A novel about Violetta - 2

 Not Alexandre Dumas
A novel about Violetta - 2

Annotation

I found an extremely curious work called “The Romance of Violetta,” where Alexandre Dumas, the father, is listed as the author.
I am extremely surprised that the authorship of the book I have mentioned is attributed to a well-known nineteenth-century novelist.
There are plenty of signs that the author is not Alexandre Dumas p;re at all.
The author did not analyze this work "bone by bone". In addition to everything else, it also demonstrates, in my opinion, perverted preferences, which, of course, were not inherent in the great novelist.
I have already encountered and own not only the book mentioned, but also the book "The Erotic Adventures of Gulliver", where Jonathan Swift is listed as the author. Exactly the same fake.
I understand this approach. It's called "Fanfic". But it seems to me that if you're going to write "Fanfic", then you should try to imbue yourself with the author's style as accurately as possible and in any case not write works that the author on the cover would never write. Under no circumstances.
Well, for example, the style of the book is more like the style of Emmanuelle Arsan's scandalous novel "Emmanuelle" and its numerous sequels. This novel has many imitators and successors.
The characteristic features of such books are detailed descriptions of sexual acts, not only between a man and a woman, but also between persons of the same sex. It is unlikely that Alexandre Dumas wrote anything like that.
But if Dumas had written a novel on such a topic, and even in the genre of "Erotica", I still insist that he would have written a completely different novel. Because Dumas is Dumas. He is a representative of the romantic and dramatic movement, not the physiological one. And some details, that is, parts of the bodies of the participants in simple games, are called by such mixed terms that they cannot be found in one work of the great master. Here are purely medical names, characteristic exclusively of works starting from the middle of the twentieth century, and figurative terms with references to symbolic designations used in the Kama Sutra or the Chinese, Indian and, possibly, Japanese heritage of the erotic genre. The influence of some other literature, clearly from the twentieth century, is also felt. So such a novel simply could not have appeared in the nineteenth century. The slang gives away that the author is not Dumas and not even French.
In addition, the author's passion for the female body, completely covered in "soft fur", which arose in the last chapters, is disgusting. What is this? What kind of nonsense? At the same time, both the hero of the novel and his heroine recognize such a body as the most beautiful, since the said "madam" joins a group "of interests", which already consists of three people - the author, a minor girl whose name is brought out in the title of the novel, and also a certain "Countess". This seemed insufficient to the author, so a certain famous actress, possessing that very "soft fur", is drawn into the intimate circle.
Well, in response to this vulgar "joke" or "duck" my fanfic arose, in which you will not find such outrages.
I would like to show that eroticism can exist without this vulgarity.
I don't know how successful I was.
Enjoy reading!
Source of the work under review: https: // www . litres . ru / book / aleksandr-duma / roman-o-violette-126567 / chitat-onlayn / (remove all spaces)



Instead of a preface

I, Alexandre Dumas, categorically reject the so-called "Romance of Violetta" attributed to me.

In my early youth I might have been proud that someone considered me so famous that he wrote under my name.

In my youth I would have felt indignant that this novel was attributed to my pen.

When I am mature, I would demand from the publisher all the profits he received from the publication of this book, and would leave with nothing the simpleton who decided to create under my name without my consent.

Now, in those years which I do not yet want to call old age, but which it is already awkward to call simply maturity, in other words, at that very age when I should already be wise, tolerant and even indulgent towards all human sins, and, I hope, at least partially I have become so, I cannot respond to this insolence with anything other than a condescending smile.

Pietro's Laurels Aretino no longer suits me. I do not pursue those authors, the heroes of one year, who flew to the top of fame like lightweight firecrackers and fell back down just as quickly, into oblivion, into nothingness, as these firecrackers fall into the mud. To try to compare with them in their resourcefulness, lust and attention to detail in describing the mystery that takes place between a loving man and a woman would be even more absurd than, for example, if I, with my age and build, decided to climb the ladder to an actress from a second-rate theater, who does not have excessive strictness of morals and replenishes her income from the profits of those not so rare meetings with not so rich men of not so advanced age.

I will not say that I did not know the caresses of women, among whom two or three, perhaps, were in love with me, but most of them were simply blinded by my fame as a dramatic writer, which I took advantage of, also not being so in love as to be overly concerned about how sincere their reciprocal feeling for me was.

However, the reciprocal feeling was probably quite in keeping with the word “reciprocal,” since neither they nor I lost our heads over the fascinating incident that took place between us – sometimes for a week, sometimes longer, or even just for one time.

And where would I have a son who inherited my profession, and, as I heard, did not fully inherit my talent, which I always argue with very fiercely, but in my heart I still cannot help but agree with?

I will begin by saying that nothing like this has ever happened to me, and also that I would not describe something like this if it had really happened to me. I should also end with this.

But for the edification of those upstarts who, like a dwarf who stole a giant's hat, brazenly flaunt it, imagining themselves to be a new Hercules, I will allow myself to write a dozen or two lines on the subject of how I would present such a story if it occurred to me to write something like that.

So, let me begin.

CHAPTER ONE

It happens that a person lives a long life, but only a year or two of this life leave such a huge mark on his life, which all the other years of his not so dazzlingly bright existence do not leave. And these years turn him upside down, and leave forever a languid memory of a mixture of tenderness and shame, sweetness and pain, the happiness of possession and the indelible sadness of loss.

Maybe this happens rarely, maybe it never happens to anyone, but it happened to me, and it’s time to tell you about it.

My first meeting with Violetta took place long before I actually got to know her in the sense that we had our first conversation. And before that, I had only seen her occasionally, since she lived next door, in the same house as me. Was it possible not to meet her at least once? And how could I not notice a very attractive girl of a fragile build, with a surprisingly graceful figure, with the face of an angel and equally angelic eyes, hair and gait? Two years before that, I had hardly paid any attention to her, since I was then already twenty-eight years old, and she was only a thirteen-year-old girl, and looked even younger, so that I assumed that she was no more than eleven or twelve years old. By right of seniority, I did not greet her first, although no one will say that I am not polite to ladies. Of course, I always greet them from afar, taking off my hat and making a small bow.

Her voice, when she greeted me in exchange for my greetings, was the voice of an angel, but at first I simply did not notice it.

However, she grew up, and I, busy with my thoughts, devoting myself entirely to my plots, did not notice this simple phenomenon, which consists in the fact that young girls over time turn into young ladies, and sometimes their childish prettiness imperceptibly turns into girlish beauty,

I would not have noticed it further, having become accustomed to her existence, as we become accustomed to everything that we stop noticing and appreciating, encountering it daily. But one day an incident occurred that changed my attitude towards her, and, indeed, changed my whole life. And it was like this. I had been casually acquainted with Violetta for two years, so I was already about thirty, and she... Well, let's start from the beginning.

I returned from the theatre where my "Musketeers" were rehearsing. This time I was dissatisfied with the performance of the actress who played Milady. She was unpleasant, vulgar. The actress tried to show a negative character, whereas according to my idea Milady should have been charming, enchanting, she should have added to her own prettiness also external innocence, and only a slight coquetry, which we men easily forgive beautiful ladies, but do not forgive ugly ladies, unlike women, who look at this issue the opposite way, because they can forgive coquetry to ladies who are inferior to them in all respects, but will never forgive coquetry to a true beauty. But Milady simply had to be charming, otherwise how could one explain Athos's love for her, first, and then d'Artagnan's?

So I wasn't in the best mood and was wondering if I should go to bed early, since I wasn't in the mood to work at all. And suddenly I heard a knock at my door.

I opened the doors and saw Violetta, who had some kind of cape or blanket thrown over her.

“Sir, I beg you, allow me to come in and lock the door behind me quickly!” she said, and without waiting for my answer, slipped into the room.

I closed the door with the bolt and looked at her with interest. At that very moment, I finally involuntarily noticed that she was no longer a girl, but rather a young woman, and quite an attractive one at that.

- Mademoiselle, I believe we are acquainted? I confess that I have nothing against your visit, but I fear that your visit will compromise you in the eyes of your family and many others, - I said.

- Ah, sir, I don't care what others think of me, - she replied. - At the moment, I'm only worried about what might happen to me if I don't find refuge from the hated persecutor! And your apartment seems to me the most reliable refuge for a poor orphan who is being pursued by the wicked husband of the owner of the workshop where I worked as a seamstress until today, but where I have decided not to stay a single day longer!

“If you, mademoiselle, are in danger, you can, of course, rely entirely on my protection, and at the same time, I assure you, my modesty will serve as a guarantee that nothing threatens you from my side,” I replied.

"And even if he did threaten me, it would not frighten me, since I cannot imagine a more vile Monsieur Ernest," she replied. "But you are only joking, Monsieur Duchon, since I believe you are a decent man and would not harm a girl who has trusted in your protection?"

I must say that I rented these rooms under the name Duchon to avoid unnecessary attention from fans of my books. Although I am not a misanthrope, and the fame of a famous writer does not bother me at all, sometimes I just want peace and quiet.

So I gave the poor thing refuge from her pursuer, giving her my bed, while I settled down on the sofa in the other room.

Before going to bed, she told me her story very briefly. I offered her tea, she told it at first impatiently, then more and more calmly, and finally my kind and indulgent attitude towards her completely calmed her down, so that, having laid out all the circumstances of the case, she was quite ready for sleep, I wished her good night and left her in my bedroom.

The gist of her story was that the scoundrel Ernest pursued her with his courtship and harassment, but the room she rented from the same owner of the workshop had a bolt. Several times the scoundrel even broke into her room at the time when honest people already see their third sleep. Only the bolt on the door prevented him from bursting into the room, since no amount of persuasion could convince him to stop his vile harassment.

Ernest was angry and said that nothing would stop him. When she came home that evening, she found that the bolt on the door was missing. She immediately guessed that this was the work of the scoundrel Ernest, and that from now on she was defenseless against his harassment. Grabbing a blanket from the bed and wrapping herself in it, she immediately ran to my door in order to seek protection from her offender.

If only I knew that from this day on my life would change dramatically!

This is roughly how I would begin a story or novel about Violetta.

If I decided to continue it...


CHAPTER TWO


I didn't sleep at night, I just thought.

A bird of paradise flew into my bachelor cage. The girl was lovely.

It never occurred to me that I could have an affair with her, that is, to put it in simple but frank terms, make her my mistress. I was still a decent enough person for that. I was even less likely to make her my wife. I was not so stupid for such a thing! Not to mention that marriage itself was not part of my plans, but if I were to tie the knot, then in a marriage of which I would not have to be ashamed. The physical attractiveness of this girl was beyond praise, but to take advantage of her and her inexperience would have been vulgar, and to marry a penniless seamstress who appeared out of nowhere? That would be suitable for those tearful novels that I write precisely for seamstresses and other ladies of the middle class. I console humble and poor girls with the hope of possible happiness, I give their mothers an unrealizable but pleasant hope, and I make those old maids and unhappy wives sympathize with my literary heroes, who, if they cannot rejoice in their own fate, are not yet deprived of that sympathy which is the easier to show to another woman, the less real she is. If they met such a lucky woman in reality, then, perhaps, envy would outweigh any sympathy in them. But literary heroines are not envied, they are sympathized with. That is what my fantasy is based on. In order to make my readers shed tears over my books, I have learned to sympathize with my heroines. This makes the husbands of my readers fork out for my new books and brings me a very good income, sufficient for one, but clearly not sufficient for two, especially if one of them is a lady. Just as a naturalist discovered that any gas occupies all the space given to it in a certain vessel, I might add that a woman occupies the entire budget given to her by her husband. Moreover, any woman always finds that this budget is insufficient and demands more and more. Marry? God forbid!

I pondered this all night and sometimes it seemed to me that the best way out would be to suggest that the girl leave my house and seek salvation from her overly persistent suitor from some other protector. But I remembered that, according to the girl’s assurances, she was a complete orphan. Somewhere, she probably had an older sister who helped her a little until a certain time, after which she declared that she was already old enough to work and earn her own living. This was, if I am not mistaken, when Violetta was either nine or ten years old. From that very harsh time, she first became an apprentice seamstress, working for food, then almost a full-fledged worker, who was even paid in money from time to time when the fruits of her labor sold well. Of course, the mistress deceived and cheated her, but not so much that it distinguished her from all the other owners of sewing workshops.

So the girl could take care of herself, but she would do better to get a job in another dressmaking shop. To begin with, I should protect her from that scoundrel Ernest. And although I had decided shortly before that the said activity was not at all part of my duties, the girl was good. She was attractive. To please her was in itself a pleasant thing. Her grateful smile was sufficient recompense for some troubles, if they did not ruin me and did not take up all the time I needed for work. Well, I could sacrifice the time and money that I spent on rest. Indeed, caring for this little one was not a bad diversion for me. Even if I was not the lucky one who would receive all her love, it was enough for me that as long as I was near her, she would still remain a pure flower, who had never known a man's love, had never experienced either the passion of love or the disappointment of love. This flower, which had just begun to blossom, was not indifferent to me. And that was enough for me to take some part in her fate.

Besides, I decided that the apartment I was renting had not suited me for a long time. My books were selling great, I could afford better housing, closer to the center, more comfortable and, most importantly, with nicer neighbors.

By the morning I had already firmly decided to move out of this apartment and find a better one, where there would be a bedroom for me and a separate bedroom for my new friend.

She would like to live with me as long as I allow her, she stated this in no uncertain terms before falling asleep. I thought it was a joke and decided to send her away in the morning. But my nighttime thoughts made me look at the matter differently. Why should I refuse to help my neighbor just because he is not a neighbor, but a neighbor? Don't women have a soul? Aren't they people? Our ancestors doubted it, but in our time we look at this question more liberally. Granted, a woman's soul is not at all the same as a man's soul, but still... They fully deserve happiness. At least some of them.

"If I had married her, I would have had the advantage of not having acquired a bunch of relatives along with this marriage!" I thought. "I could have put up with having a father-in-law or one or two pretty little sisters, but I am horrified by the presence of brothers, whether older or younger, and even worse, a mother-in-law! No, I can't stand a mother-in-law!"

I smiled at the thought! What a lucky poor man! He'll marry a beauty, but he won't get a witch as a dowry!

I usually had breakfast at the nearest caf;. I had practically no food in the house. Taking my new partner to a caf; seemed inconvenient to me. After all, everyone knew me there. It would be like announcing that I had become the guardian of a little girl. Everyone would immediately decide that I had taken advantage of her and made her my mistress. This thought was unbearable. To be known as a corrupter without being one? Why would I need such fame? Even taking into account that I had decided to move out and find myself a new place to live, this prospect did not suit me.

Have you ever noticed how unreasonably much we value the opinions of those people whom we don’t give a damn about?

By the way, what a great idea! I'll have to use it in one of my novels!

Well, I tell the little girl to leave the house, walk down the street towards the center of Paris, turn the corner of the nearest house and wait for me there. I'll catch up with her, we'll take a cab and have breakfast in one of the cafes closer to the city center. There, the probability of meeting someone you know during breakfast is significantly lower.

However, I am already recognized on the streets, I am already a well-known writer. It is not scary. People who recognize me will not dare to come up and talk to me. I can have breakfast in the company of a young girl, after all, maybe she is my niece, or goddaughter. A pupil. Who knows?

She's too young to be a literary agent!

The word "niece" immediately brings to mind frivolous thoughts. I don't care! I've already decided to be friends with this girl, there can be no talk of a closer relationship, so let them chatter what they want. In any case, people always invent some rumors about any notable contemporary. This will only increase sales! So what? Maybe I'll even take her to the presentation of one of my books? I'll tell my readers: "I brought to you a young girl who inspired me to write one of my books!" I'll get applause. I even know what book I'll tell you about. I have one book. It's called "Dove".

So, Violetta is just the girl who inspired me to write my novel "The Dove". In this case, I can very well treat her to a cup of coffee with a crispy bun.

And then I intend to contact an agent so that by the evening a more suitable apartment can be found for me. In a quiet area. With two bedrooms. Preferably with two bathrooms. However, this is unnecessary. We can wash ourselves in turns in one bathroom. I will even be pleased to take a bath after her. Nonsense!

In any case, we will have breakfast at home from now on. I will hire a maid, one who will also prepare breakfast. If I do not find one, I will hire a maid and a cook separately. So much the better. Let the agent find an apartment with pleasant surroundings. Conducive to romantic relations. But I do not intend to start an affair with her, do I? No, of course not. But this little one must - in her own interests! - be introduced to the rudiments of maiden modesty! Otherwise she may fall into the hands of some scoundrel seducer! I will not allow that. I will hire her a tutor. No, I will be the best tutor for her. I will tell her how a young girl should behave. I will teach her to say "No" to the advances of scoundrels like Ernest. And always make sure that the door has a reliable latch, It seems that she did not at all demand a latch on the door of my bedroom, which I gave up to her. If I wanted to go in to her while she was sleeping, I would not encounter any obstacles! And I wonder if I just wanted to look at her while she was sleeping? Or straighten the blanket? In a completely fatherly way?

By the way, what's stopping me from doing it now? It's already morning, and she's still sleeping. It's time to wake her up. I'm not going to shout from the other room! I might scare her! And I wouldn't want that!

It's decided, I'll go into the bedroom and say in a quiet voice that it's time to wake up, after which I'll turn away and leave the bedroom.


CHAPTER THREE


I went into the bedroom. My bedroom, mind you, which, by the way, that night turned into her bedroom.

A beam of light illuminated her face, with her eyes closed. She must have had a good dream, she was smiling in her sleep. The very light down on her cheek, down, smaller than on the skin of a peach, barely noticeable, shone in the rays of the sun, like gold. Her hair was spread out on the pillow, wavy, light, which also seemed golden. The room was too warm. And the blanket was too warm. That is why she almost completely threw it off herself. Her naked body was revealed to my gaze. Her sweet sleep made this picture idyllic, as if it were an image of some ancient goddess. Her figure was flawless. Perhaps too fragile, the skin was almost translucent in those places where the sun's rays fell on it. The girl's chest rose slightly from her breath, I almost physically felt its softness and at the same time elasticity, although, of course, I did not touch it. I should have turned away immediately and walked out, but I was in no hurry. What was the point? She didn't know I was watching her anyway! I had already seen her body, I felt only delight, purely aesthetic, of course. If I were an artist, I would have captured her in this pose and in this lighting. I know an artist! Should I commission him to paint such a picture?

At that very moment I felt that I hated the thought of my artist friend contemplating the beauty of this girl.

