondary intention. Hesimply painted the portrait of some aristocratic Mesalina, and wastactful enough to let Cupid hold the mirror in which she tests hermajestic allure with cold satisfaction. He looks as though his taskwere becoming burdensome enough. The picture is painted flattery. Later an 'expert' in the Rococo period baptized the lady with thename of Venus. The furs of the despot in which Titian's fair modelwrapped herself, probably more for fear of a cold than out ofmodesty, have become a symbol of the tyranny and cruelty thatconstitute woman's essence and her beauty. 

"But enough of that. The picture, as it now exists, is a bittersatire on our love. Venus in this abstract North, in this icyChristian world, has to creep into huge black furs so as not to catchcold--"

Severin laughed, and lighted a fresh cigarette. 

Just then the door opened and an attractive, stoutish, blonde girlentered. She had wise, kindly eyes, was dressed in black silk, andbrought us cold meat and eggs with our tea. Severin took one of thelatter, and decapitated it with his knife. 

"Didn't I tell you that I want them soft-boiled?" he cried with aviolence that made the young woman tremble. 

"But my dear Sevtchu--" she said timidly. 

"Sevtchu, nothing, " he yelled, "you are to obey, obey, do youunderstand?" and he tore the _kantchuk_ [Footnote: A long whip with ashort handle. ] which was hanging beside the weapons from its hook. 

The woman fled from the chamber quickly and timidly like a doe. 

"Just wait, I'll get you yet, " he called after her. 

"But Severin, " I said placing my hand on his arm, "how can you treata pretty young woman thus?"

"Look at the woman, " he replied, blinking humorously with his eyes. "Had I flattered her, she would have cast the noose around my neck, but now, when I bring her up with the _kantchuk_, she adores me. "

"Nonsense!"

"Nonsense, nothing, that is the way you have to break in women. "

"Well, if you like it, live like a pasha in your harem, but don'tlay down theories for me--"

"Why not, " he said animatedly. "Goethe's 'you must be hammer or anvil'is absolutely appropriate to the relation between man and woman. Didn't Lady Venus in your dream prove that to you? Woman's power liesin man's passion, and she knows how to use it, if man doesn'tunderstand himself. He has only one choice: to be the _tyrant_ over orthe _slave_ of woman. As soon as he gives in, his neck is under theyoke, and the lash will soon fall upon him. "

"Strange maxims!"

"Not maxims, but experiences, " he replied, nodding his head, "_I haveactually felt the lash_. I am cured. Do you care to know how?"

He rose, and got a small manuscript from his massive desk, and putit in front of me. 

"You have already asked about the picture. I have long owed you anexplanation. Here--read!"

Severin sat down by the chimney with his back toward me, and seemedto dream with open eyes. Silence had fallen again, and again the firesang in the chimney, and the samovar and the cricket in the oldwalls. I opened the manuscript and read:

CONFESSIONS OF A SUPERSENSUAL MAN. 

The margin of the manuscript bore as motto a variation of the well-known lines from _Faust_:

 "Thou supersensual sensual woer A woman leads you by the nose. " --MEPHISTOPHELES. 

I turned the title-page and read: "What follows has been compiledfrom my diary of that period, because it is impossible ever franklyto write of one's past, but in this way everything retains its freshcolors, the colors of the present. "

Gogol, the Russian Moliere, says--where? well, somewhere--"the realcomic muse is the one under whose laughing mask tears roll down. "

A wonderful saying. 

So I have a very curious feeling as I am writing all this down. Theatmosphere seems filled with a stimulating fragrance of flowers, which overcomes me and gives me a headache. The smoke of thefireplace curls and condenses into figures, small gray-beardedkokolds that mockingly point their finger at me. Chubby-cheekedcupids ride on the arms of my chair and on my knees. I have to smileinvoluntarily, even laugh aloud, as I am writing down my adventures. Yet I am not writing with ordinary ink, but with red blood that dripsfrom my heart. All its wounds long scarred over have opened and itthrobs and hurts, and now and then a tear falls on the paper. 

The days creep along sluggishly in the little Carpathian health-resort. You see no one, and no one sees you. It is boring enough towrite idyls. I would have leisure here to supply a whole gallery ofpaintings, furnish a theater with new pieces for an entire season, a dozen virtuosos with concertos, trios, and duos, but--what am Isaying--the upshot of it all is that I don't do much more than tostretch the canvas, smooth the bow, line the scores. For I am--nofalse modesty, Friend Severin; you can lie to others, but you don'tquite succeed any longer in lying to yourself--I am nothing but adilettante, a dilettante in painting, in poetry, in music, andseveral other of the so-called unprofitable arts, which, however, atpresent secure for their masters the income of a cabinet minister, or even that of a minor potentate. Above all else I am a dilettantein life. 

Up to the present I have lived as I have painted and written poetry. I never got far beyond the preparation, the plan, the first act, thefirst stanza. There are people like that who begin everything, andnever finish anything. I am such a one. 

But what am I saying?

To the business in hand. 

I lie in my window, and the miserable little town, which fills mewith despondency, really seems infinitely full of poetry. Howwonderful the outlook upon the blue wall of high mountains interwovenwith golden sunlight; mountain-torrents weave through them likeribbons of silver! How clear and blue the heavens into whichsnowcapped crags project; how green and fresh the forested slopes;the meadows on which small herds graze, down to the yellow billowsof grain where reapers stand and bend over and rise up again. 

The house in which I live stands in a sort of park, or forest, orwilderness, whatever one wants to call it, and is very solitary. 

Its sole inhabitants are myself, a widow from Lemberg, and MadameTartakovska, who runs the house, a little old woman, who grows olderand smaller each day. There are also an old dog that limps on oneleg, and a young cat that continually plays with a ball of yarn. Thisball of yarn, I believe, belongs to the widow. 

She is said to be really beautiful, this widow, still very young, twenty-four at the most, and very rich. She dwells in the firststory, and I on the ground floor. She always keeps the green blindsdrawn, and has a balcony entirely overgrown with green climbing-plants. I for my part down below have a comfortable, intimate arborof honeysuckle, in which I read and write and paint and sing like abird among the twigs. I can look up on the balcony. Sometimes Iactually do so, and then from time to time a white gown gleamsbetween the dense green network. 

Really the beautiful woman up there doesn't interest me very much, for I am in love with someone else, and terribly unhappy at that; farmore unhappy than the Knight of Toggenburg or the Chevalier in Manonl'Escault, because the object of my adoration is of stone. 

In the garden, in the tiny wilderness, there is a graceful littlemeadow on which a couple of deer graze peacefully. On this meadow isa stone statue of Venus, the original of which, I believe, is inFlorence. This Venus is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen inall my life. 

That, however, does not signify much, for I have seen few beautifulwomen, or rather few women at all. In love too, I am a dilettante whonever got beyond the preparation, the first act. 

But why talk in superlatives, as if something that is beautifulcould be surpassed?

It is sufficient to say that this Venus is beautiful. I love herpassionately with a morbid intensity; madly as one can only love awoman who never responds to our love with anything but an eternallyuniform, eternally calm, stony smile. I literally adore her. 

I often lie reading under the leafy covering of a young birch whenthe sun broods over the forest. Often I visit that cold, cruelmistress of mine by night and lie on my knees before her, with theface pressed against the cold pedestal on which her feet rest, andmy prayers go up to her. 

The rising moon, which just now is waning, produces an indescribableeffect. It seems to hover among the trees and submerges the meadowin its gleam of silver. The goddess stands as if transfigured, andseems to bathe in the soft moonlight. 

Once when I was returning from my devotions by one of the walksleading to the house, I suddenly saw a woman's figure, white asstone, under the illumination of the moon and separated from memerely by a screen of trees. It seemed as if the beautiful woman ofmarble had taken pity on me, become alive, and followed me. I wasseized by a nameless fear, my heart threatened to burst, and instead--

Well, I am a dilettante. As always, I broke down at the secondstanza; rather, on the contrary, I did not break down, but ran awayas fast as my legs would carry me. 

 * * * * *

What an accident! Through a Jew, dealing in photographs I secured apicture of my ideal. It is a small reproduction of Titian's "Venuswith the Mirror. " What a woman! I want to write a poem, but instead, I take the reproduction, and write on it: _Venus in Furs_. 

You are cold, while you yourself fan flames. By all means wrapyourself in your despotic furs, there is no one to whom they are moreappropriate, cruel goddess of love and of beauty!--After a while I adda few verses from Goethe, which I recently found in his paralipomenato _Faust_. 

 TO AMOR

 "The pair of wings a fiction are, The arrows, they are naught but claws, The wreath conceals the little horns, For without any doubt he is Like all the gods of ancient Greece Only a devil in disguise. "

Then I put the picture before me on my table, supporting it with abook, and looked at it. 

I was enraptured and at the same time filled with a strange fear bythe cold coquetry with which this magnificent woman draped her charmsin her furs of dark sable; by the severity and hardness which lay inthis cold marble-like face. Again I took my pen in hand, and wrotethe following words:

"To love, to be loved, what happiness! And yet how the glamour ofthis pales in comparison with the tormenting bliss of worshipping awoman who makes a plaything out of us, of being the slave of abeautiful tyrant who treads us pitilessly underfoot. Even Samson, thehero, the giant, again put himself into the hands of Delilah, evenafter she had betrayed him, and again she betrayed him, and thePhilistines bound him and put out his eyes which until the very endhe kept fixed, drunken with rage and love, upon the beautifulbetrayer. "

I was breakfasting in my honey-suckle arbor, and reading in the Bookof Judith. I envied the hero Holofernes because of the regal womanwho cut off his head with a sword, and because of his beautifulsanguinary end. 

"The almighty Lord hath struck him, and hath delivered him into thehands of a woman. "

This sentence strangely impressed me. 

How ungallant these Jews are, I thought. And their God might choosemore becoming expressions when he speaks of the fair sex. 

"The almighty Lord hath struck him, and hath delivered him into thehands of a woman, " I repeated to myself. What shall I do, so that Hemay punish me?

Heaven preserve us! Here comes the housekeeper, who has againdiminished somewhat in size overnight. And up there among the greentwinings and garlandings the white gown gleams again. Is it Venus, or the widow?

This time it happens to be the widow, for Madame Tartakovska makesa courtesy, and asks me in her name for something to read. I run tomy room, and gather together a couple of volumes. 

Later I remember that my picture of Venus is in one of them, and nowit and my effusions are in the hands of the white woman up theretogether. What will she say?

I hear her laugh. 

Is she laughing at me?

It is full moon. It is already peering over the tops of the lowhemlocks that fringe the park. A silvery exhalation fills theterrace, the groups of trees, all the landscape, as far as the eyecan reach; in the distance it gradually fades away, like tremblingwaters. 

I cannot resist. I feel a strange urge and call within me. I put onmy clothes again and go out into the garden. 

Some power draws me toward the meadow, toward her, who is mydivinity and my beloved. 

The night is cool. I feel a slight chill. The atmosphere is heavywith the odor of flowers and of the forest. It intoxicates. 

What solemnity! What music round about! A nightingale sobs. Thestars quiver very faintly in the pale-blue glamour. The meadow seemssmooth, like a mirror, like a covering of ice on a pond. 

The statue of Venus stands out august and luminous. 

But--what has happened? From the marble shoulders of the goddess alarge dark fur flows down to her heels. I stand dumbfounded and stareat her in amazement; again an indescribable fear seizes hold of meand I take flight. 

I hasten my steps, and notice that I have missed the main path. AsI am about to turn aside into one of the green walks I see Venussitting before me on a stone bench, not the beautiful woman ofmarble, but the goddess of love herself with warm blood and throbbingpulses. She has actually come to life for me, like the statue thatbegan to breathe for her creator. Indeed, the miracle is only halfcompleted. Her white hair seems still to be of stone, and her whitegown shimmers like moonlight, or is it satin? From her shoulders thedark fur flows. But her lips are already reddening and her cheeksbegin to take color. Two diabolical green rays out of her eyes fallupon me, and now she laughs. 

Her laughter is very mysterious, very--I don't know. It cannot bedescribed, it takes my breath away. I flee further, and after everyfew steps I have to pause to take breath. The mocking laughterpursues me through the dark leafy paths, across light open spaces, through the thicket where only single moonbeams can pierce. I can nolonger find my way, I wander about utterly confused, with cold dropsof perspiration on the forehead. 

Finally I stand still, and engage in a short monologue. 

It runs--well--one is either very polite to one's self or very rude. 

I say to myself:

"Donkey!"

This word exercises a remarkable effect, like a magic formula, whichsets me free and makes me master of myself. 

I am perfectly quiet in a moment. 

With considerable pleasure I repeat: "Donkey!"

Now everything is perfectly clear and distinct before my eyes again. There is the fountain, there the alley of box-wood, there the housewhich I am slowly approaching. 

Yet--suddenly the appearance is here again. Behind the green screenthrough which the moonlight gleams so that it seems embroidered withsilver, I again see the white figure, the woman of stone whom Iadore, whom I fear and flee. 

With a couple of leaps I am within the house and catch my breath andreflect. 

What am I really, a little dilettante or a great big donkey?

A sultry morning, the atmosphere is dead, heavily laden with odors, yet stimulating. Again I am sitting in my honey-suckle arbor, readingin the Odyssey about the beautiful witch who transformed her admirersinto beasts. A wonderful picture of antique love. 

There is a soft rustling in the twigs and blades and the pages of mybook rustle and on the terrace likewise there is a rustling. 

A woman's dress--

She is there--Venus--but without furs--No, this time it is merelythe widow--and yet--Venus-oh, what a woman!

As she stands there in her light white morning gown, looking at me, her slight figure seems full of poetry and grace. She is neitherlarge, nor small; her head is alluring, piquant--in the sense of theperiod of the French marquises--rather than formally beautiful. Whatenchantment and softness, what roguish charm play about her none toosmall mouth! Her skin is so infinitely delicate, that the blue veinsshow through everywhere; even through the muslin covering her armsand bosom. How abundant her red hair-it is red, not blonde or golden-yellow--how diabolically and yet tenderly it plays around her neck!Now her eyes meet mine like green lightnings--they are green, theseeyes of hers, whose power is so indescribable--green, but as areprecious stones, or deep unfathomable mountain lakes. 

She observes my confusion, which has even made me discourteous, forI have remained seated and still have my cap on my head. 

She smiles roguishly. 

Finally I rise and bow to her. She comes closer, and bursts out intoa loud, almost childlike laughter. I stammer, as only a littledilettante or great big donkey can do on such an occasion. 

Thus our acquaintance began. 

The divinity asks for my name, and mentions her own. 

Her name is Wanda von Dunajew. 

And she is actually my Venus. 

"But madame, what put the idea into your head?"

"The little picture in one of your books--"

"I had forgotten about it. "

"The curious notes on its back--"

"Why curious?"

She looked at me. 

"I have always wanted to know a real dreamer some time--for the sakeof the change--and you seem one of the maddest of the tribe. "

"Dear lady--in fact--" Again I fell victim to an odious, asininestammering, and in addition blushed in a way that might have beenappropriate for a youngster of sixteen, but not for me, who wasalmost a full ten years older--

"You were afraid of me last night. "

"Really--of course--but won't you sit down?"

She sat down, and enjoyed my embarrassment--for actually I was evenmore afraid of her now in the full light of day. A delightfulexpression of contempt hovered about her upper lip. 

"You look at love, and especially woman, " she began, "as somethinghostile, something against which you put up a defense, even ifunsuccessfully. You feel that their power over you gives you asensation of pleasurable torture, of pungent cruelty. This is agenuinely modern point of view. "

"You don't share it?"

"I do not share it, " she said quickly and decisively, shaking herhead, so that her curls flew up like red flames. 

"The ideal which I strive to realize in my life is the serenesensuousness of the Greeks--pleasure without pain. I do not believein the kind of love which is preached by Christianity, by themoderns, by the knights of the spirit. Yes, look at me, I am worsethan a heretic, I am a pagan. 

 'Doest thou imagine long the goddess of love took counsel When in Ida's grove she was pleased with the hero Achilles?'

"These lines from Goethe's _Roman Elegy_ have always delighted me. 

"In nature there is only the love of the heroic age, 'when gods andgoddesses loved. ' At that time 'desire followed the glance, enjoymentdesire. ' All else is factitious, affected, a lie. Christianity, whosecruel emblem, the cross, has always had for me an element of themonstrous, brought something alien and hostile into nature and itsinnocent instincts. 

"The battle of the spirit with the senses is the gospel of modernman. I do not care to have a share in it. "

"Yes, Mount Olympus would be the place for you, madame, " I replied, "but we moderns can no longer support the antique serenity, least ofall in love. The idea of sharing a woman, even if it were an Aspasia, with another revolts us. We are jealous as is our God. For example, we have made a term abuse out of the name of the glorious Phryne. 

"We prefer one of Holbein's meagre, pallid virgins, which is whollyours to an antique Venus, no matter how divinely beautiful she is, but who loves Anchises to-day, Paris to-morrow, Adonis the day after. And if nature triumphs in us so that we give our whole glowing, passionate devotion to such a woman, her serene joy of life appearsto us as something demonic and cruel, and we read into our happinessa sin which we must expiate. "

"So you too are one of those who rave about modern women, thosemiserable hysterical feminine creatures who don't appreciate a realman in their somnambulistic search for some dream-man and masculineideal. Amid tears and convulsions they daily outrage their Christianduties; they cheat and are cheated; they always seek again and chooseand reject; they are never happy, and never give happiness. Theyaccuse fate instead of calmly confessing that they want to love andlive as Helen and Aspasia lived. Nature admits of no permanence inthe relation between man and woman. "

"But, my dear lady--"

"Let me finish. It is only man's egoism which wants to keep womanlike some buried treasure. All endeavors to introduce permanence inlove, the most changeable thing in this changeable human existence, have gone shipwreck in spite of religious ceremonies, vows, andlegalities. Can you deny that our Christian world has given itselfover to corruption?"

"But--"

"But you are about to say, the individual who rebels against thearrangements of society is ostracized, branded, stoned. So be it. Iam willing to take the risk; my principles are very pagan. I willlive my own life as it pleases me. I am willing to do without yourhypocritical respect; I prefer to be happy. The inventors of theChristian marriage have done well, simultaneously to inventimmortality. I, however, have no wish to live eternally. When withmy last breath everything as far as Wanda von Dunajew is concernedcomes to an end here below, what does it profit me whether my purespirit joins the choirs of angels, or whether my dust goes into theformation of new beings? Shall I belong to one man whom I don't love, merely because I have once loved him? No, I do not renounce; I loveeveryone who pleases me, and give happiness to everyone who loves me. Is that ugly? No, it is more beautiful by far, than if cruelly Ienjoy the tortures, which my beauty excites, and virtuously rejectthe poor fellow who is pining away for me. I am young, rich, andbeautiful, and I live serenely for the sake of pleasure andenjoyment. "

While she was speaking her eyes sparkled roguishly, and I had takenhold of her hands without exactly knowing what to do with them, butbeing a genuine dilettante I hastily let go of them again. 

"Your frankness, " I said, "delights me, and not it alone--"

My confounded dilettantism again throttled me as though there werea rope around my neck. 

"You were about to say--"

"I was about to say--I was--I am sorry--I interrupted you. "

"How, so?"

A long pause. She is doubtless engaging in a monologue, whichtranslated into my language would be comprised in the single word, "donkey. "

"If I may ask, " I finally began, "how did you arrive at these--theseconclusions?"

"Quite simply, my father was an intelligent man. From my cradle onwardI was surrounded by replicas of ancient art; at ten years of age Iread _Gil Blas_, at twelve _La Pucelle_. Where others hadHop-o'-my-thumb, Bluebeard, Cinderella, as childhood friends, minewere Venus and Apollo, Hercules and Lackoon. My husband's personalitywas filled with serenity and sunlight. Not even the incurable illnesswhich fell upon him soon after our marriage could long cloud his brow. On the very night of his death he took me in his arms, and during themany months when he lay dying in his wheel chair, he often saidjokingly to me: 'Well, have you already picked out a lover?' I blushedwith shame. 'Don't deceive me, ' he added on one occasion, 'that wouldseem ugly to me, but pick out an attractive lover, or preferablyseveral. You are a splendid woman, but still half a child, and youneed toys. '

"I suppose, I hardly need tell you that during his life time I hadno lover; but it was through him that I have become what I am, awoman of Greece. "

"A goddess, " I interrupted. 

"Which one, " she smiled. 

"Venus. "

She threatened me with her finger and knitted her brows. "Perhaps, even a 'Venus in Furs. ' Watch out, I have a large, very large fur, with which I could cover you up entirely, and I have a mind to catchyou in it as in a net. "

"Do you believe, " I said quickly, for an idea which seemed good, inspite of its conventionality and triteness, flashed into my head, "doyou believe that your theories could be carried into execution at thepresent time, that Venus would be permitted to stray with impunityamong our railroads and telegraphs in all her undraped beauty andserenity?"

"_Undraped_, of course not, but in furs, " she replied smiling, "wouldyou care to see mine?"

"And then--"

"What then?"

"Beautiful, free, serene, and happy human beings, such as the Greekswere, are only possible when it is permitted to have _slaves_ who willperform the prosaic tasks of every day for them and above all elselabor for them. "

"Of course, " she replied playfully, "an Olympian divinity, such asI am, requires a whole army of slaves. Beware of me!"

"Why?"

I myself was frightened at the hardiness with which I uttered this"why"; it did not startle her in the least. 

She drew back her lips a little so that her small white teeth becamevisible, and then said lightly, as if she were discussing sometrifling matter, "Do you want to be my slave?"

"There is no equality in love, " I replied solemnly. "Whenever it isa matter of choice for me of ruling or being ruled, it seems muchmore satisfactory to me to be the slave of a beautiful woman. Butwhere shall I find the woman who knows how to rule, calmly, full ofself-confidence, even harshly, and not seek to gain her power bymeans of petty nagging?"

"Oh, that might not be so difficult. "

"You think--"

"I--for instance--" she laughed and leaned far back--"I have a realtalent for despotism--I also have the necessary furs--but last nightyou were really seriously afraid of me!"

"Quite seriously. "

"And now?"

"Now, I am more afraid of you than ever!"

We are together every day, I and--Venus; we are together a greatdeal. We breakfast in my honey-suckle arbor, and have tea in herlittle sitting-room. I have an opportunity to unfold all my small, very small talents. Of what use would have been my study of all thevarious sciences, my playing at all the arts, if I were unable in thecase of a pretty, little woman--

But this woman is by no means little; in fact she impresses metremendously. I made a drawing of her to-day, and felt particularlyclearly, how inappropriate the modern way of dressing is for a cameo-head like hers. The configuration of her face has little of theRoman, but much of the Greek. 

Sometimes I should like to paint her as Psyche, and then again asAstarte. It depends upon the expression in her eyes, whether it isvaguely dreamy, or half-consuming, filled with tired desire. She, however, insists that it be a portrait-likeness. 

I shall make her a present of furs. 

How could I have any doubts? If not for her, for whom would princelyfurs be suitable?

