Venus In Furs This is section 8 of 8. = All next day she remained locked in
her room, served only by the negress. When the evening star rose glowing in
the blue sky, I saw her pass through the garden; following her at a distance,
I watched her as she entered the shrine of Venus. I crept after her and peered
through a chink in the door. She stood before the image of the goddess, her
hands clasped as if in prayer, while the sacred light of the star of love cast
its blue rays over her. That night in my own bed, my fear of losing her, and
my despair seized me so powerfully that they made of me a hero and a
libertine. I lit the little red oil-lamp which hangs under the holy image in
the passage, and entered her bedroom, shielding the light with one hand. The
lioness had been hunted and driven to exhaustion, she had fallen asleep among
her pillows, lying on her back, her hands clenched, breathing heavily. A dream
seemed to be oppressing her. I slowly raised my hand, and let the red light
fall on her beautiful face. She did not awake. I placed the lamp quietly on
the floor, sank down beside the bed and laid my head on her soft glowing arm.
She stirred slightly, but still did not waken. I do not know how long I lay
thus, in the middle of the night, as if turned to stone by my horrible
anguish. At last a violent tremor seized me, and I was able to weep -- my
tears bathed her arm. She quivered once or twice and then sat up, passed her
hand over her eyes and looked at me. "Severin," she exclaimed, more alarmed
than angry. I was unable to reply. "Severin," she continued gently, "what is
the matter? Are you ill?" Her voice was so melting, so kind, so full of love,
that it seemed to take hold of my heart like red-hot tongs, and I began to sob
aloud. "Severin," she said again. "My poor unhappy friend." Her hand stroked
my hair softly. "I am sorry, very sorry for you... But I cannot help you --
with all the will in the world, I know of no way to cure you." "Oh, Wanda --
must it be so?" I murmured in agony. "What, Severin? What do you mean?" "Do
you love me no longer? Have you not even a shred of pity for me? Has the
beautiful stranger so taken possession of you?" "I cannot lie," she said
gently after a short pause. "He affects me in a way I cannot yet grasp, except
that it makes me tremble and suffer, -- in a way I have so far only known at
second hand, in poetry or on the stage -- with a feeling I have always
regarded as a figment of the imagination. Oh, he is a man like a lion, strong
and beautiful and proud -- and yet gentle too, not like the brutal men of our
northern world... I am sorry for you, Severin, indeed I am -- but I must
possess him -- what am I saying? I must give myself to him, if he will have
me." "Think of your reputation, Wanda, which is so far unspotted," I
exclaimed, "even if I no longer mean anything to you." "I am thinking of it,"
she replied. "I intend to be strong, to resist him as long as I am able --"
she hid her face in the pillows, " -- I wish to become his wife, if he will
have me." "Wanda!" I cried, gripped once again by that mortal terror which
robs me of my breath and takes away all my control, "you with to be his wife,
to belong to him forever... Oh, do not drive me away! He does not love you --"
"Who says so?" she exclaimed hotly. "He does not love you," I went on in a
passion of despair and entreaty. "It is I who love you, who adore you, I am
the slave who lets you tread him underfoot, who desires to carry you in his
arms forever --" "Who says he does not love me?" she broke in harshly. "Oh, be
mine!" I cried. "Only be mine! I cannot exist, I cannot live without you. Have
pity on me, Wanda -- have pity!" She looked at me again, and now her face
assumed the familiar cold, heartless expression, the old evil smile. "So you
say he does not love me," she said contemptuously. "Very well then, take what
consolation you can from that." And with these words she turned on her side
and scornfully showed me her back. "My God, are you a woman of flesh and
blood? Have you no heart at all?" I cried, my breast heaving convulsively.
"You know what I am," she answered coldly. "I am the woman of stone, Venus in
Furs, your ideal. Kneel down, and pray to me." "Wanda!" I implored. "Pity!"
She began to laugh. I buried my face in the pillows; pain had dissolved my
grief, and I let my tears flow. For a long time there was silence in the room;
then Wanda slowly raised herself on her arm. "You are boring me," she said.
"Wanda!" "I am tired, let me go to sleep." "Pity," I begged. "Do not drive me
away -- no man, no one, will love you as I do." "Let me sleep." She turned her
back again. I sprang up, unsheathed the dagger which hung beside her bed, and
placed its point against my breast. "I will kill myself, here before your
eyes," I whispered. "Do as you please," Wanda replied with absolute
indifference. "Only let me go to sleep." She yawned. "I am tired." For a
moment I stood as if petrified; then I began to laugh and cry at the same time
-- at last I put the dagger in my belt, and fell on my knees before her again.
"Wanda -- only listen to me for a few moments," I begged. "I want to sleep!