Without yet experiencing love, I feel burning jealousy? What nonsense! And yet, if my friend were standing next to me, I am convinced that I would immediately cover her with a blanket. Now, on the contrary, I wanted to come up and reveal everything that was still hidden by the edge of the blanket.

I stood there for a while, trying to capture the whole picture. Obviously, I wouldn’t have another chance to contemplate it. So why miss this unique opportunity? I came closer. Even closer. I didn’t regret my tactlessness. The spectacle was worth it.

And yet, should a grown, sophisticated man contemplate a fifteen-year- old girl, only on the basis that she trusted him, hoping for his protection, and not at all suspecting his immodesty.

“She didn’t know I was a man?” I thought. “She can’t be that naive!”

I couldn't help but want to get even closer.

I walked over and gently placed my hand on her shoulder.

She covered my hand with hers.
…
I don't plan to write a sequel, may my reader forgive me!


CHAPTER FOUR


“I never would have thought that waking up could be so pleasant!” the young lady whispered, opening her eyes. “And touching too.”

“Touch? Pleasant?” I asked again, realizing that her hand was not pushing my hand away at all, but, on the contrary, was holding it where it had penetrated in the most shameless way.

I decided to stroke her shoulder lightly and expand the territory of my encroachment, first touching her neck, then a little lower towards her chest. But I stopped my hand in indecision before that gentle elevation that marked the beginning of her maiden breast.

“You don’t like what’s next?” she asked. “W h a t are you stopping?”

He stood up abruptly and turned away from her.

“My child, I should not have done what I allowed myself to do, and even more so I should not have done what I almost did, which we would both have regretted later, not without reason,” I answered. “Touches of this kind are allowed by people who are in a certain degree of intimacy, which cannot happen between us. Get dressed and…”

“What ‘and’?” she asked.

- There is a towel and a robe in the bathroom, - I said. - I don't have a woman's robe, use mine. It's clean. However, there is no point in putting on a robe, put on yours right away, we are leaving this apartment, because there is nothing to even have breakfast with. We will have breakfast in a cafe.

"You say this 'We' of yours so naturally that I feel completely at ease under your protection," said Violetta. "Could you bring me your robe here to the bedroom? I'll put it on, go to the bathroom, and after I wash up, I'll change into mine."

- Indeed, it is so natural! - I answered. - Well, I had to! I understood that the robe was needed, but I had no idea what exactly it was for! I'll get it now.

I practically ran to the bathroom, grabbed the robe and returned with it. I assumed that Violetta was still lying in bed and covered with a blanket. This assumption was natural, considering that she had demanded the robe just to go from the bedroom to the bathroom, that is, some measly twenty steps! But I was wrong.

Entering the bedroom with a robe in my hands, I saw her standing in the middle of the bedroom in Eve's costume and looking at herself in the mirror. So I had the opportunity to look at her whole back, and in the mirror I saw her from the front. I liked both spectacles, since they complemented each other harmoniously. It was as if two beauties were standing in front of me, and the one I saw in the mirror was looking at me and did not at all think about covering up at least partially what was revealed to my gaze.

“Do I think I’m not so bad that you run away from me and look away?” she asked, looking inquisitively into my eyes.

“I am not saying that I am not pleased to see you, my child,” I replied. “I am merely reminding myself and you that such behavior is condemned by modern society, since seeing each other in their original form is only permitted to persons of the opposite sex if they are married.”
“Or they are lovers,” she added.

“This happens, I admit, but such a relationship is condemned by both the church and secular society,” I replied.

“Which doesn’t prevent such a connection from existing everywhere,” she retorted.

“Exactly so, since the desires of the flesh sometimes overcome social prohibitions,” I said. “That is why such liberties should be avoided.”

– Are you afraid that you will not be allowed into Paradise if you look at me in my natural form? – asked Violetta. – Doesn’t this seem illogical to you? After all, Adam and Eve saw each other in their natural form and were in Paradise? And when they thought that nakedness was shameful and that nakedness should be hidden, God became angry with them and expelled them from Paradise! Is n’t that so? And so, if we all want to return to Paradise, shouldn’t we behave as naturally as Adam and Eve behaved before they were expelled from the Gardens of Eden?

“It is evident, my child, that no one has attended to your education, and your own reflections are leading you down a dangerous path,” I said. “Please, put on this robe and let us quickly forget that I saw you in your natural state.”

"If you don't like it, you don't have to look, but I'm warm and I don't need a robe to get to the bathroom," she replied sharply. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you saw me naked. Who is she, the one who isn't supposed to know about this? The wife?"

- Silly girl! - I answered with a laugh. - I don’t have a wife!

- So, a mistress? - asked Violetta. - Let her go. Now you are mine.

“I don’t have a mistress,” I answered, slightly disingenuously.

In fact, I had several female acquaintances, very friendly and sensitive to my modest literary talents, with whom I sometimes spent my free hours, evenings and otherwise, but towards morning I usually left them until I met again. I did not share a home with any of them. So I have never had a kept woman or a cohabitant, and as for the term "mistress", perhaps I lied.

“I know why you are afraid of intimacy with me,” she said suddenly. “You consider me a minor. Relations with me are reprehensible. You cannot tell anyone about this. You will have to hide it. But you are a writer! You will not calm down until you describe everything that has happened to you, especially if it is something interesting, like what is happening to you now! You want to become my lover, but you are not ready to pay the price of moral responsibility that will have to be paid for this.

I was amazed at how accurately she guessed my feelings, which I myself did not suspect.

“You’re right, baby,” I replied. “If I took advantage of your availability, society would condemn me.”

- My availability? - Violetta exclaimed. - Who told you that I am an available girl? If I worked as a seamstress, does that mean that I am an available girl in your opinion?! Yes, I know that some young and beautiful girls my age and even younger than me allow men to approach them, receiving money for it! But I am not like that! I have never had a man, because I have never loved anyone! And you will not be able to be the one who will get me in exchange for providing me with a place to stay for the night and for breakfast in a cafe! I simply thought that I could not fear for my innocence, and...

She stopped short and paused.

“What ‘and’?” I asked this time, repeating her phrase exactly.

“And you’re right, I wanted to seduce you,” she admitted. “I wanted to check how much I could predict your behavior and even control it. What do you want? After all, I’m a girl, and not as naive as you think! I’ve never had sex with a man, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know at all what it is and how it happens! I’m not some kind of nun, brought up in ignorance and lies! I know some things. Maybe not much, but what I don’t know, I guess. I know that all men love to look at naked women, the younger, the more attractive they find them. And I know that I’m not ugly. So the sight of my body is a delicacy for you! I don’t need to explain that. But I like how selflessly you resist temptation.”

This tirade of hers would have been very instructive if she had not remained naked during it. I confess that I hardly listened to her, and reconstructed her speech only approximately, on the basis of subsequent joint recollections of this morning.

At that moment, I simply continued to devour her with my eyes, no longer pretending that I didn't like it. Here she herself understood the inappropriateness of her edifying speech given her overly revealing attire, which consisted of the absence of such. She proudly proceeded to the bathroom, and I remained standing in the middle of the bedroom, a fool, a fool, feeling that this girl had already begun to twist me around her finger.


CHAPTER FIVE


We were sitting in the caf; Muguet Blanc. I ordered her a cup of hot chocolate, candied fruits and nuts, crispy rolls and butter and cheese of her choice, and for myself I ordered black coffee with the same roll and an omelette. Not much for breakfast, in my opinion, but she declared it was even too much. I had to resign myself to it.

By this time, my agent had already received instructions from me on how to find an apartment, since on the way to the cafe I stopped by to see him and handed him a detailed description of what kind of apartment I would like to rent and the price range within which he would like to limit his search.

Of course, I understood that any agent working on commission would find me an apartment at the top price, so I slightly underestimated my capabilities in this reference. I have been using this tactic for a long time and it helps me find, if necessary, quite decent housing that meets my wishes and even some whims, this happens quickly and to the satisfaction of both parties, since the agent believes that he squeezed the maximum out of me, while I am also convinced that I slightly outsmarted him.
“We must stop these reprehensible actions and avoid them in the future,” I said after a couple of sips of coffee, which was surprisingly good.

"Why do you insist on being so distant from me?" she asked. "I am no longer a girl and can freely dispose of myself."

“You are still a child, I heard that you are only fifteen years old,” she answered.

- No! - she objected. - I'll be sixteen in a week!

“In that case, right after breakfast we’ll go to the ladies’ store to buy you some more decent clothes and anything else you choose,” I said.

“I want cologne and nice lingerie,” was the answer.

- What a strange choice! - I was surprised. - No one will see your underwear anyway, and as for the cologne - who and what do you need it for?

"That's my business," Violetta insisted. "And who should I dress up for? To walk the streets, attracting the attention of men I don't care about? Or to arouse the envy of those poor women who can't afford nice clothes, and so wear comfortable ones?"

“If we’re going to go out together, your clothes need to match mine, and when it comes to a woman, ‘match’ means ‘much better,’” I explained.

“I would very much like to go with you to some interesting places, but I see that you are embarrassed in front of me,” Violetta answered. “Or are you afraid of compromising yourself? Or are you afraid that I will try to get us married?”

- As I have already said, all these fears are in vain, the prospect of our marriage is not discussed, - I objected. - And enough about it! We have known each other for less than a day!

“We’ve known each other for two years,” the stubborn woman objected.

“It was a nodding acquaintance,” I clarified. “Greeting a person you know by sight only because you occasionally see him near your home does not mean you’ve met him.”

“I know a great deal about you, and you were probably curious to know who I was,” Olivia insisted. “Besides, I told you about myself yesterday and today. And doesn’t it seem strange and even not entirely noble to tell a girl to her face that you barely know her, when in fact you had a good opportunity to look at me from head to toe, and by the way, you used this opportunity to the fullest?”

“It is hardly appropriate to reproach me for being an ordinary man with all the masculine qualities,” I objected. “ Any man I know, and I am sure any man I do not know, would take advantage of this opportunity in my place. And the Pope would not fail to cast his immodest glance at such beauty, and I do not claim to be holier than the Pope!”

- You know how to give compliments, - answered Violetta. - But I understand perfectly well that a man who gives compliments is actually engaged in seducing the woman or girl he says them to. Even if he doesn't particularly count on success. It's in your blood, men!

“So be it,” I agreed. “Now we have everything cleared up. I do not deny that I am interested in you, but I deny that this can mean anything for your future and mine. I admit that it is pleasant for me to be your guardian for a while, since I like to listen to the nonsense that your lovely mouth utters, and to watch the changing expressions of your very pretty face. I like to see your figure, with or without clothes…”

“I think it’s much nicer without clothes!” Violetta sneered.

“I don’t deny that either,” I agreed. “But I declare once and for all that I have no intention of marrying a minor who appeared out of nowhere in my life, and I am not so depraved as to take advantage of this minor without having any right to do so.”

Violetta pouted and began to spread the butter over the bun with exceptional care.

I had already finished my breakfast, so she was simply stalling for time; she saw that this was beginning to irritate me, and so she picked at her food with particular pleasure.

I pulled myself together. After all, I was in no hurry, and my irritation had no basis. What angered me was that she had noticed that this could anger me, and so she had done it on purpose. Very well, in that case I should stop getting angry over such trifles.

“I forgot to tell you,” I said absentmindedly. “I have a business meeting with a publisher in three hours, and you’ll have to take a walk in the park until I’m free, since we won’t be returning to the old apartment, and the new one hasn’t been rented yet. If we don’t have time to visit a store by then, or don’t have time to choose what we need, we’ll have to wait with our shopping for today. We’ll put it off until a more convenient time. I noticed that you need much more time for breakfast than I expected.”

Violetta instantly stuck a piece of cheese on the sandwich, shoved it into her mouth and swallowed the rest of the sandwich.

“I’m ready!” she said, jumping up from the table and heading for the exit.

I put three francs on the table and followed her out.


CHAPTER SIX


Violetta dragged me into a perfume shop.

"I want to smell like that, it'll drive you crazy!" she said.

“Since when did you start addressing me so familiarly?” I asked with a smile, as I liked this new form of communication, as it brought us closer.

- You are my guardian, if you do not want to be a lover, - answered Violetta. - You will be the best guardian in the world. All guardians try to rob the rich heirs under their guardianship, and you have no monetary interest in guardianship. You took on this duty voluntarily, and not for the money, but for my own sake.

“Well, first of all, I’m not your guardian at all,” I began.

- You gave up your bachelor apartment and are going to rent a new one that will have room for both of us! - Violetta objected. - After that, tell me that you don't take care of me! You buy me presents a week before my birthday! Even godfathers don't do that!

- Well, I'm certainly not fit to be your godfather! - I laughed.

“And secondly, I can see that you enjoy it!” she continued.

“It would look suspicious in public,” I suggested.

- Not at all! - Violetta exclaimed. - It's suspicious when you call me "you" and I call you "you"! Neither guardians, nor parents, nor relatives do that! Only pimps do that!

“Where did you get this vile word?” I asked indignantly.

– Only in romantic books do you come across fifteen-year-old girls who don’t know what a man is, what a woman is, and what kind of relationships arise between them in marriage and elsewhere, – said Violetta. – I have no practical experience in these matters, but if I didn’t understand what you were talking about, I would have to be called an idiot who is at least four years behind her peers in development! Listen, famous writer! If you depict innocent girls in your novels who, on top of all that, don’t even realize that they are innocent, you are writing lies for God knows what kind of naive readers! Your readers must be twelve years old! I didn’t let that scoundrel Ernest get to me not because I don’t understand what he wanted, but precisely because I understand perfectly well what he was trying to achieve, and because I would never let him do that to me for anything in the world!

- This simplifies my communication with you, because I did not know how to approach explaining to you these truths that it is time for a young girl entering adulthood to know, - I said with real relief. What scents do you prefer? Since we have already entered a perfume shop, I should buy something for you. Perhaps lavender?

- Ugh! Clean old ladies smell like lavender! - she replied, twisting her lips into a very cute grimace, - I want the smell of lilac!

“Do you have Cologne water with the scent of lilac?” I asked the pretty saleswoman.

“There is one with jasmine scent, one with rose scent, one with citrus scent and one with violet scent,” the saleswoman replied.

“As far as I understand, you don’t have Cologne water with the scent of lilac,” I summed up.

“Your lady would really like the scent of jasmine,” the saleswoman continued her advance.

“I love it when people answer questions I didn’t ask!” I said ironically.

But the lady obviously did not catch the sarcasm in my remark and continued her enthusiastic attack on my wallet.

“Our store offers you a unique opportunity to purchase paired fragrances – male and female, which are most harmoniously combined with each other,” she insisted. “Here, look, there is such a line of fragrances.”

“I beg your pardon, madam, if there is no scent of lilac, we will think for ourselves what can replace our choice, or we will go to another store,” I replied.

“Let’s try to take what this nice girl is offering,” Violetta suggested.

“ Take what you like, and let’s make the necessary purchases as soon as possible and leave this establishment,” I said. “Even though I am very favorably inclined to subtle aromas, in these rooms, it seems, they are all mixed with such force that soon I will get a headache or begin to hallucinate. ”

“You can wait until I make a choice,” Violetta answered.

She sniffed absolutely all the bottles that were offered to her by the impudent saleswoman. Having brought some of them to her nose, she wrinkled it and twisted her mouth, other smells she apparently considered quite tolerable to her taste, but still not so acceptable that she would want to buy a bottle with a liquid emitting this aroma. Other aromas, it seems, she liked quite a lot, but she still put them aside, saying that the bottles should not be put away too far yet, perhaps she would return to them. Finally, it seems, she reacted quite animatedly to the last of the bottles offered to her.

- Well, here it is! - she exclaimed. - This is exactly what I wanted!

“Mademoiselle, this is jasmine,” said the saleswoman.

I noted her lack of professionalism. After all, jasmine was what she named first! And only then did I realize that the saleswoman's goal was not to quickly satisfy the customer's desires. She wanted the customer to examine the entire assortment in the hope that perhaps she would buy more goods than she planned, since something else would be found that suited her.

In the end, Violetta really did choose five bottles and suggested that I choose the ones that I liked. I decided that if I rejected more than one bottle, she would think I was a miser, and if I approved all five, she would think that I had no sense of smell, or that I was completely indifferent to her choice. But it turned out that all the bottles she chose were really good, and we took all five.

“I would never have thought that in France they learned to make such good Cologne water!” I said.

- In vain you do not believe in the possibilities of France in this sphere, - said Violetta. - Of course, we do not have such a large selection of natural aromas, but the French have a fine sense of smell and good taste. I am sure that the time will come when the aromatic liquids of Paris will be valued more than the aromatic liquids of Cologne!

She looked so pleased with her new purchases that I didn't bother to explain to her how naive and ignorant she was of the subject she was trying to discuss. That French colognes were better than German ones? Really, that's funny!
 

CHAPTER SEVEN


In the evening we entered the apartment that the agent had found for me. It looked like it was a newlywed apartment. I decided that my agent had misunderstood my list of requirements. I took the sheet of paper on which I had written down all my requirements and read them. Damn me! After all, I really had described an apartment that was needed specifically for newlyweds, so that they could spend their first honeymoons in it! How did I manage to describe everything like that?

And then it dawned on me. I wanted to rent rooms where I would be comfortable day and night, but not to work on a new book, not to do any other work or rest, but to spend as much time as possible together with Violetta, drawing all the joys and pleasures from this shared pastime, occupying all my leisure time with it, interrupting only for meals and sleep, and, although I asked to find two bedrooms, each of them had such a wide bed that it could well serve as a marriage bed.

I had made a mistake, and it would certainly catch Violetta's eye, who would decide that I had not made a mistake, but had deliberately booked a room in which it would be easiest for me to seduce and corrupt her. But that was not my intention at all! However, it was too late to change anything, it was late, we had occupied this apartment, I had paid the first installment and the agent's commission. I could not force the agent to look for another apartment, since I had nothing to find fault with, which meant that I could not deny the agent his commission. Therefore, if he devoted the entire next day to looking for another apartment, I would have to pay for this trouble of his as well. In addition, I would have to redo my list of demands, categorically excluding large beds in the bedrooms and demanding the presence of an office for my work.

I decided that I could do without a study, since my bedroom had a desk and an armchair, and if for some reason that didn’t suit me, I could work in the kitchen. Incidentally, the wide bed turned out to be very comfortable, I could sleep well on it, which was an undoubted advantage of this choice. Violetta was of a slight build, the bed was clearly too big for her, but what difference did it make? It was enough to just change the pillow. A large blanket and a wide bed, if you think about it, are not such a disadvantage that it’s worth making a fuss about. So what if I’ll be overpaying a little for a luxury that I don’t really need. But I’ll be saving on the fact that I didn’t demand an apartment with a study!