 * * * * *

I was with her yesterday evening, reading the _Roman Elegies_ to her. Then I laid the book aside, and improvised something for her. Sheseemed pleased; rather more than that, she actually hung upon mywords, and her bosom heaved. 

Or was I mistaken?

The rain beat in melancholy fashion on the window-panes, the firecrackled in the fireplace in wintery comfort. I felt quite at homewith her, and for a moment lost all my fear of this beautiful woman;I kissed her hand, and she permitted it. 

Then I sat down at her feet and read a short poem I had written forher. 

 VENUS IN FURS. 

 "Place thy foot upon thy slave, Oh thou, half of hell, half of dreams; Among the shadows, dark and grave, Thy extended body softly gleams. "

And--so on. This time I really got beyond the first stanza. At herrequest I gave her the poem in the evening, keeping no copy. And nowas I am writing this down in my diary I can only remember the firststanza. 

I am filled with a very curious sensation. I don't believe that I amin love with Wanda; I am sure that at our first meeting, I feltnothing of the lightning-like flashes of passion. But I feel how herextraordinary, really divine beauty is gradually winding magic snaresabout me. It isn't any spiritual sympathy which is growing in me; itis a physical subjection, coming on slowly, but for that reason moreabsolutely. 

I suffer under it more and more each day, and she--she merely smiles. 

 * * * * *

Without any provocation she suddenly said to me to-day: "Youinterest me. Most men are very commonplace, without verve or poetry. In you there is a certain depth and capacity for enthusiasm and adeep seriousness, which delight me. I might learn to love you. "

After a short but severe shower we went out together to the meadowand the statue of Venus. All about us the earth steamed; mists roseup toward heaven like clouds of incense; a shattered rainbow stillhovered in the air. The trees were still shedding drops, but sparrowsand finches were already hopping from twig to twig. They aretwittering gaily, as if very much pleased at something. Everythingis filled with a fresh fragrance. We cannot cross the meadow for itis still wet. In the sunlight it looks like a small pool, and thegoddess of love seems to rise from the undulations of its mirror-likesurface. About her head a swarm of gnats is dancing, which, illuminated by the sun, seem to hover above her like an aureole. 

Wanda is enjoying the lovely scene. As all the benches along thewalk are still wet, she supports herself on my arm to rest a while. A soft weariness permeates her whole being, her eyes are half closed;I feel the touch of her breath on my cheek. 

How I managed to get up courage enough I really don't know, but Itook hold of her hand, asking, "Could you love me?"

"Why not, " she replied, letting her calm, clear look rest upon me, but not for long. 

A moment later I am kneeling before her, pressing my burning faceagainst the fragrant muslin of her gown. 

"But Severin--this isn't right, " she cried. 

But I take hold of her little foot, and press my lips upon it. 

"You are getting worse and worse!" she cried. She tore herself free, and fled rapidly toward the house, the while her adorable slipperremained in my hand. 

Is it an omen?

 * * * * *

All day long I didn't dare to go near her. Toward evening as I wassitting in my arbor her gay red head peered suddenly through thegreenery of her balcony. "Why don't you come up?" he called downimpatiently. 

I ran upstairs, and at the top lost courage again. I knocked verylightly. She didn't say come-in, but opened the door herself, andstood on the threshold. 

"Where is my slipper?"

"It is--I have--I want, " I stammered. 

"Get it, and then we will have tea together, and chat. "

When I returned, she was engaged in making tea. I ceremoniouslyplaced the slipper on the table, and stood in the corner like a childawaiting punishment. 

I noticed that her brows were slightly contracted, and there was anexpression of hardness and dominance about her lips which delightedme. 

All of a sudden she broke out laughing. 

"So--you are really in love--with me?"

"Yes, and I suffer more from it than you can imagine?"

"You suffer?" she laughed again. 

I was revolted, mortified, annihilated, but all this was quiteuseless. 

"Why?" she continued, "I like you, with all my heart. "

She gave me her hand, and looked at me in the friendliest fashion. 

"And will you be my wife?"

Wanda looked at me--how did she look at me? I think first of allwith surprise, and then with a tinge of irony. 

"What has given you so much courage, all at once?"

"Courage?"

"Yes courage, to ask anyone to be your wife, and me in particular?"She lifted up the slipper. "Was it through a sudden friendship withthis? But joking aside. Do you really wish to marry me?"

"Yes. "

"Well, Severin, that is a serious matter. I believe, you love me, and I care for you too, and what is more important each of us findsthe other interesting. There is no danger that we would soon getbored, but, you know, I am a fickle person, and just for that reasonI take marriage seriously. If I assume obligations, I want to be ableto meet them. But I am afraid--no--it would hurt you. "

"Please be perfectly frank with me, " I replied. 

"Well then honestly, I don't believe I could love a man longer than--" She inclined her head gracefully to one side and mused. 

"A year. "

"What do you imagine--a month perhaps. "

"Not even me?"

"Oh you--perhaps two. "

"Two months!" I exclaimed. 

"Two months is very long. "

"You go beyond antiquity, madame. "

"You see, you cannot stand the truth. "

Wanda walked across the room and leaned back against the fireplace, watching me and resting one of her arms on the mantelpiece. 

"What shall I do with you?" she began anew. 

"Whatever you wish, " I replied with resignation, "whatever will giveyou pleasure. "

"How illogical!" she cried, "first you want to make me your wife, and then you offer yourself to me as something to toy with. "

"Wanda--I love you. "

"Now we are back to the place where we started. You love me, andwant to make me your wife, but I don't want to enter into a newmarriage, because I doubt the permanence of both my and yourfeelings. "

"But if I am willing to take the risk with you?" I replied. 

"But it also depends on whether I am willing to risk it with you, "she said quietly. "I can easily imagine belonging to one man for myentire life, but he would have to be a whole man, a man who woulddominate me, who would subjugate me by his inate strength, do youunderstand? And every man--I know this very well--as soon as he fallsin love becomes weak, pliable, ridiculous. He puts himself into thewoman's hands, kneels down before her. The only man whom I could lovepermanently would be he before whom I should have to kneel. I've gottento like you so much, however, that I'll try it with you. "

I fell down at her feet. 

"For heaven's sake, here you are kneeling already, " she saidmockingly. "You are making a good beginning. " When I had risen againshe continued, "I will give you a year's time to win me, to convinceme that we are suited to each other, that we might live together. Ifyou succeed, I will become your wife, and a wife, Severin, who willconscientiously and strictly perform all her duties. During this yearwe will live as though we were married--"

My blood rose to my head. 

In her eyes too there was a sudden flame--

"We will live together, " she continued, "share our daily life, so thatwe may find out whether we are really fitted for each other. _I grantyou all the rights of a husband, of a lover, of a friend. _ Are yousatisfied?"

"I suppose, I'll have to be?"

"You don't have to. "

"Well then, I want to--"

"Splendid. That is how a man speaks. Here is my hand. "

 * * * * *

For ten days I have been with her every hour, except at night. Allthe time I was allowed to look into her eyes, hold her hands, listento what she said, accompany her wherever she went. 

My love seems to me like a deep, bottomless abyss, into which Isubside deeper and deeper. There is nothing now which could save mefrom it. 

This afternoon we were resting on the meadow at the foot of theVenus-statue. I plucked flowers and tossed them into her lap; shewound them into wreaths with which we adorned our goddess. 

Suddenly Wanda looked at me so strangely that my senses becameconfused and passion swept over my head like a conflagration. Losingcommand over myself, I threw my arms about her and clung to her lips, and she--she drew me close to her heaving breast. 

"Are you angry?" I then asked her. 

"I am never angry at anything that is natural--" she replied, "but_I_ am afraid you suffer. "

"Oh, I am suffering frightfully. "

"Poor friend!" she brushed my disordered hair back from my fore-head. "I hope it isn't through any fault of mine. "

"No--" I replied, --"and yet my love for you has become a sort ofmadness. The thought that I might lose you, perhaps actually loseyou, torments me day and night. "

"But you don't yet possess me, " said Wanda, and again she looked atme with that vibrant, consuming expression, which had already oncebefore carried me away. Then she rose, and with her small transparenthands placed a wreath of blue anemones upon the ringletted white headof Venus. Half against my will I threw my arm around her body. 

"I can no longer live without you, oh wonderful woman, " I said. "Believe me, believe only this once, that this time it is not aphrase, not a thing of dreams. I feel deep down in my innermost soul, that my life belongs inseparably with yours. If you leave me, I shallperish, go to pieces. "

"That will hardly be necessary, for I love you, " she took hold of mychin, "you foolish man!"

"But you will be mine only under conditions, while I belong to youunconditionally--"

"That isn't wise, Severin, " she replied almost with a start. "Don'tyou know me yet, do you absolutely refuse to know me? I am good whenI am treated seriously and reasonably, but when you abandon yourselftoo absolutely to me, I grow arrogant--"

"So be it, be arrogant, be despotic, " I cried in the fulness ofexaltation, "only be mine, mine forever. " I lay at her feet, embracing her knees. 

"Things will end badly, my friend, " she said soberly, without moving. 

"It shall never end, " I cried excitedly, almost violently. "Only deathshall part us. If you cannot be mine, all mine and for always, then _Iwant to be your slave_, serve you, suffer everything from you, if onlyyou won't drive me away. "

"Calm yourself, " she said, bending down and kissing my forehead, "Iam really very fond of you, but your way is not the way to win andhold me. "

"I want to do everything, absolutely everything, that you want, onlynot to lose you, " I cried, "only not that, I cannot bear the thought. "

"Do get up. "

I obeyed. 

"You are a strange person, " continued Wanda. "You wish to possess meat any price?"

"Yes, at any price. "

"But of what value, for instance, would that be?"--She pondered; alurking uncanny expression entered her eyes--"If I no longer lovedyou, if I belonged to another. "

A shudder ran through me. I looked at her She stood firmly andconfident before me, and her eyes disclosed a cold gleam. 

"You see, " she continued, "the very thought frightens you. " Abeautiful smile suddenly illuminated her face. 

"I feel a perfect horror, when I imagine, that the woman I love andwho has responded to my love could give herself to another regardlessof me. But have I still a choice? If I love such a woman, even untomadness, shall I turn my back to her and lose everything for the sakeof a bit of boastful strength; shall I send a bullet through mybrains? I have two ideals of woman. If I cannot obtain the one thatis noble and simple, the woman who will faithfully and truly sharemy life, well then I don't want anything half-way or lukewarm. ThenI would rather be subject to a woman without virtue, fidelity, or pity. Such a woman in her magnificent selfishness is likewise an ideal. IfI am not permitted to enjoy the happiness of love, fully and wholly, I want to taste its pains and torments to the very dregs; I want tobe maltreated and betrayed by the woman I love, and the more cruellythe better. This too is a luxury. "

"Have you lost your senses, " cried Wanda. 

"I love you with all my soul, " I continued, "with all my senses, andyour presence and personality are absolutely essential to me, if Iam to go on living. Choose between my ideals. Do with me what you will, make of me your husband or your slave. "

"Very well, " said Wanda, contracting her small but strongly archedbrows, "it seems to me it would be rather entertaining to have a man, who interests me and loves me, completely in my power; at least Ishall not lack pastime. You were imprudent enough to leave the choiceto me. Therefore I choose; I want you to be my slave, I shall makea plaything for myself out of you!"

"Oh, please do, " I cried half-shuddering, half-enraptured. "If thefoundation of marriage depends on equality and agreement, it islikewise true that the greatest passions rise out of opposites. Weare such opposites, almost enemies. That is why my love is part hate, part fear. In such a relation only one can be hammer and the otheranvil. I wish to be the anvil. I cannot be happy when I look downupon the woman I love. I want to adore a woman, and this I can onlydo when she is cruel towards me. "

"But, Severin, " replied Wanda, almost angrily, "do you believe mecapable of maltreating a man who loves me as you do, and whom I love?"

"Why not, if I adore you the more on this account? _It is possible tolove really only that which stands above us, _ a woman, who through herbeauty, temperament, intelligence, and strength of will subjugates usand becomes a despot over us. "

"Then that which repels others, attracts you. "

"Yes. That is the strange part of me. "

"Perhaps, after all, there isn't anything so very unique or strangein all your passions, for who doesn't love beautiful furs? Andeveryone knows and feels how closely sexual love and cruelty arerelated. "

"But in my case all these elements are raised to their highestdegree, " I replied. 

"In other words, reason has little power over you, and you are bynature, soft, sensual, yielding. "

"Were the martyrs also soft and sensual by nature?"

"The martyrs?"

"On the contrary, they were _supersensual men, _ who found enjoyment insuffering. They sought out the most frightful tortures, even deathitself, as others seek joy, and as they were, so am I--_supersensual. "_

"Have a care that in being such, you do not become a martyr to love, the _martyr of a woman_. "

We are sitting on Wanda's little balcony in the mellow fragrantsummer night. A twofold roof is above us, first the green ceiling ofclimbing-plants, and then the vault of heaven sown with innumerablestars. The low wailing love-call of a cat rises from the park. I amsitting on footstool at the feet of my divinity, and am telling herof my childhood. 

"And even then all these strange tendencies were distinctly markedin you?" asked Wanda. 

"Of course, I can't remember a time when I didn't have them. Even inmy cradle, so mother has told me, I was _supersensual. _ I scorned thehealthy breast of my nurse, and had to be brought up on goats' milk. As a little boy I was mysteriously shy before women, which really wasonly an expression of an inordinate interest in them. I was oppressedby the gray arches and half-darknesses of the church, and actuallyafraid of the glittering altars and images of the saints. Secretly, however, I sneaked as to a secret joy to a plaster-Venus which stoodin my father's little library. I kneeled down before her, and to her Isaid the prayers I had been taught--the Paternoster, the Ave Maria, and the Credo. 

"Once at night I left my bed to visit her. The sickle of the moonwas my light and showed me the goddess in a pale-blue cold light. Iprostrated myself before her and kissed her cold feet, as I had seenour peasants do when they kissed the feet of the dead Savior. 

"An irresistible yearning seized me. 

"I got up and embraced the beautiful cold body and kissed the coldlips. A deep shudder fell upon me and I fled, and later in a dream, it seemed to me, as if the goddess stood beside my bed, threateningme with up-raised arm. 

"I was sent to school early and soon reached the gymnasium. Ipassionately grasped at everything which promised to make the worldof antiquity accessible to me. Soon I was more familiar with the godsof Greece than with the religion of Jesus. I was with Paris when hegave the fateful apple to Venus, I saw Troy burn, and followedUlysses on his wanderings. The prototypes of all that is beautifulsank deep into my soul, and consequently at the time when other boysare coarse and obscene, I displayed an insurmountable aversion toeverything base, vulgar, unbeautiful. 

"To me, the maturing youth, love for women seemed somethingespecially base and unbeautiful, for it showed itself to me first inall its commonness. I avoided all contact with the fair sex; inshort, I was supersensual to madness. 

"When I was about fourteen my mother had a charming chamber-maid, young, attractive, with a figure just budding into womanhood. I wassitting one day studying my Tacitus and growing enthusiastic over thevirtues of the ancient Teutons, while she was sweeping my room. Suddenly she stopped, bent down over me, in the meantime holding fastto the broom, and a pair of fresh, full, adorable lips touched mine. The kiss of the enamoured little cat ran through me like a shudder, but I raised up my _Germania_, like a shield against the temptress, and indignantly left the room. "

Wanda broke out in loud laughter. "It would, indeed, be hard to findanother man like you, but continue. "

"There is another unforgetable incident belonging to that period, "I continued my story. "Countess Sobol, a distant aunt of mine, wasvisiting my parents. She was a beautiful majestic woman with anattractive smile. I, however, hated her, for she was regarded by thefamily as a sort of Messalina. My behavior toward her was as rude, malicious, and awkward as possible. 

"One day my parents drove to the capital of the district. My auntdetermined to take advantage of their absence, and to exercisejudgment over me. She entered unexpectedly in her fur-lined_kazabaika, _ [Footnote: A woman's jacket. ] followed by the cook, kitchen-maid, and the cat of a chamber-maid whom I had scorned. Without asking any questions, they seized me and bound me hand andfoot, in spite of my violent resistance. Then my aunt, with an evilsmile, rolled up her sleeve and began to whip me with a stout switch. She whipped so hard that the blood flowed, and that, at last, notwithstanding my heroic spirit, I cried and wept and begged formercy. She then had me untied, but I had to get down on my knees andthank her for the punishment and kiss her hand. 

"Now you understand the supersensual fool! Under the lash of abeautiful woman my senses first realized the meaning of woman. In herfur-jacket she seemed to me like a wrathful queen, and from then onmy aunt became the most desirable woman on God's earth. 

"My Cato-like austerity, my shyness before woman, was nothing but anexcessive feeling for beauty. In my imagination sensuality became asort of cult. I took an oath to myself that I would not squander itsholy wealth upon any ordinary person, but I would reserve it for anideal woman, if possible for the goddess of love herself. 

"I went to the university at a very early age. It was in the capitalwhere my aunt lived. My room looked at that time like DoctorFaustus's. Everything in it was in a wild confusion. There were hugeclosets stuffed full of books, which I bought for a song from aJewish dealer on the Servanica; [Footnote: The street of the Jews inLemberg. ] there were globes, atlases, flasks, charts of the heavens, skeletons of animals, skulls, the busts of eminent men. It looked asthough Mephistopheles might have stepped out from behind the hugegreen store as a wandering scholiast at any moment. 

"I studied everything in a jumble without system, without selection:chemistry, alchemy, history, astronomy, philosophy, law, anatomy, andliterature; I read Homer, Virgil, Ossian, Schiller, Goethe, Shakespeare, Cervantes, Voltaire, Moliere, the Koran, the Kosmos, Casanova's Memoirs. I grew more confused each day, more fantastical, more supersensual. All the time a beautiful ideal woman hovered in myimagination. Every so and so often she appeared before me like avision among my leather-bound books and dead bones, lying on a bed ofroses, surrounded by cupids. Sometimes she appeared gowned like theOlympians with the stern white face of the plaster Venus; sometimes inbraids of a rich brown, blue-eyes, in my aunt's red velvet_kazabaika, _ trimmed with ermine. 

"One morning when she had again risen out of the golden mist of myimagination in all her smiling beauty, I went to see Countess Sobol, who received me in a friendly, even cordial manner. She gave me akiss of welcome, which put all my senses in a turmoil. She wasprobably about forty years old, but like most well-preserved womenof the world, still very attractive. She wore as always her fur-edgedjacket. This time it was one of green velvet with brown marten. Butnothing of the sternness which had so delighted me the other time wasnow discernable. 

"On the contrary, there was so little of cruelty in her that withoutany more ado she let me adore her. 

"Only too soon did she discover my supersensual folly and innocence, and it pleased her to make me happy. As for myself--I was as happyas a young god. What rapture for me to be allowed to lie before heron my knees, and to kiss her hands, those with which she had scourgedme! What marvellous hands they were, of beautiful form, delicate, rounded, and white, with adorable dimples! I really was in love withher hands only. I played with them, let them submerge and emerge inthe dark fur, held them against the light, and was unable to satiatemy eyes with them. "

Wanda involuntarily looked at her hand; I noticed it, and had tosmile. 

"From the way in which the supersensual predominated in me in thosedays you can see that I was in love only with the cruel lashes Ireceived from my aunt; and about two years later when I paid courtto a young actress only in the roles she played. Still later I becamethe admirer of a respectable woman. She acted the part ofirreproachable virtue, only in the end to betray me with a rich Jew. You see, it is because I was betrayed, sold, by a woman who feignedthe strictest principles and the highest ideals, that I hate thatsort of poetical, sentimental virtue so intensely. Give me rather awoman who is honest enough to say to me: I am a Pompadour, a LucretiaBorgia, and I am ready to adore her. "

Wanda rose and opened the window. 

"You have a curious way of arousing one's imagination, stimulatingall one's nerves, and making one's pulses beat faster. You put anaureole on vice, provided only if it is honest. Your ideal is adaring courtesan of genius. Oh, you are the kind of man who willcorrupt a woman to her very last fiber. "

 * * * * *

In the middle of the night there was a knock at my window; I got up, opened it, and was startled. Without stood "Venus in Furs, " just asshe had appeared to me the first time. 

"You have disturbed me with your stories; I have been tossing aboutin bed, and can't go to sleep, " she said. "Now come and stay with me. "

"In a moment. "

As I entered Wanda was crouching by the fireplace where she hadkindled a small fire. 

"Autumn is coming, " she began, "the nights are really quite coldalready. I am afraid you may not like it, but I can't put off my fursuntil the room is sufficiently warm. "

"Not like it--you are joking--you know--" I threw my arm around her, and kissed her. 

"Of course, I know, but why this great fondness for furs?"

"I was born with it, " I replied. "I already had it as a child. Furthermore furs have a stimulating effect on all highly organizednatures. This is due both to general and natural laws. It is aphysical stimulus which sets you tingling, and no one can whollyescape it. Science has recently shown a certain relationship betweenelectricity and warmth; at any rate, their effects upon the humanorganism are related. The torrid zone produces more passionatecharacters, a heated atmosphere stimulation. Likewise withelectricity. This is the reason why the presence of cats exercisessuch a magic influence upon highly-organized men of intellect. Thisis why these long-tailed Graces of the animal kingdom, theseadorable, scintillating electric batteries have been the favoriteanimal of a Mahommed, Cardinal Richelieu, Crebillon, Rousseau, Wieland. "

"A woman wearing furs, then, " cried Wanda, "is nothing else than alarge cat, an augmented electric battery?"

"Certainly, " I replied. "That is my explanation of the symbolicmeaning which fur has acquired as the attribute of power and beauty. Monarchs and the dominant higher nobility in former times used it inthis sense for their costume, exclusively; great painters used itonly for queenly beauty. The most beautiful frame, which Raphaelcould find for the divine forms of Fornarina and Titian for theroseate body of his beloved, was dark furs. "

"Thanks for the learned discourse on love, " said Wanda, "but youhaven't told me everything. You associate something entirelyindividual with furs. "

"Certainly, " I cried. "I have repeatedly told you that suffering hasa peculiar attraction for me. Nothing can intensify my passion morethan tyranny, cruelty, and especially the faithlessness of abeautiful woman. And I cannot imagine this woman, this strange idealderived from an aesthetics of ugliness, this soul of Nero in the bodyof a Phryne, except in furs. "

"I understand, " Wanda interrupted. "It gives a dominant and imposingquality to a woman. "

"Not only that, " I continued. "You know I am _supersensual. _ With meeverything has its roots in the imagination, and thence it receivesits nourishment. I was already pre-maturely developed and highlysensitive, when at about the age of ten the legends of the martyrsfell into my hands. I remember reading with a kind of horror, whichreally was rapture, of how they pined in prisons, were laid on thegridiron, pierced with arrows, boiled in pitch, thrown to wildanimals, nailed to the cross, and suffered the most horrible tormentwith a kind of joy. To suffer and endure cruel torture from then onseemed to me exquisite delight, especially when it was inflicted by abeautiful woman, for ever since I can remember all poetry andeverything demonic was for me concentrated in woman. I literallycarried the idea into a sort of cult. 

