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Victims of Love

Erotic story (1903)


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Jean de Villiot, Whipped women, (The confessor; Procured by a whipping; Victims of love; Daughters to marry; The colonel and his cook), Privately issued for bibliophiles and collectors only ; impr. de Vve Folguy (Alençon), Paris, 1903.


Madeleine was out of breath when she reached the residence of her friend and lover, Henri Amelot, Rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin, and she filled the flat with the fragrance of the bouquet of violets she wore in her bodice.

She possessed the great graceful charm of a young town lass who has seen much, guessed the rest, and carries the burden of her wordly science with all the ease inspired by robust health and good spirits. Her large wondering eyes, pretty little well-shaped nose, and full, fat, laughing lips arrested one’s attention, forcing the onlooker to think that he would be able to appreciate other charms, which if however less apparent, allowed him to guess at their plenitude and firmness beneath the drapery of her garments. The simplicity and freedom of her bearing was not at all enhanced by her exceedingly complicated style of dress, which to be accounted elegant, called for more careful adjustment and less exuberance. Madeleine’s hat was all awry, and her hair touzled, as if she had just got out of bed. Beneath the bolero-shaped jacket, her skirt, hooked up too high, yawned open behind, and to complete everything, her natty boots, lace-flounced frock, and silk petticoat were covered with stains of mud. Madeleine must have dismissed her cab. Perhaps the spendthrift lass had not even the necessary bit of silver to take a hired vehicle, and had come on foot.

Henri Amelot had just lost his wife, when he fell across this savoury, ripe morsel of lust, as if just in time to console him and divert his sad thought from grief. Love had followed on a chance fancy. At the moment when this little tale begins, the hours that he passed in company of his mistress were the only bright ones of his existence. He entirely neglected his daughter, little Séverine, a child of about ten years of age, who had been all in all to him once. Most of his money-and he was a rich man-passed into Madeleine’s pocket, and she was always greedy for gold,. without avarice, wickedness, or luxurious tastes.

"Well! Are you not going to kiss me?" she asked, offering her fresh and rosy cheek.

Henri replied to this amiable invitation by pressing his mouth to his sweetheart’s lips and face, but without eagerness, as merely from habit. He appeared very troubled and annoyed.

"What ails you? Why do you pull such a long face?"

"Madeleine," said he, "I have been expecting you for the last fortnight. Why did you not come to see me? Why have you not answered any of my letters?"

"What do you mean? Your letters? I only received one, wherein you told me that you were leaving Paris and would only return to-day."

"Did I write that?"

"Certainly. I’ve got your note in my pocket. There, see for yourself."

"It looks like my handwriting," said Henri, vastly surprised. "Yet I am sure I never wrote this to you. I am not a somnambulist! What wretch has dared to forge my name and copy my writing? You have a lover!"

"There you go again! Your foolish ideas spring up once more!"

"I’m not mad. You have a lover, I say."

"If you like!"

"And you show him my letters!"

"We read them together in bed, every night."

"Madeleine!" exclaimed Henri, seizing her wrists, "do not laugh and joke. It might bring you bad luck."

"Let me go! You’re most absurd!" she rejoined, shrugging her sloping shoulders.

"If you so greatly desired my visit only to make a scene, I should have done better to have stopped at home."

Henri grew suddenly calm, and his voice changed to a tone of supplication.

"Madeleine, if I’m jealous, it’s because I love you."

"Yes, yes, I know, you all say that! But as for me, I warn you, I don’t like to be worried, and have you always on top of me."

"Because you want your liberty, so as to be free to do the first foolish thing that comes into your head. If I thought you were not faithful to me, 1 don’t know what I’d do!"

Madeleine smiled. Her friend’s tragical outbursts always afforded her great amusement.

"Henri," she said in grave accents, "mother is coming to see me at five o’clock this evening, and I should not like the dear old thing to have to trudge uselessly from Belleville to the Champs-Élysées. That’s a bit of a journey, you know! So just see if you haven’t got something better to do than to stand there jabbering away, as I must soon be off."

"Couldn’t you have made an appointment with your mother for some other day?"

"I didn’t know you would have been at home to-day. I only knew of your at-rival through this wire."

"A telegram from me? All this is very extraordinary."

