Venus in Furs
crackled in the fireplace in wintery comfort. I felt quite at home with
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 for
her.
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 her
request I gave her the poem in the evening, keeping no copy. And now as
I am writing this down in my diary I can only remember the first
stanza.
I am filled with a very curious sensation. I don’t believe that I am in
love with Wanda; I am sure that at our first meeting, I felt nothing of
the lightning-like flashes of passion. But I feel how her
extraordinary, really divine beauty is gradually winding magic snares
about me. It isn’t any spiritual sympathy which is growing in me; it is
a physical subjection, coming on slowly, but for that reason more
absolutely.
I suffer under it more and more each day, and she—she merely smiles.
* * * * *
Without any provocation she suddenly said to me to-day: “You interest
me. Most men are very commonplace, without verve or poetry. In you
there is a certain depth and capacity for enthusiasm and a deep
seriousness, which delight me. I might learn to love you.”
After a short but severe shower we went out together to the meadow and
the statue of Venus. All about us the earth steamed; mists rose up
toward heaven like clouds of incense; a shattered rainbow still hovered
in the air. The trees were still shedding drops, but sparrows and
finches were already hopping from twig to twig. They are twittering
gaily, as if very much pleased at something. Everything is filled with
a fresh fragrance. We cannot cross the meadow for it is still wet. In
the sunlight it looks like a small pool, and the goddess of love seems
to rise from the undulations of its mirror-like surface. 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 the walk
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 I took
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 face
against 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 slipper
remained in my hand.
Is it an omen?
* * * * *
All day long I didn’t dare to go near her. Toward evening as I was
sitting in my arbor her gay red head peered suddenly through the
greenery of her balcony. “Why don’t you come up?” he called down
impatiently.
I ran upstairs, and at the top lost courage again. I knocked very
lightly. She didn’t say come-in, but opened the door herself, and stood
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 ceremoniously placed
the slipper on the table, and stood in the corner like a child awaiting
punishment.
I noticed that her brows were slightly contracted, and there was an
expression of hardness and dominance about her lips which delighted me.
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 quite useless.
“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 all with
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 with this?
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 finds the other
interesting. There is no danger that we would soon get bored, but, you
know, I am a fickle person, and just for that reason I take marriage
seriously. If I assume obligations, I want to be able to 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 give
you 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, and want
to make me your wife, but I don’t want to enter into a new marriage,
because I doubt the permanence of both my and your feelings.”
“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 my entire
life, but he would have to be a whole man, a man who would dominate me,
who would subjugate me by his inate strength, do you understand? And
every man—I know this very well—as soon as he falls in love becomes
weak, pliable, ridiculous. He puts himself into the woman’s hands,
kneels down before her. The only man whom I could love permanently
would be he before whom I should have to kneel. I’ve gotten to 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 said mockingly.
“You are making a good beginning.” When I had risen again she
continued, “I will give you a year’s time to win me, to convince me
that we are suited to each other, that we might live together. If you
succeed, I will become your wife, and a wife, Severin, who will
conscientiously and strictly perform all her duties. During this year
we 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 that
we may find out whether we are really fitted for each other. _I grant
you all the rights of a husband, of a lover, of a friend._ Are you
satisfied?”
“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. All the
time I was allowed to look into her eyes, hold her hands, listen to
what she said, accompany her wherever she went.
My love seems to me like a deep, bottomless abyss, into which I subside
deeper and deeper. There is nothing now which could save me from it.
This afternoon we were resting on the meadow at the foot of the
Venus-statue. I plucked flowers and tossed them into her lap; she wound
them into wreaths with which we adorned our goddess.
Suddenly Wanda looked at me so strangely that my senses became confused
and passion swept over my head like a conflagration. Losing command
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 of madness.
The thought that I might lose you, perhaps actually lose you, torments
me day and night.”
“But you don’t yet possess me,” said Wanda, and again she looked at me
with that vibrant, consuming expression, which had already once before
carried me away. Then she rose, and with her small transparent hands
placed a wreath of blue anemones upon the ringletted white head of
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 a phrase,
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 shall perish,
go to pieces.”
“That will hardly be necessary, for I love you,” she took hold of my
chin, “you foolish man!”
“But you will be mine only under conditions, while I belong to you
unconditionally—”
“That isn’t wise, Severin,” she replied almost with a start. “Don’t you
know me yet, do you absolutely refuse to know me? I am good when I am
treated seriously and reasonably, but when you abandon yourself too
absolutely to me, I grow arrogant—”
“So be it, be arrogant, be despotic,” I cried in the fulness of
exaltation, “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 death
shall part us. If you cannot be mine, all mine and for always, then _I
want to be your slave_, serve you, suffer everything from you, if only
you won’t drive me away.”
“Calm yourself,” she said, bending down and kissing my forehead, “I am
really very fond of you, but your way is not the way to win and hold
me.”
“I want to do everything, absolutely everything, that you want, only
not 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 me at
any price?”
“Yes, at any price.”
“But of what value, for instance, would that be?”—She pondered; a
lurking uncanny expression entered her eyes—“If I no longer loved you,
if I belonged to another.”
A shudder ran through me. I looked at her She stood firmly and
confident before me, and her eyes disclosed a cold gleam.
“You see,” she continued, “the very thought frightens you.” A beautiful
smile suddenly illuminated her face.
“I feel a perfect horror, when I imagine, that the woman I love and who
has responded to my love could give herself to another regardless of
me. But have I still a choice? If I love such a woman, even unto
madness, shall I turn my back to her and lose everything for the sake
of a bit of boastful strength; shall I send a bullet through my brains?
I have two ideals of woman. If I cannot obtain the one that is noble
and simple, the woman who will faithfully and truly share my life, well