"I felt there was something sacred in sex; in fact, it was the onlysacred thing. In woman and her beauty I saw something divine, becausethe most important function of existence--the continuation of thespecies--is her vocation. To me woman represented a personification ofnature, _Isis_, and man was her priest, her slave. In contrast to himshe was cruel like nature herself who tosses aside whatever has servedher purposes as soon as she no longer has need for it. To him hercruelties, even death itself, still were sensual raptures. 

"I envied King Gunther whom the mighty Brunhilde fettered on thebridal night, and the poor troubadour whom his capricious mistresshad sewed in the skins of wolves to have him hunted like game. Ienvied the Knight Ctirad whom the daring Amazon Scharka craftilyensnared in a forest near Prague, and carried to her castle Divin, where, after having amused herself a while with him, she had himbroken on the wheel--"

"Disgusting, " cried Wanda. "I almost wish you might fall into thehands of a woman of their savage race. In the wolf's skin, under theteeth of the dogs, or upon the wheel, you would lose the taste foryour kind of poetry. "

"Do you think so? I hardly do. "

"Have you actually lost your senses. "

"Possibly. But let me go on. I developed a perfect passion forreading stories in which the extremest cruelties were described. Iloved especially to look at pictures and prints which representedthem. All the sanguinary tyrants that ever occupied a throne; theinquisitors who had the heretics tortured, roasted, and butchered;all the woman whom the pages of history have recorded as lustful, beautiful, and violent women like Libussa, Lucretia Borgia, Agnes ofHungary, Queen Margot, Isabeau, the Sultana Roxolane, the RussianCzarinas of last century--all these I saw in furs or in robesbordered with ermine. "

"And so furs now rouse strange imaginings in you, " said Wanda, andsimultaneously she began to drape her magnificent fur-cloakcoquettishly about her, so that the dark shining sable playedbeautifully around her bust and arms. "Well, how do you feel now, half broken on the wheel?"

Her piercing green eyes rested on me with a peculiar mockingsatisfaction. Overcome by desire, I flung myself down before her, andthrew my arms about her. 

"Yes--you have awakened my dearest dream, " I cried. "It has sleptlong enough. "

"And this is?" She put her hand on my neck. 

I was seized with a sweet intoxication under the influence of thiswarm little hand and of her regard, which, tenderly searching, fellupon me through her half-closed lids. 

_"To be the slave of a woman, a beautiful woman, whom I love, whomI worship. "_

"And who on that account maltreats you, " interrupted Wanda, laughing. 

"Yes, who fetters me and whips me, treads me underfoot, the whileshe gives herself to another. "

"And who in her wantonness will go so far as to make a present ofyou to your successful rival when driven insane by jealousy you mustmeet him face to face, who will turn you over to his absolute mercy. Why not? This final tableau doesn't please you so well?"

I looked at Wanda frightened. 

"You surpass my dreams. "

"Yes, we women are inventive, " she said, "take heed, when you findyour ideal, it might easily happen, that she will treat you morecruelly than you anticipate. "

"I am afraid that I have already found my ideal!" I exclaimed, burying my burning face in her lap. 

"Not I?" exclaimed Wanda, throwing off her furs and moving about theroom laughing. She was still laughing as I went downstairs, and whenI stood musing in the yard, I still heard her peals of laughter above. 

 * * * * *

"Do you really then expect me to embody your ideal?" Wanda askedarchly, when we met in the park to-day. 

At first I could find no answer. The most antagonistic emotions werebattling within me. In the meantime she sat down on one of the stone-benches, and played with a flower. 

"Well--am I?"

I kneeled down and seized her hands. 

"Once more I beg you to become my wife, my true and loyal wife; ifyou can't do that then become the embodiment of my ideal, absolutely, without reservation, without softness. "

"You know I am ready at the end of a year to give you my hand, ifyou prove to be the man I am seeking, " Wanda replied very seriously, "but I think you would be more grateful to me if through me yourealized your imaginings. Well, which do you prefer?"

"I believe that everything my imagination has dreamed lies latent inyour personality. "

"You are mistaken. "

"I believe, " I continued, "that you enjoy having a man wholly inyour power, torturing him--"

"No, no, " she exclaimed quickly, "or perhaps--. " She pondered. 

"I don't understand myself any longer, " she continued, "but I havea confession to make to you. You have corrupted my imagination andinflamed my blood. I am beginning to like the things you speak of. The enthusiasm with which you speak of a Pompadour, a Catherine theSecond, and all the other selfish, frivolous, cruel women, carriesme away and takes hold of my soul. It urges me on to become like thosewomen, who in spite of their vileness were slavishly adored duringtheir lifetime and still exert a miraculous power from their graves. 

"You will end by making of me a despot in miniature, a domesticPompadour. "

"Well then, " I said in agitation, "if all this is inherent in you, give way to this trend of your nature. Nothing half-way. If you can'tbe a true and loyal wife to me, be a demon. "

I was nervous from loss of sleep, and the proximity of the beautifulwoman affected me like a fever. I no longer recall what I said, butI remember that I kissed her feet, and finally raised her foot andput my neck under it. She withdrew it quickly, and rose almost angrily. 

"If you love me, Severin, " she said quickly, and her voice soundedsharp and commanding, "never speak to me of those things again. Understand, never! Otherwise I might really--" She smiled and satdown again. 

"I am entirely serious, " I exclaimed, half-raving. "I adore you soinfinitely that I am willing to suffer anything from you, for thesake of spending my whole life near you. "

"Severin, once more I warn you. "

"Your warning is vain. Do with me what you will, as long as youdon't drive me away. "

"Severin, " replied Wanda, "I am a frivolous young woman; it isdangerous for you to put yourself so completely in my power. You willend by actually becoming a plaything to me. Who will give warrantthat I shall not abuse your insane desire?"

"Your own nobility of character. "

"Power makes people over-bearing. "

"Be it, " I cried, "tread me underfoot. "

Wanda threw her arms around my neck, looked into my eyes, and shookher head. 

"I am afraid I can't, but I will try, for your sake, for I love youSeverin, as I have loved no other man. "

 * * * * *

To-day she suddenly took her hat and shawl, and I had to go shoppingwith her. She looked at whips, long whips with a short handle, thekind that are used on dogs. 

"Are these satisfactory?" said the shopkeeper. 

"No, they are much too small, " replied Wanda, with a side-glance atme. "I need a large--"

"For a bull-dog, I suppose?" opined the merchant. 

"Yes, " she exclaimed, "of the kind that are used in Russia forintractable slaves. "

She looked further and finally selected a whip, at whose sight Ifelt a strange creeping sensation. 

"Now good-by, Severin, " she said. "I have some other purchases tomake, but you can't go along. "

I left her and took a walk. On the way back I saw Wanda coming outat a furrier's. She beckoned me. 

"Consider it well, " she began in good spirits, "I have never made asecret of how deeply your serious, dreamy character has fascinatedme. The idea of seeing this serious man wholly in my power, actuallylying enraptured at my feet, of course, stimulates me--but will thisattraction last? Woman loves a man; she maltreats a slave, and endsby kicking him aside. "

"Very well then, kick me aside, " I replied, "when you are tired ofme. I want to be your slave. "

"Dangerous forces lie within me, " said Wanda, after we had gone afew steps further. "You awaken them, and not to your advantage. Youknow how to paint pleasure, cruelty, arrogance in glowing colors. What would you say should I try my hand at them, and make you thefirst object of my experiments. I would be like Dionysius who had theinventor of the iron ox roasted within it in order to see whether hiswails and groans really resembled the bellowing of an ox. 

"Perhaps I am a female Dionysius?"

"Be it, " I exclaimed, "and my dreams will be fulfilled. I am yoursfor good or evil, choose. The destiny that lies concealed within mybreast drives me on--demoniacally--relentlessly. "

"My Beloved, I do not care to see you to-day or to-morrow, and not until eveningthe day after tomorrow, and then _as my slave_. 

Your mistress

Wanda. "

"As my slave" was underlined. I read the note which I received earlyin the morning a second time. Then I had a donkey saddled, an animalsymbolic of learned professors, and rode into the mountains. I wantedto numb my desire, my yearning, with the magnificent scenery of theCarpathians. I am back, tired, hungry, thirsty, and more in love thanever. I quickly change my clothes, and a few moments later knock ather door. 

"Come in!"

I enter. She is standing in the center of the room, dressed in a gownof white satin which floods down her body like light. Over it shewears a scarlet _kazabaika_, richly edged with ermine. Upon herpowdered, snowy hair is a little diadem of diamonds. She stands withher arms folded across her breast, and with her brows contracted. 

"Wanda!" I run toward her, and am about to throw my arm about her tokiss her. She retreats a step, measuring me from top to bottom. 

"Slave!"

"Mistress!" I kneel down, and kiss the hem of her garment. 

"That is as it should be. "

"Oh, how beautiful you are. "

"Do I please you?" She stepped before the mirror, and looked atherself with proud satisfaction. 

"I shall become mad!"

Her lower lip twitched derisively, and she looked at me mockinglyfrom behind half-closed lids. 

"Give me the whip. "

I looked about the room. 

"No, " she exclaimed, "stay as you are, kneeling. " She went over tothe fire-place, took the whip from the mantle-piece, and, watchingme with a smile, let it hiss through the air; then she slowly rolledup the sleeve of her fur-jacket. 

"Marvellous woman!" I exclaimed. 

"Silence, slave!" She suddenly scowled, looked savage, and struck mewith the whip. A moment later she threw her arm tenderly about me, and pityingly bent down to me. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, half-shyly, half-timidly. 

"No, " I replied, "and even if you had, pains that come through youare a joy. Strike again, if it gives you pleasure. "

"But it doesn't give me pleasure. "

Again I was seized with that strange intoxication. 

"Whip me, " I begged, "whip me without mercy. "

Wanda swung the whip, and hit me twice. "Are you satisfied now?"

"No. "

"Seriously, no?"

"Whip me, I beg you, it is a joy to me. "

"Yes, because you know very well that it isn't serious, " shereplied, "because I haven't the heart to hurt you. This brutal gamegoes against my grain. Were I really the woman who beats her slavesyou would be horrified. "

"No, Wanda, " I replied, "I love you more than myself; I am devotedto you for death and life. In all seriousness, you can do with mewhatever you will, whatever your caprice suggests. "

"Severin!"

"Tread me underfoot!" I exclaimed, and flung myself face to thefloor before her. 

"I hate all this play-acting, " said Wanda impatiently. 

"Well, then maltreat me seriously. "

An uncanny pause. 

"Severin, I warn you for the last time, " began Wanda. 

"If you love me, be cruel towards me, " I pleaded with upraised eyes. 

"If I love you, " repeated Wanda. "Very well!" She stepped back andlooked at me with a sombre smile. _"Be then my slave, and know whatit means to be delivered into the hands of a woman. "_ And at thesame moment she gave me a kick. 

"How do you like that, slave?"

Then she flourished the whip. 

"Get up!"

I was about to rise. 

"Not that way, " she commanded, "on your knees. "

I obeyed, and she began to apply the lash. 

The blows fell rapidly and powerfully on my back and arms. Each onecut into my flesh and burned there, but the pains enraptured me. Theycame from her whom I adored, and for whom I was ready at any hour tolay down my life. 

She stopped. "I am beginning to enjoy it, " she said, "but enough forto-day. I am beginning to feel a demonic curiosity to see how faryour strength goes. I take a cruel joy in seeing you tremble andwrithe beneath my whip, and in hearing your groans and wails; I wantto go on whipping without pity until you beg for mercy, until youlose your senses. You have awakened dangerous elements in my being. But now get up. "

I seized her hand to press it to my lips. 

"What impudence. "

She shoved me away with her foot. 

"Out of my sight, slave!"

 * * * * *

After having spent a feverish night filled with confused dreams, Iawoke. Dawn was just beginning to break. 

How much of what was hovering in my memory was true; what had Iactually experienced and what had I dreamed? That I had been whippedwas certain. I can still feel each blow, and count the burning redstripes on my body. And _she_ whipped me. Now I know everything. 

My dream has become truth. How does it make me feel? Am Idisappointed in the realization of my dream?

No, I am merely somewhat tired, but her cruelty has enraptured me. Oh, how I love her, adore her! All this cannot express in theremotest way my feeling for her, my complete devotion to her. Whathappiness to be her slave!

 * * * * *

She calls to me from her balcony. I hurry upstairs. She is standingon the threshold, holding out her hand in friendly fashion. "I amashamed of myself, " she says, while I embrace her, and she hides herhead against my breast. 

"Why?"

"Please try to forget the ugly scene of yesterday, " she said withquivering voice, "I have fulfilled your mad wish, now let us bereasonable and happy and love each other, and in a year I will beyour wife. "

"My mistress, " I exclaimed, "and I your slave!"

"Not another word of slavery, cruelty, or the whip, " interruptedWanda. "I shall not grant you any of those favors, none exceptwearing my fur-jacket; come and help me into it. "

 * * * * *

The little bronze clock on which stood a cupid who had just shot hisbolt struck midnight. 

I rose, and wanted to leave. 

Wanda said nothing, but embraced me and drew me back on the ottoman. She began to kiss me anew, and this silent language was socomprehensible, so convincing--

And it told me more than I dared to understand. 

A languid abandonment pervaded Wanda's entire being. What avoluptuous softness there was in the gloaming of her half-closedeyes, in the red flood of her hair which shimmered faintly under thewhite powder, in the red and white satin which crackled about herwith every movement, in the swelling ermine of the _kazabaika_in which she carelessly nestled. 

"Please, " I stammered, "but you will be angry with me. "

"Do with me what you will, " she whispered. 

"Well, then whip me, or I shall go mad. "

"Haven't I forbidden you, " said Wanda sternly, "but you areincorrigible. "

"Oh, I am so terribly in love. " I had sunken on my knees, and wasburying my glowing face in her lap. 

"I really believe, " said Wanda thoughtfully, "that your madness isnothing but a demonic, unsatisfied sensuality. _Our unnatural wayof life must generate such illnesses. _ Were you less virtuous, youwould be completely sane. "

"Well then, make me sane, " I murmured. My hands were running throughher hair and playing tremblingly with the gleaming fur, which roseand fell like a moonlit wave upon her heaving bosom, and drove allmy senses into confusion. 

And I kissed her. No, she kissed me savagely, pitilessly, as if shewanted to slay me with her kisses. I was as in a delirium, and hadlong since lost my reason, but now I, too, was breathless. I soughtto free myself. 

"What is the matter?" asked Wanda. 

"I am suffering agonies. "

"You are suffering--" she broke out into a loud amused laughter. 

"You laugh!" I moaned, "have you no idea--"

She was serious all of a sudden. She raised my head in her hands, and with a violent gesture drew me to her breast. 

"Wanda, " I stammered. 

"Of course, you enjoy suffering, " she said, and laughed again, "butwait, I'll bring you to your senses. "

"No, I will no longer ask, " I exclaimed, "whether you want to belongto me for always or for only a brief moment of intoxication. I wantto drain my happiness to the full. You are mine now, and I wouldrather lose you than never to have had you. "

"Now you are sensible, " she said. She kissed me again with hermurderous lips. I tore the ermine apart and the covering of lace andher naked breast surged against mine. 

Then my senses left me--

The first thing I remember is the moment when I saw blood drippingfrom my hand, and she asked apathetically: "Did you scratch me?"

"No, I believe, I have bitten you. "

 * * * * *

It is strange how every relation in life assumes a different face assoon as a new person enters. 

We spent marvellous days together; we visited the mountains andlakes, we read together, and I completed Wanda's portrait. And howwe loved one another, how beautiful her smiling face was!

Then a friend of hers arrived, a divorced woman somewhat older, moreexperienced, and less scrupulous than Wanda. Her influence is alreadymaking itself felt in every direction. 

Wanda wrinkles her brows, and displays a certain impatience with me. 

Has she ceased loving me?

 * * * * *

For almost a fortnight this unbearable restraint has lain upon us. Her friend lives with her, and we are never alone. A circle of mensurrounds the young women. With my seriousness and melancholy I amplaying an absurd role as lover. Wanda treats me like a stranger. 

To-day, while out walking, she staid behind with me. I saw that thiswas done intentionally, and I rejoiced. But what did she tell me?

"My friend doesn't understand how I can love you. She doesn't thinkyou either handsome or particularly attractive otherwise. She istelling me from morning till night about the glamour of the frivolouslife in the capital, hinting at the advantages to which I could layclaim, the large parties which I would find there, and thedistinguished and handsome admirers which I would attract. But ofwhat use is all this, since it happens that I love you. "

For a moment I lost my breath, then I said: "I have no wish to standin the way of your happiness, Wanda. Do not consider me. " Then Iraised my hat, and let her go ahead. She looked at me surprised, butdid not answer a syllable. 

When by chance I happened to be close to her on the way back, shesecretly pressed my hand. Her glance was so radiant, so full ofpromised happiness, that in a moment all the torments of these dayswere forgotten and all their wounds healed. 

I now am aware again of how much I love her. 

 * * * * *

"My friend has complained about you, " said Wanda to-day. 

"Perhaps she feels that I despise her. "

"But why do you despise her, you foolish young man?" exclaimedWanda, pulling my ears with both hands. 

"Because she is a hypocrite, " I said. "I respect only a woman who isactually virtuous, or who openly lives for pleasure's sake. "

"Like me, for instance, " replied Wanda jestingly, "but you see, child, a woman can only do that in the rarest cases. She can neitherbe as gaily sensual, nor as spiritually free as man; her state isalways a mixture of the sensual and spiritual. Her heart desires toenchain man permanently, while she herself is ever subject to thedesire for change. The result is a conflict, and thus usually againsther wishes lies and deception enter into her actions and personalityand corrupt her character. "

"Certainly that is true, " I said. "The transcendental character withwhich woman wants to stamp love leads her to deception. "

"But the world likewise demands it, " Wanda interrupted. "Look atthis woman. She has a husband and a lover in Lemberg and has founda new admirer here. She deceives all three and yet is honored by alland respected by the world. "

"I don't care, " I exclaimed, "but she is to leave you alone; shetreats you like an article of commerce. "

"Why not?" the beautiful woman interrupted vivaciously. "Every womanhas the instinct or desire to draw advantage out of her attractions, and much is to be said for giving one's self without love or pleasurebecause if you do it in cold blood, you can reap profit to bestadvantage. "

"Wanda, what are you saying?"

"Why not?" she said, "and take note of what I am about to say to you. _Never feel secure with the woman you love, _ for there are moredangers in woman's nature than you imagine. Women are neither as_good_ as their admirers and defenders maintain, nor as _bad_ as theirenemies make them out to be. _Woman's character is characterlessness. _The best woman will momentarily go down into the mire, and the worstunexpectedly rises to deeds of greatness and goodness and puts toshame those that despise her. No woman is so good or so bad, but thatat any moment she is capable of the most diabolical as well as of themost divine, of the filthiest as well as of the purest, thoughts, emotions, and actions. In spite of all the advances of civilization, woman has remained as she came out of the hand of nature. She has thenature of a savage, who is faithful or faithless, magnanimous orcruel, according to the impulse that dominates at the moment. Throughout history it has always been a serious deep culture which hasproduced moral character. Man even when he is selfish or evil alwaysfollows _principles, _ woman never follows anything but _impulses. _Don't ever forget that, and never feel secure with the woman youlove. "

 * * * * *

Her friend has left. At last an evening alone with her again. Itseems as if Wanda had saved up all the love, which had been kept fromher, for this superlative evening; never had she been so kind, sonear, so full of tenderness. 

What happiness to cling to her lips, and to die away in her arms! Ina state of relaxation and wholly mine, her head rests against mybreast, and with drunken rapture our eyes seek each other. 

I cannot yet believe, comprehend, that this woman is mine, whollymine. 

"She is right on one point, " Wanda began, without moving, withoutopening her eyes, as if she were asleep. 

"Who?"

She remained silent. 

"Your friend?"

She nodded. "Yes, she is right, you are not a man, you are adreamer, a charming cavalier, and you certainly would be a pricelessslave, but I cannot imagine you as husband. "

I was frightened. 

"What is the matter? You are trembling?"

"I tremble at the thought of how easily I might lose you, " I replied. 

"Are you made less happy now, because of this?" she replied. "Doesit rob you of any of your joys, that I have belonged to anotherbefore I did to you, that others after you will possess me, and wouldyou enjoy less if another were made happy simultaneously with you?"

"Wanda!"

"You see, " she continued, "that would be a way out. You won't everlose me then. I care deeply for you and intellectually we areharmonious, and I should like to live with you always, if in additionto you I might have--"

"What an idea, " I cried. "You fill me with a sort of horror. "

"Do you love me any the less?"

"On the contrary. "

Wanda had raised herself on her left arm. "I believe, " she said, "that to hold a man permanently, it is vitally important not to befaithful to him. What honest woman has ever been as devotedly lovedas a hetaira?"

"There is a painful stimulus in the unfaithfulness of a belovedwoman. It is the highest kind of ecstacy. "

"For you, too?" Wanda asked quickly. 

"For me, too. "

"And if I should give you that pleasure, " Wanda exclaimed mockingly. 

"I shall suffer terrible agonies, but I shall adore you the more, "I replied. "But you would never deceive me, you would have the daemonicgreatness of saying to me: I shall love no one but you, but I shallmake happy whoever pleases me. "

Wanda shook her head. "I don't like deception, I am honest, but whatman exists who can support the burden of truth. Were I say to you:this serene, sensual life, this paganism is my ideal, would you bestrong enough to bear it?"

"Certainly. I could endure anything so as not to lose you. I feelhow little I really mean to you. "

"But Severin--"

"But it is so, " said I, "and just for that reason--"

"For that reason you would--" she smiled roguishly--"have I guessedit?"

"Be your slave!" I exclaimed. "Be your unrestricted property, without a will of my own, of which you could dispose as you wished, and which would therefore never be a burden to you. While you drinklife at its fullness, while surrounded by luxury, you enjoy theserene happiness and Olympian love, I want to be your servant, puton and take off your shoes. "

"You really aren't so far from wrong, " replied Wanda, "for only asmy slave could you endure my loving others. Furthermore the freedomof enjoyment of the ancient world is unthinkable without slavery. Itmust give one a feeling of like unto a god to see a man kneel beforeone and tremble. I want a slave, do you hear, Severin?"

"Am I not your slave?"

"Then listen to me, " said Wanda excitedly, seizing my hand. "I wantto be yours, as long as I love you. "

"A month?"

"Perhaps, even two. "

"And then?"

"Then you become my slave. "

"And you?"

"I? Why do you ask? I am a goddess and sometimes I descend from myOlympian heights to you, softly, very softly, and secretly. 

"But what does all this mean, " said Wanda, resting her head in bothhands with her gaze lost in the distance, "a golden fancy which nevercan become true. " An uncanny brooding melancholy seemed shed over herentire being; I have never seen her like that. 

"Why unachievable?" I began. 

"Because slavery doesn't exist any longer. "

"Then we will go to a country where it still exists, to the Orient, to Turkey, " I said eagerly. 