"Oh! don’t start your suppositions again," said Madeleine, "it’s awfully tiring. "Some friend has been playing practical jokes that’s certain. Undress me, and think no more about it."

He forgot his suspicions for a moment in the face of Madeleine’s fresh young beauty, as with fervent lips he paid homage to every charm that was gradually unveiled and revealed to his sight. First the breasts received his kisses, and then her pretty proudly-curving posteriors which she offered him with a silvery laugh. He knelt before them.

"Have you been beaten?" he asked. "Your bottom is scratched all over."

"Whoever do you think has beaten me? Mamma? I think I’ve passed the age of spankings. Yesterday I went to see a lady friend at Asnières, and I fell off the swing in her garden. There was a lot of new gravel just put down, and that’s why my bum is rather red."

They went to bed, but had hardly got between the sheets when both started up in fright.

"What in the world is in these sheets?" exclaimed Madeleine.

"How should I know?"

"It looks just as if they were full of cow-itch."

"There’s some demon in the house!"

"Your lady’s maid is having larks with you, that’s sure! I’m itching all over!" said Madeleine, twisting her shoulders about, and her entire frame writhing.

Henri suggested that she should take a bath to calm the irritation, but the pipes were evidently being repaired, as all the taps had been unscrewed.

"Who could have done this?" Henri said to himself. "I had my bath this morning and everything was all right then."

Madeleine went into the dressing-room where she washed herself all over and then gave her dress to be brushed to the lady’s maid who brought it back to her a few minutes later.

"This is maddening!" she suddenly exclaimed, raging furiously. "Look! The lace flounce has been taken off, and the bottom has been cut with a scissors. What’s going on in your place?"

Henri called the lady’s maid and gave her a severe scolding.

"I don’t know what master is finding fault with me for," replied the girl with marked astonishment, showing her sincerity. "I brought back Madame’s dress, directly I had done brushing it. Pauline made the bed, and cleaned the bath-room. She’s too old not to know better than to play such silly jokes."

"Where’s Séverine? Tell her to come here!"

"I haven’t seen mademoiselle to-day. No doubt she has remained at her little friend’s house."

"Dear boy," said Madeleine, "I can’t go away in this state. My dress isn’t fit to be seen. Run quick and buy me some lace like the rest. Your lady’s maid won’t know where to go to match it, and she’ll be too frightened to give the price. I don’t know either what it will cost you. It’ll perhaps be dear enough, but as my frock has been torn at your place, it’s only right that you should pay for it.

Henri took the remainder of the lace and went out at once.

Madeleine, while awaiting her friend’s return, started strolling through the entire flat, like some impertinent little lassie who is at home wherever she may be. In this way, she soon reached young Sévérine’s bed-room, where, for want of something better to do, she turned over a copybook on the table.

The first few leaves were devoted to history lessons, but afterwards she was astounded to find at the end a rough sketch of a letter, in quite a different handwriting, and which strongly resembled that of her lover. "My dear Madeleine, I am forced to leave Paris for a fortnight"—the very words of the note she had received! At the side of the inkstand was an envelope, whereon Henri Amelot had scribbled a few lines, and by comparing this writing with the page of the exercise book, Madeleine thought that both, seemingly identical at first sight, were really not by the same hand. Had Séverine been imitating her father’s script, or one of her professors? No, the little girl was the only culprit. Madeleine doubted no longer, when continuing to rummage in the room, she spyed out at the back of a drawer, a box of cow-itch and the piece of lace that had been cut off her dress.

"Oh! what a jade! Oh, the little minx!" she exclaimed. "And only think that I brought her cakes and chocolate! Wasn’t I a fool? She’s at home now perchance. The lady’s maid has misled us. Henri’s daughter can’t be our, for she only cut the lace away just now. Oh! if I could put my hand on her! I’d teach her to make fun of me!"

She once more proceeded on her search in every room, when suddenly, thinking of the water-closet, she dashed into it rapidly. The door of tle passage shut to with a bang, and she heard another door that gave on to the servant’s staircase opened quickly. But Madeleine was as lively as a bird. Before Séverine had time to escape, her father’s mistress caught her by her short skirt, and dragged the child back by the ear to the seat of the privy. By main force, the enraged woman bent her over it.