All my doubts evaporated when I realized that Violetta not only did not suspect me of being a vile seducer, but was simply delighted with her new bedroom. I call it that because, according to my calculations, she will have to live with me for at least a week before I can find her a decent job in another workshop where she could work and rent a room without fear that some new scoundrel Ernest would start pestering her with his harassment.


“This bedroom is a bit unusual for her in its luxury,” I thought. “It will be difficult for her to return to an ordinary modest room, like the one she lived in before. Oh well, we can consider that she will simply live for a week as if on vacation, in a boarding house. And then she will return to the gray everyday life. It will not be a big deal if I spoil the little one a little. This will serve as a speedy recovery from the psychological shock that the poor thing experienced from the harassment of the vile Ernest.”

The hired maid, as it turned out, was also willing to combine the functions of a cook, which was not bad at all. I did not need any extra witnesses to our cohabitation. After all, you will never prove to anyone that you simply took pity on the girl and gave her shelter for a while until you find her a better job! Everyone will think that I intend to seduce her and take advantage of her innocence! Society always suspects the worst in relation to its citizens. After all, it is so pleasant for everyone to think that someone somewhere is much more corrupted than yourself!

We had dinner at a cafe near our new apartment, after which I suggested that she take a short walk.

- That's enough walking for today, - answered Violetta. - Today there were so many new impressions, everything different, unexpected and pleasant! I just want to take a bath and fall asleep!

Frankly, I felt pretty much the same, so we went back to the apartment. Violetta heated the water herself and filled the bath, after which she went to perform her hygienic procedures.

I decided that it would be a good idea to write down my new impressions, without, however, assuming that they could be included in some new book. A writer is simply obliged to write at least something every day.

And then I heard her say something to me. I didn't immediately understand what she was saying, but I listened and understood.

- Why don't you answer? - she repeated insistently. - I'm asking you! Rub my back, please!


CHAPTER EIGHT


“How did you manage before when I wasn’t around?” I asked through the door. “Did you have girlfriends for these purposes?”

- Yes, two! - she answered proudly. - How can you wash yourself and not wash your back? My hands can't reach some places!

“Why didn’t you turn to them for protection and help, but came to me?” I asked with distrust.

“Okay, I was kidding,” she said with a laugh. “I had a washcloth with two handles. You don’t have one. Is it that hard for you to scrub my back? You’ve already seen all of me!”

“It’s not difficult for me, but things are going in a direction I don’t want to go,” I said. “It seems to me that you are persistently trying to seduce me.”

"Is it just your imagination?" she asked, laughing. "I thought you'd finally figured it out for sure!"

- My child, you have taken on a man's job, and I, by necessity, perform the functions of a mademoiselle who avoids premarital intimacy! - I objected. - Keep in mind: I am not as steadfast as girls are in this matter. However, not all of them do not give up their bastions at the first demand. So I will not be able to resist you for too long!

- That's encouraging! - said Violetta. - So are you coming? The water will soon cool down!


I went into the bathroom, took the washcloth from her hands and began to gently run it over her back.

“Are you petting or washing?” she asked.

“I haven’t figured it out myself,” I replied.

“ Then let’s finish washing first, and then you, if you want, can caress, but without a washcloth,” the devil suggested. “Press harder!”

I pressed the washcloth and ran it down her back, Violetta squealed.

- Not so much! - she exclaimed. - You're not scratching a horse! I'm a slightly more gentle creature!

“I’m sorry,” I muttered and began to stroke with extreme caution.

- Now it's too soft again! - she was indignant. - Give me your hand, I'll show you how to do it!

She took my hand, placed it along with the washcloth on her stomach, turning to face me, and began to move it over her stomach, under her breasts, along the sides, and as if by accident, moved it down to her navel and below.

- That's it! I can't stand it anymore! - I exclaimed and, throwing the washcloth into the water, walked out of the bathroom.

My hand was in soap. I was extremely angry, first of all, with myself. I could have simply helped her wash herself and pretended that I was completely indifferent to the whole process. This would have been entirely reasonable and would have had the effect on her for the educational purposes I was striving for. On the contrary, I could have decisively refused to fulfill her request, thereby finally setting the boundaries of what was acceptable. But I acted most stupidly. I even called myself a donkey, though not out loud, of course.

"Sorry, I won't torture you anymore," she said from the bathroom. "Could you just pour some warm water from the jug over me? I need to rinse off before I start drying myself."

She gave me the opportunity to get out of this awkward situation with dignity. I decided to go in, throw water at her with a completely stony face and be done with it. Was I really going to be unable to control my emotions? Was I really going to let some young girl twist me around her finger?

I went in, took the jug and poured it on her shoulders.

- It's hot! - she squealed. - You should have mixed it with cold water!
 
“Sorry, I’m an idiot!” I replied.

I tested the water with my hand. It wasn't that hot, but it wouldn't hurt to dilute it. I added some cold water and poured it over her clean body, where there was still some soap suds here and there.

“Not so fast, a thin stream,” she corrected my actions.

Finally, she washed the foam off herself and asked for a towel to be brought to her, in which she wrapped herself, as a result of which I was able to calm my fantasies, inspired by such unexpected views.

I left the bathroom. She followed me out, wrapped in a towel.

“There’s some warm water left, you can wash yourself too,” she said.

“I might wash myself, but don’t expect me to call you to rub my back,” I replied.

She pouted. To ease the tension, I decided to ask a conciliatory question.

“Well, did I cope with the task?” I asked.

“First the water was too hot, then too cold,” she replied. “But it’s okay, it’s fine for the first time. Next time, test the water temperature with your elbow. If it feels good on your elbow, it’s the right temperature.”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s done, it turns out?” I asked ironically.

“I helped the owner bathe her children,” Violetta said.

- Girls? - I asked.

“I am the owner of two girls and two boys,” answered Violetta.

I remained silent. Violetta looked at me and burst out laughing.

- The eldest boy is four years old! - she said. - I did n't think you'd be jealous of the kids!

“What nonsense!” I muttered and went into the bathroom to wash myself a little, but, of course, without the help of my new tormentor.

When I came out of the bathroom in a terry robe, Violetta was lying on her bed under a fluffy blanket. I guessed she had nothing on. It would be strange if she dressed up for the night on this, our second night together, after sleeping naked the first night.

- You have frozen me completely! - she said. - The water in the jug was too cold, you overdid it diluting it. I can’t warm up at all. Come to me, warm me up!

“The devil take me!” I thought. “What is she doing to me? After all, she’ll be sixteen in just a week! So she’s practically an adult! It’s impossible! Such a body, such desire on her part, and I’m behaving like a snowman, like a block of ice, like a piece of stone! How long can this hellish game go on? Damn it, I’m finally willing to marry her! Let it be so, but she’ll be mine this very minute!”

I decisively threw off my robe, went to her bed, threw off the blanket and lay down next to her, pressing myself so closely that no force in the world could have prevented what happened between us in the next quarter of an hour.


CHAPTER NINE


Don't expect in vain a description of my heroic exploits throughout the entire night, as well as a description of her ecstatic moans and demands for more action. Nothing of the sort happened and could not have happened, of course. After all, she was a virgin, at least physically. Here I do not touch upon the spiritual side of her life, because we men are not given to know what girls are no less informed about than we men, and sometimes much more. As well as what they are passionate about and how they spend time alone with themselves.

She played a dangerous game with me. Whether she won or lost, I won't judge. But it's obvious to me that her game of cat and mouse with me got out of control. I think she was planning on the explosion of the volcano of our passions, so that in a single moment we would both incinerate each other. I didn't want that either. However, the flesh sometimes dictates its own rules.

I, without thinking, threw myself into this abyss of manifestations of passions, both sublime and base, she had no time to think, and, it seems, she was not going to think about the possible dangers of such an unexpected and complete rapprochement.

At that very time when I wanted to do everything forbidden to the very heights, I did not doubt my abilities, which manifested themselves in the most definite way. But when I threw off my robe and lay down on the bed next to her, the obvious became doubtful. For this reason, I was no longer so confident in my abilities.

It happens that strong excitement leads to an effect opposite to what seems natural to all of us. For a brief moment I felt despair and shame, but leaving in disgrace was too offensive, I nevertheless began to caress her fragrant body, refreshed by a light addition in the form of the finest note of that Cologne water that we had bought the day before, with the scent of jasmine, so successfully combined with the natural smell of her body, fresh, just from the bath. I inhaled her and felt the enchanting touches on her skin, to which she responded with pleasure in the same way. Gradually my abilities began to return to me.

This turn of events, as it turned out, contributed to the best outcome. If I had tried to conquer her with a hard and firm proof of my desires, she could not have physically accepted it without sufficient preparation. It might have caused pain and forever turned her away from such manifestations of feelings.

For success, mutual or at least one-sided juices of love were required, facilitating the first movements of passion. All my passion, fortunately, returned to me gradually, but the necessary component had already been produced, so that my entry into my new rights of ownership took place quite softly. Her capitulation with the surrender of the last bastions was softened by my juiciness and no longer such extreme fortitude, which I had previously easily demonstrated to ladies, fleeting and easily accessible, which at this moment of truth had temporarily abandoned me, but by my flexibility and persistence. It was this circumstance that made me not a rough Viking, breaking through the gate on his heavily equipped steed, but a light horseman, easily jumping through the wicket, barely ajar, even if not to the very depths, where an obstacle laid by nature herself awaited me on my way, and I believe that this circumstance does not require explanation.

I had to retreat a little and try again to overcome this obstacle. The barrier gave way only a little. I repeated these attempts several times, convincing myself time after time that I was not received with indignation, but, on the contrary, the narrow gate opened wider and wider, and my attempts to break into the unknown paradise were more and more successful. At last I became like that barbarian who could no longer be stopped, and with the pressure of a furious Norman, unyielding and embittered by the previous resistance, I finally took possession of Eden, breaking through the last stronghold. Behind it, almost genuine paradise awaited me, or, in any case, fruits no worse than all the earthly and heavenly fruits that a man in love, which I undoubtedly was at that moment, could wish to pluck. Unlike Adam, I was not expelled from this Eden, but, on the contrary, was received in a way that I could not even hope for. The mutual embraces completed the battle to everyone's delight.

May the reader forgive me for these epic colors, but I am not capable of conveying in any other colors what happened that evening. No matter how skilled a master of words I tried to appear, reality surpassed the picture described, so that I was at the height of bliss, and, I dare to hope, she reached the same height with the least loss for her, since nature herself took care that the destruction caused by the conqueror was inflicted as gently as possible and at the moment when even the defeated party had already reached the required passion, when even acute pain simply does not have time to react, since other emotions and sensations prevail, capture you completely and force all other sensations to recede into the background.

In utter exhaustion and, I think, in amazement at what had happened, we lay for a very long time, exhausted, in the pleasant languor that followed the end of a stormy struggle. I finally sensed that she desired a caress, the simplest and most tender, the very one with which I should have begun my attacks, and which was obviously given to her in insufficient measure, since it inflamed my own feelings too quickly. I received the right to caress all parts of her angelic and fragrant body, to which the familiar scent of accomplished love was now mingled, and I took advantage of it. Truly, I wish I had not two hands, but eight, like the famous Indian goddess! They would all have something to do! But I am only a man with two hands, which gently, but sometimes feverishly caressed the territory of love and passion that I had acquired. From these actions I soon felt that I would like and was quite capable of renewing my attack, but she, correctly interpreting my beginnings, rejected them, whispering in my ear that for the first time what had happened was more than enough, and further caresses so ambiguous would cause her not delight, but pain. Understanding the justice of her objections, I intended to leave the battlefield, but she held me back with a light touch of her hand.

“Will our intimacy be as brief as it is swift?” she asked. “After all, there are all the other parts of my body left for caressing, for which your touch will not be as painful as where you are aiming!”

I realized my mistake again! Indeed, I could have continued my pleasures, caressing everything that an hour ago I considered a forbidden source of pleasure, something I had no right to even look at! Now, after moments of supreme revelation, all of this was at my complete disposal, and I so shamefully intended to leave this beauty without my attention!

An irresistible desire, which could be seen even from the outside, made these caresses even more delicious, since the forced ban on more decisive actions, which I imposed on myself at that time, inflamed me and made me more sophisticated in the sweet business of a closer acquaintance with her charming and young body. I tried to inadvertently bring closer to her even that which should have remained out of business for a time, and she did not object to this, if only I did not rush into the redoubt that had just been completely conquered, where time was needed to recover after such a rapid attack.

Suddenly Violetta recited something like blank verse:

– The glorious chevalier returned from the battle covered in blood,
But he is not wounded: the blood is foreign, it proclaims victory!

“Is this Corneille?” I asked.

“No, it’s Parisot,” Violetta answered.

“I don’t know such an author,” I said with some annoyance.

- You know, and very close, - Violetta objected. - Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Writer! Violetta Parisot at your service!

- Ah, I didn’t even think to ask your full name! - I suddenly realized. - Well, I’m glad to meet you! Allow me, mademoiselle, to kiss your hand on this occasion!

It was funny. We were both lying naked in her bed, and suddenly we switched to "You", making such a small talk! She coquettishly extended her right hand to me, I kissed it as gallantly as I could, then the same actions were performed with her left hand.

“That’s not enough!” I said with a smile.

“Then go ahead, Chevalier!” she answered with a laugh and offered me her delightful, tender, and firm breasts.

I paid tribute to the fragrant mounds with pink berries on their tops.

“You tickle me with your mustache!” she exclaimed and laughed merrily.

- That's what I was counting on! - I replied. - Finally, my moustache has stopped being a useless decoration under my nose! It has acquired independent functions!

“I don’t want to be tickled, I want affection,” Violetta asked.

I used my tongue and lips to do justice to the territory I was exploring, and I did not regret it. She also approved of this turn of events. I tore myself away and glanced at her face and noticed that she closed her eyes, her body gradually began to tense up, she stretched out along the bed and arched her back inward. This served as an unambiguous encouragement to continue the action. This was all I needed. With my right hand I began to stroke where her blood and my juices of love mixed, without going deep, however, sparing her. From this caress she tensed up even more. My tongue did the seemingly impossible, She began to moan with pleasure. But to torment the same places for so long, especially such tender ones, was dangerous, I decided to take a break and tore my face away from her chest. She opened her eyes and looked at me with bewilderment.

“Have you stopped?” she asked.

“Only for a new attack,” I replied.

My lips rushed to the site of the recent battle.

“No, there’s blood!” Violetta protested uncertainly.

“Nonsense, besides, I have a handkerchief!” I replied.

I pulled a cambric handkerchief out of the pocket of the robe lying at the foot of the bed and gently and carefully wiped her in the very place where women are most unlike men.

“It doesn’t matter, if there’s something left, I’ll take everything from you,” I said and pressed my lips to the most cherished place, to that crack that was decorated with only two barely noticeable petals, like a rose long before the beginning of its true flowering.

Further details of that night do not lend themselves to a stingy writer's feast. Besides, my pen in this chapter was already too immodest. I have preserved the memories of it in the smallest details, it is, basically, a mixture of teasing and frank close-up pictures, the most subtle vibrations of feelings, waves of surging passions, the trepidation of the first knowledge of this previously unknown to me side of relations with women, which is all one fragrant angel, which you want to admire and possess, sacrificing to it everything that she asks.

If she had demanded at that moment that I set fire to Notre Dame de Paris, I would have promised her without the slightest hesitation to do so! At that moment she had complete power over me.

Finally, she suddenly screamed, after which her body shook in passionate spasms, which caused a similar reaction in me, which would be a reason to change not only the sheet, but also the blanket. Then my mistress' passionate spasms ceased, every muscle of hers became soft and relaxed. I, exhausted, buried my face in her stomach, my nose an inch from her charming navel. She did not object.

“ I think this bed is so messy that we both had better leave it,” I said. “We have another bedroom with fresh bedding. I invite you there.”

“Okay, but only for a good night’s sleep,” she agreed. “And I need another scarf.”

“We will find as many handkerchiefs as we need in the bedside table of my bedroom,” I replied.

We went to my bedroom and lay down on my bed. As I fell asleep, I felt her wrap her arms around me and gently stroke me with her fingers for a while. I stroked her back and soon we both fell into a baby's sleep.


CHAPTER TEN


In the morning I intended to wake up earlier, but I didn't manage it. When I opened my eyes, Violetta was already in the bathroom, tidying herself up. I remembered that the robe had been left in Violetta's bedroom, and I felt awkward showing up without it: yesterday our mutual passion had eliminated any shame, but today the sun was shining brightly through the window, a new day had begun, and I wasn't sure that showing up completely naked would be appropriate.

I threw on my underwear, but couldn't find my shirt. So I quickly put on my trousers and only then decided to leave the bedroom.

“Good morning, Mr. Writer,” said Violetta, coming out of the bathroom. “The bathroom is free and at your complete disposal, and in the meantime I’ll take care of breakfast.”

“We have a maid-cook,” I said.

“I’ll make the omelette and coffee myself, I can do it better than any cook,” she said.

“Nonsense, the cook will do that,” I objected.

- Go and wash up already! - answered Violetta. - And never argue with a woman about breakfast.

"We are still on first-name terms, last night won't be forgotten!" I thought. "Her address as 'Mr. Writer' seemed deliberately cold to me, but I was smart enough to realize that it was a joke."

“ Why did you put on my shirt instead of a robe?” I asked.

“The robe is too warm,” she replied.

"That shirt looks unusual on you," I said. "It's so thin that it doesn't hide any details of your charming figure."

- Well, you answered your own question about why I put it on! - she answered with a smile.

“Shall we start our morning from where we left off last night?” I asked.

“To the bath!” Violetta ordered.

She came up to me and turned me around. I managed to kiss her on the cheek, to which she responded with a ringing laugh.

When I left the bathroom, a delightful smell of coffee filled the apartment.

“If this coffee tastes as good as it smells, I’ll marry you!” I exclaimed.

“What if he’s no good?” Violetta asked playfully.

“I’ll get married anyway, because I love you!” I said. “But in that case the cook will make us coffee.”

“How long have you known that you love me?” Violetta asked.

“Since yesterday evening,” I admitted.

“If you talk such nonsense, the coffee will get cold and you won’t like it,” said Violetta. “Sit down at the table, Mr. Writer!”