"You would--Severin--in all seriousness, " Wanda replied. Her eyesburned. 

"Yes, in all seriousness, I want to be your slave, " I continued. "Iwant your power over me to be sanctified by law; I want my life tobe in your hands, I want nothing that could protect or save me fromyou. Oh, what a voluptuous joy when once I feel myself entirely dependentupon your absolute will, your whim, at your beck and call. And thenwhat happiness, when at some time you deign to be gracious, and theslave may kiss the lips which mean life and death to him. " I kneltdown, and leaned my burning forehead against her knee. 

"You are talking as in a fever, " said Wanda agitatedly, "and youreally love me so endlessly. " She held me to her breast, and coveredme with kisses. 

"You really want it?"

"I swear to you now by God and my honor, that I shall be your slave, wherever and whenever you wish it, as soon as you command, " Iexclaimed, hardly master of myself. 

"And if I take you at your word?" said Wanda. 

"Please do!"

"All this appeals to me, " she said then. "It is different fromanything else--to know that a man who worships me, and whom I lovewith all my heart, is so wholly mine, dependent on my will andcaprice, my possession and slave, while I--"

She looked strangely at me. 

"If I should become frightfully frivolous you are to blame, " shecontinued. "It almost seems as if you were afraid of me already, butyou have sworn. "

"And I shall keep my oath. "

"I shall see to that, " she replied. "I am beginning to enjoy it, and, heaven help me, we won't stick to fancies now. You shall becomemy slave, and I--I shall try to be _Venus in Furs_. "

 * * * * *

I thought that at last I knew this woman, understood her, and now Isee I have to begin at the very beginning again. Only a little whileago her reaction to my dreams was violently hostile, and now shetries to carry them into execution with the soberest seriousness. 

She has drawn up a contract according to which I give my word ofhonor and agree under oath to be her slave, as long as she wishes. 

With her arm around my neck she reads this, unprecedented, incredible document to me. The end of each sentence she punctuateswith a kiss. 

"But all the obligations in the contract are on my side, " I said, teasing her. 

"Of course, " she replied with great seriousness, "you cease to be mylover, and consequently I am released from all duties and obligationstowards you. You will have to look upon my favors as purebenevolence. You no longer have any rights, and no longer can layclaim to any. There can be no limit to my power over you. Remember, that you won't be much better than a dog, or some inanimate object. You will be mine, my plaything, which I can break to pieces, wheneverI want an hour's amusement. You are nothing, I am everything. Do youunderstand?" She laughed and kissed me again, and yet a sort of coldshiver ran through me. 

"Won't you allow me a few conditions--" I began. 

"Conditions?" She contracted her forehead. "Ah! You are afraidalready, or perhaps you regret, but it is too late now. You havesworn, I have your word of honor. But let me hear them. "

"First of all I should like to have it included in our contract, that you will never completely leave me, and then that you will nevergive me over to the mercies of any of your admirers--"

"But Severin, " exclaimed Wanda with her voice full of emotion andwith tears in her eyes, "how can you imagine that I--and you, a manwho loves me so absolutely, who puts himself so entirely in my power--"She halted. 

"No, no!" I said, covering her hands with kisses. "I don't fearanything from you that might dishonor me. Forgive me the uglythought. "

Wanda smiled happily, leaned her cheek against mine, and seemed toreflect. 

"You have forgotten something, " she whispered coquettishly, "themost important thing!"

"A condition?"

"Yes, that I must always wear my furs, " exclaimed Wanda. "But Ipromise you I'll do that anyhow because they give me a despoticfeeling. And I shall be very cruel to you, do you understand?"

"Shall I sign the contract?" I asked. 

"Not yet, " said Wanda. "I shall first add your conditions, and theactual signing won't occur until the proper time and place. "

"In Constantinople?"

"No. I have thought things over. What special value would there bein owning a slave where everyone owns slaves. What I want is to_have a slave, I alone, _ here in our civilized sober, Philistineworld, and a slave who submits helplessly to my power solely onaccount of my beauty and personality, not because of law, of propertyrights, or compulsions. This attracts me. But at any rate we will goto a country where we are not known and where you can appear beforethe world as my servant without embarrassment. Perhaps to Italy, toRome or Naples. "

 * * * * *

We were sitting on Wanda's ottoman. She wore her ermine jacket, herhair was loose and fell like a lion's mane down her back. She clungto my lips, drawing my soul from my body. My head whirled, my bloodbegan to seethe, my heart beat violently against hers. 

"I want to be absolutely in your power, Wanda, " I exclaimedsuddenly, seized by that frenzy of passion when I can scarcely thinkclearly or decide freely. "I want to put myself absolutely at yourmercy for good or evil without any condition, without any limit toyour power. "

While saying this I had slipped from the ottoman, and lay at herfeet looking up at her with drunken eyes. 

"How beautiful you now are, " she exclaimed, "your eyes half-brokenin ecstacy fill me with joy, carry me away. How wonderful your lookwould be if you were being beaten to death, in the extreme agony. Youhave the eye of a martyr. "

 * * * * *

Sometimes, nevertheless, I have an uneasy feeling about placingmyself so absolutely, so unconditionally into a woman's hands. Suppose she did abuse my passion, her power?

Well, then I would experience what has occupied my imagination sincemy childhood, what has always given me the feeling of seductiveterror. A foolish apprehension! It will be a wanton game she will playwith me, nothing more. She loves me, and she is good, a noblepersonality, incapable of a breach of faith. But it lies in her hands--_if she wants to she can. _ What a temptation in this doubt, thisfear!

Now I understand Manon l'Escault and the poor chevalier, who, evenin the pillory, while she was another man's mistress, still adoredher. 

Love knows no virtue, no profit; it loves and forgives and sufferseverything, because it must. It is not our judgment that leads us;it is neither the advantages nor the faults which we discover, thatmake us abandon ourselves, or that repel us. 

It is a sweet, soft, enigmatic power that drives us on. We cease tothink, to feel, to will; we let ourselves be carried away by it, andask not whither?

 * * * * *

A Russian prince made his first appearance today on the promenade. He aroused general interest on account of his athletic figure, magnificent face, and splendid bearing. The women particularly gapedat him as though he were a wild animal, but he went his way gloomilywithout paying attention to any one. He was accompanied by twoservants, one a negro, completely dressed in red satin, and the othera Circassian in his full gleaming uniform. Suddenly he saw Wanda, andfixed his cold piercing look upon her; he even turned his head afterher, and when she had passed, he stood still and followed her withhis eyes. 

And she--she veritably devoured him with her radiant green eyes--anddid everything possible to meet him again. 

The cunning coquetry with which she walked, moved, and looked athim, almost stifled me. On the way home I remarked about it. She knither brows. 

"What do you want, " she said, "the prince is a man whom I mightlike, who even dazzles me, and I am free. I can do what I please--"

"Don't you love me any longer--" I stammered, frightened. 

"I love only you, " she replied, "but I shall have the prince paycourt to me. "

"Wanda!"

"Aren't you my slave?" she said calmly. "Am I not Venus, the cruelnorthern Venus in Furs?"

I was silent. I felt literally crushed by her words; her cold lookentered my heart like a dagger. 

"You will find out immediately the prince's name, residence, andcircumstances, " she continued. "Do you understand?"

"But--"

"No argument, obey!" exclaimed Wanda, more sternly than I would havethought possible for her, "and don't dare to enter my sight until youcan answer my questions. "

It was not till afternoon that I could obtain the desiredinformation for Wanda. She let me stand before her like a servant, while she leaned back in her arm-chair and listened to me, smiling. Then she nodded; she seemed to be satisfied. 

"Bring me my footstool, " she commanded shortly. 

I obeyed, and after having put it before her and having put her feeton it, I remained kneeling. 

"How will this end?" I asked sadly after a short pause. 

She broke into playful laughter. "Why things haven't even begun yet. "

"You are more heartless than I imagined, " I replied, hurt. 

"Severin, " Wanda began earnestly. "I haven't done anything yet, notthe slightest thing, and you are already calling me heartless. Whatwill happen when I begin to carry your dreams to their realization, when I shall lead a gay, free life and have a circle of admirersabout me, when I shall actually fulfil your ideal, tread youunderfoot and apply the lash?"

"You take my dreams too seriously. "

"Too seriously? I can't stop at make-believe, when once I begin, "she replied. "You know I hate all play-acting and comedy. You havewished it. Was it my idea or yours? Did I persuade you or did youinflame my imagination? I am taking things seriously now. "

"Wanda, " I replied, caressingly, "listen quietly to me. We love eachother infinitely, we are very happy, will you sacrifice our entirefuture to a whim?"

"It is no longer a whim, " she exclaimed. 

"What is it?" I asked frightened. 

"Something that was probably latent in me, " she said quietly andthoughtfully. "Perhaps it would never have come to light, if you hadnot called it to life, and made it grow. Now that it has become apowerful impulse, fills my whole being, now that I enjoy it, now thatI cannot and do not want to do otherwise, now you want to back out--you--are you a man?"

"Dear, sweet Wanda!" I began to caress her, kiss her. 

"Don't--you are not a man--"

"And you, " I flared up. 

"I am stubborn, " she said, "you know that. I haven't a strongimagination, and like you I am weak in execution. But when I make upmy mind to do something, I carry it through, and the more certainly, the more opposition I meet. Leave me alone!"

She pushed me away, and got up. 

"Wanda!" I likewise rose, and stood facing her. 

"Now you know what I am, " she continued. "Once more I warn you. Youstill have the choice. I am not compelling you to be my slave. "

"Wanda, " I replied with emotion and tears filling my eyes, "don'tyou know how I love you?"

Her lips quivered contemptuously. 

"You are mistaken, you make yourself out worse than you are; you aregood and noble by nature--"

"What do you know about my nature, " she interrupted vehemently, "youwill get to know me as I am. "

"Wanda!"

"Decide, will you submit, unconditionally?"

"And if I say no. "

"Then--"

She stepped close up to me, cold and contemptuous. As she stoodbefore me now, the arms folded across her breast, with an evil smileabout her lips, she was in fact the despotic woman of my dreams. Herexpression seemed hard, and nothing lay in her eyes that promisedkindness or mercy. 

"Well--" she said at last. 

"You are angry, " I cried, "you will punish me. "

"Oh no!" she replied, "I shall let you go. You are free. I am notholding you. "

"Wanda--I, who love you so--"

"Yes, you, my dear sir, you who adore me, " she exclaimedcontemptuously, "but who are a coward, a liar, and a breaker ofpromises. Leave me instantly--"

"Wanda I--"

"Wretch!"

My blood rose in my heart. I threw myself down at her feet and beganto cry. 

"Tears, too!" She began to laugh. Oh, this laughter was frightful. "Leave me--I don't want to see you again. "

"Oh my God!" I cried, beside myself. "I will do whatever youcommand, be your slave, a mere object with which you can do what youwill--only don't send me away--I can't bear it--I cannot live withoutyou. " I embraced her knees, and covered her hand with kisses. 

"Yes, you must be a slave, and feel the lash, for you are not aman, " she said calmly. She said this to me with perfect composure, not angrily, not even excitedly, and it was what hurt most. "Now Iknow you, your dog-like nature, that adores where it is kicked, andthe more, the more it is maltreated. Now I know you, and now youshall come to know me. "

She walked up and down with long strides, while I remained crushedon my knees; my head was hanging supine, tears flowed from my eyes. 

"Come here, " Wanda commanded harshly, sitting down on the ottoman. I obeyed her command, and sat down beside her. She looked at mesombrely, and then a light suddenly seemed to illuminate the interiorof her eye. Smiling, she drew me toward her breast, and began to kissthe tears out of my eyes. 

 * * * * *

The odd part of my situation is that I am like the bear in Lily'spark. I can escape and don't want to; I am ready to endure everythingas soon as she threatens to set me free. 

 * * * * *

If only she would use the whip again. There is something uncanny inthe kindness with which she treats me. I seem like a little captivemouse with which a beautiful cat prettily plays. She is ready at anymoment to tear it to pieces, and my heart of a mouse threatens toburst. 

What are her intentions? What does she purpose to do with me?

 * * * * *

It seems she has completely forgotten the contract, my slavehood. Orwas it actually only stubbornness? And she gave up her whole plan assoon as I no longer opposed her and submitted to her imperial whim?

How kind she is to me, how tender, how loving! We are spendingmarvellously happy days. 

To-day she had me read to her the scene between Faust andMephistopheles, in which the latter appears as a wandering scholar. Her glance hung on me with strange pleasure. 

"I don't understand, " she said when I had finished, "how a man whocan read such great and beautiful thoughts with such expression, andinterpret them so clearly, concisely, and intelligently, can at thesame time be such a visionary and supersensual ninny as you are. "

"Were you pleased, " said I, and kissed her forehead. 

She gently stroked my brow. "I love you, Severin, " she whispered. "Idon't believe I could ever love any one more than you. Let us besensible, what do you say?"

Instead of replying I folded her in my arms; a deep inward, yetvaguely sad happiness filled my breast, my eyes grew moist, and atear fell upon her hand. 

"How can you cry!" she exclaimed, "you are a child!"

 * * * * *

On a pleasure drive we met the Russian prince in his carriage. Heseemed to be unpleasantly surprised to see me by Wanda's side, andlooked as if he wanted to pierce her through and through with hiselectric gray eyes. She, however, did not seem to notice him. I feltat that moment like kneeling down before her and kissing her feet. She let her glance glide over him indifferently as though he were aninanimate object, a tree, for instance, and turned to me with hergracious smile. 

 * * * * *

When I said good-night to her to-day she seemed suddenlyunaccountably distracted and moody. What was occupying her?

"I am sorry you are going, " she said when I was already standing onthe threshold. 

"It is entirely in your hands to shorten the hard period of mytrial, to cease tormenting me--" I pleaded. 

"Do you imagine that this compulsion isn't a torment for me, too, "Wanda interjected. 

"Then end it, " I exclaimed, embracing her, "be my wife. "

"_Never, Severin_, " she said gently, but with great firmness. 

"What do you mean?"

I was frightened in my innermost soul. 

"_You are not the man for me. _"

I looked at her, and slowly withdrew my arm which was still abouther waist; then I left the room, and she--she did not call me back. 

 * * * * *

A sleepless night; I made countless decisions, only to toss themaside again. In the morning I wrote her a letter in which I declaredour relationship dissolved. My hand trembled when I put on the seal, and I burned my fingers. 

As I went upstairs to hand it to the maid, my knees threatened togive way. 

The door opened, and Wanda thrust forth her head full of curling-papers. 

"I haven't had my hair dressed yet, " she said, smiling. "What haveyou there?"

"A letter--"

"For me?"

I nodded. 

"Ah, you want to break with me, " she exclaimed, mockingly. 

"Didn't you tell me yesterday that I wasn't the man for you?"

_"I repeat it now!"_

"Very well, then. " My whole body was trembling, my voice failed me, and I handed her the letter. 

"Keep it, " she said, measuring me coldly. "You forget that is nolonger a question as to whether you satisfy me as a man; as a _slave_you will doubtless do well enough. "

"Madame!" I exclaimed, aghast. 

"That is what you will call me in the future, " replied Wanda, throwing back her head with a movement of unutterable contempt. "Putyour affairs in order within the next twenty-four hours. The dayafter to-morrow I shall start for Italy, and you will accompany meas my servant. "

"Wanda--"

"I forbid any sort of familiarity, " she said, cutting my words short, "likewise you are not to come in unless I call or ring for you, andyou are not to speak to me until you are spoken to. From now on yourname is no longer Severin, but _Gregor_. "

I trembled with rage, and yet, unfortunately, I cannot deny it, Ialso felt a strange pleasure and stimulation. 

"But, madame, you know my circumstances, " I began in my confusion. "I am dependent on my father, and I doubt whether he will give me thelarge sum of money needed for this journey--"

"That means you have no money, Gregor, " said Wanda, delightedly, "somuch the better, you are then entirely dependent on me, and in factmy slave. "

"You don't consider, " I tried to object, "that as man of honor it isimpossible for me--"

"I have indeed considered it, " she replied almost with a tone ofcommand. "As a man of honor you must keep your oath and redeem yourpromise to follow me as slave whithersoever I demand and to obeywhatever I command. Now leave me, Gregor!"

I turned toward the door. 

"Not yet--you may first kiss my hand. " She held it out to me with acertain proud indifference, and I the dilettante, the donkey, themiserable slave pressed it with intense tenderness against my lipswhich were dry and hot with excitement. 

There was another gracious nod of the head. 

Then I was dismissed. 

 * * * * *

Though it was late in the evening my light was still lit, and a firewas burning in the large green stove. There were still many thingsamong my letters and documents to be put in order. Autumn, as isusually the case with us, had fallen with all its power. 

Suddenly she knocked at my window with the handle of her whip. 

I opened and saw her standing outside in her ermine-lined jacket andin a high round Cossack cap of ermine of the kind which the greatCatherine favored. 

"Are you ready, Gregor?" she asked darkly. 

"Not yet, mistress, " I replied. 

"I like that word, " she said then, "you are always to call memistress, do you understand? We leave here to-morrow morning at nineo'clock. As far as the district capital you will be my companion andfriend, but from the moment that we enter the railway-coach you aremy slave, my servant. Now close the window, and open the door. "

After I had done as she had demanded, and after she had entered, sheasked, contracting her brows ironically, "well, how do you like me. "

"Wanda, you--"

"Who gave you permission?" She gave me a blow with the whip. 

"You are very beautiful, mistress. "

Wanda smiled and sat down in the arm-chair. "Kneel down--here besidemy chair. "

I obeyed. 

"Kiss my hand. "

I seized her small cold hand and kissed it. 

"And the mouth--"

In a surge of passion I threw my arms around the beautiful cruelwoman, and covered her face, arms, and breast with glowing kisses. She returned them with equal fervor--the eyelids closed as in adream. It was after midnight when she left. 

 * * * * *

At nine o'clock sharp in the morning everything was ready fordeparture, as she had ordered. We left the little Carpathian health-resort in a comfortable light carriage. The most interesting dramaof my life had reached a point of development whose denouement it wasthen impossible to foretell. 

So far everything went well. I sat beside Wanda, and she chattedvery graciously and intelligently with me, as with a good friend, concerning Italy, Pisemski's new novel, and Wagner's music. She worea sort of Amazonesque travelling-dress of black cloth with a shortjacket of the same material, set with dark fur. It fitted closely andshowed her figure to best advantage. Over it she wore dark furs. Herhair wound into an antique knot, lay beneath a small dark fur-hatfrom which a black veil hung. Wanda was in very good humor; she fedme candies, played with my hair, loosened my neck cloth and made apretty cockade of it; she covered my knees with her furs andstealthily pressed the fingers of my hand. When our Jewish driverpersistently went on nodding to himself, she even gave me a kiss, andher cold lips had the fresh frosty fragrance of a young autumnalrose, which blossoms alone amid bare stalks and yellow leaves andupon whose calyx the first frost has hung tiny diamonds of ice. 

 * * * * *

We are at the district capital. We get out at the railway station. Wanda throws off her furs and places them over my arm, and goesto secure the tickets. 

When she returns she has completely changed. 

"Here is your ticket, Gregor, " she says in a tone which superciliousladies use to their servants. 

"A third-class ticket, " I reply with comic horror. 

"Of course, " she continues, "but now be careful. You won't get onuntil I am settled in my compartment and don't need you any longer. At each station you will hurry to my car and ask for my orders. Don'tforget. And now give me my furs. "

After I had helped her into them, humbly like a slave, she went tofind an empty first-class coupe. I followed. Supporting herself onmy shoulder, she got on and I wrapped her feet in bear-skins and placedthem on the warming bottle. 

Then she nodded to me, and dismissed me. I slowly ascended a third-class carriage, which was filled with abominable tobacco-smoke thatseemed like the fogs of Acheron at the entrance to Hades. I now hadthe leisure to muse about the riddle of human existence, and aboutits greatest riddle of all--_woman_. 

 * * * * *

Whenever the train stops, I jump off, run to her carriage, and withdrawn cap await her orders. She wants coffee and then a glass ofwater, at another time a bowl of warm water to wash her hands, andthus it goes on. She lets several men who have entered hercompartment pay court to her. I am dying of jealousy and have to leapabout like an antelope so as to secure what she wants quickly andnot miss the train. 

In this way the night passes. I haven't had time to eat a mouthfuland I can't sleep, I have to breathe the same oniony air with Polishpeasants, Jewish peddlers, and common soldiers. 

When I mount the steps of her coupe, she is lying stretched outon cushions in her comfortable furs, covered up with the skins ofanimals. She is like an oriental despot, and the men sit like Indiandeities, straight upright against the walls and scarcely dare tobreathe. 

 * * * * *

She stops over in Vienna for a day to go shopping, and particularlyto buy series of luxurious gowns. She continues to treat me as herservant. I follow her at the respectful distance of ten paces. Shehands me her packages without so much as even deigning a kind look, and laden down like a donkey I pant along behind. 

Before leaving she takes all my clothes and gives them to the hotelwaiters. I am ordered to put on her livery. It is a Cracovian costumein her colors, light-blue with red facings, and red quadrangular cap, ornamented with peacock-feathers. The costume is rather becoming tome. 

The silver buttons bear her coat of arms. I have the feeling ofhaving been sold or of having bonded myself to the devil. My fairdemon leads me from Vienna to Florence. Instead of linen-garbedMazovians and greasy-haired Jews, my companions now are curly-haired Contadini, a magnificent sergeant of the first ItalianGrenadiers, and a poor German painter. The tobacco smoke no longersmells of onions, but of salami and cheese. 

Night has fallen again. I lie on my wooden bed as on a rack; my armsand legs seem broken. But there nevertheless is an element of poetryin the affair. The stars sparkle round about, the Italian sergeanthas a face like Apollo Belvedere, and the German painter sings alovely German song. 

 "Now that all the shadows gather And endless stars grow light, Deep yearning on me falls And softly fills the night. "

 "Through the sea of dreams Sailing without cease, Sailing goes my soul In thine to find release. "

And I am thinking of the beautiful woman who is sleeping in regalcomfort among her soft furs. 

 * * * * *

Florence! Crowds, cries, importunate porters and cab-drivers. Wandachooses a carriage, and dismisses the porters. 

"What have I a servant for, " she says, "Gregor--here is the ticket--get the luggage. "

She wraps herself in her furs and sits quietly in the carriage while Idrag the heavy trunks hither, one after another. I break down for amoment under the last one; a good-natured _carabiniere_ with anintelligent face comes to my assistance. She laughs. 

"It must be heavy, " said she, "all my furs are in it. "

I get up on the driver's seat, wiping drops of perspiration from mybrow. She gives the name of the hotel, and the driver urges on hishorse. In a few minutes we halt at the brilliantly illuminatedentrance. 

"Have you any rooms?" she asks the portier. 

"Yes, madame. "

"Two for me, one for my servant, all with stoves. "

"Two first-class rooms for you, madame, both with stoves, " repliedthe waiter who had hastily come up, "and one without heat for yourservant. "

She looked at them, and then abruptly said: "they are satisfactory, have fires built at once; my servant can sleep in the unheated room. "

I merely looked at her. 