Don't you understand!" she cried, springing from the bed and pushing me away
with her foot. "Have you forgotten I am your mistress?" When I did not move
she seized the whip and struck me. I got up, and she struck me again -- this
time in the face. "Wretch! Slave!" With a clenched fist raised heavenwards, I
turned to the door with a sudden resolve and left her bedroom. She threw the
whip aside and burst into sparkling laughter -- and I can imagine my
theatrical gesture must have been extremely droll. I have resolved to free
myself from this heartless woman who has treated me so cruelly and is now
about to reward my slavish devotion and suffering with betrayal and
infidelity; I have packed my few belongings in a bundle, and written her the
following note: "Madam, I have loved you to madness, I have given myself to
you as no man has ever given himself to a woman -- but you have abused my most
sacred feelings and played a shameless and wanton game with me. While you were
cruel and merciless, I could still love you -- but now you are about to become
cheap. I am no longer the slave whom you can kick and beat. You yourself have
set me free and I am leaving a woman I can only hate and despise. Severin
Kusiemski." I give these lines to the negress, and hasten away as fast as I
can. I reach the railway-station out of breath, and all at once I feel a sharp
pain at my heart -- I stop -- I begin to weep -- oh, it is shameful! -- I want
to run away, and cannot. I turn back to -- where? To her whom I abominate and
adore at the same time. Once more I pause. I cannot go back. I dare not. And
how am I to leave Florence? I remember I have no money, not a penny. Well
then, on foot: better to be an honest beggar than eat the bread of a
courtesan. But I cannot leave: she has my word, my word of honour. I must go
back. Perhaps she will release me from it. After a few rapid steps I stop
again. She has my word of honour, my pledge to remain her slave as long as she
wishes -- until she herself sets me free; but I am still free to kill myself.
I go through the Cascine and down to the Arno, whose yellow waters ripple
monotonously around a few stray willows. I sit down and cast up my last
accounts with existence -- I pass my whole life in review: a wretched business
on the whole -- a few joys, an endless number of futile and worthless
experiences, and between these a rich harvest of suffering, misery, fear,
disappointment, blighted hopes, afflictions, sadness and grief. I thought of
my mother whom I had loved so deeply, and whom I had to watch as she was
slowly devoured by a terrible illness; of my brother, who died in the prime of
his youth, full of joy and happiness, without ever raising the cup of life to
his lips; of my dead nurse, my childhood comrades, the friends who had striven
and studied with me -- all, all now covered by the cold, unfeeling earth; I
thought of my pet turtle-dove, who so often paid her cooing addresses to me
instead of his mate -- all had returned, dust to dust.

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 I laugh, and plunge
into the water -- but at the same instant I seized one of the willow branches
hanging above the yellow waves -- and I see, as if in a vision, the woman who
has caused all my suffering, hovering over the surface, luminous in the
sunlight as though transparent, with red flames circling her head and
shoulders, and she turns her face towards me and smiles. I have come back,
dripping, soaked through, burning with shame and fever. The negress has
delivered my letter; I am undone, lost, in the power of a heartless woman I
have affronted. Well then, let her kill me -- I cannot do it myself, and I
have no desire to go on living. As I pass the corner of the house she is
standing in the gallery, leaning on the railing, her face in full sunlight,
her green eyes sparkling. "You are still alive?" she asked, without moving. I
said nothing, my head bowed. "At least give me back my dagger," she went on.
"It's no use to you. You haven't even the courage to take your own life." "I
lost it," I replied, trembling, shaken by chills. She looked me up and down
with her haughty, scornful air. "I suppose you lost it in the Arno?" She
shrugged her shoulders. "No matter... Well, why didn't you leave?" I muttered
something which neither of us could understand. "Oh, you have no money!" she
cried. "Here!" With an ineffably disdainful gesture she tossed me her purse. I
did not pick it up. We were silent for a while. "You don't want to leave
then?" she said. "I cannot." Wanda drives in the Cascine without me, she goes
to the theatre without me; she receives company, and the negresses wait on
her. No one pays me any attention. I wander about the garden, irresolutely,
like an animal that has lost its master. Lying in the shrubbery, I watch a
pair of sparrows fighting over a seed... Suddenly, the rustle of a woman's
dress. Wanda approaches, wearing a dark silk gown modestly closed Up to the
throat; the Greek is with her. They are in animated talk, but I cannot hear a
word they are saying. He stamps his foot, scattering the gravel in all
directions, and cuts the air with his riding-whip. Wanda starts back. Is she
afraid he will strike her? Have things gone as far as that? He has left her;
she calls to him, but he does not hear her, does not wish to hear. Wanda lets
her head droop sadly, then sinks down on a stone bench; she sits there for a
long time, lost in thought. I watch her with a kind of bitter joy, and at last
I summon up my strength and approach her with an ironical expression. She
gives a start, and trembles from head to foot. "I come to wish you happiness,"
I say, bowing. "I see, dear lady, that you have found a master in your turn."
"Yes, thank God!" she cried. "Not another slave -- I have had enough of that.