"The coffee is excellent!" I said, taking a few sips. "And the omelette is superb! I'll marry you!"

- But did I give my consent? - Violetta asked with a laugh. - You are overly self-confident, Mr. Writer!

– It seemed to me that our communication yesterday predisposed me to the fact that I could firmly count on a positive answer! Or am I mistaken? – I asked.

“ You are mistaken, my dear,” Violetta replied. “I am not going to marry a man who proposes out of guilt for having taken my virginity.”

“But I love you, and you, it seemed to me, have similar feelings for me!” I said.

“It seemed so, dear,” Violetta answered. “Love is not something that starts unexpectedly quickly and ends predictably soon. Love is for life. Otherwise, it’s not worth starting.”

“But wasn’t there love between us yesterday?” I asked.

- You answered your own question, dear famous writer, - said Violetta. - After all, I just told you that Love is something that lasts a lifetime, and you are talking about what happened between us in the past tense. In the past, therefore, no longer in the present. Now it is no longer there, and therefore it is not Love.

"I myself like paradoxes and unexpected judgments or proofs, but I don't like your reasoning," I said. "You've latched onto the reference to time. I didn't mean that what happened between us ended, but I wanted to say that yesterday began precisely what I call Love, and that it can continue as long as we ourselves want it to.

“Or how long we deserve this happiness,” Violetta clarified.

- There! - I rejoiced. - You called this happiness.

“Happiness can be short, and that’s usually the case,” Violetta answered. “But Love can’t be short, otherwise it’s anything but Love.”

“It seems that instead of a little charmer, I settled a little bore,” I noted. “So, you do not consent to our marriage? Wonderful! In that case, don’t say later that I did not propose to you!”

- Yes, and in such a way that I couldn't hide my joy when you were refused, - answered Violetta. - Don't worry, sir, I'll move out. As soon as I find myself a new job.

“I promised to help you with this, and I will definitely fulfill my promise,” I said. “And, by the way, I don’t understand the reason for our little quarrel!”

- Are we arguing, sir? - asked Violetta. - Why do you think so?

“There are no longer those trusting and warm relations between us that gave me the right to hope that my proposal of marriage would be received with delight,” I replied.

- But last night, Mr. Writer, you didn't offer me your hand at all, and not your heart at all! - Violetta answered with a grin. - And by the way, you didn't ask me for my hand and heart, you were interested in something completely different, which you got, and which you made full use of! If you're a good boy, this will happen again this evening, but we won't be doing this today, when there are so many things to do?

“What business?” I asked absentmindedly.

“You promised to find me a new job, I promised to move out as soon as that happened, and besides, during the day every person has a lot to do, besides what sometimes happens between a man and a woman in bed in the evening!” she said.

Well, there was a lot of truth in what she said. And although she promised to move out as soon as I found her a job, I promised to find her a new job, and I have to do it.

- Listen, my girl, - I said. - You don't have to work as a seamstress in some workshop. They pay very little there for such a damn hard job!

- What can you do! - answered Violetta. - Not everyone can be a writer and get huge money for telling others what happened to them, or what never happened to anyone!

- By the way, you have very accurately noted what a writer's work consists of, but you discount gift, talent, - I said. - By the way, I noticed that you also have some talent. And you could earn much more with it than a seamstress.

“I will not sell my love!” Violetta answered defiantly.

- Silly girl, that's not what I meant! - I objected. - If you had the idea of taking up that unworthy profession, I would never have allowed you to do it! I would have protested, I would not have let you. But I'm only saying that you could have made an excellent actress. Not only do you have an excellent appearance, but you also have the gift of pretense, which is absolutely necessary for any actress!

- How? - Violetta exclaimed. - You guessed everything? When and how? How did I give myself away?

I realized that she was deceiving me about something I had no idea about. I decided to pretend to see through her deception and find out in a roundabout way what it was.


CHAPTER ELEVEN


“I guessed it from your deceitful, charming eyes, from the sly smile on your sweet lips,” I answered.

“So what, you liked my deception and you took advantage of the situation,” Violetta answered.

“So I liked her deception!” I noted. “What did it consist of?”

“But I would prefer that you did not deceive me like that,” I said. “At least, don’t do it again!”

“Well, I won’t need any more,” she replied. “I’ve achieved what I wanted.”

“I can’t do this anymore!” I exclaimed. “This is torture! Admit it, how did you deceive me?”

- So you didn't figure me out!?! - Violetta asked in surprise. - I was stupid, I fell for the trick, I could have not confessed!


- Now you'll admit it! - I said. - After all, I must know what this deception is. How can I bother to get you a new job if I know that you deceived me, but I don't know how exactly?

“First, tell me why you said I was a pretender?” she demanded.

“You have created a small semblance of discord, although I see that you like me and you do not want to quarrel with me at all,” I said.

“Well, it’s nothing, I’m just being playful and decided to see what you’re like when you’re irritated,” she said.

“Frankness for frankness,” I reminded. “I expect recognition.”

“I’m ashamed,” said Violetta.

“ Whatever it is, I promise I won’t be angry and I will forgive you,” I said.

"It's about my coming to you," she said. "I lied about Ernest."

“You mean to tell me that this scoundrel managed to break into your room after all?” I asked.

- I want to say that he is not a scoundrel at all, - objected Violetta. - He did not break into my room, he did not harass me. In general, he is a completely harmless, calm and kind person. I slandered him only to have an excuse to enter your apartment and stay with you for the night. I thought that that very night you would do what you did only a day later.

“You have slandered a decent man?” I exclaimed.

“Only for a time, and only in your eyes, so his reputation was not damaged at all,” she replied.

“And what if that very night, as soon as you fell asleep, I decided to deal with Mr. Ernest?” I asked indignantly.

“It’s not in your nature,” replied the little rascal.

“What do you know about my character? By the way, I want you to know that I had this idea and I intended to carry it out, but I just postponed my revenge,” I lied, because it infuriated me that the scoundrel dared to have such a low opinion of me, without knowing me at all.

“Only very hot-blooded people act like that, and then only when they have the right to do so, even if it is the most ephemeral,” she objected. “People who are impulsive, who are unrestrained in their actions, act like that when someone causes trouble not to those around them, but to themselves.”

“You’re wrong,” I objected uncertainly.

“I’m not mistaken,” the walking ulcer objected. “Such fevers behave extremely unrestrainedly, standing up for others only if they consider these others their property – a wife, a common-law wife, a sister, a daughter, a niece, it doesn’t matter. But property. They don’t stand up for others like that. You, first of all, are not like that, and, secondly, you couldn’t consider me your property until what happened happened. And besides…”

She paused meaningfully and smiled triumphantly, as if she had caught me stealing someone else's chickens.

“ What, ‘besides’?” I asked.

- And the fact that deep down you were grateful to Ernest for the fact that, as a result of his harassment, I showed up to you in my underwear and trusted you, that flattered you! - said the impudent girl. - You were beside yourself with joy that such a romantic adventure had happened to you, that a bird had flown in to see you, young, pretty, and, what's more, completely trusted you. You even managed to spy on something that not every newlywed sees on their wedding night!

I must admit that the devil was absolutely right. But I understand it only now. At that time I was outraged to the depths of my soul.

- I didn't appreciate the depth of your talent for pretense! - I answered. - You'll make a great supporting actress! You'll play negative roles. But I won't lift a finger to help you in this career! I promised you that I would find a workshop for you where you could continue working as a seamstress, and I will fulfill my promise. However, I don't understand why you need to change jobs if no one bothered you at your previous place and it turns out that you weren't at all bad there.

“No, I won’t return to my previous job,” Violetta answered.

“Why?” I asked.

“I won’t tell,” she answered. “And if I do, it won’t be now, but sometime later, if I’m in the mood, and if I’m sure you won’t make another scene for me.”

“Okay, get dressed, let’s go look for a job for you,” I said.

I had absolutely no idea how I could find her a job as a seamstress. Besides, I had already decided that I would help her become an actress.


CHAPTER TWELVE


We arrived for a rehearsal of my play. Violetta confessed to me that she had never been to a theatre in her life, and she didn’t even know what a rehearsal was. I noted for myself the astonishing knowledge of this young lady in some matters in which it was perhaps too early for her to be so knowledgeable, and at the same time she demonstrated complete ignorance of things that, it would seem, even children three times her age could know!

“A performance, my dear, is a presentation of a book in person,” I said to Violetta.

“Well, you don’t have to explain that to me, I understand that, but what is a ‘rehearsal’?” Violetta asked.

“A rehearsal is the same performance that takes place without an audience, without costumes, but in the presence of the author, director, and other experts,” I said. “But sometimes spectators are allowed to the rehearsal, or friends of the author or director, or the theater director.”

“And how much does such a spectacle cost?” Violetta asked.

“They don’t charge money for attending a rehearsal, but outsiders, as a rule, are not allowed in,” I answered.

“But without costumes and scenery it’s not so interesting,” said Violetta.

“On the contrary, it’s much more interesting to watch a play without scenery and costumes, because nothing gets in the way of appreciating the actors’ performance,” I objected.

“Then why do they still use costumes and scenery during performances?” Violetta continued her merciless interrogation.

“Because the audience is not as interested in the acting as in the external side of the action, because the audience is not such an expert in dramatic arts, ” I answered.

- Mister writer, - Violetta said in a sarcastic tone. - If you consider your audience to be stupider than you, or at least lower than you on some emotional level or other criteria, you are wasting your time writing plays for them! Your plays will reach every viewer and convey to them what you wanted to tell them only if you consider your audience to be smarter, more sensitive, more competent than you yourself! In this case, you will try to tell them not only what you already know, but also what you do not know, and what you will have to learn from books, or create as a result of lengthy reflection, as a result of searches, disappointments and unexpected discoveries.

“And who is it that decided to teach me?” I exclaimed with feigned indignation. “Do you know that I am currently the highest paid and most popular writer in all of France?”

“And when you listen to my advice, you will be the most beloved and most brilliant author in the whole world and of all time,” said the little ulcer.

I wanted to get angry, but I had to admit that the little ulcer was right!

- Be that as it may, we have already arrived, so please be as quiet as a mouse, pretend that you are not here, - I said. - If the actors notice your presence and are distracted by you, it will mean that you are disturbing the rehearsal, and I will have to take you out, and at the same time leave the rehearsal myself. Only the director or, in exceptional cases, the author can make comments to the actors. Understood?

“I understand,” Violetta muttered and pouted.

“Don’t be offended,” I added in a conciliatory tone. “If you feel like telling me something, you can whisper it in my ear. Or better yet, remember your questions and ask me after the rehearsal is over. I beg you to fulfill this request of mine. I have already had the opportunity to see for myself that it is not so easy to come to an agreement with you, that you are quite a piece of work, but I beg you for the love of all that is holy not to disrupt the rehearsal. It is in your own interests.”

“Okay, I promise, calm down,” Violetta said.

“Honestly?” I asked again, just in case.

"You can deal with me," she answered. "While I was joking with you, I was joking. If I made a serious promise, I would rather bite my tongue off than not fulfill it."

“You don’t have to bite your tongue, just be quiet, or speak in a whisper so that no one but me can hear,” I said, although I didn’t feel like she had calmed me down.

We entered the auditorium, I greeted the director and the actors, introduced myself as Violetta's temporary guardian, saying that she was my niece, endured the actresses' distrustful looks and the actors' caustic grins, after which we sat down in the fifth row and began the rehearsal.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN


The chandelier on the ceiling, illuminating the hall, was extinguished, and the stage was illuminated by the wonderful light of many candles.

An actor came onto the stage and announced the title of the play.

– Esteemed audience, we offer to your attention a drama in four acts, written under the title “The Youth of the Musketeers” by the famous Alexandre Dumas.

Violetta began to applaud furiously, but the rest of the audience, of which there were no more than ten people, including me, sat in complete silence.

“They don’t applaud at rehearsals,” I whispered to Violetta.

The curtain parted, and we saw the scenery, which represented, in full accordance with my remarks, a rectory. The scenery showed a low hall, a door at the back, a door on the left; a window on the right, a large fireplace, a staircase leading to the first floor.

“And you said that there were no theatrical scenery at the rehearsal!” Violetta whispered in my ear.

“I forgot that today is a dress rehearsal,” I whispered back. “At a dress rehearsal, the actors play in costumes, and the stagehands run through the scenery. The director watches how everything will look together from the audience. He will move to different places and watch how it looks from the middle of the audience, from the sides, from the balconies.

- And from the gallery? - Violetta whispered.

“No, he’s not interested in the gallery, don’t get distracted, follow the action,” I whispered.

At the far end of the stage, on the stairs, dressed as a commoner, stood J., portraying Grimaud, the servant of Athos, who was then a viscount.

Mademoiselle M. came on stage, representing Charlotte Backson.

"Mademoiselle M. is as charming as ever!" I thought. "How well she shows Charlotte's character traits! It's immediately obvious that this lady is a devil in a skirt, a dangerous thing!"

“Ugh, what a bastard crawled onto the stage!” Violetta whispered to me, but I motioned for her to be silent, watch and listen.

Mademoiselle M. was followed on stage by Mademoiselle L., dressed as a maid for the role of Claudette. She was charming in the role of a travesty, but for a maid, even her appearance alone demonstrated excessive liveliness, temperament and independence. For this role, perhaps, Mademoiselle B., more often assigned to the role of an ingenue, would have been better suited.

I will now allow myself to cite a certain passage from the first scene of my play, where I will call the heroes of the action as they are called in the drama itself.

Charlotte ( to Claudette ): Well, get your belongings and linen ready so the driver can take it all away in one trip. Didn't you tell me the house was supposed to be empty today?

Claudette (from the threshold of her room): Yes, mademoiselle.

Charlotte (noticing Grimaud): Ah, it's you, Mr. Grimaud.

Grimaud: I brought a letter from the Vicomte, the door was open, I did not want to ring for fear of disturbing Mademoiselle; I went in and waited...

Charlotte: The Viscount is in the habit of passing the vicarage when he goes hunting... and when he returns... Will I have the honour of seeing him this morning?

Grimaud: Prudence will probably not allow the Viscount to come.

Charlotte: Prudence?

Grimaud: The Viscount is in a quarrel with his father.

Charlotte: With his father?.. The Viscount is at odds with his father, whom he reveres so much?.. But about what?

Grimaud: The old gentleman would like to introduce the Vicomte to Mademoiselle de La Luc;e...

Charlotte: Ah! This beautiful orphan, who is said to be the richest heiress in the province...

Grimaud: That's right!

Charlotte: So what?..

Grimaud: The Vicomte refused this acquaintance... Under the pretext that he felt no desire to marry. So he did not go to La Lusse,.. And returned here... Do you understand?

Charlotte: Okay, okay, thank you, Grimaud. Let's see what the Viscount writes...

- Why is the Viscount's servant so talkative as to blab his master's secrets to a strange woman? - Violetta whispered. - He should be fired immediately, or taught to keep quiet with a good whip!

“Be quiet,” I objected. “This is Grimaud, a very faithful servant, efficient, intelligent.”

“Such chatterboxes should be beaten or thrown out!” Violetta hissed, not in a quiet whisper at all, so that some people in the hall looked angrily at her, but seeing me next to her, everyone calmed down and continued watching the play.

After all, it was a rehearsal, albeit a dress rehearsal. Apparently, these people decided that Charlotte was invited to play the role of an expert and her opinion meant something to me, and the author's choice of which opinions to listen to and whose opinions to ignore is usually respected by everyone, provided that the author's fee is a significant amount, comparable to the fee of the actors playing the main roles, and especially, as in my case, twice as much.

Meanwhile, the action on stage continued as usual. Grimaud moved to the back of the stage, and Charlotte began to read the letter aloud.

Charlotte (reading): "Mademoiselle, your brother's prolonged absence looks like a resignation. Today a new curate, Monsieur Vitr;, arrives to take the vacant post." Today!

Grimaud: What a disaster! Mademoiselle, six months since your brother left... That's a long time for peasants... Six months without mass!

Charlotte (continuing). “The house in which you lived with your brother is from today yours. And I have informed the new cur; of this, as well as that he may be installed in the pavilion of the castle. Live in your own without anxiety or worry. Believe in my tender disposition, mademoiselle. Your devoted servant, the Vicomte de la F;re.”

Grimaud: Will Mademoiselle give me the answer?

Charlotte: Not a day has passed that I have not seen the Viscount.

Grimaud: Oh, of course.

Charlotte: I'll wait for him to express my gratitude in person.

The actor playing Grimaud has left.

The director looked at me, I nodded with approval, and the second scene of the first act began.

Charlotte (alone). If I am forced to leave this house, I shall have to pay for new accommodation, and the expenses will increase. Another month and my funds will be exhausted. And for me this miserable little house is nothing more than the vestibule of a castle... A castle! An earldom and a barony three hundred years old. It is cruel to live in a hovel with a view of such splendor! But the proverb says: "The eye sees, but the tooth does not see!" The proverb is a lie! Claudette, leave all your things, we are not leaving!

Claudette (on the landing, with her things): We're not leaving?

Charlotte: No… It is possible that the Count will pass by on his way back from hunting. Bring some wine and some fruit on the table. Ah! I think I see a horseman through the trees. Oh! How he hurries… How swift he is… He is galloping towards that hut… The hut of the village priest… Very well! Claudette, I have no more need of you, go!

“The scoundrel, she’s luring the Viscount!” Violetta whispered to me.

- Two days ago you did exactly the same to me! - I whispered back and winked.

- How can you compare!? - Violetta was indignant. - I didn't intend to marry you, and in defiance of your father!

“My father is dead, and he wouldn’t interfere in my matrimonial affairs,” I replied.

- That's what I'm talking about! - Violetta whispered.

Those present looked back at us again.

Mademoiselle M. stopped playing and looked at me meaningfully.

“Maestro, do you have any comments on the actors’ performance?” asked the director.

“Everything is wonderful, continue,” I replied. “Our discussions are just working moments of my perception.”

“Monsieur Dumas, do you have any comments on the first two scenes?” asked the director.

I realized that I was paying much more attention to Violetta's reaction than to the actors' performance.

- Mademoiselle M. is incomparable, - I said. - However, all the actors played excellently. I would ask the actor representing Grimaud to play more dispassionately. In my idea, Grimaud is a man who does not show emotions. As for Mademoiselle L., it would be better to keep in the background; it seemed to me that she also wanted to attract the attention of the audience. At a time when she has no words, she should not attract attention to herself with any chores around the house.