"Bring up the trunks, Gregor, " she commands, paying no attention tomy looks. "In the meantime I'll be dressing, and then will go downto the dining-room, and you can eat something for supper. "

As she goes into the adjoining room, I drag the trunks upstairs andhelp the waiter build a fire in her bed-room. He tries to questionme in bad French about my employer. With a brief glance I see theblazing fire, the fragrant white poster-bed, and the rugs which coverthe floor. Tired and hungry I then descend the stairs, and ask forsomething to eat. A good-natured waiter, who used to be in theAustrian army and takes all sorts of pains to entertain me in German, shows me the dining-room and waits on me. I have just had the firstfresh drink in thirty-six hours and the first bite of warm food onmy fork, when she enters. 

I rise. 

"What do you mean by taking me into a dining-room in which myservant is eating, " she snaps at the waiter, flaring with anger. Sheturns around and leaves. 

Meanwhile I thank heaven that I am permitted to go on eating. LaterI climb the four flights upstairs to my room. My small trunk isalready there, and a miserable little oil-lamp is burning. It is anarrow room without fire-place, without a window, but with a smallair-hole. If it weren't so beastly cold, it would remind me of oneof the Venetian _piombi_. [Footnote: These were notorious prisonsunder the leaden roof of the Palace of the Doges. ] Involuntarily Ihave to laugh out aloud, so that it re-echoes, and I am startled bymy own laughter. 

Suddenly the door is pulled open and the waiter with a theatricalItalian gesture calls "You are to come down to madame, at once. " Ipick up my cap, stumble down the first few steps, but finally arrivein front of her door on the first floor and knock. 

"Come in!"

I enter, shut the door, and stand attention. 

Wanda has made herself comfortable. She is sitting in a neglige ofwhite muslin and laces on a small red divan with her feet on afootstool that matches. She has thrown her fur-cloak about her. Itis the identical cloak in which she appeared to me for the first time, as goddess of love. 

The yellow lights of the candelabra which stand on projections, their reflections in the large mirrors, and the red flames from theopen fireplace play beautifully on the green velvet, the dark-brownsable of the cloak, the smooth white skin, and the red, flaming hairof the beautiful woman. Her clear, but cold face is turned toward me, and her cold green eyes rest upon me. 

"I am satisfied with you, Gregor, " she began. 

I bowed. 

"Come closer. "

I obeyed. 

"Still closer, " she looked down, and stroked the sable with herhand. "Venus in Furs receives her slave. I can see that you are morethan an ordinary dreamer, you don't remain far in arrears of yourdreams; you are the sort of man who is ready to carry his dreams intoeffect, no matter how mad they are. I confess, I like this; itimpresses me. There is strength in this, and strength is the onlything one respects. I actually believe that under unusualcircumstances, in a period of great deeds, what seems to be yourweakness would reveal itself as extraordinary power. Under the earlyemperors you would have been a martyr, at the time of the Reformationan anabaptist, during the French Revolution one of those inspiredGirondists who mounted the guillotine with the marseillaise on theirlips. But you are my slave, my--"

She suddenly leaped up; the furs slipped down, and she threw herarms with soft pressure about my neck. 

"My beloved slave, Severin, oh, how I love you, how I adore you, howhandsome you are in your Cracovian costume! You will be cold to-nightup in your wretched room without a fire. Shall I give you one of myfurs, dear heart, the large one there--"

She quickly picked it up, throwing it over my shoulders, and beforeI knew what had happened I was completely wrapped up in it. 

"How wonderfully becoming furs are to your face, they bring out yournoble lines. As soon as you cease being my slave, you must wear avelvet coat with sable, do you understand? Otherwise I shall neverput on my fur-jacket again. "

And again she began to caress me and kiss me; finally she drew medown on the little divan. 

"You seem to be pleased with yourself in furs, " she said. "Quick, quick, give them to me, or I will lose all sense of dignity. "

I placed the furs about her, and Wanda slipped her right arm intothe sleeve. 

"This is the pose in Titian's picture. But now enough of joking. Don't always look so solemn, it makes me feel sad. As far as theworld is concerned you are still merely my servant; you are not yetmy slave, for you have not yet signed the contract. You are stillfree, and can leave me any moment. You have played your partmagnificently. I have been delighted, but aren't you tired of italready, and don't you think I am abominable? Well, say something--Icommand it. "

"Must I confess to you, Wanda?" I began. 

"Yes, you must. "

"Even it you take advantage of it, " I continued, "I shall love youthe more deeply, adore you the more fanatically, the worse you treatme. What you have just done inflames my blood and intoxicates all mysenses. " I held her close to me and clung for several moments to hermoist lips. 

"Oh, you beautiful woman, " I then exclaimed, looking at her. In myenthusiasm I tore the sable from her shoulders and pressed my mouthagainst her neck. 

"You love me even when I am cruel, " said Wanda, "now go!--you boreme--don't you hear?"

She boxed my ears so that I saw stars and bells rang in my ears. 

"Help me into my furs, slave. "

I helped her, as well as I could. 

"How awkward, " she exclaimed, and was scarcely in it before shestruck me in the face again. I felt myself growing pale. 

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, softly touching me with her hand. 

"No, no, " I exclaimed. 

"At any rate you have no reason to complain, you want it thus; nowkiss me again. "

I threw my arms about her, and her lips clung closely to mine. Asshe lay against my breast in her large heavy furs, I had a curiouslyoppressive sensation. It was as if a wild beast, a she-bear, wereembracing me. It seemed as if I were about to feel her claws in myflesh. But this time the she-bear let me off easily. 

With my heart filled with smiling hopes, I went up to my miserableservant's room, and threw myself down on my hard couch. 

"Life is really amazingly droll, " I thought. "A short time ago themost beautiful woman, Venus herself, rested against your breast, andnow you have an opportunity for studying the Chinese hell. Unlike us, they don't hurl the damned into flames, but they have devils chasingthem out into fields of ice. 

"Very likely the founders of their religion also slept in unheatedrooms. "

 * * * * *

During the night I startled out of my sleep with a scream. I hadbeen dreaming of an icefield in which I had lost my way; I had beenlooking in vain for a way out. Suddenly an eskimo drove up in asleigh harnessed with reindeer; he had the face of the waiter who hadshown me to the unheated room. 

"What are you looking for here, my dear sir?" he exclaimed. "This isthe North Pole. "

A moment later he had disappeared, and Wanda flew over the smoothice on tiny skates. Her white satin skirt fluttered and crackled; theermine of her jacket and cap, but especially her face, gleamed whiterthan the snow. She shot toward me, inclosed me in her arms, and beganto kiss me. Suddenly I felt my blood running warm down my side. 

"What are you doing?" I asked horror-stricken. 

She laughed, and as I looked at her now, it was no longer Wanda, buta huge, white she-bear, who was digging her paws into my body. 

I cried out in despair, and still heard her diabolical laughter whenI awoke, and looked about the room in surprise. 

Early in the morning I stood at Wanda's door, and the waiter broughtthe coffee. I took it from him, and served it to my beautifulmistress. She had already dressed, and looked magnificent, all freshand roseate. She smiled graciously at me and called me back, when Iwas about to withdraw respectfully. 

"Come, Gregor, have your breakfast quickly too, " she said, "then wewill go house-hunting. I don't want to stay in the hotel any longerthan I have to. It is very embarassing here. If I chat with you formore than a minute, people will immediately say: 'The fair Russianis having an affair with her servant, you see, the race of Catherinesisn't extinct yet. '"

Half an hour later we went out; Wanda was in her cloth-gown with theRussian cap, and I in my Cracovian costume. We created quite a stir. Iwalked about ten paces behind, looking very solemn, but expectedmomentarily to have to break out into loud laughter. There wasscarcely a street in which one or the other of the attractive housesdid not bear the sign _camere ammobiliate_. Wanda always sent meupstairs, and only when the apartment seemed to answer herrequirements did she herself ascend. By noon I was as tired as a stag-hound after the hunt. 

We entered a new house and left it again without having found asuitable habitation. Wanda was already somewhat out of humor. Suddenly she said to me: "Severin, the seriousness with which youplay your part is charming, and the restrictions, which we haveplaced upon each other are really annoying me. I can't stand it anylonger, I do love you, I must kiss you. Let's go into one of thehouses. "

"But, my lady--" I interposed. 

"Gregor?" She entered the next open corridor and ascended a fewsteps of the dark stair-way; then she threw her arms about me withpassionate tenderness and kissed me. 

"Oh, Severin, you were very wise. You are much more dangerous asslave than I would have imagined; you are positively irrestible, andI am afraid I shall have to fall in love with you again. "

"Don't you love me any longer then, " I asked seized by a suddenfright. 

She solemnly shook her head, but kissed me again with her swelling, adorable lips. 

We returned to the hotel. Wanda had luncheon, and ordered me alsoquickly to get something to eat. 

Of course, I wasn't served as quickly as she, and so it happenedthat just as I was carrying the second bite of my steak to my mouth, the waiter entered and called out with his theatrical gesture:"Madame wants you, at once. "

I took a rapid and painful leave of my food, and, tired and hungry, hurried toward Wanda, who was already on the street. 

"I wouldn't have imagined you could be so cruel, " I saidreproachfully. "With all these, fatiguing duties you don't even leaveme time to eat in peace. "

Wanda laughed gaily. "I thought you had finished, " she said, "butnever mind. Man was born to suffer, and you in particular. Themartyrs didn't have any beefsteaks either. "

I followed her resentfully, gnawing at my hunger. 

"I have given up the idea of finding a place in the city, " Wandacontinued. "It will be difficult to find an entire floor which isshut off and where you can do as you please. In such a strange, madrelationship as ours there must be no jarring note. I shall rent anentire villa--and you will be surprised. You have my permission nowto satisfy your hunger, and look about a bit in Florence. I won't behome till evening. If I need you then, I will have you called. "

I looked at the Duomo, the Palazzo Vecchio, the Logia di Lanzi, andthen I stood for a long time on the banks of the Arno. Again andagain I let my eyes rest on the magnificent ancient Florence, whoseround cupolas and towers were drawn in soft lines against the blue, cloudless sky. I watched its splendid bridges beneath whose widearches the lively waves of the beautiful, yellow river ran, and thegreen hills which surrounded the city, bearing slender cypresses andextensive buildings, palaces and monasteries. 

It is a different world, this one in which we are--a gay, sensuous, smiling world. The landscape too has nothing of the seriousness andsomberness of ours. It is a long ways off to the last white villasscattered among the pale green of the mountains, and yet there isn'ta spot that isn't bright with sunlight. The people are less seriousthan we; perhaps, they think less, but they all look as though theywere happy. 

It is also maintained that death is easier in the South. 

I have a vague feeling now that such a thing as beauty without thornand love of the senses without torment does exist. 

Wanda has discovered a delightful little villa and rented it for thewinter. It is situated on a charming hill on the left bank of theArno, opposite the Cascine. It is surrounded by an attractive gardenwith lovely paths, grass plots, and magnificent meadow of camelias. It is only two stories high, quadrangular in the Italian fashion. Anopen gallery runs along one side, a sort of loggia with plaster-castsof antique statues; stone steps lead from it down into the garden. From the gallery you enter a bath with a magnificent marble basin, from which winding stairs lead to my mistress' bed-chamber. 

Wanda occupies the second story by herself. 

A room on the ground floor has been assigned to me; it is veryattractive, and even has a fireplace. 

I have roamed through the garden. On a round hillock I discovered alittle temple, but I found its door locked. However, there is a chinkin the door and when I glue my eye to it, I see the goddess of loveon a white pedestal. 

A slight shudder passes over me. It seems to me as if she weresmiling at me saying: "Are you there? I have been expecting you. "

 * * * * *

It is evening. An attractive maid brings me orders to appear beforemy mistress. I ascend the wide marble stairs, pass through theanteroom, a large salon furnished with extravagant magnificence, andknock at the door of the bedroom. I knock very softly for the luxurydisplayed everywhere intimidates me. Consequently no one hears me, and I stand for some time in front of the door. I have a feeling asif I were standing before the bed-room of the great Catherine, andit seems as if at any moment she might come out in her green sleepingfurs, with the red ribbon and decoration on her bare breast, and withher little white powdered curls. 

I knocked again. Wanda impatiently pulls the door open. 

"Why so late?" she asks. 

"I was standing in front of the door, but you didn't hear me knock, "I reply timidly. She closes the door, and clinging to me, she leadsme to the red damask ottoman on which she had been resting. Theentire arrangement of the room is in red damask--wall-paper, curtains, portieres, hangings of the bed. A magnificent painting ofSamson and Delilah forms the ceiling. 

Wanda receives me in an intoxicating dishabille. Her white satindress flows gracefully and picturesquely down her slender body, leaving her arms and breast bare, and carelessly they nestle amid thedark hair of the great fur of sable, lined with green velvet. Her redhair falls down her back as far as the hips, only half held bystrings of black pearls. 

"Venus in Furs, " I whisper, while she draws me to her breast andthreatens to stifle me with her kisses. Then I no longer speak andneither do I think; everything is drowned out in an ocean ofunimagined bliss. 

"Do you still love me?" she asks, her eye softening in passionatetenderness. 

"You ask!" I exclaimed. 

"You still remember your oath, " she continued with an alluringsmile, "now that everything is prepared, everything in readiness, Iask you once more, is it still your serious wish to become my slave?"

"Am I not ready?" I asked in surprise. 

"You have not yet signed the papers. "

"Papers--what papers?"

"Oh, I see, you want to give it up, " she said, "well then, we willlet it go. "

"But Wanda, " I said, "you know that nothing gives me greaterhappiness than to serve you, to be your slave. I would giveeverything for the sake of feeling myself wholly in your power, evenunto death--"

"How beautiful you are, " she whispered, "when you speak soenthusiastically, so passionately. I am more in love with you thanever and you want me to be dominant, stern, and cruel. I am afraid, it will be impossible for me to be so. "

"I am not afraid, " I replied smiling, "where are the papers?'"

"So that you may know what it means to be absolutely in my power, Ihave drafted a second agreement in which you declare that you havedecided to kill yourself. In that way I can even kill you, if I sodesire. "

"Give them to me. "

While I was unfolding the documents and reading them, Wanda got penand ink. She then sat down beside me with her arm about my neck, andlooked over my shoulder at the paper. 

The first one read:

AGREEMENT BETWEEN MME. VON DUNAJEW AND SEVERIN VON KUSIEMSKI

"Severin von Kusiemski ceases with the present day being the affiancedof Mme. Wanda von Dunajew, and renounces all the rights appertainingthereunto; he on the contrary binds himself on his word of honor as aman and nobleman, that hereafter he will be her _slave_ until suchtime that she herself sets him at liberty again. 

"As the slave of Mme. Von Dunajew he is to bear the name Gregor, andhe is unconditionally to comply with every one of her wishes, and toobey every one of her commands; he is always to be submissive to hismistress, and is to consider her every sign of favor as anextraordinary mercy. 

"Mme. Von Dunajew is entitled not only to punish her slave as shedeems best, even for the slightest inadvertence or fault, but alsois herewith given the right to torture him as the mood may seize heror merely for the sake of whiling away the time. Should she so desire, she may kill him whenever she wishes; in short, he is herunrestricted property. 

"Should Mme. Von Dunajew ever set her slave at liberty, Severin vonKusiemski agrees to forget everything that he has experienced orsuffered as her slave, and promises _never under any circumstances andin no wise to think of vengeance or retaliation_. 

"Mme. Von Dunajew on her behalf agrees as his mistress to appear asoften as possible in her furs, especially when she purposes somecruelty toward her slave. "

Appended at the bottom of the agreement was the date of the presentday. 

The second document contained only a few words. 

"Having since many years become weary of existence and itsillusions, I have of my own free will put an end to my worthlesslife. "

I was seized with a deep horror when I had finished. There was stilltime, I could still withdraw, but the madness of passion and thesight of the beautiful woman that lay all relaxed against my shouldercarried me away. 

"This one you will have to copy, Severin, " said Wanda, indicatingthe second document. "It has to be entirely in your own handwriting;this, of course, isn't necessary in the case of the agreement. "

I quickly copied the few lines in which I designated myself asuicide, and handed them to Wanda. She read them, and put them on thetable with a smile. 

"Now have you the courage to sign it?" she asked with a craftysmile, inclining her head. 

I took the pen. 

"Let me sign first, " said Wanda, "your hand is trembling, are youafraid of the happiness that is to be yours?"

She took the agreement and pen. While engaging in my internalstruggle, I looked upward for a moment. It occurred to me that thepainting on the ceiling, like many of those of the Italian and Dutchschools, was utterly unhistorical, but this very fact gave it astrange mood which had an almost uncanny effect on me. Delilah, anopulent woman with flaming red hair, lay extended, half-disrobed, ina dark fur-cloak, upon a red ottoman, and bent smiling over Samsonwho had been overthrown and bound by the Philistines. Her smile inits mocking coquetry was full of a diabolical cruelty; her eyes, half-closed, met Samson's, and his with a last look of insane passioncling to hers, for already one of his enemies is kneeling on hisbreast with the red-hot iron to blind him. 

"Now--" said Wanda. "Why you are all lost in thought. What is thematter with you, everything will remain just as it was, even afteryou have signed, don't you know me yet, dear heart?"

I looked at the agreement. Her name was written there in boldletters. I peered once more into her eyes with their potent magic, then I took the pen and quickly signed the agreement. 

"You are trembling, " said Wanda calmly, "shall I help you?"

She gently took hold of my hand, and my name appeared at the bottomof the second paper. Wanda looked once more at the two documents, andthen locked them in the desk which stood at the head of the ottoman. 

"Now then, give me your passport and money. "

I took out my wallet and handed it to her. She inspected it, nodded, and put it with other things while in a sweet drunkenness I kneeledbefore her leaning my head against her breast. 

Suddenly she thrusts me away with her foot, leaps up, and pulls thebell-rope. In answer to its sound three young, slender negressesenter; they are as if carved of ebony, and are dressed from head tofoot in red satin; each one has a rope in her hand. 

Suddenly I realize my position, and am about to rise. Wanda standsproudly erect, her cold beautiful face with its sombre brows andcontemptous eyes is turned toward me. She stands before me asmistress, commanding, gives a sign with her hand, and before I reallyknow what has happened to me the negresses have dragged me to theground, and have tied me hand and foot. As in the case of one aboutto be executed my arms are bound behind my back, so that I canscarcely move. 

"Give me the whip, Haydee, " commands Wanda, with unearthly calm. 

The negress hands it to her mistress, kneeling. 

"And now take off my heavy furs, " she continues, "they impede me. "

The negress obeyed. 

"The jacket there!" Wanda commanded. 

Haydee quickly brought her the _kazabaika_, set with ermine, which layon the bed, and Wanda slipped into it with two inimitably gracefulmovements. 

"Now tie him to the pillar here!"

The negresses lifted me up, and twisting a heavy rope around mybody, tied me standing against one of the massive pillars whichsupported the top of the wide Italian bed. 

Then they suddenly disappeared, as if the earth had swallowed them. 

Wanda swiftly approached me. Her white satin dress flowed behind herin a long train, like silver, like moonlight; her hair flared likeflames against the white fur of her jacket. Now she stood in frontof me with her left hand firmly planted on her hips, in her right handshe held the whip. She uttered an abrupt laugh. 

"Now play has come to an end between us, " she said with heartlesscoldness. "Now we will begin in dead earnest. You fool, I laugh at youand despise you; you who in your insane infatuation have givenyourself as a plaything to _me_, the frivolous and capricious woman. You are no longer the man I love, but _my slave_, at my mercy evenunto life and death. 

"You shall know me!

"First of all you shall have a taste of the whip in all seriousness, without having done anything to deserve it, so that you mayunderstand what to expect, if you are awkward, disobedient, orrefractory. "

With a wild grace she rolled back her fur-lined sleeve, and struckme across the back. 

I winced, for the whip cut like a knife into my flesh. 

"Well, how do you like that?" she exclaimed. 

I was silent. 

"Just wait, you will yet whine like a dog beneath my whip, " shethreatened, and simultaneously began to strike me again. 

The blows fell quickly, in rapid succession, with terrific forceupon my back, arms, and neck; I had to grit my teeth not to screamaloud. Now she struck me in the face, warm blood ran down, but shelaughed, and continued her blows. 

"It is only now I understand you, " she exclaimed. "It really is ajoy to have some one so completely in one's power, and a man at that, who loves you--you do love me?--No--Oh! I'll tear you to shreds yet, and with each blow my pleasure will grow. Now, twist like a worm, scream, whine! You will find no mercy in me!"

Finally she seemed tired. 

She tossed the whip aside, stretched out on the ottoman, and rang. 

The negresses entered. 

"Untie him!"

As they loosened the rope, I fell to the floor like a lump of wood. The black women grinned, showing their white teeth. 

"Untie the rope around his feet. "

They did it, but I was unable to rise. 

"Come over here, Gregor. "

I approached the beautiful woman. Never did she seem more seductiveto me than to-day in spite of all her cruelty and contempt. 

"One step further, " Wanda commanded. "Now kneel down, and kiss myfoot. "

She extended her foot beyond the hem of white satin, and I, thesupersensual fool, pressed my lips upon it. 

"Now, you won't lay eyes on me for an entire month, Gregor, " shesaid seriously. "I want to become a stranger to you, so you will moreeasily adjust yourself to our new relationship. In the meantime youwill work in the garden, and await my orders. Now, off with you, slave!"

 * * * * *

A month has passed with monotonous regularity, heavy work, and amelancholy hunger, hunger for her, who is inflicting all thesetorments on me. 

I am under the gardener's orders; I help him lop the trees and prunethe hedges, transplant flowers, turn over the flower beds, sweep thegravel paths; I share his coarse food and his hard cot; I rise andgo to bed with the chickens. Now and then I hear that our mistressis amusing herself, surrounded by admirers. Once I heard her gaylaughter even down here in the garden. 

I seem awfully stupid to myself. Was it the result of my presentlife, or was I so before? The month is drawing to a close--the dayafter to-morrow. What will she do with me now, or has she forgottenme, and left me to trim hedges and bind bouquets till my dying day?

A written order. 

"The slave Gregor is herewith ordered to my personal service. 

Wanda Dunajew. "

With a beating heart I draw aside the damask curtain on thefollowing morning, and enter the bed-room of my divinity. It is stillfilled with a pleasant half darkness. 

"Is it you, Gregor?" she asks, while I kneel before the fire-place, building a fire. I tremble at the sound of the beloved voice. Icannot see her herself; she is invisible behind the curtains of thefour-poster bed. 

"Yes, my mistress, " I reply. 

"How late is it?"

"Past nine o'clock. "

"Breakfast. "

I hasten to get it, and then kneel down with the tray beside her bed. 

"Here is breakfast, my mistress. "

Wanda draws back the curtains, and curiously enough at the firstglance when I see her among the pillows with loosened flowing hair, she seems an absolute stranger, a beautiful woman, but the belovedsoft lines are gone. This face is hard and has an expression ofweariness and satiety. 

Or is it simply that formerly my eye did not see this?

