OF THE AMOROUS ENCOUNTER WHICH TOOK PLACE BETWEEN VENUS AND TANNHÄUSER
Venus and Tannhäuser had retired to the exquisite little boudoir or
pavilion Le Con had designed for the queen on the first terrace, and
which commanded the most delicious view of the parks and gardens. It
was a sweet little place, all silk curtains and soft cushions. There
were eight sides to it, bright with mirrors and candelabra, and rich
with pictured panels, and the ceiling, dome shaped and some thirty feet
above the head, shone obscurely with gilt mouldings through the warm
haze of candle light below. Tiny wax statuettes dressed theatrically
and smiling with plump cheeks, quaint magots that looked as cruel as
foreign gods, gilded monticules, pale celadon vases, clocks that said
nothing, ivory boxes full of secrets, china figures playing whole
scenes of plays, and a world of strange preciousness crowded the
curious cabinets that stood against the walls. On one side of the room
there were six perfect little card tables, with quite the daintiest and
most elegant chairs set primly round them; so, after all, there may be
some truth in that line of Mr Theodore Watts,--
"I played at piquet with the Queen of Love."
Nothing in the pavilion was more beautiful than the folding screens
painted by De La Pine, with Claudian landscapes--the sort of things
that fairly make one melt, things one can lie and look at for hours
together, and forget the country can ever be dull and tiresome. There
were four of them, delicate walls that hem in an amour so cosily, and
make room within room.
The place was scented with huge branches of red roses, and with a faint
amatory perfume breathed out from the couches and cushions--a perfume
Chateline distilled in secret and called L'Eau Lavante.
Those who have only seen Venus at the Louvre or the British Museum, at
Florence, at Naples, or at Rome, can have not the faintest idea how
sweet and enticing and gracious, how really exquisitely beautiful she
looked lying with Tannhäuser upon rose silk in that pretty boudoir.
Cosmé's precise curls and artful waves had been finally disarranged at
supper, and strayed ringlets of the black hair fell loosely over her
soft, delicious, tired, swollen eye-lids. Her frail chemise and dear
little drawers were torn and moist, and clung transparently about her,
and all her body was nervous and responsive. Her closed thighs seemed
like a vast replica of the little bijou she held between them; the
beautiful tétons du derrière were as firm as a plump virgin's cheek,
and promised a joy as profound as the mystery of the Rue Vendôme, and
the minor chevelure, just profuse enough, curled as prettily as the
hair upon a cherub's head.
Tannhäuser, pale and speechless with excitement, passed his gem-girt
fingers brutally over the divine limbs, tearing away smock and pantalon
and stocking, and then, stripping himself of his own few things, fell
upon the splendid lady with a deep-drawn breath!
It is, I know, the custom of all romancers to paint heroes who can
give a lady proof of their valliance at least twenty times a night.
Now Tannhäuser had no such Gargantuan facility, and was rather
relieved when, an hour later, Priapusa and Doricourt and some others
burst drunkenly into the room and claimed Venus for themselves. The
pavilion soon filled with a noisy crowd that could scarcely keep
its feet. Several of the actors were there, and Lesfesses, who had
played Fanfreluche so brilliantly, and was still in his make-up, paid
tremendous attention to Tannhäuser. But the Chevalier found him quite
uninteresting off the stage, and rose and crossed the room to where
Venus and the manicure were seated.
"How tired the dear baby looks," said Priapusa. "Shall I put him in his
little cot?"
"Well, if he's as sleepy as I am," yawned Venus, "you can't do better."
Priapusa lifted her mistress off the pillows, and carried her in her
arms in a nice, motherly way.
"Come along, children," said the fat old thing, "come along; it's time
you were both in bed."