“Okay, Monsieur Dumas, we’ll go through these two scenes again,” said the director, and with a wave of his hand the actors returned to their original positions.

“I’m bored!” Violetta whispered. “I’m going for a walk.”


CHAPTER FOURTEEN



"What are you doing?" I asked Violetta as we walked out into the theater lobby. "The actors are rerunning two scenes for me, and I have to drag myself along behind you?"

“Nobody is forcing you, Mr. Writer,” Violetta replied. “Life is short, and I don’t want to spend a single minute of what I’ve been given in a place where I’m bored.”

- Why, my child, are you bored at the performance of my play? - I asked, feeling hurt. - All of Paris applauds me, and you are bored? Do you mean to say that my play is so bad?

“I can’t judge the play, whether it’s good or bad, because I didn’t finish watching it, but I didn’t like what I saw, I don’t agree with it, and if they listen to your comments, it will become even more boring,” Violetta answered.

- Really? - I asked with some resentment and even anger. - Perhaps you will make me happy with the opportunity to listen to your suggestions on how the actors can improve their performance in these two scenes?

- Easy! - answered Violetta. - Firstly, you let the audience read the whole essence of the drama from the very first scenes! Is that right? You showed the audience that Charlotte is a calculating and dishonest woman. She only pretends to love, she has trapped the poor Viscount. The actress plays her deliberately in negative colors. It is obvious that the actress herself does not love her heroine! In that case, she is a bad actress! The actress should not act, but live this role. She must feel every word, every gesture, after which all this should come from her so naturally, as if she is not playing a role, but simply living on stage and reacts to what is happening in a completely natural way for her character, her mood and her calculations. So, Charlotte must first love herself. I am talking about the actress representing her image! And then, what kind of name is Charlotte! It is not suitable for a negative heroine!

“Why is that?” I asked.

" These days, the name Charlotte is associated with Charlotte Corday!" Violetta replied. "Just as the name Jeanne is associated with Joan of Arc."

– But then both the names Maria and Anna are prohibited, because her full name is Marie Anna Charlotte Corday! – I objected.

"People only know her as Charlotte Corday, they don't remember her other names," Violetta objected. "If the parents named the girl Charlotte, they saw in her a future selfless heroine, they had to cultivate in her feelings that they value above all else."

“My Charlotte is an orphan!” I objected.

“That doesn’t change anything,” Violetta replied. “Everyone around Charlotte treats her as she should be treated. Even if her name was given to her not by her parents’ free choice, but by the calendar according to her baptism day. Charlotte will be Charlotte, and not the one you imagine here.”

“What do you propose to call my heroine?” I asked.

- For example, Anne, - said Violetta. - Anne de Beyle would be wonderful. Your Vicomte, as far as I understand, depends greatly in his judgments on the nobility of those with whom he associates. It is terrible, but such is the trait of your Athos. In character, your Milady is Anne of the purest water! And the name de Beyle will explain why the Vicomte has planned to marry her. She is poor, let us say, but the name de Beyle elevates her in his eyes!

“What is so sublime about the name de Beyle?” I asked.

"The de Bailles are relatives of the King of France," said Violetta. "One of the Bailles, namely Anne de Bailles, was the wife of Bellegarde, a close friend and relative of Henry IV, as Tallemant des Reaux wrote,

“That doesn’t mean anything to me,” I waved it off.

“Then perhaps the name Antoine de Bourbon-Beyle, Count de Moret, illegitimate son of King Henry IV of France and his mistress Jacqueline de Beyle, Countess de Moret, who received the title of Marquise de Wardes in 1617 as a result of her second marriage to Ren; II Crespin de Bec, means something to you?” asked the little wretch.

“No!” I cried. “You can’t know that!”

- I have an excellent memory and I am very interested in your novels, Mr. Writer! - said Violetta. - If it were not for your novels, do you think I would have come to you in the middle of the night? Would I have stayed with you overnight? Would you have received everything you wanted from me the very next day if I had not been a passionate admirer of your writing talent?

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, struck to the depths of my soul.

“Your Viscount might well have neglected his wealth in order to become related to the King,” continued my implacable tormentor. “He might not even be sure that these were the de Baileys, but hope alone, strengthened by youthful ardor and his conviction that true beauty is found only in noble people, would have completed the rest. Finding this lady extremely beautiful, that is, refined, your Viscount would easily believe that Anne de Bailey is descended from those de Baileys who are related to the King. And in this case, he could not provide his father with proof of such a relationship, but he could still hope for himself that it did exist! This would explain his obstinacy in wanting to marry Anne, even against his father’s will. Let me remind you, dear author, that in your novel "The Three Musketeers", your Athos is extremely old-fashioned and believes that the will of the father is the law for the son of a nobleman. Why does he himself so easily violate these rules?

“Because this understanding came to him over the years, when he himself got burned by his own wrong choice!” I answered.

“People are reluctant to admit their mistakes, even when they become obvious to everyone,” Violetta objected. “Athos will never admit that he made the wrong choice, and that he was extremely blind. He will believe for the rest of his life that he did the right thing, but was simply deceived. All the blame, therefore, lies solely with her, with your Charlotte, or, excuse me, with Anne de Beyle.”

- But the novel has already been published! - I said. - Even you have already managed to read it!

- A magazine version, that's all! - Violetta objected. - There will be a book edition, and reprints. Add Anna de Beyle to the list of many names, and everything will be fine. Besides, we're not talking about a novel, but a drama on stage! Not everything has to match!

“Okay, I’m ready to add the name of Anne de Beyle to the list of Charlotte Buckson’s names,” I agreed. “But I have one condition.”

“Which one?” Violetta asked.

"You're coming to work for me as a secretary," I said. "You'll proofread the drafts of my novels and make notes in the margins. No, you'll discuss all your ideas with me, and everything you don't like.

“Then I will have a condition too,” said Violetta, pursing her lips.

“ What?” I asked, fearing that she would name an unthinkable fee.

“We’ll discuss all these edits to your novels in your bed, or in mine,” she said with a sly squint. “Naked, under the same blanket.”

- Damn me! - I cried. - I'll make the changes. You're my secretary. From this very minute! No, from yesterday!

“Now about the maid and the servant,” continued my young tormentor.


CHAPTER FIFTEEN


“Okay, what did you dislike about the maid?” I asked.

- After all, according to your plan, I suppose, this is the same maid with whom the young d'Artagnan later had an affair in order to get closer to Milady? - asked Violetta.

“It’s quite possible,” I agreed.

- Absolutely impossible! - objected Violetta. - If so, then this maid, as it turns out from such an assumption, will remain Milady's maid even after her marriage to the Viscount. But in that case, she will be aware of the denouement, that the Viscount tried to deal with her and staged his death. After such events, any maid would run away from such masters as far as possible, only her heels would sparkle. Unless this maid has some special weakness for her mistress, so much so that she will pull her out of the noose and run away from the Viscount's damned house with her. So think and decide. If this is the same maid, she is not so much a maid as a friend and confidant. In this case, their intimate relationship should be shown. That is, the entire plot in this part should be rewritten. Or, at least, she must have the utmost respect and devotion towards her mistress. But know that you will then have to explain why Milady will in the future spoil her relationship so much that they will both secretly do evil to each other. Although I admit, the story of how the maid saved Milady could be interesting if there was development of their relationship. So, in that case, this maid is an active participant in the events. She should be given more attention.

"I'm hardly interested in developing the relationship between Milady and her maid," I said. "I didn't develop the relationship between Anne of Austria and Marie de Chevreuse, I didn't reveal the relationship between Marie Antoinette and Princess Lamballe in The Queen's Necklace! So how could I possibly describe something similar in relation to some Milady and her maid?"

"Well, the idea isn't bad!" I thought. "Maybe someday later I'll write a short story about how Milady's maid pulled her out of the noose, and also about how Milady repaid her for this service!"

- Yes, you are not as bold as the Abb; Bourdeille, that is, Brant;me, as the Marquis de Sade, or even as Madame Marie-Madeleine de Lafayette, - noted Violetta. - You are even more modest than the Duke Fran;ois de La Rochefoucauld. Well, if you want the spectator not to pay any attention to the maid, then instead of shyly retreating into the shadows, she should behave like any other maid. Let her in every way demonstrate her busyness in the presence of the mistress, straighten the pillows, or wipe the dust, or wipe the window, or just slightly straighten things, or better yet - a little of everything. She can bring wild flowers, put a bouquet on the table, fill a vase with water from a jug, and so on. In a word, in the presence of the mistress, she must demonstrate her indispensability and at the same time respect, that is, always remain in a position facing the mistress. After all, her salary depends on it! By the way, when the mistress turns away from her, she can make faces or some other gestures that indicate that she internally considers herself no less than her mistress.

“Why do you think that the maid considers herself no lower than the mistress?” I asked.

“All maids and all servants are like that,” answered Violetta.

“Perhaps!” I agreed. “And what about the servant named Grimaud?”

- A young servant who sees only his master, and then suddenly a young beautiful girl who will most likely become the Viscount's wife, - continued Violetta. - And this young girl has a very good maid! Think about it! If the master is hunting for the mistress, why shouldn't the servant hunt for the maid? It's quite logical.

“Not necessarily,” I objected.

- Yes, not necessarily, - agreed Violetta. - But it is unlikely that he will be indifferent to the situation and to the maid herself. Either he will show interest, which is quite understandable, or he, let's say, will show feigned indifference or even contempt, if he does not like the mistress herself and does not want the Viscount to marry her. Or, in the end, he observes in order to form his own opinion and draw his own conclusions, and then, perhaps, even influence the master so that the decision is what he needs. And finally, the fourth option is that the servant is so well trained that he does not betray his true feelings.

“It was precisely the last option, the fourth, that I had in mind,” I said.

- Nonsense, my dear author! - objected Violetta. - He is not disciplined, because he is excessively talkative, he tells details about his master that should not be told. After all, the Viscount hardly ordered Grimaud to tell all this as if it were incidental! Remember what he said!

“I don’t remember the scenes I wrote well enough to quote them from memory,” I said. “You are my secretary, my dear, so you remind me of these phrases!”

"Easy!" said Violetta. "Here are his lines. "I brought a letter from Monsieur the Vicomte, the door was open, I did not want to ring the bell for fear of disturbing Mademoiselle; I went in and waited." "Prudence will probably not allow Monsieur the Vicomte to come." "Monsieur the Vicomte is at odds with his father." "The old gentleman wishes to introduce Monsieur the Vicomte to Mademoiselle de La Luc;e..." And then, when Charlotte makes the assumption: " This beautiful orphan, who is said to be the richest heiress in the province," he confirms: "That's right!" that is, he tells Charlotte a great deal of personal information about the Vicomte's family affairs without his permission. If the Vicomte had wanted Charlotte to know about his quarrel with her father over their different views on his marriage, he would have preferred to tell her about it himself, rather than let her find out about it from a servant! Remember that your Athos is a man, as you say, noble, that is, arrogant, haughty, a snob, who does not consider his servant his equal, and, consequently, does not consider him equal to the one he has chosen as his future wife!

“I guess so,” I muttered.

– I haven’t remembered all of Grimaud’s phrases yet! – Violetta continued. – Here are some more of his statements: “The Vicomte refused this acquaintance… Under the pretext that he felt no desire to marry. So he didn’t go to La Lusse … And he came back here… Do you understand?” How would a servant know what the Vicomte wanted and what he didn’t, and why he was telling this lady all this? And here’s another phrase of his, in which he meddles in matters that don’t concern him : “ Trouble! Mademoiselle, your brother has been gone for six months… That’s a long time for peasants… Six months without a mass!” And only the last phrase doesn’t deserve my condemnation, he simply asks: “Will Mademoiselle give me the answer?” And, by the way, after he addressed her as “you”, addressing her in the third person is not very polite. Either he should have always addressed her in the third person, or, if he had dared to speak to her not as if indirectly, but directly, addressing her as "You", he should not have distanced himself again without any reason. This could only have happened if some third person, noble and influential, had suddenly appeared, if Grimaud had wanted to hide from him that he had dared to address Mademoiselle as "You", that is, to start a dialogue with her. Addressing her in the third person is an emphasized absence of dialogue, when one asks only about what is necessary. This is how majordomos or overly disciplined servants of English lords speak.

- That's funny! - I said with a laugh. - I never thought about that!

- I have already said that he is excessively talkative and therefore such a servant should be fired immediately, - said Violetta. - Admit it, my dear writer, that you yourself would also fire such a servant. And the Viscount, probably, would also have ordered him to be flogged!

- I won't deny it, - I said. - But hurry up, my secretary, you see, the assistant director has made a sign to me that it's time to move on to the next scene, which I must see as the author, and you as my secretary. So even if you get bored, you are not free to leave the rehearsal. Work does not have to be fun, no employer guarantees that!

“Let’s go, Monsieur Boss,” said Violetta and resolutely opened the doors to the hall.

Seeing me, the director sighed with relief and gave the signal to begin the third scene, in which Charlotte and the Vicomte, the future Athos, took part. Let me once again name the characters, and not the actors playing them.

Viscount: I saw you from afar, Charlotte. Why did you come out as I approached?

Charlotte: I came out to meet you.

Viscount: Really? Thank you... (Kisses her hand).

Charlotte: You're later than usual today...

- That's how we women turn a courtesy visit into an obligation, - Violetta whispered to me. - And at the same time we reproach him for being late, that is, for his negligence in these obligations! Bravo, author!

Viscount: I wrote to you... Did Grimaud deliver my letter?

Charlotte: Yes... You are kind to me, Monsieur Viscount, too kind.

Viscount: Too kind?.. Giving you a hovel... You deserve to live in a palace.

“She belongs in a barn or a brothel!” Violetta whispered.

Charlotte: Oh! I say what I think, and I repeat, you are too kind, Monsieur Vicomte. I am grateful to you for your offer. But, forgive me, I cannot agree…

“This is how you achieve more after you’ve already received more than you deserve!” Violetta continued her comments.

Viscount: You can't agree? Why are you always embarrassed when accepting anything from me!

Charlotte: Oh! From you, when you were my master, I would have accepted everything, but… I am leaving this land, Monsieur de la Fere. It must be so. I must.

- Fishermen call it hooking, - Violetta whispered. - To hook the fish better, you have to tug on the line, as if taking the bait from the fish, which has not yet decided whether to grab it or not. Seeing that the prey is slipping away, the fish can no longer resist! Without thinking, it rushes after it, grabs it as tightly as possible and swallows it whole!

Viscount: You are giving up this house? You must leave this land? What are you saying, Charlotte?.. Explain… Why are you running away? Are you running away from me?

"He insists that she should state all her claims!" Violetta continued in a whisper, "Charlotte is definitely not the name for her! It is the predatory Anna, or at least Catherine, Elizabeth, Sophia, Joanna, Maria or Eleanor!"

- Shh! - I interrupted her speech. - You're preventing me from listening!

“You already know the text, and in order to appreciate the performance, you don’t have to listen to the words,” Violetta objected.

“I should have named Charlotte Violetta!” I hissed.

In response, Violetta straightened up proudly and, it seemed to me, was quite pleased with my comparison.

“At any rate, your lady is not as stupid as your Viscount,” she said proudly, as if she were answering for both herself and Charlotte, whose side she had unexpectedly taken.

Meanwhile, the action continued.

Charlotte: Because the appearance of a young, unknown girl, poor, without a future, became a hindrance to a nobleman of your rank and dignity.

Viscount: What do you mean, Charlotte?

Charlotte: The Vicomte does not wish to marry Mademoiselle de La Luc;e, who is young, beautiful, of noble birth... and whose fortune would double your income.

Viscount: So you know that, Charlotte? You also know that I refused, don't you?

- Why ask the obvious again? - Violetta grumbled. - I would throw that Viscount out! He's too stupid for me! However, the idea of fooling him first is quite clear to me!

Charlotte: Yes, and that is why I do not suffer any more; by leaving here I shall spare you the disobedience of your father, and myself the pangs of conscience, for I shall no longer interfere with your welfare...

“The bait is an innocent victim, the fish is already on the hook!” whispered a satisfied Violetta.

A shiver ran down my spine. I realized that perhaps she was not talking about the theatrical performance at all, but about our relationship!

“Well, I like being on this line!” I thought. “If I swallowed the bait and the hook, it’s my own fault, and I don’t blame anyone else, I accept my fate with a special perverted pleasure!”



CHAPTER SIXTEEN


- You started from the wrong place, - Violetta whispered. - You should have started with the scene of the Viscount's chance meeting with Charlotte. During the hunt. He met her with her brother. They talked politely. In the end, before parting, she was extremely nice to him and told him that the man accompanying her was her brother. After that, the Viscount imagined God knows what about her.

“And shares his delight with Grimaud,” I continued.

- Ugh, author! - objected Violetta. - A viscount and suddenly confides his innermost feelings to a servant? What are you saying? There must be a friend, of the same rank, also a young viscount, or, at worst, a baron. Let's say Pompon de Belli;vre, grandson of Philippe Hurot de Cheverny, owner of the castle of Cheverny near Blois! He had three sons: Anne, Philippe and Henri, all of them Hurot de Cheverny, Let's say there is Henri's younger brother. His son Philippe, let's say, could well have been a friend of your viscount.

- In the evening you will write all this down for me, but now let's watch and listen! - I said, since we had already missed a couple of lines, fortunately not very important for the development of the action, in them only the Viscount and Charlotte exchanged exclamations: " Viscount: Listen to me, mademoiselle!" - "Charlotte: Viscount!"

Meanwhile, the Viscount came close to Charlotte, as stated in the stage directions, and began his monologue.

Viscount: Listen to me, I beg you! It is more than a year since you came here. You came with your brother in 1620, when I and many nobles of the province went to help the army of the King, who was then besieging Angers. Louis XIII was at war with the Queen Mother. Three months later, when the Bishop of Lu;on concluded a truce, I returned to the castle. Everyone here was talking about a brother and sister who loved each other very tenderly.

Charlotte winced.

Your devotion to your brother was like a sacrifice, for Georges Backson's gloomy and unsociable character deprived you of the opportunity to be in society, where your intelligence, your youth and your beauty would have created a position for you... Admit it, this sacrifice did not make you happy.

Charlotte: That's not true!

Viscount: I saw you... I fell in love with you...

- Oh, my God! - Violetta grumbled. - The drooling and sniveling has begun! A man should not be so weak! He should not be rude, but he should not be a weakling either. He should have come up to her, looked into her eyes, and said: "Will you agree to become my wife?" What could be simpler?