She fixes her green eyes upon me, more with curiosity than withmenace, perhaps even somewhat pityingly, and lazily pulls the darksleeping fur on which she lies over the bared shoulder. 

At this moment she is very charming, very maddening, and I feel myblood rising to my head and heart. The tray in my hands begins tosway. She notices it and reached out for the whip which is lying onthe toilet-table. 

"You are awkward, slave, " she says furrowing her brow. 

I lower my looks to the ground, and hold the tray as steadily aspossible. She eats her breakfast, yawns, and stretches her opulentlimbs in the magnificent furs. 

She has rung. I enter. 

"Take this letter to Prince Corsini. "

I hurry into the city, and hand the letter to the Prince. He is ahandsome young man with glowing black eyes. Consumed with jealousy, I take his answer to her. 

"What is the matter with you?" she asks with lurking spitefulness. "You are very pale. "

"Nothing, mistress, I merely walked rather fast. "

At luncheon the prince is at her side, and I am condemned to serveboth her and him. They joke, and I am, as if non-existent, for both. For a brief moment I see black; I was just pouring some Bordeaux intohis glass, and spilled it over the table-cloth and her gown. 

"How awkward, " Wanda exclaimed and slapped my face. The princelaughed, and she also, but I felt the blood rising to my face. 

After luncheon she drove in the Cascine. She has a little carriagewith a handsome, brown English horse, and holds the reins herself. I sit behind and notice how coquettishly she acts, and nods with asmile when one of the distinguished gentlemen bows to her. 

As I help her out of the carriage, she leans lightly on my arm; thecontact runs through me like an electric shock. She _is_ a wonderfulwoman, and I love her more than ever. 

 * * * * *

For dinner at six she has invited a small group of men and women. Iserve, but this time I do not spill any wine over the table-cloth. 

A slap in the face is more effective than ten lectures. It makes youunderstand very quickly, especially when the instruction is by theway of a small woman's hand. 

 * * * * *

After dinner she drives to the Pergola Theater. As she descends thestairs in her black velvet dress with its large collar of ermine andwith a diadem of white roses on her hair, she is literally stunning. I open the carriage-door, and help her in. In front of the theaterI leap from the driver's seat, and in alighting she leaned on my arm, which trembled under the sweet burden. I open the door of her box, and then wait in the vestibule. The performance lasts four hours; shereceives visits from her cavaliers, the while I grit my teeth withrage. 

It is way beyond midnight when my mistress's bell sounds for thelast time. 

"Fire!" she orders abruptly, and when the fire-place crackles, "Tea!"

When I return with the samovar, she has already undressed, and withthe aid of the negress slipped into a white negligee. 

Haydee thereupon leaves. 

"Hand me the sleeping-furs, " says Wanda, sleepily stretching herlovely limbs. I take them from the arm-chair, and hold them while sheslowly and lazily slides into the sleeves. She then throws herselfdown on the cushions of the ottoman. 

"Take off my shoes, and put on my velvet slippers. "

I kneel down and tug at the little shoe which resists my efforts. "Hurry, hurry!" Wanda exclaims, "you are hurting me! just you wait--Iwill teach you. " She strikes me with the whip, but now the shoe isoff. 

"Now get out!" Still a kick--and then I can go to bed. 

 * * * * *

To-night I accompanied her to a soiree. In the entrance-hall sheordered me to help her out of her furs; then with a proud smile, confident of victory, she entered the brilliantly illuminated room. I again waited with gloomy and monotonous thoughts, watching hour afterhour run by. From time to time the sounds of music reached me, whenthe door remained open for a moment. Several servants tried to starta conversation with me, but soon desisted, since I knew only a fewwords of Italian. 

Finally I fell asleep, and dreamed that I murdered Wanda in aviolent attack of jealousy. I was condemned to death, and saw myselfstrapped on the board; the knife fell, I felt it on my neck, but Iwas still alive--

Then the executioner slapped my face. 

No, it wasn't the executioner; it was Wanda who stood wrathfullybefore me demanding her furs. I am at her side in a moment, and helpher on with it. 

There is a deep joy in wrapping a beautiful woman into her furs, andin seeing and feeling how her neck and magnificent limbs nestle inthe precious soft furs, and to lift the flowing hair over the collar. When she throws it off a soft warmth and a faint fragrance of herbody still clings to the ends of the hairs of sable. It is enough todrive one mad. 

 * * * * *

Finally a day came when there were neither guests, nor theater, norother company. I breathed a sigh of relief. Wanda sat in the gallery, reading, and apparently had no orders for me. At dusk when thesilvery evening mists fell she withdrew. I served her at dinner, sheate by herself, but had not a look, not a syllable for me, not evena slap in the face. 

I actually desire a slap from her hand. Tears fill my eyes, and Ifeel that she has humiliated me so deeply, that she doesn't even findit worth while to torture or maltreat me any further. 

Before she goes to bed, her bell calls me. 

"You will sleep here to-night, I had horrible dreams last night, andam afraid of being alone. Take one of the cushions from the ottoman, and lie down on the bearskin at my feet. "

Then Wanda put out the lights. The only illumination in the room wasfrom a small lamp suspended from the ceiling. She herself got intobed. "Don't stir, so as not to wake me. "

I did as she had commanded, but could not fall asleep for a longtime. I saw the beautiful woman, beautiful as a goddess, lying on herback on the dark sleeping-furs; her arms beneath her neck, with aflood of red hair over them. I heard her magnificent breast rise indeep regular breathing, and whenever she moved ever so slightly. Iwoke up and listened to see whether she needed me. 

But she did not require me. 

No task was required of me; I meant no more to her than a night-lamp, or a revolver which one places under one's pillow. 

 * * * * *

Am I mad or is she? Does all this arise out of an inventive, wantonwoman's brain with the intention of surpassing my supersensualfantasies, or is this woman really one of those Neronian characterswho take a diabolical pleasure in treading underfoot, like a worm, human beings, who have thoughts and feelings and a will like theirs?

What have I experienced?

When I knelt with the coffee-tray beside her bed, Wanda suddenlyplaced her hand on my shoulder and her eyes plunged deep into mine. 

"What beautiful eyes you have, " she said softly, "and especially nowsince you suffer. Are you very unhappy?"

I bowed my head, and kept silent. 

"Severin, do you still love me, " she suddenly exclaimedpassionately, "can you still love me?"

She drew me close with such vehemence that the coffee-tray upset, the can and cups fell to the floor, and the coffee ran over thecarpet. 

"Wanda--my Wanda, " I cried out and held her passionately against me;I covered her mouth, face, and breast with kisses. 

"It is my unhappiness that I love you more and more madly the worseyou treat me, the more frequently you betray me. Oh, I shall die ofpain and love and jealousy. "

"But I haven't betrayed you, as yet, Severin, " replied Wanda smiling. 

"Not? Wanda! Don't jest so mercilessly with me, " I cried. "Haven'tI myself taken the letter to the Prince--"

"Of course, it was an invitation for luncheon. "

"You have, since we have been in Florence--"

"I have been absolutely faithful to you" replied Wanda, "I swear itby all that is holy to me. All that I have done was merely to fulfillyour dream and it was done for your sake. 

"However, I shall take a lover, otherwise things will be only halfaccomplished, and in the end you will yet reproach me with not havingtreated you cruelly enough, my dear beautiful slave! But to-day youshall be Severin again, the only one I love. I haven't given awayyour clothes. They are here in the chest. Go and dress as you usedto in the little Carpathian health-resort when our love was so intimate. Forget everything that has happened since; oh, you will forget iteasily in my arms; I shall kiss away all your sorrows. "

She began to treat me tenderly like a child, to kiss me and caressme. Finally she said with a gracious smile, "Go now and dress, I toowill dress. Shall I put on my fur-jacket? Oh yes, I know, now runalong!"

When I returned she was standing in the center of the room in herwhite satin dress, and the red _kazabaika_ edged with ermine; her hairwas white with powder and over her forehead she wore a small diamonddiadem. For a moment she reminded me in an uncanny way of Catherinethe Second, but she did not give me much time for reminiscences. Shedrew me down on the ottoman beside her and we enjoyed two blissfulhours. She was no longer the stern capricious mistress, she wasentirely a fine lady, a tender sweetheart. She showed me photographsand books which had just appeared, and talked about them with so muchintelligence, clarity, and good taste, that I more than once carriedher hand to my lips, enraptured. She then had me recite several ofLermontov's poems, and when I was all afire with enthusiasm, sheplaced her small hand gently on mine. Her expression was soft, and hereyes were filled with tender pleasure. 

"Are you happy?"

"Not yet. "

She then leaned back on the cushions, and slowly opened her_kazabaika_. 

But I quickly covered the half-bared breast again with the ermine. "You are driving me mad. " I stammered. 

"Come!"

I was already lying in her arms, and like a serpent she was kissingme with her tongue, when again she whispered, "Are you happy?"

"Infinitely!" I exclaimed. 

She laughed aloud. It was an evil, shrill laugh which made coldshivers run down by back. 

"You used to dream of being the slave, the plaything of a beautifulwoman, and now you imagine you are a free human being, a man, mylover-you fool! A sign from me, and you are a slave again. Down onyour knees!"

I sank down from the ottoman to her feet, but my eye still clungdoubtingly on hers. 

"You can't believe it, " she said, looking at me with her arms foldedacross her breast. "I am bored, and you will just do to while awaya couple of hours of time. Don't look at me that way--"

She kicked me with her foot. 

"You are just what I want, a human being, a thing, an animal--"

She rang. The three negresses entered. 

"Tie his hands behind his back. "

I remained kneeling and unresistingly let them do this. They led meinto the garden, down to the little vineyard, which forms thesouthern boundary. Corn had been planted between the espaliers, andhere and there a few dead stalks still stood. To one side was aplough. 

The negresses tied me to a post, and amused themselves sticking mewith their golden hair-needles. But this did not last long, beforeWanda appeared with her ermine cap on her head, and with her handsin the pockets of her jacket. She had me untied, and then my handswere fastened together on my back. She finally had a yoke put aroundmy neck, and harnessed me to the plough. 

Then her black demons drove me out into the field. One of them heldthe plough, the other one led me by a line, the third applied thewhip, and Venus in Furs stood to one side and looked on. 

 * * * * *

When I was serving dinner on the following day Wanda said: "Bringanother cover, I want you to dine with me to-day, " and when I wasabout to sit down opposite her, she added, "No, over here, close bymy side. "

She is in the best of humors, gives me soup with her spoon, feeds mewith her fork, and places her head on the table like a playful kittenand flirts with me. I have the misfortune of looking at Haydee, whoserves in my place, perhaps a little longer than is necessary. It isonly now that I noticed her noble, almost European cast ofcountenance and her magnificent statuesque bust, which is as if hewnout of black marble. The black devil observes that she pleases me, and, grinning, shows her teeth. She has hardly left the room, beforeWanda leaps up in a rage. 

"What, you dare to look at another woman besides me! Perhaps youlike her even better than you do me, she is even more demonic!"

I am frightened; I have never seen her like this before; she issuddenly pale even to the lips and her whole body trembles. Venus inFurs is jealous of her slave. She snatches the whip from its hook andstrikes me in the face; then she calls her black servants, who bindme, and carry me down into the cellar, where they throw me into adark, dank, subterranean compartment, a veritable prison-cell. 

Then the lock of the door clicks, the bolts are drawn, a key singsin the lock. I am a prisoner, buried. 

I have been lying here for I don't know how long, bound like a calfabout to be hauled to the slaughter, on a bundle of damp straw, without any light, without food, without drink, without sleep. Itwould be like her to let me starve to death, if I don't freeze todeath before then. I am shaking with cold. Or is it fever? I believeI am beginning to hate this woman. 

 * * * * *

A red streak, like blood, floods across the floor; it is a lightfalling through the door which is now thrust open. 

Wanda appears on the threshold, wrapped in her sables, holding alighted torch. 

"Are you still alive?" she asks. 

"Are you coming to kill me?" I reply with a low, hoarse voice. 

With two rapid strides Wanda reaches my side, she kneels down besideme, and places my head in her lap. "Are you ill? Your eyes glow so, do you love me? I want you to love me. "

She draws forth a short dagger. I start with fright when its bladegleams in front of my eyes. I actually believe that she is about tokill me. She laughs, and cuts the ropes that bind me. 

 * * * * *

Every evening after dinner she now has me called. I have to read toher, and she discusses with me all sorts of interesting problems andsubjects. She seems entirely transformed; it is as if she wereashamed of the savagery which she betrayed to me and of the crueltywith which she treated me. A touching gentleness transfigures herentire being, and when at the good-night she gives me her hand, asuperhuman power of goodness and love lies in her eyes, of the kindwhich calls forth tears in us and causes us to forget all themiseries of existence and all the terrors of death. 

 * * * * *

I am reading _Manon l'Escault_ to her. She feels the association, shedoesn't say a word, but she smiles from time to time, and finally sheshuts up the little book. 

"Don't you want to go on reading?"

"Not to-day. We will ourselves act _Manon l'Escault_ to-day. I have arendezvous in the Cascine, and you, my dear Chevalier, will accompanyme; I know, you will do it, won't you?"

"You command it. "

"I do not command it, I beg it of you, " she says with irresistiblecharm. She then rises, puts her hands on my shoulders, and looks atme. 

"Your eyes!" she exclaims. "I love you, Severin, you have no ideahow I love you!"

"Yes, I have!" I replied bitterly, "so much so that you havearranged for a rendezvous with some one else. "

"I do this only to allure you the more, " she replied vivaciously. "Imust have admirers, so as not to lose you. I don't ever want to loseyou, never, do you hear, for I love only you, you alone. "

She clung passionately to my lips. 

"Oh, if I only could, as I would, give you all of my soul in a kiss--thus--but now come. "

She slipped into a simple black velvet coat, and put a dark _bashlyk_[Footnote: A kind of Russian cap. ] on her head. Then she rapidly wentthrough the gallery, and entered the carriage. 

"Gregor will drive, " she called out to the coachman who withdrew insurprise. 

I ascended the driver's seat, and angrily whipped up the horses. 

In the Cascine where the main roadway turns into a leafy path, Wandagot out. It was night, only occasional stars shone through the grayclouds that fled across the sky. By the bank of the Arno stood a manin a dark cloak, with a brigand's hat, and looked at the yellowwaves. Wanda rapidly walked through the shrubbery, and tapped him onthe shoulder. I saw him turn and seize her hand, and then theydisappeared behind the green wall. 

An hour full of torments. Finally there was a rustling in the bushesto one side, and they returned. 

The man accompanied her to the carriage. The light of the lamp fellfull and glaringly upon an infinitely young, soft and dreamy facewhich I had never before seen, and played in his long, blond curls. 

She held out her hand which he kissed with deep respect, then shesignaled to me, and immediately the carriage flew along the leafywall which follows the river like a long green screen. 

 * * * * *

The bell at the garden-gate rings. It is a familiar face. The manfrom the Cascine. 

"Whom shall I announce?" I ask him in French. He timidly shakes hishead. 

"Do you, perhaps, understand some German?" he asks shyly. 

"Yes. Your name, please. "

"Oh! I haven't any yet, " he replies, embarrassed--"Tell yourmistress the German painter from the Cascine is here and would like--but there she is herself. "

Wanda had stepped out on the balcony, and nodded toward the stranger. 

"Gregor, show the gentleman in!" she called to me. 

I showed the painter the stairs. 

"Thanks, I'll find her now, thanks, thanks very much. " He ran up thesteps. I remained standing below, and looked with deep pity on thepoor German. 

Venus in Furs has caught his soul in the red snares of hair. He willpaint her, and go mad. 

 * * * * *

It is a sunny winter's day. Something that looks like gold trembleson the leaves of the clusters of trees down below in the green levelof the meadow. The camelias at the foot of the gallery are gloriousin their abundant buds. Wanda is sitting in the loggia; she isdrawing. The German painter stands opposite her with his hands foldedas in adoration, and looks at her. No, he rather looks at her face, and is entirely absorbed in it, enraptured. 

But she does not see him, neither does she see me, who with thespade in my hand am turning over the flower-bed, solely that I maysee her and feel her nearness, which produces an effect on me likepoetry, like music. 

 * * * * *

The painter has gone. It is a hazardous thing to do, but I risk it. I go up to the gallery, quite close, and ask Wanda "Do you love thepainter, mistress?"

She looks at me without getting angry, shakes her head, and finallyeven smiles. 

"I feel sorry for him, " she replies, "but I do not love him. I love noone. _I used to love you, as ardently, as passionately, as deeply asit was possible for me to love, _ but now I don't love even you anymore; my heart is a void, dead, and this makes me sad. "

"Wanda!" I exclaimed, deeply moved. 

"Soon, you too will no longer love me, " she continued, "tell me whenyou have reached that point, and I will give back to you yourfreedom. "

"Then I shall remain your slave, all my life long, for I adore youand shall always adore you, " I cried, seized by that fanaticism oflove which has repeatedly been so fatal to me. 

Wanda looked at me with a curious pleasure. "Consider well what youdo, " she said. "I have loved you infinitely and have been despotictowards you so that I might fulfil your dream. Something of my oldfeeling, a sort of real sympathy for you, still trembles in mybreast. When that too has gone who knows whether then I shall giveyou your liberty; whether I shall not then become really cruel, merciless, even brutal toward; whether I shall not take a diabolicalpleasure in tormenting and putting on the rack the man who worshipsme idolatrously, the while I remain indifferent or love someone else;perhaps, I shall enjoy seeing him die of his love for me. Considerthis well. "

"I have long since considered all that, " I replied as in a glow offever. "I cannot exist, cannot live without you; I shall die if youset me at liberty; let me remain your slave, kill me, but do notdrive me away. "

"Very well then, be my slave, " she replied, "but don't forget thatI no longer love you, and your love doesn't mean any more to me thana dog's, and dogs are kicked. "

 * * * * *

To-day I visited the Venus of Medici. 

It was still early, and the little octagonal room in the Tribuna wasfilled with half-lights like a sanctuary; I stood with folded handsin deep adoration before the silent image of the divinity. 

But I did not stand for long. 

Not a human soul was in the gallery, not even an Englishman, and Ifell down on my knees. I looked up at the lovely slender body, thebudding breasts, the virginal and yet voluptuous face, the fragrantcurls which seemed to conceal tiny horns on each side of the forehead. 

 * * * * *

My mistress's bell. 

It is noonday. She, however, is still abed with her arms intertwinedbehind her neck. 

"I want to bathe, " she says, "and you will attend me. Lock the door!"

I obey. 

"Now go downstairs and make sure the door below is also locked. "

I descended the winding stairs that lead from her bedroom to thebath; my feet gave way beneath me, and I had to support myselfagainst the iron banister. After having ascertained that the doorleading to the Loggia and the garden was locked, I returned. Wandawas now sitting on the bed with loosened hair, wrapped in her greenvelvet furs. When she made a rapid movement, I noticed that the furswere her only covering. It made me start terribly, I don't know why?I was like one condemned to death, who knows he is on the way to thescaffold, and yet begins to tremble when he sees it. 

"Come, Gregor, take me on your arms. "

"You mean, mistress?"

"You are to carry me, don't you understand?"

I lifted her up, so that she rested in my arms, while she twinedhers around my neck. Slowly, step by step, I went down the stairswith her and her hair beat from time to time against my cheek and herfoot sought support against my knee. I trembled under the beautifulburden I was carrying, and every moment it seemed as if I had tobreak down beneath it. 

The bath consisted of a wide, high rotunda, which received a softquiet light from a red glass cupola above. Two palms extended theirbroad leaves like a roof over a couch of velvet cushions. From heresteps covered with Turkish rugs led to the white marble basin whichoccupied the center. 

"There is a green ribbon on my toilet-table upstairs, " said Wanda, as I let her down on the couch, "go get it, and also bring the whip. "

I flew upstairs and back again, and kneeling put both in mymistress's hands. She then had me twist her heavy electric hair intoa large knot which I fastened with the green ribbon. Then I preparedthe bath. I did this very awkwardly because my hands and feet refusedto obey me. Again and again I had to look at the beautiful womanlying on the red velvet cushions, and from time to time her wonderfulbody gleamed here and there beneath the furs. Some magnetic powerstronger than my will compelled me to look. I felt that allsensuality and lustfulness lies in that which is half-concealed orintentionally disclosed; and the truth of this I recognized even moreacutely, when the basin at last was full, and Wanda threw off the fur-cloak with a single gesture, and stood before me like the goddess inthe Tribuna. 

At that moment she seemed as sacred and chaste to me in her unveiledbeauty, as did the divinity of long ago. I sank down on my kneesbefore her, and devoutly pressed my lips on her foot. 

My soul which had been storm-tossed only a little while earlier, suddenly was perfectly calm, and I now felt no element of cruelty inWanda. 

She slowly descended the stairs, and I could watch her with acalmness in which not a single atom of torment or desire wasintermingled. I could see her plunge into and rise out of thecrystalline water, and the wavelets which she herself raised playedabout her like tender lovers. 

Our nihilistic aesthetician is right when he says: a real apple ismore beautiful than a painted one, and a living woman is morebeautiful than a Venus of stone. 

And when she left the bath, and the silvery drops and the roseatelight rippled down her body, I was seized with silent rapture. Iwrapped the linen sheets about her, drying her glorious body. Thecalm bliss remained with me, even now when one foot upon me as upona footstool, she rested on the cushions in her large velvet cloak. The lithe sables nestled desirously against her cold marble-like body. Her left arm on which she supported herself lay like a sleeping swanin the dark fur of the sleeve, while her left hand played carelesslywith the whip. 

By chance my look fell on the massive mirror on the wall opposite, and I cried out, for I saw the two of us in its golden frame as ina picture. The picture was so marvellously beautiful, so strange, soimaginative, that I was filled with deep sorrow at the thought thatits lines and colors would have to dissolve like mist. 

"What is the matter?" asked Wanda. 

I pointed to the mirror. 

"Ah, that is really beautiful, " she exclaimed, "too bad one can'tcapture the moment and make it permanent. "

"And why not?" I asked. "Would not any artist, even the most famous, be proud if you gave him leave to paint you and make you immortal bymeans of his brush. 

"The very thought that this extra-ordinary beauty is to be lost tothe world, " I continued still watching her enthusiastically, "ishorrible--all this glorious facial expression, this mysterious eyewith its green fires, this demonic hair, this magnificence of body. The idea fills me with a horror of death, of annihilation. But thehand of an artist shall snatch you from this. You shall not like therest of us disappear absolutely and forever, without leaving a traceof your having been. Your picture must live, even when you yourselfhave long fallen to dust; your beauty must triumph beyond death!"

Wanda smiled. 

"Too bad, that present-day Italy hasn't a Titian or Raphael, " shesaid, "but, perhaps, love will make amends for genius, who knows; ourlittle German might do?" She pondered. 

"Yes, he shall paint you, and I will see to it that the god of lovemixes his colors. "

 * * * * *

The young painter has established his studio in her villa; he iscompletely in her net. He has just begun a Madonna, a Madonna withred hair and green eyes! Only the idealism of a German would attemptto use this thorough-bred woman as a model for a picture ofvirginity. The poor fellow really is an almost bigger donkey than Iam. Our misfortune is that our Titania has discovered our ass's earstoo soon. 