The little girl’s confusion, blushes, and silence proved her guilt up to the hilt. She did not dare make a movement, whilst Madeleine slipped a hand under her petticoats to pull off her tiny knickers. No doubt the guilty girlie thought it was useless to struggle against Madeleine, and it were better that the chastisement should remain a secret. Her heart beat hurriedly, and she stiffened her limbs with all her might, as if to enable her to support the coming strokes without crying out. Madeleine seized the usual little broom that is kept in these needful retreats, and rained down on her naked buttocks a shower of blows quite sufficient to have caused a less courageous child to hol with pain. When Madeleine noticed the first drops of blood, she ceased hitting her victim with the malodorous instrument and let Séverine go.

"You can complain to your pa," she then said, "if you want some more!"

Séverine had not uttered a shriek, nor heaved a sigh, but Madeleine had no sooner concluded her threat, than the tiny vixen spat on the bosom of her dress.

Madeleine left her with a gesture of contempt. She was in such a passion that she did not even wait for her lover’s return, but went off with her torn skirt, after having asked the lady’s maid for five francs to pay for her cab.

She had not been gone a minute when Henri came back. He was very much put out when told that Madeleine was no longer there. Seeing little Séverine crimson with emotion, and self-contained pain, he felt inclined to vent his rage on her.

"Ah! there you are!" he shouted at his daughter, pulling her rougly to him. "I should like to know who spoilt Madame Madeleine’s dress, and got up to vile tricks in my room?"

He then reproached her with all the petty crimes she had committed, causing him to suffer with his friend, the lady visitor.

Séverine lifted towards her father her beautiful bright eyes, which appeared as if they could only express kindness, frankness, and love, as she said with simplicity:

"I did it all, papa!"

"Wretched child!" exclaimed Henri, more surprised than vexed at such an answer.

"Yes," Séverine went on, "and I am wild at only having been able to annoy her. I wanted to hurt her—the dirty woman who dared to lift her hand to me!"

She stopped short, not wishing to confess that she had been whipped by Madeleine.

"Oh, she beat you, did she?" rejoined Henri. "She was right. You deserved twenty thrashings. That’s why you hate her so?"

"No, not for that, but because she gets all your love, and you don’t care a straw for me, ever since she came here."

"My poor Séverine, have you lost your wits?" said Henri, bending over the little girl to kiss her.

"No, no, you don’t love me any more," continued Séverine, eluding her father’s caresses, "you have sacrificed me for a wicked creature!"

"I forbid you to talk in that way, Séverine," said Henri severely.

"She’s a bad woman, and she isn’t fond of you now," rejoined the daughter. "I’ll prove it."

Thereupon, Séverine ran to her room, and returned with a crumpled letter wich bore the address of Madeleine Aubert, Avenue des Champs-Élysées, on the envelope. After an interminable chaplet of amorous flattery, and caressing words, the note wound up as follows:

Try, my own Madelon, to screw some brass out of your Henri No. 1. If you bad a few quids in your purse, we might treat ourselves next Sunday to a first-class beano. You know what a dab I am at finding out quiet little naughty corners where we can have some fun and no questions asked.

Ever thine,

Henri was now as white as a ghost.

"You—you took this letter out of the skirt of her dress?" he asked, each syllable falling from his lips as if it was a great effort for him to open his mouth.

"Yes, it was pinned underneath. I showed it to Julienne, the lady’s maid, and she explained it to me. Says she: ‘That there woman doesn’t care one least little bit for your poor pa. She only runs after him for his money.‘"

But Henri gave no heed to the conclusion of her gossip. He quickly crammed the letter into his pocket, caught up his hat, and made off in the greatest haste.

"I think it’s all over now!" said Séverine, jumping for joy.

"What’s all over?" asked the lady’s maid.

"Pa’s love for the dirty woman. I showed him the letter."

"You’ve gone and done a nice thing!" exclaimed Julienne. ’’They’ll have a row, and as they’ve both got violent tempers, it’ll be far above a joke. I’ve witnessed awful scenes between them that struck me all of a heap. He’s quite capable of killing her."

"A good riddance, if he does."

"A nice way of settling matters, I must say; but what would happen to him afterwards? You never listen to anybody, and fine thing come of your obstinacy."

Henri had driven off to Madeleine’s dwelling, without losing a minute. The young woman opened the door herself. She seemed greatly surprised at seeing him, and at first would not let him enter.