A master. Woman needs a master, and I adore mine." "You adore this man,
Wanda?" I cried. "This brutal person --" "I love him as I have never loved any
other man." "Wanda!" I clenched my fist -- but tears already filled my eyes,
and I was seized by a delirium of passion, a sweet madness. "Very well, take
him as your husband, let him be your master -- but I, I want to remain your
slave as long as I live." "You would remain my slave even then?" she said.
"That would be piquant, but I am afraid he would not allow it." "He?" "Yes, he
is already jealous of you," she cried. "He, of you! He ordered me to dismiss
you, and when I told him who you were --" "You told him --" I repeated,
thunderstruck. "I have told him everything," she replied, "our whole story,
all your eccentricity, everything -- and he -- instead of being amused --
became angry and stamped his foot." "And threatened to strike you?" Wanda
looked at the ground and remained silent. "Yes, yes," I said with bitter
mockery, "you are afraid of him, Wanda!" I threw myself at her feet, and in my
distress embraced her knees. "I desire nothing from you but to be your slave,
to be near you always! I will be your dog --" "Do you know, you are boring
me?" she said carelessly. I leapt to my feet. The blood was seething in my
veins. "You are no longer cruel, madam, but cheap," I said, stressing every
syllable. "You have already said that in your letter," she replied with a
haughty shrug. "An intelligent man never repeats himself." "The way you are
treating me," I burst out, "how else would you describe it?" She looked at me
quizzically. "See now," she said, "I might punish you for your insolence, but
I prefer to answer you with reasons instead of blows. You have no right to
accuse me. Have I not always been honest with you, did I not warn you more
than once? Did I not love you with all my heart and senses, and did I ever
conceal from you the danger of putting yourself in my power, of abasing
yourself before me -- or that I myself wished to be mastered? But you wanted
to be my plaything, my slave! You found your greatest pleasure in feeling the
foot and the whip of a cruel and arrogant woman. What else could you expect?"
She paused, and threw back her head. "Dangerous forces were slumbering in me,"
she went on, "but you were the first to awaken them. If I now enjoy torturing
and abusing you, the fault is your own; you made me what I am, and now you are
so weak, unmanly and wretched as to blame me." "Yes, I am at fault," I said,
"but have I not suffered enough on that account? Let us put an end to this
cruel game." "With all my heart," she replied with a curious, veiled look.
"Wanda!" I cried wildly, "do not drive me to extremes -- you see, I am a man
once more." "A man? A fire of straw, rather, which makes a great stir for a
moment and goes out as quickly as it flared up. You think you can frighten me,
and you only make yourself ridiculous. If you had been the man I first thought
you were -- serious, composed, stern -- I would have loved you faithfully and
become your wife. A woman needs to look up to a man -- but a man like you, who
wilfully puts his neck beneath her foot, she treats him like an amusing toy
and tosses him aside when she is tired of him." "Try to toss me aside now," I
said scornfully. "Some toys are dangerous." "Do not defy me," exclaimed Wanda,
her cheeks flushing, her eyes beginning to flash. "If you will not be mine," I
said, my voice stifled with rage, "no one else shall have you." "What play is
this from?" she cried scornfully, seizing me by the breast; she was suddenly
white with anger. "Do not stand in my way! I am not cruel, but I don't know
whether I might not become so -- nor, if I do, how far I might go." "How much
farther can you go," I exclaimed, my rage mounting, "than to take your lover
for a husband?" "Why, I might make you his slave," she said quickly. "Are you
not in my power? Have I not the contract? But that, of course, would merely
give you pleasure -- if I were to have you bound and tell him, Do with this
creature as you please." "Woman, are you mad?" "I am quite sane," she said
calmly, "and I am warning you for the last time -- do not stand in my way. One
who has gone as far as I have can well go further... I feel a kind of hatred
for you -- yes, hatred! I would take a genuine pleasure in seeing him whip you
to death -- I am still restraining myself, but-" Losing all control at last, I
seized her by the waist and thrust her to the ground so that she was on her
knees before me. "Severin!" she cried, rage and terror painted on her face.
"If you marry him, I will kill you," I said, the words coming hoarsely and
dully from my throat. "You are mine, I will not let you go -- I love you too
much," and I gripped her, pulling her closely to me while my fingers
involuntarily closed on the dagger which was still in my belt. Wanda fixed me
with a wide, calm, incomprehensible gaze. "I like you this way," she said
quietly. "Now you are a man. At this moment I know that I still love you."
"Wanda..." I burst into tears of rapture and bent down to cover her dear face
with kisses -- and she, suddenly breaking into a gay, ringing laugh, said,
"Have you had enough of your ideal now? Are you satisfied with me?" "You
mean-" I stammered, "-- you were not serious?" "Oh no, l am quite serious,"
she continued gaily. "I love you, you only 

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