 * * * * *

Now she laughs derisively at us, and how she laughs! I hear herinsolent melodious laughter in his studio, under the open window ofwhich I stand, jealously listening. 

 * * * * *

"Are you mad, me--ah, it is unbelievable, me as the Mother of God!"she exclaimed and laughed again. "Wait a moment, I will show youanother picture of myself, one that I myself have painted, and youshall copy it. "

Her head appeared in the window, luminous like a flame under thesunlight. 

"Gregor!"

I hurried up the stairs, through the gallery, into the studio. 

"Lead him to the bath, " Wanda commanded, while she herself hurriedaway. 

A few moments passed and Wanda arrived; dressed in nothing but thesable fur, with the whip in her hand; she descended the stairs andstretched out on the velvet cushions as on the former occasion. I layat her feet and she placed one of her feet upon me; her right handplayed with the whip. "Look at me, " she said, "with your deep, fanatical look, that's it. "

The painter had turned terribly pale. He devoured the scene with hisbeautiful dreamy blue eyes; his lips opened, but he remained dumb. 

"Well, how do you like the picture?"

"Yes, that is how I want to paint you, " said the German, but it wasreally not a spoken language; it was the eloquent moaning, theweeping of a sick soul, a soul sick unto death. 

 * * * * *

The charcoal outline of the painting is done; the heads and fleshparts are painted in. Her diabolical face is already becoming visibleunder a few bold strokes, life flashes in her green eyes. 

Wanda stands in front of the canvas with her arms crossed over herbreast. 

"This picture, like many of those of the Venetian school, issimultaneously to represent a portrait and to tell a story, "explained the painter, who again had become pale as death. 

"And what will you call it?" she asked, "but what is the matter withyou, are you ill?"

"I am afraid--" he answered with a consuming look fixed on thebeautiful woman in furs, "but let us talk of the picture. "

"Yes, let us talk about the picture. "

"I imagine the goddess of love as having descended from Mount Olympusfor the sake of some mortal man. And always cold in this modern worldof ours, she seeks to keep her sublime body warm in a large heavy furand her feet in the lap of her lover. I imagine the favorite of abeautiful despot, who whips her slave, when she is tired of kissinghim, and the more she treads him underfoot, the more insanely he lovesher. And so I shall call the picture: _Venus in Furs_. "

 * * * * *

The painter paints slowly, but his passion grows more and morerapidly. I am afraid he will end up by committing suicide. She playswith him and propounds riddles to him which he cannot solve, and hefeels his blood congealing in the process, but it amuses her. 

During the sitting she nibbles at candies, and rolls the paper-wrappers into little pellets with which she bombards him. 

"I am glad you are in such good humor, " said the painter, "but yourface has lost the expression which I need for my picture. "

"The expression which you need for your picture, " she replied, smiling. "Wait a moment. "

She rose, and dealt me a blow with the whip. The painter looked ather with stupefaction, and a child-like surprise showed on his face, mingled with disgust and admiration. 

While whipping me, Wanda's face acquired more and more of the cruel, contemptuous character, which so haunts and intoxicates me. 

"Is this the expression you need for your picture?" she exclaimed. The painter lowered his look in confusion before the cold ray of hereye. 

"It is the expression--" he stammered, "but I can't paint now--"

"What?" said Wanda, scornfully, "perhaps I can help you?"

"Yes--" cried the German, as if taken with madness, "whip me too. "

"Oh! With pleasure, " she replied, shrugging her shoulders, "but ifI am to whip you I want to do it in sober earnest. "

"Whip me to death, " cried the painter. 

"Will you let me tie you?" she asked, smiling. 

"Yes--" he moaned--

Wanda left the room for a moment, and returned with ropes. 

"Well--are you still brave enough to put yourself into the power ofVenus in Furs, the beautiful despot, for better or worse?" she beganironically. 

"Yes, tie me, " the painter replied dully. Wanda tied his hands onhis back and drew a rope through his arms and a second one around hisbody, and fettered him to the cross-bars of the window. Then sherolled back the fur, seized the whip, and stepped in front of him. 

The scene had a grim attraction for me, which I cannot describe. Ifelt my heart beat, when, with a smile, she drew back her arm for thefirst blow, and the whip hissed through the air. He winced slightlyunder the blow. Then she let blow after blow rain upon him, with hermouth half-opened and her teeth flashing between her red lips, untilhe finally seemed to ask for mercy with his piteous, blue eyes. Itwas indescribable. 

 * * * * *

She is sitting for him now, alone. He is working on her head. 

She has posted me in the adjoining room behind a heavy curtain, where I can't be seen, but can see everything. 

What does she intend now?

Is she afraid of him? She has driven him insane enough to be sure, or is she hatching a new torment for me? My knees tremble. 

They are talking. He has lowered his voice so that I cannotunderstand a word, and she replies in the same way. What is themeaning of this? Is there an understanding between them?

I suffer frightful torments; my heart seems about to burst. 

He kneels down before her, embraces her, and presses his headagainst her breast, and she--in her heartlessness--laughs--and nowI hear her saying aloud:

"Ah! You need another application of the whip. "

"Woman! Goddess! Are you without a heart--can't you love, " exclaimedthe German, "don't you even know, what it means to love, to beconsumed with desire and passion, can't you even imagine what Isuffer? Have you no pity for me?"

"No!" she replied proudly and mockingly, "but I have the whip. "

She drew it quickly from the pocket of her fur-coat, and struck himin the face with the handle. He rose, and drew back a couple of paces. 

"Now, are you ready to paint again?" she asked indifferently. He didnot reply, but again went to the easel and took up his brush andpalette. 

The painting is marvellously successful. It is a portrait which asfar as the likeness goes couldn't be better, and at the same time itseems to have an ideal quality. The colors glow, are supernatural;almost diabolical, I would call them. 

The painter has put all his sufferings, his adoration, and all hisexecration into the picture. 

 * * * * *

Now he is painting me; we are alone together for several hours everyday. To-day he suddenly turned to me with his vibrant voice and said:

"You love this woman?"

"Yes. "

"I also love her. " His eyes were bathed in tears. He remained silentfor a while, and continued painting. 

"We have a mountain at home in Germany within which she dwells, " hemurmured to himself. "She is a demon. "

 * * * * *

The picture is finished. She insisted on paying him for it, munificently, in the manner of queens. 

"Oh, you have already paid me, " he said, with a tormented smile, refusing her offer. 

Before he left, he secretly opened his portfolio, and let me lookinside. I was startled. Her head looked at me as if out of a mirrorand seemed actually to be alive. 

"I shall take it along, " he said, "it is mine; she can't take itaway from me. I have earned it with my heart's blood. "

 * * * * *

"I am really rather sorry for the poor painter, " she said to me to-day, "it is absurd to be as virtuous as I am. Don't you think so too?"

I did not dare to reply to her. 

"Oh, I forgot that I am talking with a slave; I need some fresh air, I want to be diverted, I want to forget. 

"The carriage, quick!"

Her new dress is extravagant: Russian half-boots of violet-bluevelvet trimmed with ermine, and a skirt of the same material, decorated with narrow stripes and rosettes of furs. Above it is anappropriate, close-fitting jacket, also richly trimmed and lined withermine. The headdress is a tall cap of ermine of the style ofCatherine the Second, with a small aigrette, held in place by adiamond-agraffe; her red hair falls loose down her back. She ascendson the driver's seat, and holds the reins herself; I take my seatbehind. How she lashes on the horses! The carriage flies along likemad. 

Apparently it is her intention to attract attention to-day, to makeconquests, and she succeeds completely. She is the lioness of theCascine. People nod to her from carriages; on the footpath peoplegather in groups to discuss her. She pays no attention to anyone, except now and then acknowledging the greetings of elderly gentlemenwith a slight nod. 

Suddenly a young man on a lithe black horse dashes up at full speed. As soon as he sees Wanda, he stops his horse and makes it walk. Whenhe is quite close, he stops entirely and lets her pass. And she toosees him--the lioness, the lion. Their eyes meet. She madly drivespast him, but she cannot tear herself free from the magic power ofhis look, and she turns her head after him. 

My heart stops when I see the half-surprised, half-enraptured lookwith which she devours him, but he is worthy of it. 

For he is, indeed, a magnificent specimen of man, No, rather, he isa man whose like I have never yet seen among the living. He is in theBelvedere, graven in marble, with the same slender, yet steelymusculature, with the same face and the same waving curls. What makeshim particularly beautiful is that he is beardless. If his hips wereless narrow, one might take him for a woman in disguise. The curiousexpression about the mouth, the lion's lip which slightly disclosesthe teeth beneath, lends a flashing tinge of cruelty to the beautifulface--

Apollo flaying Marsyas. 

He wears high black boots, closely fitting breeches of whiteleather, short fur coat of black cloth, of the kind worn by Italiancavalry officers, trimmed with astrakhan and many rich loops; on hisblack locks is a red fez. 

I now understand the masculine Eros, and I marvel at Socrates forhaving remained virtuous in view of an Alcibiades like this. 

 * * * * *

I have never seen my lioness so excited. Her cheeks flamed when sheleft from the carriage at her villa. She hurried upstairs, and withan imperious gesture ordered me to follow. 

Walking up and down her room with long strides, she began to talk sorapidly, that I was frightened. 

"You are to find out who the man in the Cascine was, immediately--

"Oh, what a man! Did you see him? What do you think of him? Tell me. "

"The man is beautiful, " I replied dully. 

"He is so beautiful, " she paused, supporting herself on the arm ofa chair, "that he has taken my breath away. "

"I can understand the impression he has made on you, " I replied, myimagination carrying me away in a mad whirl. "I am quite lost inadmiration myself, and I can imagine--"

"You may imagine, " she laughed aloud, "that this man is my lover, and that he will apply the lash to you, and that you will enjoy beingpunished by him. 

"But now go, go. "

 * * * * *

Before evening fell, I had the desired information. 

Wanda was still fully dressed when I returned. She reclined on theottoman, her face buried in her hands, her hair in a wild tangle, like the red mane of a lioness. 

"What is his name?" she asked, uncanny calm. 

"Alexis Papadopolis. "

"A Greek, then, "

I nodded. 

"He is very young?"

"Scarcely older than you. They say he was educated in Paris, andthat he is an atheist. He fought against the Turks in Candia, and issaid to have distinguished himself there no less by his race-hatredand cruelty, than by his bravery. "

"All in all, then, a man, " she cried with sparkling eyes. 

"At present he is living in Florence, " I continued, "he is said tobe tremendously rich--"

"I didn't ask you about that, " she interrupted quickly and sharply. "The man is dangerous. Aren't you afraid of him? I am afraid of him. Has he a wife?"

"No. "

"A mistress?"

"No. "

"What theaters does he attend?"

"To-night he will be at the Nicolini Theater, where Virginia Mariniand Salvini are acting; they are the greatest living artists inItaly, perhaps in Europe. 

"See that you get a box--and be quick about it!" she commanded. 

"But, mistress--"

"Do you want a taste of the whip?"

 * * * * *

"You can wait down in the lobby, " she said when I had placed theopera-glasses and the programme on the edge of her box and adjustedthe footstool. 

I am standing there and had to lean against the wall for support soas not to fall down with envy and rage--no, rage isn't the rightword; it was a mortal fear. 

I saw her in her box dressed in blue moire, with a huge ermine cloakabout her bare shoulders; he sat opposite. I saw them devour eachother with their eyes. For both of them the stage, Goldoni's _Pamela, _Salvini, Marini, the public, even the entire world, were non-existantto-night. And I--what was I at that moment?--

 * * * * *

To-day she is attending the ball at the Greek ambassador's. Does sheknow, that she will meet him there?

At any rate she dressed, as if she did. A heavy sea-green silk dressplastically encloses her divine form, leaving the bust and arms bare. In her hair, which is done into a single flaming knot, a white water-lily blossoms; from it the leaves of reeds interwoven with a fewloose strands fall down toward her neck. There no longer is any traceof agitation or trembling feverishness in her being. She is calm, socalm, that I feel my blood congealing and my heart growing cold underher glance. Slowly, with a weary, indolent majesty, she ascends themarble staircase, lets her precious wrap slide off, and listlesslyenters the hall, where the smoke of a hundred candles has formed asilvery mist. 

For a few moments my eyes follow her in a daze, then I pick up herfurs, which without my being aware, had slipped from my hands. Theyare still warm from her shoulders. 

I kiss the spot, and my eyes fill with tears. 

 * * * * *

He has arrived. 

In his black velvet coat extravagantly trimmed with sable, he is abeautiful, haughty despot who plays with the lives and souls of men. He stands in the ante-room, looking around proudly, and his eyes reston me for an uncomfortably long time. 

Under his icy glance I am again seized by a mortal fear. I have apresentiment that this man can enchain her, captivate her, subjugateher, and I feel inferior in contrast with his savage masculinity; Iam filled with envy, with jealousy. 

I feel that I am a queer weakly creature of brains, merely! And whatis most humiliating, I want to hate him, but I can't. Why is thatamong all the host of servants he has chosen me. 

With an inimitably aristocratic nod of the head he calls me over tohim, and I--I obey his call--against my own will. 

"Take my furs, " he quickly commands. 

My entire body trembles with resentment, but I obey, abjectly likea slave. 

 * * * * *

All night long I waited in the ante-room, raving as in a fever. Strange images hovered past my inner eye. I saw their meeting--theirlong exchange of looks. I saw her float through the hall in his arms, drunken, lying with half-closed lids against his breast. I saw himin the holy of holies of love, lying on the ottoman, not as slave, but as master, and she at his feet. On my knees I served them, thetea-tray faltering in my hands, and I saw him reach for the whip. But now the servants are talking about him. 

He is a man who is like a woman; he knows that he is beautiful, andhe acts accordingly. He changes his clothes four or five times a day, like a vain courtesan. 

In Paris he appeared first in woman's dress, and the men assailedhim with love-letters. An Italian singer, famous equally for his artand his passionate intensity, even invaded his home, and lying on hisknees before him threatened to commit suicide if he wouldn't be his. 

"I am sorry, " he replied, smiling, "I should like to do you thefavor, but you will have to carry out your threat, for I am a man. "

 * * * * *

The drawing-room has already thinned out to a marked degree, but sheapparently has no thought of leaving. 

Morning is already peering through the blinds. 

At last I hear the rustling of her heavy gown which flows alongbehind her like green waves. She advances step by step, engaged inconversation with him. 

I hardly exist for her any longer; she doesn't even trouble to giveme an order. 

"The cloak for madame, " he commands. He, of course, doesn't think oflooking after her himself. 

While I put her furs about her, he stands to one side with his armscrossed. While I am on my knees putting on her fur over-shoes, shelightly supports herself with her hand on his shoulder. She asks:

"And what about the lioness?"

"When the lion whom she has chosen and with whom she lives isattacked by another, " the Greek went on with his narrative, "thelioness quietly lies down and watches the battle. Even if her mateis worsted she does not go to his aid. She looks on indifferently ashe bleeds to death under his opponent's claws, and follows the victor, the stronger--that is the female's nature. "

At this moment my lioness looked quickly and curiously at me. 

It made me shudder, though I didn't know why--and the red dawnimmerses me and her and him in blood. 

 * * * * *

She did not go to bed, but merely threw off her ball-dress and undidher hair; then she ordered me to build a fire, and she sat by thefire-place, and stared into the flames. 

"Do you need me any longer, mistress?" I asked, my voice failed meat the last word. 

Wanda shook her head. 

I left the room, passed through the gallery, and sat down on one ofthe steps, leading from there down into the garden. A gentle northwind brought a fresh, damp coolness from the Arno, the green hillsextended into the distance in a rosy mist, a golden haze hovered overthe city, over the round cupola of the Duomo. 

A few stars still tremble in the pale-blue sky. 

I tore open my coat, and pressed my burning forehead against themarble. Everything that had happened so far seemed to me a merechild's play; but now things were beginning to be serious, terriblyserious. 

I anticipated a catastrophe, I visualized it, I could lay hold of itwith my hands, but I lacked the courage to meet it. My strength wasbroken. And if I am honest with myself, neither the pains andsufferings that threatened me, not the humiliations that impended, were the thing that frightened me. 

I merely felt a fear, the fear of losing her whom I loved with asort of fanatical devotion; but it was so overwhelming, so crushingthat I suddenly began to sob like a child. 

 * * * * *

During the day she remained locked in her room, and had the negressattend her. When the evening star rose glowing in the blue sky, I sawher pass through the garden, and, carefully following her at adistance, watched her enter the shrine of Venus. I stealthilyfollowed and peered through the chink in the door. 

She stood before the divine image of the goddess, her hands foldedas in prayer, and the sacred light of the star of love casts its bluerays over her. 

 * * * * *

On my couch at night the fear of losing her and despair took suchpowerful hold of me that they made a hero and a libertine of me. Ilighted the little red oil-lamp which hung in the corridor beneatha saint's image, and entered her bedroom, covering the light with onehand. 

The lioness had been hunted and driven until she was exhausted. Shehad fallen asleep among her pillows, lying on her back, her handsclenched, breathing heavily. A dream seemed to oppress her. I slowlywithdrew my hand, and let the red light fall full on her wonderfulface. 

But she did not awaken. 

I gently set the lamp on the floor, sank down beside Wanda's bed, and rested my head on her soft, glowing arm. 

She moved slightly, but even now did not awaken. I do not know howlong I lay thus in the middle of the night, turned as into a stoneby horrible torments. 

Finally a severe trembling seized me, and I was able to cry. Mytears flowed over her arm. She quivered several times and finally satup; she brushed her hand across her eyes, and looked at me. 

"Severin, " she exclaimed, more frightened than angry. 

I was unable to reply. 

"Severin, " she continued softly, "what is the matter? Are you ill?"

Her voice sounded so sympathetic, so kind, so full of love, that itclutched my breast like red-hot tongs and I began to sob aloud. 

"Severin, " she began anew. "My poor unhappy friend. " Her hand gentlystroked my hair. "I am sorry, very sorry for you; but I can't helpyou; with the best intention in the world I know of nothing thatwould cure you. "

"Oh, Wanda, must it be?" I moaned in my agony. 

"What, Severin? What are you talking about?"

"Don't you love me any more?" I continued. "Haven't you even alittle bit of pity for me? Has the beautiful stranger taken completepossession of you?"

"I cannot lie, " she replied softly after a short pause. "He has madean impression on me which I haven't yet been able to analyse, furtherthan that I suffer and tremble beneath it. It is an impression of thesort I have met with in the works of poets or on the stage, but Ialways thought it was a figment of the imagination. Oh, he is a manlike a lion, strong and beautiful and yet gentle, not brutal like themen of our northern world. I am sorry for you, Severin, I am; but Imust possess him. What am I saying? I must give myself to him, if hewill have me. "

"Consider your reputation, Wanda, which so far has remainedspotless, " I exclaimed, "even if I no longer mean anything to you. "

"I am considering it, " she replied, "I intend to be strong, as longas it is possible, I want--" she buried her head shyly in the pillows--"I want to become his wife--if he will have me. "

"Wanda, " I cried, seized again by that mortal fear, which alwaysrobs me of my breath, makes me lose possession of myself, "you wantto be his wife, belong to him for always. Oh! Do not drive me away!He does not love you--"

"Who says that?" she exclaimed, flaring up. 

"He does not love you, " I went on passionately, "but I love you, Iadore you, I am your slave, I let you tread me underfoot, I want tocarry you on my arms through life. "

"Who says that he doesn't love me?" she interrupted vehemently. 

"Oh! be mine, " I replied, "be mine! I cannot exist, cannot livewithout you. Have mercy on me, Wanda, have mercy!"

She looked at me again, and her face had her cold heartlessexpression, her evil smile. 

"You say he doesn't love me, " she said, scornfully. "Very well then, get what consolation you can out of it. "

With this she turned over on the other side, and contemptuouslyshowed me her back. 

"Good God, are you a woman without flesh or blood, haven't you aheart as well as I!" I cried, while my breast heaved convulsively. 

"You know what I am, " she replied, coldly. "I am a woman of stone, _Venus in Furs_, your ideal, kneel down, and pray to me. "

"Wanda!" I implored, "mercy!"

She began to laugh. I buried my face in her pillows. Pain hadloosened the floodgates of my tears and I let them flow. 

For a long time silence reigned, then Wanda slowly raised herself. 

"You bore me, " she began. 

"Wanda!"

"I am tired, let me go to sleep. "

"Mercy, " I implored. "Do not drive me away. No man, no one, willlove you as I do. "

"Let me go to sleep, "--she turned her back to me again. 

I leaped up, and snatched the poinard, which hung beside her bed, from its sheath, and placed its point against my breast. 

"I shall kill myself here before your eyes, " I murmured dully. 

"Do what you please, " Wanda replied with complete indifference. "Butlet me go to sleep. " She yawned aloud. "I am very sleepy. "

For a moment I stood as if petrified. Then I began to laugh and cryat the same time. Finally I placed the poinard in my belt, and againfell on my knees before her. 

"Wanda, listen to me, only for a few moments, " I begged. 

"I want to go to sleep! Don't you hear!" she cried, leaping angrilyout of bed and pushing me away with her foot. "You forget that I amyour mistress?" When I didn't budge, she seized the whip and struckme. I rose; she struck me again--this time right in the face. 

"Wretch, slave!"

With clenched fist held heavenward, I left her bedroom with a suddenresolve. She tossed the whip aside, and broke out into clearlaughter. I can imagine that my theatrical attitude must have beenvery droll. 

 * * * * *

I have determined to set myself free from this heartless woman, whohas treated me so cruelly, and is now about to break faith and betrayme, as a reward for all my slavish devotion, for everything I havesuffered from her. I packed my few belongings into a bundle, and thenwrote her as follows:

"Dear Madam, --

I have loved you even to madness, I have given myself to you as no manever has given himself to a woman. You have abused my most sacredemotions, and played an impudent, frivolous game with me. However, aslong as you were merely cruel and merciless, it was still possible forme to love you. Now you are about to become _cheap_. I am no longerthe slave whom you can kick about and whip. You yourself have set mefree, and I am leaving a woman I can only hate and despise. 

Severin Kusiemski. "

I handed these lines to the negress, and hastened away as fast as Icould go. I arrived at the railway-station all out of breath. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my heart and stopped. I began toweep. It is humiliating that I want to flee and I can't. I turn back--whither?--to her, whom I abhor, and yet, at the same time, adore. 

Again I pause. I cannot go back. I dare not. 

But how am I to leave Florence. I remember that I haven't any money, not a penny. Very well then, on foot; it is better to be an honestbeggar than to eat the bread of a courtesan. 

But still I can't leave. 

She has my pledge, my word of honor. I have to return. Perhaps shewill release me. 

After a few rapid strides, I stop again. 

She has my word of honor and my bond, that I shall remain her slaveas long as she desires, until she herself gives me my freedom. ButI might kill myself. 