Charlotte (rising and taking a step towards him): Viscount!

Viscount: Let me continue! You are so chaste, so young, so pure! Let me say all that I have to say! For five months you and your brother have steadfastly and strictly refused the help I offered you. The abbot stopped visiting the castle, where my father and I had vainly invited him, he avoided us… When you accidentally gave me a glance, it seemed to me that he was reproaching me, as if for some crime… Meanwhile, you had no reason to hate me… After all, I never once told you that I loved you!..

Charlotte: Sir!

“I think if I were her, I would take a nap until this verbal stream ends,” Violetta grumbled.

Viscount: And suddenly an unexpected event changed your life... One night, when everything was calm and quiet, an unusual noise was heard near your house. The villagers heard the hooves of horses. The next morning it became known that your brother had disappeared.

Charlotte: Oh! My lord Viscount, believe me...

- Author, my dear, you want to tell the viewer about past events, but you must admit, it is absurd when the Viscount tells them to someone who already knows all this! - said Violetta. - It would be more logical if he told this to someone who does not know about it.

I motioned to her to be quiet and listen.

Viscount: I am not asking for anything, Charlotte. I have come to you only to tell you what I am saying. Since your brother's disappearance, you have lived alone, you are abandoned by everyone... I love you even more since I learned of your misfortune. It has been six months since you deigned to receive me... In these six months, you have become more kind to me, and I am grateful to you for this. Tell me, Charlotte, have I ever pressed your hand without thanking you for it, as for a favor? Have I ever spoken to you of love without receiving forgiveness in your eyes? Finally, have I ever asked you who you are, where you come from, and why your brother disappeared...


- Author, this is too much! - Violetta was indignant. - He just said that he had never told her about love before, and now he claims that he told her about love many times, but only after receiving forgiveness in her eyes! So did he tell her about love or not?!

Charlotte: No, sir. You were to me as you are to everyone you know. That is to say, the most honest and most generous nobleman in the kingdom.

Viscount: Thank you... Now you see, Charlotte, that what I ask you is not idle curiosity at all. Charlotte Buckson, tell me everything today with a pure heart... Can you do it?

Charlotte: Do you want to know where I come from?

Viscount: Yes, a few words about you, about your brother, about your family. All that your friendly frankness tells me will remain in the depths of my heart, as a personal secret. Do you wish this? And I repeat: can you?

" What a twist!" Violetta said ironically. "He first confessed his love to her, and then asked, 'Who are you, exactly?'"

- Stop, stop the rehearsal! - I demanded loudly. - Violetta, this is impossible! I am not Gaius Julius Caesar! I cannot listen to you and the actors at the same time!

“If I’m in the way, I’ll leave,” Violetta said obediently.

- But I want to hear everything you tell me, and everything that happens on stage! - I objected. - If you are unable to wait with your comments until the break, we will rehearse in small fragments.

- But, Mr. Dumas, that's impossible! - the director objected. - The premiere is tomorrow! Have you forgotten? We have to run through the entire performance without stopping. This is a dress rehearsal! We've already had to stop before the intermission! This is a violation of all methods, it ruins my schedule! It throws the actors off track!

- Okay, no more interruptions, just give me the script, I'll make the most necessary edits! - I said.

The director handed me the script in complete bewilderment.

I began to furiously scribble and write in the margins, after which I returned the scribbled-out script to the director.

“Charlotte, from now on you are Anne de Beyle,” I said. “This is not up for discussion, it is final, there are very few corrections to the text. Continue, please. I will not interrupt you any more.”

I sat down in my seat, extremely excited and irritated. Violetta gently placed her hand on mine. I felt the warmth and tenderness of her touch. I wanted to immediately return to yesterday, or rather to yesterday evening and its night continuation. I gently covered Violetta’s hand with my own and whispered in her ear: “You see, you wretch, I have completely fallen under your influence! Stop whispering in my ear. According to the agreement, the discussion of the play must take place in bed with me, naked and under one common blanket. So let’s not deviate from the terms of the concluded agreement!”

Violetta smiled. The rest of the rehearsal went like clockwork. Violetta didn’t whisper anything in my ear, the actors played magnificently, but it seemed to me that my play was disgusting! I really wanted to get up, go to the director, snatch the script from him and tear it into a thousand little pieces. But I had signed a contract! And, by the way, the money from this contract had already been partially spent on renting an apartment for Violetta and me, where yesterday’s miracle had happened, and on outfits for her, as well as on Cologne water with the scent of jasmine, which incredibly enhanced my feelings of this magical evening. I will definitely have to include in the contract that Violetta will continue to use this Cologne water!


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


In the evening, Violetta fully assumed her duties as my secretary, strictly observing the amendments she had made to our oral agreement, which, as you know, is sometimes executed more accurately than any written contract.

I confess I almost forgot about her amendment, although I had been excited about it all day. I just felt awkward reminding her of this piquant detail of our agreements.

- Violetta, my child, here we are alone, and now no one will stop me from telling you the harshest words about my play, everything you think about it, - I said. - I will not interrupt you, and I saw and appreciated in you a connoisseur of dramatic art, although I have no idea where this gift comes from.

– The washerwoman who lived next door had a daughter, Paulette, younger than me, who was like a little sister to me, and we often played with dolls, and I moved the dolls and spoke for them in different voices, – said Violetta. – Paulette demanded new stories every time, and I couldn’t read, because I was only eight years old! I began to observe people and make up my own stories. Then we began to observe and make up stories together. Very soon I learned to read and read a lot of books. I especially liked dialogues in books, so I read a lot of plays until I came across your play, The Three Henris. It captivated me completely. After that, I became your fan and read everything you ever wrote.

“Where did you get these books, my child?” I asked.

- My mother knew an old man who was a library caretaker for a wealthy bourgeois, - answered Violetta. - He supplied us with books without the owner knowing, on the condition that we handled them with extreme care. But one day Paulette accidentally tore a book. After that, the old man got angry with us and said that we would never get another book. But a week later he gave me another book. He said that the owner never read his books, so he didn’t notice anything.

“That’s why you’re so well read,” I said. “But you couldn’t have learned the story about the nobleman from Blois from my books!”

- I read not only your books, - answered Violetta. - But I liked your books more than all others. And when I accidentally found out that my favorite author lived next door to me... You understand that our meeting did not happen by chance.

Paulette now?” I asked.

“We moved to Paris, and she stayed where we lived before,” Violetta said. “I don’t know anything about her. I hope she’s happy.”

“I hope so too,” I said. “Well then, let’s begin discussing my play, as agreed.”

“As you say,” Violetta answered.

“We stopped discussing it at this point, in the middle of the third scene,” I said. “The Viscount confirmed to Charlotte that he wished to know about her origins.”

I began to read aloud: " Charlotte (goes to the left wall, to the closet and takes the parchment): Here is everything about me and my family... Here are the documents that will answer your questions. Read, Mr. Viscount, and you will see that Charlotte Buckson is of noble birth, although not the most noble. As for my brother, his secrets are not mine."

"Dear boss, you are breaking the terms of the agreement," Violetta said with a smile. "We must do these things lying in the same bed and without clothes."

“Do you think that in such a situation I will be able to talk about all these viscounts, Charlottes and other fictitious characters?” I asked.

“We’ll have to try,” Violetta answered. “But in this form and in this state, you’re unlikely to be as harsh towards my opinion as if I were sitting across from you at the table!”

“Well, a deal is a deal, I’m ready,” I replied.

I took off my coat and shirt quite deftly, but I felt awkward taking off the rest. Meanwhile, Violetta unbuttoned her dress and took it off, standing right in front of me. I turned away out of delicacy.

"The contract doesn't prohibit you from watching me undress," Violetta said with a laugh. "So to speak, putting on my work clothes."

“ Eva’s costume, you mean!” I replied, giving free rein to my curiosity.

Violetta undressed as if it were a show intended for the most sophisticated audience. By the time she was bare, I had completely forgotten about my play. I hurried to bring myself into the same state, that is, changed into Adam's costume and dove under the blanket where she was already lying, warming our shared bed.

- Maestro, you forgot to bring the play! - said Violetta.

“Do you really want to discuss the text of a play that no one needs right now, including me?” I asked, puzzled.

- That's right, dear writer, that's right, - Violetta confirmed her intention. - And I ask you not to pester your employee with any immodest proposals before we finish today's work.

“And after that?” I asked, hoping she was joking.

- And after that too, because I won’t allow liberties with the authorities! - answered Violetta.

“What if I fire you right after we finish our work today?” I asked.

- It's too complicated, and besides, you might change your mind about hiring me back, and I don't want that! - Violetta objected. - Okay, I agree to allow you your male liberties outside of working hours, that is, about an hour and a half after I begin to perform my functions as a secretary and part-time adviser.

“Advisor?” I asked again in surprise.

“Be glad, Mr. Writer, that I do not demand that you employ me as your co-author,” Violetta replied.

“Co-authorship with me is expensive,” I answered. “A publisher once told me that he would not object to my book having not only my name on it, but also the name of my, shall we say, assistant, G;rard de Nerval, ‘I can agree to that, but in that case your joint fee will be ten times less than your fee if only your name, Monsieur Dumas, were on the cover.’ And do you know what my friend G;rard de Nerval told me? He said that he preferred money. We agreed that I would pay him his share of the amount I could get as a fee, provided that his name was not on the book. ‘Ten times the fee is better than my name on the book,’ he said. ‘Fame is nothing, and I can do with money as I wish!’”

“And did he get his money?” Violetta asked.

– He received it in full and spent it on going to the Ottoman Empire! – I answered. – He is doing very well there, judging by the chapters of his future book, which is called “Journey to the East”. He sent me some of these chapters. Very informative. I recommended that he publish the book under his name. He said that he would prefer ten times the fee to have my name there instead of his, but I rejected the offer. I cannot put my name on a book to which I have no connection. I give the work its final shine. My corrections to the rough chapters written by my assistants are usually very strong, and they significantly improve the book.

“I hope you’ll be pleased with my edits too, Mr. Writer,” Violetta said. “You seem to have forgotten again why we’re here under the same blanket?”

“I haven’t forgotten at all, but do you know what the only feeling is that can overcome sexual ardor in a man?” I asked.

- Hunger? - asked Violetta. - Desire for sleep?

- Neither one nor the other, - I objected. - This feeling is self-satisfaction. The desire to brag! Especially in front of a woman I am not indifferent to! So I behave quite like a man!

“I understand, maestro,” said Violetta. “But if we are talking about complacency and the desire to boast, then in the form in which you appeared before me now and last night, you already have something to boast about even if you had never written a line in your entire life. And unlike some men, you would not have to justify yourself by saying that it is cold in the room and therefore it is difficult to fully appreciate all your virtues!”

“I know that, but how do you know that, my child?” I asked. “Have you had the opportunity to compare?”

"Only in comparison with the figures of ancient statues," answered Violetta. "Judging by the images of ancient heroes that I have seen, you should have been called Hercules, and not those pathetic likenesses of men who served as models for these heroes and gods."

"The ancient Greeks and Romans considered the standard of male beauty to be an exaggeratedly reduced male dignity," I thought. "Thank God she doesn't know that! And I don't intend to tell her this information!"


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


I made another weak attempt to take advantage of the situation, but Violetta didn’t allow it.

- Read, Monsieur Dumas! - she said. - I hope I can express my opinion not in a whisper, but out loud? And you will not reproach me for not being able to follow the actors' performance while listening to me!

I pulled myself together and began reading from the point where we had left off discussing it during the dress rehearsal.

Viscount: Very well, Charlotte, let us not speak of your brother any more. And if we return to this...

Charlotte: We will never return, sir...

Viscount (reading): William Buckson, gentleman of Wales…

Charlotte: This is my father!..

Viscount (reading): Anne de Bayle...

“You don’t regret the edit you made today, do you?” Violetta asked.

“Not at all!” I replied, after which I managed to snatch a kiss from my tormentor’s lips with impunity.

Charlotte: My mother... My elder brother, from my mother's first marriage, had a small fortune that our family owned, My brother, whom you know, devoted himself to the service of the church and took me in when my father and mother died.

Viscount: Yes... Your father in 1612... Your mother in 1615... Poor child...

Charlotte: Now you know everything, sir.

Viscount: So you are alone, Charlotte?

Charlotte: Alone in the whole wide world.
– As if the Viscount didn’t know she was an orphan before he started reading? – Violetta asked. – And why was she alone if she had a brother living with her? And this brother, in order to take her in and take care of her, would have to be at least six or eight years older! And in that case, the Viscount should have been primarily interested not in where and when Charlotte was born, but in the reason why the brother abandoned his sister, don’t you think? After all, this casts suspicion on the girl! Maybe she offended him in some way? And it’s hardly worth writing off everything to the unpredictability of her brother, because, according to Charlotte herself, he took care of her when there was absolutely no one else to take care of her?

I heard none of this, because I was thinking only of the delightful neck of “my secretary” and hoping to turn the conversation into a more constructive direction – first kissing her there, then lower, then hugging her, and so on according to the pattern, completely obeying the instinct that does not fail us, at least while we are young.

- Dumas! Wake up! - Violetta said and patted my curly head. - First business, and only then everything else. Or there won't be anything else today! You're not listening to me at all!

“I’m sorry, darling, please repeat what you said?” I muttered.

“Okay, I’ll write it later, read on,” Violetta said.

She actually wrote this down later, which is where I got this phrase from in this part of my story. I continued reading.

Viscount: And no one who would have rights over you?

Charlotte: Nobody!

Viscount: And your heart is free?

Charlotte: I was hoping to tell you that I love you!

Viscount: Say it again – boldly, directly and honestly!

- What a stupid and offensive way to encourage a declaration of love! - said Violetta. - After all, it follows from this that the Viscount is not convinced that the phrase just said was said directly and honestly? And as for courage - after all, everything has already been said, in order to say "I love you" for the first time, you need hundreds of times more courage than to repeat these words right there to the same person, and at his request! Okay, read on!

Charlotte: Mr. Viscount, I love you!

- Ooo-oo-oo-oo-oo! - Violetta commented. - "Monsieur Viscount, I love you!" How lovely! "And if you were a count, I would love you even more! But it would be better if you were a duke or a prince!" What a scene! Read on!

Viscount: Charlotte Buckson, do you wish to become my wife?

Charlotte: What are you saying?..

- He wants to, you idiot! There’s nothing to ask! - Violetta grumbled. - Only the proposal should have been made in the opposite order! When a viscount asks a girl without a clan or tribe whether she loved him, it’s impudence, because one might think that he intends to take advantage of her, to make her his mistress. When a viscount makes an offer, it’s the best compliment that any man can give any woman! Many would have accepted such an offer even without love! Yes, every one! In her position! She should have simply said: “I propose that you become my wife. I hope you love me, or will love me very soon, and I will try to make it so. If you have reason to refuse, I will not ask you about the reason for your refusal, but know that your refusal will upset me very much. Perhaps I will never even be happy. Well, do you agree or not?” That’s all! And the question would have been decided. But why is he proposing against her father's wishes and even his clear resistance? And by the way! It's good that you corrected her name. Now, at least, it's clear that he decided to propose only after he saw a noble name and some documents stating that she was the legitimate daughter of a nobleman and his wife! By the way, what kind of document could that be? In your text, he reads some kind of parchment. In one document, it says that her parents were nobles, and that they died in different years, and the dates of their deaths are indicated? And why "died"? That is, they did not die a natural death, but in different years! Somehow this is all suspicious! I understand that one parent can die as a result of an accident, and the other - some time later simply from grief, from the loss of the will to live. But in that case, they don't say that the second parent died. Died! But he didn't die! The mother died three years after the death of the father. "Died"! Somehow strange. However, the viewer will not be so attentive as to be perplexed by such a trifle. Read on!

I read the following: “ Viscount: It is simple and natural, Charlotte… I love you, and you love me.”

I read the last words without looking at the paper. I looked at Violetta and said as if from myself and only for her: "I love you, and you love me."

“It’s repeating itself, but in this case it’s quite appropriate, go on,” Violetta said.

I threw the script aside and repeated the lines again: “I love you, and you love me.”

“Go on!” Charlotte demanded.


CHAPTER NINETEENTH



“We will not move further until you give your assessment of these words of mine,” I said.

- I already said that it is quite good, so read on! - said Violetta.

“I can’t read, I threw the script on the floor,” I said. “I just want to say again: ‘I love you, and you love me.’”

“If this is not the Viscount’s phrase from the script, but a phrase that the writer Dumas says to Violette Parisot, then…” Violette said slowly and fell silent.

“Then?” I asked.

“I didn’t tell you that I love you,” she replied capriciously. “What makes you think that?”

- Last night you were completely mine, and now we are lying together in one bed, with only a common blanket on us, and all this not only with your consent, but also on your initiative! - I exclaimed. - Doesn't this give me the right to assume that you are somewhat partial to me?

“I am not indifferent, that’s true,” Violetta agreed. “But I didn’t say that I love you.”

“Then say it!” I suggested.

- Why should I? - Violetta objected. - After all, I don’t know if I love you. Maybe this is just a passion? Or a fleeting attraction? I gave in to my desire, does that prove that my desire is eternal and all-consuming? It only proves that I am not too strict with you, and with myself, and with what is called the rules of the world? Maybe I just despise these rules because I despise this world itself, which has established such rules, according to which two hearts, striving for each other, like your Romeo and Juliet, are not allowed to do what they strive for with all their souls, but if a girl without a dowry, out of vile lust mixed with vanity, out of the whim of a man who is not accustomed to denying himself any joys, ends up in bed with some noble nobleman or rich man only because he wanted it, this world does not condemn this at all!? And if this "someone" is also a King, then everyone is simply delighted with the act of a girl who gave her innocence to this old lustful scoundrel, sitting on the throne only because his father sat on it before him?! And you, writer Dumas, write enthusiastic books about such a King, although the people of France have long since proven that they deserve a better government than a monarchy, and have paid dearly in blood for the right to live in a republic!

“Forgive me, my dear child, many passions are burning in you today, but not at all those that would justify this joint negligee of ours under the same blanket,” I said. “It seems that reading my plays is enough for today, and even more so this buffoonery with undressing and lying together in bed!”

“Am I disgusting to you?” Violetta asked. “Do you want to leave me?”

“You are very pleasant to me!” I objected. “I am not at all eager to leave you, but you seem to be inclined to a completely different kind of communication.”