"What’s the matter? What has happened to you? You know mother is here."

"Never mind her," said he, repulsing her as far as her bed-room. "Do you know this letter?"

Madeleine laughed wickedly and slyly.

"What if I do?" was her tranquil rejoinder. "Did you think I put up with you for love of your fine face—"

She did not conclude her sentence, for Henri seized her hands, and lifting his walking-stick, struck her on the shoulders, back, and legs.

"Pity! Pardon!" she ejaculated.

"No! No pity for lying whores!"

She fell groaning on her knees against the bed. He tore off her dressing-gown, drawers, and slight chemise, converting the lace that had cost him so much money into valueless rags, while he bruised and rendered all bloody the body of the loved one, whose supple loins, and the large lower mountains, with their bold, full symmetrical contours and enticing curves had once been the enchantment of his eyes.

She moaned and sobbed, but seemed resigned to her fate, when suddenly rising to her feet, she ran to the door of her dressing-closet, and called out with all the strength of her lungs:

"André! André!"

A rather robust young man, short, sturdy, and broad-shouldered, came into the room without undue haste.

"Hullo there! D’ye want anybody to lend a hand? Haven’t you done whopping the gal? Whose place is this here, after all? You seem to be making yourself at home. You’d better pay the young woman what you owe her!"

He muttered and grumbled between his clenched teeth, but seemed in no hurry to defend Madeleine or punish her agressor, but when Henri began to insult and assault him, he lost his temper.

"Will you clear out, pimp!" cried Henri, seizing him by the collar, and trying to throw him out of the apartment.

The man suddenly turned upon the tricked lover, and gave him a heavy blow of his fist, full in the chest. Henri staggered. Madeleine, who up till then had remained an impassible spectatress, pushed him, trying to trip him up. With her companlon’s help, she managed to succeed. Henri fell, dragging his adversary with him. The two wrestled for a few moments, closely locked together. Madeleine seized the stick which Henri had let fall, and she struck him with it between the legs. Then, squatting down behind her rich keeper, she squeezed and pressed the secret fleshy nook of manhood, which in happier times had been the means of supreme caresses for her, perhaps arousing her fullest enjoyment.

All at once, Henri uttered a long, unearthly howl of pain. His opponent clutched him by throat, tightening his grasp gradually. The wretched victim’s feet kicked at empty space for an instant; his nails dug into the bully’s shoulders, and then he remained without a movement.

"You can get up now," said her fancy man to Madeleine.

She rose to her feet, her features livid, and her breast heaving with the precipitate palpitation of her heart.

"I think we’ve done the trick!" the brute added. "Don’t tremble so. He oughtn’t to have hit me. He began the tussle."

"We must not stop here," said Madeleine, with insensate fright. "Let us be off! Away! Away!"

"I’m going to run the rule over him first. As well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb."

"No, no! I won’t let you rob him!" cried Madeleine.

"Won’t you? There’s only one boss here, and that’s me!" replied the murderer in accents of authority, as he darted his mastering eyes in hers. "Rather late for delicacy on your part, my fine lady!"

He searched ill-fated Henri’s pockets, took his note-case, purse; and tore the rings off the corpse’s still warm fingers.

"I’ve left him his wedding-ring, one louis, and three francs to pay his fare to the next world. They won’t be able to say to-morrow in the papers that the motive of the crime was robbery."

"A truce to joking!" shuddered Madeleine. "What you’ve done is horrible!"

"Allow me, my beauty—what we’ve done, if you please. I don’t think I worked the job alone, did I?"

Madeleine’s servants had been allowed a holiday that evening. When they returned to their work next morning, they found Henri Amelot’s body in the middle of the drawing-room. At first, they thought it was a case of self-murder, but the disordered state of the apartment, their mistress’s absence, and the confession of a young woman to whom Madeleine, maddened with fear, had told her crime, soon unmasked the truth.

The body of the murdered man was conveyed to his flat in the Rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin. When little Séverine saw her father in the arms of Madeleine’s servants, and the contracted, grimacing lineaments of the dead man, she burst into a fit of sobbing, following the corpse to the bed on which it was placed. Then she fell on her knees, and covering her father’s ice-cold hands with convulsive kisses, she repeated unceasingly:

"My poor papa! My poor papa! I have killed him!"

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