I go through the Cascine down to the Arno, where its yellow watersplash monotonously about a couple of stray willows. There I sit, andcast up my final accounts with existence. I let my entire life passbefore me in review. On the whole, it is rather a wretched affair--afew joys, an endless number of indifferent and worthless things, andbetween these an abundant harvest of pains, miseries, fears, disappointments, shipwrecked hopes, afflictions, sorrow and grief. 

I thought of my mother, whom I loved so deeply and whom I had towatch waste away beneath a horrible disease; of my brother, who fullof the promise of joy and happiness died in the flower of youth, without even having put his lips to the cup of life. I thought of mydead nurse, my childhood playmates, the friends that had striven andstudied with me; of all those, covered by the cold, dead, indifferentearth. I thought of my turtle-dove, who not infrequently made hiscooing bows to me, instead of to his mate. --All have returned, dustunto dust. 

I laughed aloud, and slid down into the water, but at the samemoment I caught hold of one of the willow-branches, hanging above theyellow waves. As in a vision, I see the woman who has caused all mymisery. She hovers above the level of the water, luminous in thesunlight as though she were transparent, with red flames about herhead and neck. She turns her face toward me and smiles. 

 * * * * *

I am back again, dripping, wet through, glowing with shame andfever. The negress has delivered my letter; I am judged, lost, in thepower of a heartless, affronted woman. 

Well, let her kill me. I am unable to do it myself, and yet I haveno wish to go on living. 

As I walk around the house, she is standing in the gallery, leaningover the railing. Her face is full in the light of the sun, and hergreen eyes sparkle. 

"Still alive?" she asked, without moving. I stood silent, with bowedhead. 

"Give me back my poinard, " she continued. "It is of no use to you. You haven't even the courage to take your own life. "

"I have lost it, " I replied, trembling, shaken by chills. 

She looked me over with a proud, scornful glance. 

"I suppose you lost it in the Arno?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Nomatter. Well, and why didn't you leave?"

I mumbled something which neither she nor I myself could understand. 

"Oh! you haven't any money, " she cried. "Here!" With anindescribably disdainful gesture she tossed me her purse. 

I did not pick it up. 

Both of us were silent for some time. 

"You don't want to leave then?"

"I can't. "

 * * * * *

Wanda drives in the Cascine without me, and goes to the theaterwithout me; she receives company, and the negress serves her. No oneasks after me. I stray about the garden, irresolutely, like an animalthat has lost its master. 

Lying among the bushes, I watch a couple of sparrows, fighting overa seed. 

Suddenly I hear the swish of a woman's dress. 

Wanda approaches in a gown of dark silk, modestly closed up to theneck; the Greek is with her. They are in an eager discussion, but Icannot as yet understand a word of what they are saying. He stampshis foot so that the gravel scatters about in all directions, and helashes the air with his riding whip. Wanda startles. 

Is she afraid that he will strike her?

Have they gone that far?

He has left her, she calls him; he does not hear her, does not wantto hear her. 

Wanda sadly lowers her head, and then sits down on the nearest stone-bench. She sits for a long time, lost in thought. I watch her witha sort of malevolent pleasure, finally I pull myself together by sheerforce of will, and ironically step before her. She startles, andtrembles all over. 

"I come to wish you happiness, " I said, bowing, "I see, my dearlady, too, has found a master. "

"Yes, thank God!" she exclaimed, "not a new slave, I have had enoughof them. A master! Woman needs a master, and she adores him. "

"You adore him, Wanda?" I cried, "this brutal person--"

"Yes, I love him, as I have never loved any one else. "

"Wanda!" I clenched my fists, but tears already filled my eyes, andI was seized by the delirium of passion, as by a sweet madness. "Verywell, take him as your husband, let him be your master, but I wantto remain your slave, as long as I live. "

"You want to remain my slave, even then?" she said, "that would beinteresting, but I am afraid he wouldn't permit it. "

"He?"

"Yes, he is already jealous of you, " she exclaimed, "he, of you! Hedemanded that I dismiss you immediately, and when I told him who youwere--"

"You told him--" I repeated, thunderstruck. 

"I told him everything, " she replied, "our whole story, all yourqueerness, everything--and he, instead of being amused, grew angry, and stamped his foot. "

"And threatened to strike you?"

Wanda looked to the ground, and remained silent. 

"Yes, indeed, " I said with mocking bitterness, "you are afraid ofhim, Wanda!" I threw myself down at her feet, and in my agitationembraced her knees. "I don't want anything of you, except to be yourslave, to be always near you! I will be your dog-"

"Do you know, you bore me?" said Wanda, indifferently. 

I leaped up. Everything within me was seething. 

"You are now no longer cruel, but cheap, " I said, clearly anddistinctly, accentuating every word. 

"You have already written that in your letter, " Wanda replied, witha proud shrug of the shoulders. "A man of brains should never repeathimself. "

"The way you are treating me, " I broke out, "what would you call it?"

"I might punish you, " she replied ironically, "but I prefer thistime to reply with reasons instead of lashes. You have no right toaccuse me. Haven't I always been honest with you? Haven't I warnedyou more than once? Didn't I love you with all my heart, evenpassionately, and did I conceal the fact from you, that it wasdangerous to give yourself into my power, to abase yourself beforeme, and that I want to be dominated? But you wished to be myplaything, my slave! You found the highest pleasure in feeling thefoot, the whip of an arrogant, cruel woman. What do you want now?

"Dangerous potentialities were slumbering in me, but you were thefirst to awaken them. If I now take pleasure in torturing you, abusing you, it is your fault; you have made of me what I now am, andnow you are even unmanly, weak, and miserable enough to accuse me. "

"Yes, I am guilty, " I said, "but haven't I suffered because of it?Let us put an end now to the cruel game. "

"That is my wish, too, " she replied with a curious deceitful look. 

"Wanda!" I exclaimed violently, "don't drive me to extremes; you seethat I am a man again. "

"A fire of straw, " she replied, "which makes a lot of stir for amoment, and goes out as quickly as it flared up. You imagine you canintimidate me, and you only make yourself ridiculous. Had you beenthe man I first thought you were, serious, reserved, stern, I wouldhave loved you faithfully, and become your wife. Woman demands thatshe can look up to a man, but one like you who voluntarily places hisneck under her foot, she uses as a welcome plaything, only to tossit aside when she is tired of it. "

"Try to toss me aside, " I said, jeeringly. "Some toys are dangerous. "

"Don't challenge me, " exclaimed Wanda. Her eyes began to flash, anda flush entered her cheeks. 

"If you won't be mine now, " I continued, with a voice stifled withrage, "no one else shall possess you either. "

"What play is this from?" she mocked, seizing me by the breast. Shewas pale with anger at this moment. "Don't challenge me, " shecontinued, "I am not cruel, but I don't know whether I may not becomeso and whether then there will be any bounds. "

"What worse can you do, than to make your lover, your husband?" Iexclaimed, more and more enraged. 

"I might make you _his_ slave, " she replied quickly, "are you not inmy power? Haven't I the agreement? But, of course, you will merelytake pleasure in it, if I have you bound, and say to him. 

"Do with him what you please. "

"Woman, are you mad!" I cried. 

"I am entirely rational, " she said, calmly. "I warn you for the lasttime. Don't offer any resistance, one who has gone as far as I havegone might easily go still further. I feel a sort of hatred for you, and would find a real joy in seeing him beat you to death; I am stillrestraining myself, but--"

Scarcely master of myself any longer, I seized her by the wrist andforced her to the ground, so that she lay on her knees before me. 

"Severin!" she cried. Rage and terror were painted on her face. 

"I shall kill you if you marry him, " I threatened; the words camehoarsely and dully from my breast. "You are mine, I won't let you go, I love you too much. " Then I clutched her and pressed her close tome; my right hand involuntarily seized the dagger which I still hadin my belt. 

Wanda fixed a large, calm, incomprehensible look on me. 

"I like you that way, " she said, carelessly. "Now you are a man, andat this moment I know I still love you. "

"Wanda, " I wept with rapture, and bent down over her, covering herdear face with kisses, and she, suddenly breaking into a loud gaylaugh, said, "Have you finished with your ideal now, are yousatisfied with me?"

"You mean?" I stammered, "that you weren't serious?"

"I am very serious, " she gaily continued. "I love you, only you, andyou--you foolish, little man, didn't know that everything was onlymake-believe and play-acting. How hard it often was for me to strikeyou with the whip, when I would have rather taken your head andcovered it with kisses. But now we are through with that, aren't we?I have played my cruel role better than you expected, and now youwill be satisfied with my being a good, little wife who isn'taltogether unattractive. Isn't that so? We will live like rationalpeople--"

"You will marry me!" I cried, overflowing with happiness. 

"Yes--marry you--you dear, darling man, " whispered Wanda, kissing myhands. 

I drew her up to my breast. 

"Now, you are no longer Gregor, my slave, " said she, "but Severin, the dear man I love--"

"And he--you don't love him?" I asked in agitation. 

"How could you imagine my loving a man of his brutal type? You wereblind to everything, I was really afraid for you. "

"I almost killed myself for your sake. "

"Really?" she cried, "ah, I still tremble at the thought, that youwere already in the Arno. "

"But you saved me, " I replied, tenderly. "You hovered over thewaters and smiled, and your smile called me back to life. "

 * * * * *

I have a curious feeling when I now hold her in my arms and she liessilently against my breast and lets me kiss her and smiles. I feellike one who has suddenly awakened out of a feverish delirium, orlike a shipwrecked man who has for many days battled with waves thatmomentarily threatened to devour him and finally has found a safeshore. 

 * * * * *

"I hate this Florence, where you have been so unhappy, " shedeclared, as I was saying good-night to her. "I want to leaveimmediately, tomorrow, you will be good enough to write a couple ofletters for me, and, while you are doing that, I will drive to thecity to pay my farewell visits. Is that satisfactory to you?"

"Of course, you dear, sweet, beautiful woman. "

 * * * * *

Early in the morning she knocked at my door to ask how I had slept. Her tenderness is positively wonderful. I should never have believedthat she could be so tender. 

 * * * * *

She has now been gone for over four hours. I have long sincefinished the letters, and am now sitting in the gallery, looking downthe street to see whether I cannot discover her carriage in thedistance. I am a little worried about her, and yet I know there isno reason under heaven why I should doubt or fear. However, a feelingof oppression weighs me down, and I cannot rid myself of it. It isprobably the sufferings of the past days, which still cast theirshadows into my soul. 

 * * * * *

She is back, radiant with happiness and contentment. 

"Well, has everything gone as you wished?" I asked tenderly, kissingher hand. 

"Yes, dear heart, " she replied, "and we shall leave to-night. Helpme pack my trunks. "

 * * * * *

Toward evening she asked me to go to the post-office and mail herletters myself. I took her carriage, and was back within an hour. 

"Mistress has asked for you, " said the negress, with a grin, as Iascended the wide marble stairs. 

"Has anyone been here?"

"No one, " she replied, crouching down on the steps like a black cat. 

I slowly passed through the drawing-room, and then stood before herbedroom door. 

Why does my heart beat so? Am I not perfectly happy?

Opening the door softly, I draw back the portiere. Wanda is lying onthe ottoman, and does not seem to notice me. How beautiful she looks, in her silver-gray dress, which fits closely, and while displayingin tell-tale fashion her splendid figure, leaves her wonderful bustand arms bare. 

Her hair is interwoven with, and held up by a black velvet ribbon. A mighty fire is burning in the fire-place, the hanging lamp castsa reddish glow, and the whole room is as if drowned in blood. 

"Wanda, " I said at last. 

"Oh Severin, " she cried out joyously. "I have been impatientlywaiting for you. " She leaped up, and folded me in her arms. She satdown again on the rich cushions and tried to draw me down to herside, but I softly slid down to her feet and placed my head in herlap. 

"Do you know I am very much in love with you to-day?" she whispered, brushing a few stray hairs from my forehead and kissing my eyes. 

"How beautiful your eyes are, I have always loved them as the bestof you, but to-day they fairly intoxicate me. I am all--" Sheextended her magnificent limbs and tenderly looked at me from beneathher red lashes. 

"And you--you are cold--you hold me like a block of wood; wait, I'llstir you with the fire of love, " she said, and again clung fawninglyand caressingly to my lips. 

"I no longer please you; I suppose I'll have to be cruel to youagain, evidently I have been too kind to you to-day. Do you know, youlittle fool, what I shall do, I shall whip you for a while--"

"But child--"

"I want to. "

"Wanda!"

"Come, let me bind you, " she continued, and ran gaily through theroom. "I want to see you very much in love, do you understand? Hereare the ropes. I wonder if I can still do it?"

She began with fettering my feet and then she tied my hands behindmy back, pinioning my arms like those of a prisoner. 

"So, " she said, with gay eagerness. "Can you still move?"

"No. "

"Fine--"

She then tied a noose in a stout rope, threw it over my head, andlet it slip down as far as the hips. She drew it tight, and bound meto a pillar. 

A curious tremor seized me at that moment. 

"I have a feeling as if I were about to be executed, " I said with alow voice. 

"Well, you shall have a thorough punishment to-day, " exclaimed Wanda. 

"But put on your fur-jacket, please, " I said. 

"I shall gladly give you that pleasure, " she replied. She got her_kazabaika_, and put it on. Then she stood in front of me withher arms folded across her chest, and looked at me out of half-closedeyes. 

"Do you remember the story of the ox of Dionysius?" she asked. 

"I remember it only vaguely, what about it?"

"A courtier invented a new implement of torture for the Tyrant ofSyracuse. It was an iron ox in which those condemned to death wereto be shut, and then pushed into a mighty furnace. 

"As soon as the iron ox began to get hot, and the condemned personbegan to cry out in his torment, his wails sounded like the bellowingof an ox. 

"Dionysius nodded graciously to the inventor, and to put hisinvention to an immediate test had him shut up in the iron ox. 

"It is a very instructive story. 

"It was you who innoculated me with selfishness, pride, and cruelty, and _you shall be their first victim. _ I now literally enjoy having ahuman being that thinks and feels and desires like myself in my power;I love to abuse a man who is stronger in intelligence and body than I, especially a man who loves me. 

"Do you still love me?"

"Even to madness, " I exclaimed. 

"So much the better, " she replied, "and so much the more will youenjoy what I am about to do with you now. "

"What is the matter with you?" I asked. "I don't understand you, there is a gleam of real cruelty in your eyes to-day, and you arestrangely beautiful--completely _Venus in Furs. "_

Without replying Wanda placed her arms around my neck and kissed me. I was again seized by my fanatical passion. 

"Where is the whip?" I asked. 

Wanda laughed, and withdrew a couple of steps. 

"You really insist upon being punished?" she exclaimed, proudlytossing back her head. 

"Yes. "

Suddenly Wanda's face was completely transformed. It was as ifdisfigured by rage; for a moment she seemed even ugly to me. 

"Very well, then _you_ whip him!" she called loudly. 

At the same instant the beautiful Greek stuck his head of blackcurls through the curtains of her four-poster bed. At first I wasspeechless, petrified. There was a horribly comic element in thesituation. I would have laughed aloud, had not my position been atthe same time so terribly cruel and humiliating. 

It went beyond anything I had imagined. A cold shudder ran down myback, when my rival stepped from the bed in his riding boots, histight-fitting white breeches, and his short velvet jacket, and I sawhis athletic limbs. 

"You are indeed cruel, " he said, turning to Wanda. 

"Only inordinately fond of pleasure, " she replied with a wild sortof humor. "Pleasure alone lends value to existence; whoever enjoysdoes not easily part from life, whoever suffers or is needy meetsdeath like a friend. 

"But whoever wants to enjoy must take life gaily in the sense of theancient world; he dare not hesitate to enjoy at the expense ofothers; he must never feel pity; he must be ready to harness othersto his carriage or his plough as though they were animals. He mustknow how to make slaves of men who feel and would enjoy as he does, and use them for his service and pleasure without remorse. It is nothis affair whether they like it, or whether they go to rack and ruin. He must always remember this, that if they had him in their power, as he has them they would act in exactly the same way, and he wouldhave to pay for their pleasure with his sweat and blood and soul. Thatwas the world of the ancients: pleasure and cruelty, liberty and slaverywent hand in hand. People who want to live like the gods of Olympusmust of necessity have slaves whom they can toss into their fish-ponds, and gladiators who will do battle, the while they banquet, andthey must not mind if by chance a bit of blood bespatters them. "

Her words brought back my complete self-possession. 

"Unloosen me!" I exclaimed angrily. 

"Aren't you my slave, my property?" replied Wanda. "Do you want meto show you the agreement?"

"Untie me!" I threatened, "otherwise--" I tugged at the ropes. 

"Can he tear himself free?" she asked. "He has threatened to kill me. "

"Be entirely at ease, " said the Greek, testing my fetters. 

"I shall call for help, " I began again. 

"No one will hear you, " replied Wanda, "and no one will hinder mefrom abusing your most sacred emotions or playing a frivolous gamewith you. " she continued, repeating with satanic mockery phrases frommy letter to her. 

"Do you think I am at this moment merely cruel and merciless, or amI also about to become cheap? What? Do you still love me, or do youalready hate and despise me? Here is the whip--" She handed it to theGreek who quickly stepped closer. 

"Don't you dare!" I exclaimed, trembling with indignation, "I won'tpermit it--"

"Oh, because I don't wear furs, " the Greek replied with an ironicalsmile, and he took his short sable from the bed. 

"You are adorable, " exclaimed Wanda, kissing him, and helping himinto his furs. 

"May I really whip him?" he asked. 

"Do with him what you please, " replied Wanda. 

"Beast!" I exclaimed, utterly revolted. 

The Greek fixed his cold tigerish look upon me and tried out thewhip. His muscles swelled when he drew back his arms, and made thewhip hiss through the air. I was bound like Marsyas while Apollo wasgetting ready to flay me. 

My look wandered about the room and remained fixed on the ceiling, where Samson, lying at Delilah's feet, was about to have his eyes putout by the Philistines. The picture at that moment seemed to me likea symbol, an eternal parable of passion and lust, of the love of manfor woman. "Each one of us in the end is a Samson, " I thought, "andultimately for better or worse is betrayed by the woman he loves, whether he wears an ordinary coat or sables. "

"Now watch me break him in, " said the Greek. He showed his teeth, and his face acquired the blood-thirsty expression, which startledme the first time I saw him. 

And he began to apply the lash--so mercilessly, with such frightfulforce that I quivered under each blow, and began to tremble all overwith pain. Tears rolled down over my cheeks. In the meantime Wandalay on the ottoman in her fur-jacket, supporting herself on her arm;she looked on with cruel curiosity, and was convulsed with laughter. 

The sensation of being whipped by a successful rival before the eyesof an adored woman cannot be described. I almost went mad with shameand despair. 

What was most humiliating was that at first I felt a certain wild, supersensual stimulation under Apollo's whip and the cruel laughterof my Venus, no matter how horrible my position was. But Apollowhipped on and on, blow after blow, until I forgot all about poetry, and finally gritted my teeth in impotent rage, and cursed my wilddreams, woman, and love. 

All of a sudden I saw with horrible clarity whither blind passionand lust have led man, ever since Holofernes and Agamemnon--into ablind alley, into the net of woman's treachery, into misery, slavery, and death. 

It was as though I were awakening from a dream. 

Blood was already flowing under the whip. I wound like a worm thatis trodden on, but he whipped on without mercy, and she continued tolaugh without mercy. In the meantime she locked her packed trunk andslipped into her travelling furs, and was still laughing, when shewent downstairs on his arm and entered the carriage. 

Then everything was silent for a moment. 

I listened breathlessly. 

The carriage door slammed, the horse began to pull--the rolling ofthe carriage for a short time--then all was over. 

 * * * * *

For a moment I thought of taking vengeance, of killing him, but Iwas bound by the abominable agreement. So nothing was left for me todo except to keep my pledged word and grit my teeth. 

 * * * * *

My first impulse after this, the most cruel catastrophe of my life, was to seek laborious tasks, dangers, and privations. I wanted tobecome a soldier and go to Asia or Algiers, but my father was old andill and wanted me. 

So I quietly returned home and for two years helped him bear hisburdens, and learned how to look after the estate which I had neverdone before. To _labor_ and to _do my duty_ was comforting like adrink of fresh water. Then my father died, and I inherited the estate, but it meant no change. 

I had put on my own Spanish boots and went on living just asrationally as if the old man were standing behind me, looking overmy shoulder with his large wise eyes. 

One day a box arrived, accompanied by a letter. I recognized Wanda'swriting. 

Curiously moved, I opened it, and read. 

"Sir. --

Now that over three years have passed since that night in Florence, I suppose, I may confess to you that I loved you deeply. Youyourself, however, stifled my love by your fantastic devotion andyour insane passion. From the moment that you became my slave, I knewit would be impossible for you ever to become my husband. However, I found it interesting to have you realize your ideal in my own person, and, while I gloriously amused myself, perhaps, to cure you. 

I found the strong man for whom I felt a need, and I was as happywith him as, I suppose, it is possible for any one to be on thisfunny ball of clay. 

But my happiness, like all things mortal, was of short duration. About a year ago he fell in a duel, and since then I have been livingin Paris, like an Aspasia--

And you?--Your life surely is not without its sunshine, if you havegained control of your imagination, and those qualities in you havematerialized, which at first so attracted me to you--your clarity ofintellect, kindness of heart, and, above all else, your--_moralseriousness_. 

I hope you have been cured under my whip; the cure was cruel, butradical. In memory of that time and of a woman who loved youpassionately, I am sending you the portrait by the poor German. 

_Venus in Furs_. "

I had to smile, and as I fell to musing the beautiful woman suddenlystood before me in her velvet jacket trimmed with ermine, with thewhip in her hand. And I continued to smile at the woman I had onceloved so insanely, at the fur-jacket that had once so entranced me, at the whip, and ended by smiling at myself and saying: The cure wascruel, but radical; but the main point is, I have been cured. 

 * * * * *

"And the moral of the story?" I said to Severin when I put themanuscript down on the table. 

"That I was a donkey, " he exclaimed without turning around, for heseemed to be embarrassed. "If only I had beaten her!"

"A curious remedy, " I exclaimed, "which might answer with yourpeasant-women--"

"Oh, they are used to it, " he replied eagerly, "but imagine theeffect upon one of our delicate, nervous, hysterical ladies--"

"But the moral?"

"That woman, as nature has created her and as man is at presenteducating her, is his enemy. She can only be his slave or his despot, but _never his companion. _ This she can become only when she hasthe same rights as he, and is his equal in education and work. 

"At present we have only the choice of being hammer or anvil, and Iwas the kind of donkey who let a woman make a slave of him, do youunderstand?

"The moral of the tale is this: whoever allows himself to bewhipped, deserves to be whipped. 

"The blows, as you see, have agreed with me; the roseate supersensualmist has dissolved, and no one can ever make me believe again thatthese 'sacred apes of Benares' [Footnote: One of Schopenhauer'sdesignations for women. ] or Plato's rooster [Footnote: Diogenesthrew a plucked rooster into Plato's school and exclaimed: "Hereyou have Plato's human being. "] are the image of God. "