- Nonsense! - answered Violetta. - Why do you absolutely have to hear me say those words that I intend to say to only one person in my entire life? Why do you absolutely have to become the only person I will love? Are you ready for me to be the only woman in your entire future life, or is it enough for you that I am with you for a week, a month, a year, maybe two or three years? But not forever! Not all my life! Do you really know yourself so well that you are convinced that your attitude towards me will always be only love, and never anything else? Won't you get angry with me over trifles? Won't you begin to feel burdened by my company when you want solitude, or other company? Won't you want to leave me for another woman? After all, for men this is not so unusual. Almost all of you are like that! And I don’t demand that you swear eternal love, I don’t make such vows a condition of our intimacy! You get everything you want. Any man would be happy to receive my body and wouldn’t demand my soul to boot! But you demand my soul, without even having time to properly enjoy my body! Are my caresses not enough for you? Is it not enough for you to see me completely, to touch me completely and everywhere, to possess and command me? After all, I give you all this! But do you need me to also confess my love for you, that is, to promise you that in my entire life there has never been and never will be a person more important than you? Do you really need that?

“Yes,” I said.

– But then I can’t answer in the situation we are in, – answered Violetta. – I know that you men are ready to confess your love a thousand times to the lady who is in front of you at this moment. We are different. I will be able to confess my love only to myself first, only when the object of this love is far from me, when I do not see it, do not feel it with my whole skin. And until then, I can only say: “I like you, and I want you.” No one has ever done to me what you have done and are doing. This is a new life for me. It is unforgettable. Even if we part in a second, you are my first man. And I will always remember you. This means a lot. But can I tell you that you will always be my only thought, my only desire, the only light in my window?

“What’s bothering you, my dear?” I asked.

“Remember the name of the main character in your novel, The Count of Monte Cristo?” she asked.

- There's nothing to remember! - I answered. - His name is Edmond Dantes!

“And what did you write about this name in mid-February 1837?” Violetta continued.

- My God, how can one forget such a thing? - I exclaimed. - I learned of the death in a duel of the greatest Russian writer, Alexander Pushkin! The man who killed him in that damned duel on February 10, 1837, was called Dantes! I said then that I would never have given that name to the hero of my novel if I had foreseen what indignation would arise in the heart of every person who loved literature, at the sight of that hateful name - Dantes! How do you know that?

- I told you that I read everything you wrote, - said Violetta. - And much that is connected with it! I found information about this very Pushkin in the newspaper. He married a girl who was only eighteen years old. She said that she loved him! She bore him four children! Four! But then she met this very Dantes and fell in love with him. So much in love that she neglected her duty as a good wife! She allowed Dantes to hope for reciprocity! As a result, he began to spread rumors that he entered Pushkin's family not only in the sense of marrying his wife's sister, but also in addition to that. The rumors reached the poet, a duel took place, and the poet was gone. And so I ask you, Dumas, also a poet and even bearing the same name as this Pushkin, and, it seems, also a bit of an African, like him, I ask you: “Could an eighteen-year-old woman know in advance everything that would happen to her? Could she promise to love only her husband, and firmly assert that she would never meet anyone else in her entire life?”

“She should be stricter,” I said. “She should remember the duty of a decent wife.”

- That's not up for debate, - said Violetta. - That's indisputable. But I'm not talking about what she should have done, but about what happened to her! She fell in love! She loved someone else much more than her husband, the father of four children! It's a question of a sudden feeling that took hold of her! And what happened to her gives me the right to say: Natalie Goncharova never loved Alexander Pushkin.

“I guess you’re right, my little one!” I said.

“I want you to be happy with me, just as Pushkin was happy with this Natalie for the first two or three years, but I don’t want you to die because of me,” said Violetta.

“I won’t shoot myself because of you, if that’s what worries you,” I said with what I thought was a kind smile.

- You can kill a person not only physically, but also morally, - objected Violetta. - For example, by making him deeply unhappy. I do not want to be the cause of this. If I find out that everything that is happening between us now is not love yet, and that true love will come later, and not with you, I do not want to be responsible for this to you or to myself.

- My little one, you are smarter than any woman I know! - I said. - But that is not surprising. What is surprising is that it occurs to me that you must be smarter than I am!

“Nonsense, because my whole mind is the result of reading your books and thinking about them, and nothing more,” said Violetta. “I can’t say that I love you, but it seems to me that to say the opposite would be simply idiotic.”

I took this phrase as a declaration of love and embraced Violetta, after which I tried to prove my love to her, and this time my actions not only did not meet any objections from her, but even her response did not give me the slightest reason to doubt her tender feelings for me.

If I were not Alexandre Dumas, but Alexander Pushkin, my next chapter would consist of nothing but ellipses.


CHAPTER TWENTY


But since I am not Pushkin and I do not have such a strict censor (or perhaps I do, but I have no idea about it, and, consequently, the twentieth chapter may be removed from this novel), I will nevertheless provide some details that are of interest to my readers, male and female.

It is hardly necessary to describe in detail what happens between a young man and a young girl who are already lying naked in the same bed, and, moreover, they did it for the very purpose for which, as a rule, it is done. Let me remind you that the experience of yesterday evening and yesterday's door removed all barriers in the form of embarrassment, timidity and, perhaps, self-doubt. All this was no longer between us. And the new thing was precisely that Violetta, in her first experience of this kind, apparently could not yet fully feel that sweet side of such communication, which begins with a light and vague languor, passes into very definite desires, and ends with the sweetest spasm of all muscles and the highest delight, born somewhere there, where we do not so often direct our attention to our own sensations of our body. This spasm, fortunately, does not occur immediately, but only after a time sufficient to fully enjoy the closeness and passion that brings this happy ending closer for both.

I dare to think that if last time Violetta was not yet ready to experience these emotions in full and in all their depth, then this time nothing prevented her from giving in to this passion to the end, unconsciously making movements that helped me penetrate deeper into where the physical manifestation of these higher feelings is born, flares up and spreads like a charming firework throughout the body, Now she was full of passion, which made me feel like a hero.

Finally, in sweet languor, we moved on to gentle and soothing caresses, and then we felt complete peace.

“Would you like to return to the discussion of your play, Monsieur Writer?” Violetta asked cheerfully.

“I would prefer a cup of strong coffee with a drop of cognac,” I replied, “but the thought of the cook appearing here now kills me.”

“We can do without her services, as we did last night and this morning,” Violetta answered. “She copes with the duties of a servant quite well, everything in the apartment is washed, she changed the bed linen, aired both rooms, cleaned the kitchen and even bought the necessary products according to my list.”

“You left her a list?” I was surprised.

“Of course, while you were washing and shaving, I made her a shopping list and wrote that her services were not required in the evening, so she could be free,” Violetta answered.

“What right do you have to rule over my apartment?” I asked.

“By the same right by which you dispose of me in my bed,” answered Violetta.

There was nothing to say in response to this.
 
Violetta made us coffee. I drink coffee in the evenings too. And Violetta has become addicted to this habit that is detrimental to sleep. My dear readers, why did you decide that she and I were going to sleep that night? What would you have done in our place?

I confess that Violetta was dressed only very lightly. What was thrown over her shoulders could hardly be called clothing. Moreover, this transparent veil ended so high that her legs did not even think of starting from this place, although her legs were slender and far from short. I admired the beauty of her body, which was not at all hindered by this ephemeral cape, as well as the beauty of everything else, which a cape of such length would not have hidden even if it were completely opaque, and the transparent mantle only indicated the direction in which my impartial gaze should be directed,

I cannot call coffee an aphrodisiac, but the spectacle had an extremely powerful effect on me. The natural result of such contemplation was my desire to continue the close communication which she had prescribed for the performance of her duties as my secretary.

“Shouldn’t we continue our close communication again, now that we’ve been invigorated by coffee?” I asked in a moderately playful tone.

"You insist that your secretary work overtime?" Violetta asked. "And when do you think I should sleep?"

“If you want to sleep, sleep, and I’ll sit next to you to admire you,” I said.

- Why sit when you can lie down, especially at night? - Violetta objected. - No, I don't want to sleep. - I'm just clarifying my duties as a secretary.

- If it comes to that, then, as you may recall, you were accepted as of yesterday, but yesterday we did not discuss my play! - I joked.

- This won't do! - Violetta protested. - You're demanding overtime for time already worked. I don't need money, I need the principle!

“Okay, let it be considered overtime work as a secretary, for which I will give you leave in six days,” I said.

“Why in six days?” Violetta asked.

“So that on your birthday you can belong only to yourself and spend this day the way you want,” I answered.

“Oh, yes, birthday,” Violetta said without much joy.

“What is it, dear?” I asked. “Did you lie to me yesterday that you were turning sixteen next week?”

- Of course I lied! - Violetta answered. - Not in a week, but in a month and a half. And not sixteen years, but...

- Shut up! - I exclaimed. - I don't want to know! I hope you were understating your age, not exaggerating it!

“Of course, Monsieur Writer, calm down, you are not in danger of being prosecuted, everything is fine,” Violetta answered.

“You seem to be in a bad mood?” I asked. “May I suggest the reason for this change?”

“I’m in a good mood,” Violetta replied, dispelling all my suspicions with a gentle smile. “I’m just calculating how many days I’ll have to wait before I can take a day off for today’s assault on my innocence. Will you give it to me in six days, or will you wait until my actual birthday?”

- As you wish, my dear, - I answered. - I will give you two days off, on both specified days. But what pressure are you talking about?

- The one whose beginning we are both witnesses, - Violetta answered playfully. - Watch yourself carefully. Now you will turn into an unstoppable lion!

And she began to slowly take off her transparent cape. At the same time, she moved like a creeping panther.

Well, she turned out to be a pretty good fortune teller. After such actions on her part, there really was a lion's onslaught on my part, for which I happily promised to give her two days off.

I, like the lion, did without preludes, but unlike the lion, I was not as laconic as this proud predator can be. My attack on her redoubts was much longer, so that at the end of the horizontal dance we were both tired and happy. Despite the coffee we had drunk, we fell asleep in each other's arms almost immediately after the events mentioned. Meanwhile, my play with her notes lay on the floor, forgotten by both of us. Whatever one may say, it is pleasant to be a writer when your thoughts and feelings, set down on paper, are capable of awakening love in the heart of a young and beautiful girl. But one cannot remain a writer forever, at a time when the situation and circumstances require a writer to be only a man!


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST



The next morning I woke up and again realized that Violetta had beaten me to it. She was sitting in a chair, wearing a translucent robe, leafing through my script.

- Listen, Dudu! - she said. - Why did you introduce Athos's servant Grimaud into your play about his youth?

“Who are you calling Dudu?” I was indignant.

- You and I are lovers, and not for the first day, - said Violetta. - Dumas is too formal, I thought of calling you just Du, but that is too short. So I thought that Dudu is just right.

“You wretch, then I’ll call you Vivi!” I pretended to be indignant.

“I was just about to suggest that to you,” Violetta said without a hint of surprise or embarrassment. “So you haven’t answered my question, dear.”
 
- Why does Grimaud's presence bother you? - I was surprised. - After all, Grimaud is Athos's servant! Why not assume that he served him back in the days when he lived with his father?

- Come on, my dear, pull yourself together, think! - Vivi, whom I will call by that name from now on, asked capriciously. - Athos wanted to commit suicide, but then decided to just pretend that he died, and he himself went to Paris, where he hired himself as a musketeer under an assumed name, revealing his true name only to the captain of the king's musketeers, de Treville, isn't that right?

“That’s right, my child, you know my novels very well, as I have been convinced many times!” I confirmed and kissed first the hand extended to me, and then the lips of the young mischievous girl.

- In that case, wouldn't the disappearance of the servant also be a very suspicious and surprising fact? - continued Vivi. - When a person disappears, and his clothes are found on the shore of a pond, one can quite well suspect that he drowned when no one was looking. But for both the master and the servant to drown at the same time - that's very suspicious, doubtful. In that case, Athos's father could suspect that Grimaud robbed and killed him. A detailed search would be launched, because it does not look like suicide at all. If Athos's father could order no search, believing that his son drowned in the pond, then when two people disappear, including the servant, Athos's father probably would not bother to stop unnecessary rumors! On the contrary, he would be eager to find the scoundrel servant and punish him, to avenge this grief. If only Athos had disappeared, the Count, believing in suicide, would have wished not to understand the fuss about it, since suicides are condemned by the Catholic faith, his body, if it were found, would not have been buried in the consecrated ground of the church cemetery, it would not even have been allowed to be buried in the family vault. In that case, the old Count would have announced that his son had drowned, a funeral service would have been held for him, perhaps even some mud raised from the bottom of this pond would have been put into the grave.

“So Athos only found Grimaud as his servant after he left his father’s house?” I asked.

- Of course! - answered Vivi. - In your novel, it is said several times that Athos was noble, like Dandolo or Montmorency! The name of the Comte de La F;re indicates that his family owned the city of La F;re, and this was a very, very large city in those days. In that case, he was indeed a very noble person. Even if his family had not yet inherited Bragelonne at that time, but in that case, such a noble young man simply could not get by with just one servant. At the same time, remember how Athos treats Grimaud. As the most simple servant, hired for money, not at all seriously, and not even for long. And at first we do not observe Grimaud being very devoted to his master. So this Grimaud, whom we find in The Three Musketeers, did not know at all that his master was a noble seigneur, the Comte de La F;re! This was obvious at the siege of La Rochelle! Grimaud refuses to go with the master to defend the redoubt, and only the blows of the master make him obey. He does not seem to be very devoted to the master and serves only for money, looking for any convenient opportunity to quit and find a better job, where they would pay more regularly, feed him more heartily and not make him carry weapons, sometimes even fight and from time to time treat the master for dangerous wounds! Only a long shared military past turns Grimaud into a faithful servant, ready, apparently, to give his life for the master. If Grimaud had served Athos even before his escape with the imitation of suicide, if he had fled with him, then the relationship between Athos and Grimaud would have been different from the very beginning!

“Even if it is as you say,” I began, but seeing Vivi’s disdainful look, I corrected myself. “Very well, my dear, I agree that it is as you say, but you are missing the point of the theatre-goer. The people who will come to the play are the fans of my Musketeer trilogy, those who love Athos, d’ Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis. They will come to see the youth of their favourite heroes. And they also love the secondary characters, they love my Grimaud. They will be pleased to see Grimaud in this play!”

- So you are ready to ruin your work, you are ready to write nonsense to please the most respectable public? - with irony bordering on contempt, Vivi said. - Instead of cultivating the highest taste in the public, you indulge the base needs of the crowd and cultivate primitivism and superficial judgments in your viewer!

“Suppose I remove Grimaud and replace him with some Lebrun or Lorne,” I said.

“The five Lebruns, Lorni, Duchet, Sarte and Vogimo,” Vivi corrected me. “One of them will simply be a servant, another a groom, a third a falconer, a fourth will look after the hunting dogs, and a fifth will look after Athos’s wardrobe and weapons.”

I wanted to leave the apartment and slam the door, but I had nowhere to go, so I just silently went to wash and shave.

Women know how to make us love them more and more and hate them more and more, sometimes alternately, and sometimes simultaneously. Moreover, they find the most diverse and extremely convincing reasons for this. That is why we hate such women more and more with each new quarrel, and love them more and more with each new reconciliation. What we really cannot do is decisively part with such women once and for all. I suspect that Violetta was much older than the age she introduced herself to me, she just had the kind of texture that makes a woman look much younger than she really is. “And what about your words that you had known her for two years, and at the beginning of your acquaintance she was still a child?” my readers will ask me and they will be right. “Explain this discrepancy to us!” There is no discrepancy here. There are textures that make a woman of twenty or even twenty-two look like a teenager. It rarely happens that a woman like this would have looked almost like a child two years earlier, but it does happen! This is my opinion, and I am not forcing it on anyone.

Washing and shaving calmed me down somewhat, and I left the bathroom to go to Vivi with the firm intention of pretending that her words had not in the least hurt my pride as a widely known and beloved author.

“My dear, have you said everything you wanted to say about Grimaud?” I asked as if nothing had happened.

“ For now, yes, but I would like to discuss the old Count, Athos’s father,” Vivi answered.

“What don’t you like about him?” I asked.

“That’s it,” Vivi said shortly. “I suggest we continue reading from where we left off. But first, we’ll eat the breakfast I prepared and drink some coffee.”

The breakfast was excellent, the coffee was wonderful, and I felt that I was being unfair to Vivi. Why should I take her remarks to heart, which, of course, are worthless and even ridiculous in some places, but it was I who had offered to become my secretary, having in mind precisely her interference in my works. I had given her the unfounded hope that I seriously needed such advice - I, the author, whose opinion in the field of dramatic works and adventure novels, as well as in all other genres, is the highest authority and final verdict for all of Paris! And only this little girl does not take my opinion into account! And I myself encouraged this opinion in her! Well, I will gradually rein her in and put her in the place where she should henceforth be!

“You seemed to be planning to continue reading?” I asked, adding a playful smile. “ Do you remember the condition under which you and I discuss the text of my novel?”

"Let me clarify that this condition will only apply in the evening after sunset," Vivi said in a peremptory tone. "Otherwise, we will either never get out of bed or turn into slackers. In the morning and afternoon, we will simply work without touching each other. This will create a more businesslike atmosphere.

“Do you know, my child, that the terms of a contract are never changed at the request of only one party?” I asked, hoping that she would be embarrassed.

“If you don’t accept my amendments to the contract, we will terminate the contract and I will go back to being a seamstress,” Vivi said in such a confident voice that I almost believed that she was capable of doing so.

“I accept your amendments only because I was going to propose something similar myself,” I lied.

Sometimes it is necessary to retreat in such a way that the enemy thinks that you are advancing.

We continued our reading from where we left off.

Charlotte: But your father?

Viscount: Listen, Charlotte! I ask you to trust me and I ask you to make a sacrifice. If we announce our marriage, which does not correspond to my father's wishes, it will darken his last days. You will not ask this of me, will you? Do you agree to a secret marriage?

Charlotte: I am at your service, Viscount.

Viscount: The same day I take the name of Count de La Fere, you will become the respected Countess de La Fere! You know that my father is old, he is ill and suffering... You will not have to wait long, Charlotte!..

Charlotte: Oh!

Viscount: Do you agree?.. And until that moment our happiness will be hidden from everyone in silence and obscurity. Listen! The new cur; arrived this morning at the castle; he is a friend of my childhood and knows all about my love for you. He agrees to bless our union. In an hour, come to the church. The light will be burning in the chapel. I will offer you my hand, you will give me yours. We will swear eternal love to each other. I have a presentiment that in this simple country church the Lord will receive our vows more favorably, perhaps, than he would receive the vows of kings in the glitter of cathedrals! (He offers her his hand).

Charlotte: My lord! My husband! (She gives him her hand).

“I can’t read this!” said Vivi, throwing the text on the table. “Doudu, your Viscount is counting on his father’s imminent death, he’s promising a triumphant accession for his future wife as the Countess de La Fere, when he himself is not yet the Count de La Fere! He’s expecting a triumph immediately after his father’s death? He’s counting on his father dying ‘very soon’! Why do you, Dudu, call him ‘the noble Athos’ in your novels, this low and vile man? He’s disgusting!”

“But, my dear,” I said in amazement, “are you not too harsh in your judgments?”

“In your novel, you say that Athos and Charlotte were married by her lover, who had taken his rank illegally,” Vivi reminded him. “And here suddenly appears some priest to whom Athos confessed his love for Charlotte before he had figured out his feelings and before he had spoken to her about them with the utmost frankness? He is not a man, but a wimp! A woman! A chatterbox! If the new priest is his childhood friend, he should not have written that he had informed the new priest that he could live at the castle, he should have written that the new priest is his friend and that he would be his guest. It is all so illogical, so unnatural!”

“The audience won’t notice it, just as I didn’t notice it,” I objected. “And, after all, the play doesn’t have to follow every word of the trilogy exactly!”

- Yes, it doesn't have to, but then it would lose a good three-quarters of its appeal! - Vivi objected. - Either you create a whole world of Alexandre Dumas, in which the heroes, wandering from book to book, live in those events that form a single chain of causes and consequences, or you simply create a patchwork quilt of books that are not connected to each other in any way, except for the accidental coincidence of some events and the intersection of characters.

“Well, you know, comparing my trilogy to a patchwork quilt is going too far!” I flared up.

- Forgive me, dear, I really used too figurative a comparison, - said Vivi and, coming up to me, tenderly kissed me on the cheek, and then on the lips. - You created a whole world! And I am very upset when one small alley leads to the wrong place. Besides, working as your secretary is new to me! After all, I have only been in this new position for three days! Correct my mistakes, and I will learn from them!

Well, what can you say? After furious attacks, complete obedience and submission! Women know how to twist us around their fingers! I responded to her caresses, and for some time we were courteous completely without words, and, therefore, without the slightest reason for a quarrel.

I thought that perhaps I had been too hasty in agreeing to her amendment to the contract! I would not have minded discussing the text of my play the way we did yesterday!


CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND



“I must go to the publisher,” I said. “Since I have found that you have an excellent memory, we will discuss your proposals in the carriage on the way, and then you will write it all down on paper and give me your drafts.”

“Yes, my lord,” Vivi said in such a tone that I thought she would have made a fine actress after all.

She looked like an angel, so innocent that she didn’t even know the meaning of the words “kiss” and “hug,” which, of course, was not even close.

“How easily women can deceive us men!” I thought. “It is enough to say a phrase of submission in a quiet, gentle voice, and we already believe that before us is innocence itself in the flesh, and if she is also pretty, we are ready to swear that an angel from heaven has descended to us on earth to tell us the Lord’s will!”

“Still, take the play, a pen and an inkwell,” I added. “If necessary, you will make notes in the margins if I ask you to do so.”

“As you say, dear,” Vivi replied.

"One more show of submission like that, and another 'as it pleases' and I swear to heaven I'll marry her!" I thought. "I'm positively going crazy about this little girl!"

“I’ll wear a dress, but I won’t wear underwear,” Vivi said.

“For what purpose?” I was surprised.

“To tease you,” Vivi replied with a smile. “I’m sure the thought of it won’t leave you for a minute!”

"Damn it, she's right!" I thought. "But I like the idea, it'll be hell of a lot of fun!"

“I can imagine what would have happened to the publisher if he had known about this peculiarity of your toilet,” I said.

“Then tell him about it,” Vivi answered with a laugh.

“Are you crazy?” I exclaimed in fear.

- Your inner censor is stronger than your outer censor, if there is such a censor who would dare to censor the novels of the great Dumas! - said Vivi. - You are more cowardly than Brant;me. Someday in France a writer will be born who will describe everything that everyone knows about, but in literature they pretend that it does not exist. And this writer will gain greater glory than you have achieved.

“You want to irritate me and you’re deliberately talking complete nonsense,” I replied. “I’m not going to react to this. I’m going down to the carriage and will wait for you there. I hate standing in the doorway and waiting for a woman to get ready to leave the house! There’s no worse torture in the whole world! It seems like a woman has already gotten ready, but then she comes back for something else. Now, finally, she’s already leaving, but then she comes back again for something else.

"I see you have a lot of experience with women," Vivi noted. "Take something smart and read it in the carriage while I get out."

“What exactly?” I asked.

“Of course, your favorite genre!” Vivi answered.

“Do I have a favorite genre?” I asked in surprise. “What is it?”

“Anything by Alexandre Dumas – that’s your favorite genre,” Vivi answered and handed me the very play we had been discussing in recent days.

While I was waiting for Vivi, I actually opened the play and got engrossed in reading it.

Viscount: Here is a gift from your fianc;, Charlotte. These diamonds belonged to my mother. I am sure that she would have blessed my choice, as pure and noble as she herself. Do not refuse me, Charlotte! This sapphire is a stone of sadness, this ring she gave me, saying her last "farewell"...

Charlotte (taking the case): Your wife thanks you... Olivier!..

Viscount: In an hour I will await you in the chapel. The stroke of the bell will be your signal. Come there alone… Come there as you are, in ordinary clothes and without jewelry. After I have gone to my father to pay my respects – this is my custom every evening – I will return to the threshold of this house, which has become a real palace for me. My lover will return to beg you to let him in. Goodbye, Charlotte, good-bye!.. (He kisses her hand and leaves).

- I got to the part where the Viscount gave Charlotte his mother's diamonds! - said Vivi, opening the carriage door and sitting down next to me. - Another stupidity of your Viscount! You should have shown them to her and told her that he would give them to her after the marriage.

- What difference does it make? - I asked. - She didn't deceive him! She came to the chapel and signed the marriage contract!

"That scrupulous viscount, who kept asking Charlotte about her parents, proposed to her without even bothering to check the authenticity of the documents presented to him," Vivi said. "He could have made inquiries. He could have held off on the marriage until he was sure of the authenticity of the documents."

“You don’t understand that he loved her, so much so that he believed her every word, and wanted only one thing – to marry her!” I objected.

– What you don’t understand is that if that were the case, he wouldn’t have asked her who her parents were! – Vivi objected. – And if he did, then he demonstrated to her that it wouldn’t have been enough for him if Charlotte had just told him that she was a noblewoman. He didn’t need proof. He looked at and read the document provided to him in full. If you’re going to check, check it, and if you’re going to take someone’s word for it, then believe it. Why mix the two by demonstrating that you don’t trust her without really being sure of anything? That’s the worst possible course of action! He could have at least said that with this document he would try to convince his father to consent to the marriage! That’s a lot! She would have understood. But in this way, he demonstrated to her that he didn’t value his father’s opinion, his will, or his last will, which his father could still express in his will! After all, if he marries against his father's will, his father can disinherit him and have it notarized! And then Charlotte will never become the Countess de La Fere, since the Viscount will never become the Count de La Fere. Moreover, he may cease to be a Viscount! Why quarrel with the old father? Wouldn't it be better to give Charlotte a promise to marry after her father's death?

“But this marriage was supposed to be concluded secretly!” I objected.

- What a mystery! - Vivi objected. - To use the local vicar, that is, in this case there is already a witness who is part of the circle of mutual acquaintances, and besides, there will be other witnesses! The marriage is concluded in the presence of witnesses, have you forgotten? At least two! And there are the diamonds that were given! And if the father wants to look at them? And if the father insists on marrying the girl he has chosen for him? How and what will the viscount answer? Just wait for the death of the father? Is that noble, in your opinion? Oh, how noble Athos is, I just burst into tears!

“But he loves Charlotte!” I objected.

– Every love goes through several stages, – said Vivi. – The first stage is just a whim, a desire that can be easily overcome if a person has enough willpower. A person who gives in to his urges and nurtures them in himself as irresistible, will claim that he is so in love that his love is more precious to him than life. But life is the only way to experience love or not to experience it. By giving up life, you give up love! So all vows to love more than life are a lie. Claims that you cannot resist love are a claim that you do not want to give up a whim. Today he loves one, tomorrow he will meet another and say that only now has true love come to him, and everything that was before was just infatuation! And so you can jump from one woman to another, ad infinitum! And there will always be an excuse: he fell in love, he could not resist the strongest feeling in the world, he could not overcome love! Nonsense! Nonsense! A man can overcome a lot if he wants to. But he can overcome absolutely nothing if he does not want to fight his whims, if he passes off his whims as the strongest and most irresistible feeling! Do you know what I will tell you, my dear author? If the Viscount, your vaunted Athos, really loved Charlotte, he would not care about the brand on her shoulder! He would pretend not to notice it. At worst, he would ask where it came from and believe the first version she would offer him. And she, of course, would invent something in her complete justification! Moreover, she could simply tell part of the truth, at least that the brand was put on her by force by the executioner out of personal hostility in revenge, without having any legal right to do so! And that would be the truth! And if your Viscount really loved Charlotte, he would believe her without a drop of doubt! He would promise her to find the executioner and take revenge on him for this, and he would fulfill his promise! That's how a truly loving person would behave!

“Stop the carriage!” I shouted to the coachman.

"Are you mad at me?" Vivi asked. "Are you going to drop me off? Do you want to break up with me? Am I fired? It's not worthy to be offended by the truth.

“I’m not angry, we just arrived at the destination of our trip,” I replied. “We arrived at the publisher’s house, which is where we were headed.”

I got out of the carriage and offered my hand to Vivi.

Damn it, she's right! As she walked down the steps of the carriage, I caught a glimpse of her knees for a second and thought with delight that Vivi was wearing nothing underneath her dress.


CHAPTER TWENTY THREE


"What issue will you resolve with the publisher, Dudu?" Vivi asked.

- You will see and hear everything yourself, just don’t call me Dudu! - I answered. - If you call me Dudu even once in public, you will be fired that very second!

“Of course, Dudu,” Vivi replied.

The publisher met us at the door. I won't mention his name, because our relationship eventually went sour, but not because of the events I'm writing about here. Don't get me wrong: life is sometimes long, very long, and friends from the past don't always remain your friends for life. For the sake of certainty, I'll call him Shateren,

- Dear Monsieur Dumas! - exclaimed Chateren. - I am doubly glad to receive you together with a lady, especially with such a charming mademoiselle!

"Mademoiselle Violette Parisot has been working for me as my personal secretary for several months now," I lied and squeezed Vivi's hand lightly so that she wouldn't give away my little lie. "Mademoiselle Parisot, allow me to introduce you to Jean-Paul Chateren, my publisher and friend.

But Vivi didn't need any warnings, she immediately joined my game.

"Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Chateren. I have been in Monsieur Dumas' service for four and a half months," she said without a trace of embarrassment. "Or rather, if you include my probationary service in that period, it will be five months and one week."

- What a wonderful memory! - Shateren admired. - Don't tell me the size of Mademoiselle Parisot's salary, otherwise I'll want to offer her twice as much and lure her over to my side!

- Mr. Dumas signed a contract with me for a year without the right to terminate it on my initiative, - said Vivi. - And my salary, which I have no right to disclose, is such that it would not be profitable for you to offer me twice as much. For this money, you can easily hire four secretaries. And another maid.

"Your boss has turned into a spendthrift?" Shateren was surprised.

"My boss has been offered a more lucrative contract than all the others he has previously signed," Vivi replied. "It may be advantageous to terminate all the other contracts, even if the penalties in them are unreasonably high. However, forgive me, Monsieur Dumas, I should not interfere in these matters."

- How interesting! - exclaimed Chateren. - And I was just about to offer Mr. Dumas to double his fee!

Vivi pulled out a small quarto notebook that had appeared out of nowhere, opened it to the place where the bookmark lay, that is, far from the first page, took out a small lead pencil and pretended to be about to write something down.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you, you said 'triple', didn't you?" she asked without a trace of embarrassment.

“Yes, yes, three times,” confirmed Chateren. “I think that Monsieur Dumas will not terminate the contract with our publishing house.”

- He will make an exception for you, I am sure! - said Vivi. - He has spoken so highly of you all these months that I have been looking forward to meeting you. Oh, forgive me, I seem to be interfering again in matters that are not my business! I should have simply written down that Monsieur Dumas's contract with Monsieur Chaterin would be supplemented by an additional agreement according to which Monsieur Chaterin triples the amount of Monsieur Dumas's fee. From what date should I start? From today, I suppose.

“Yes, Mademoiselle Parisot, write down that the contract has been changed as of today,” said Chateren.

- Well, under these conditions, I believe we will indeed renew the contract with Mr. Chateren, - I said, turning to Vivi. - Now about the matter that served as the main reason for my coming to you. We are talking about the publication of my play "Youth of the Musketeers" as a separate book. I think it would be better to wait until the play is released on stage. The fact is that if readers get acquainted with the play, it could affect the theater's box office.

- Of course it will, but only in a big way! - Shateren exclaimed enthusiastically. - Never before has a viewer refused to see a play in the theater just because it has been published! But readers sometimes lose interest in buying a play in book form if the play is well known to them from its production.

- Neither of these things happened with Shakespeare's plays, - Vivi objected. - I believe that the name of Alexandre Dumas is no less important to the French than the name of Shakespeare is to the English. I even think that it is much more important to them! Shakespeare wrote about events of great antiquity, and sometimes even about events that took place in other countries. Mr. Dumas writes plays about events that took place in France and not so long ago that citizens would lose interest in them. On the contrary, now, interest in the times of Henry IV, Louis XIII and Louis XIV has greatly increased, including thanks to the books of Mr. Dumas. Oh, forgive me, I am interfering again where it is none of my business!

“That’s the only reason you get a large fee, which you’ve already told Monsieur Chateren about,” I replied. “I, Monsieur Chateren, sometimes allow Mademoiselle Parisot to perform some of the functions of my director, since in the future she will have to occupy this position both de facto and de jure. And now she’s just getting a little training in this role.”

"Yes, but you told me to hold off on telling me about it," Vivi said. "If you said it yourself, then it's no longer a secret."


“That’s right,” I agreed.

- Listen, Jean-Paul! - Vivi suddenly exclaimed and then stopped short. - Forgive me, Monsieur Chateren. It is my fault for addressing you like that. It is just that an interesting thought occurred to me.

“ No, nothing, you can call me by my name,” replied the flattered Chateren. “It will be easier if you allow me to call you Mademoiselle Violetta.”

“I just wanted to say that Monsieur Dumas is currently reworking his play, The Youth of the Musketeers, and in the new edition it will be supplemented with new details that will certainly be of interest to our readers,” said Vivi. “Monsieur Dumas, have I revealed any secrets?”

“Go on, Mademoiselle Parisot,” I replied.

“You could announce in your publication that a new play is coming out soon, and that it will be published only by your publishing house, that those readers who have already purchased this first volume will be given the second volume by subscription at a discount of, say, twenty percent, and with free postage of this second volume to them to the address that they indicated when purchasing the first volume,” Vivi blurted out.

“But mademoiselle, I do not intend to sell books at a loss!” objected Chateren.

"Raise the price of volumes one and two by five percent for volume one and fifteen percent for volume two over the price you intended to sell them for, and they will go for that price," Vivi replied. "People who own a book that says 'Volume One' will prefer to have both volumes, so they will buy volume two even if it is ten percent more expensive than volume one. It's the collector's effect, or the psychology of a perfectionist, if you like.

“They will only be able to buy the second volume from me?” Shateren perked up.

"Like the first one, and both of them will be done in the same style, in hard covers, en quatre," Vivi added. "Monsieur Dumas will immediately sign a commitment not to transfer the rights to publish these plays to anyone except your publishing house for fifteen years, and will transfer it to you in exchange for payment for the rights to publish both books. This, of course, does not count the percentage of the proceeds, which will depend on how the copies of both books sell out.

“Did I say that I was going to pay an advance for the second volume?” Shateren asked.

“Monsieur Dumas, I have nothing more to do here, I will wait for you in your carriage,” said Vivi.

- Wait, Mademoiselle Parisot! - exclaimed Chateren. - I didn't show up, I just asked! Of course, the advance payment for the second volume won't be a problem! I'll write out a check. The amount will be...

Vivi took out her notebook, wrote some numbers with a pencil, and, without showing them to me, showed the page with the numbers to Shateren.

Shateren's eyes widened, but he pulled himself together.

“May I offer to pay half of this advance today and the other half next week?” Shateren asked Violetta.

“Monsieur Dumas will answer this question for you, since I am not yet his commercial director,” Vivi replied.

"But soon you will be," I said. "Yes, Monsieur Chateren, a check for half an advance will do just fine now. I'll come for the other half next Tuesday."

I received the check, we declined the tea offered by Shateren and left his extremely hospitable home.


CHAPTER TWENTY FOURTH



“My child, who taught you to contradict your boss?” I asked Violetta when we left the publisher Shateren,

“You, my dear!” Vivi answered.

“It can’t be!” I exclaimed. “When? Where?”

“The novel ‘The Queen’s Necklace’, the first chapter, called ‘The Old Nobleman and the Old Butler’,” Vivi answered.

“I don’t remember!” I doubted.

- Let me remind you, - Vivi answered. - In this chapter, the old marshal tells the butler to take care of dinner. I will summarize the dialogue. The marshal asks the butler what time dinner will be. This is what happens next.

- Monseigneur, the bourgeoisie dines at two o'clock, the judges at three, and the nobility at four.
- Well, what about me, sir?
- Monseigneur will dine today at five o'clock.
- Oh! At five o'clock!
- Yes, Monseigneur, like a king!
- Why like a king?
— Because on the list that I was honored to receive there is one royal name.
- Not at all, sir, you are mistaken; among my guests today there are only simple nobles.
- Monseigneur, no doubt, is pleased to joke with his humble servant. But Count de Haga, one of Monseigneur's guests...
- Well?
- Count de Haga is the king.
“I don’t know of any king who bears such a name.”

Then the marshal still demands that dinner begin at four o'clock, but the butler insists that dinner begin at five o'clock.

“Let it be as the Lord wills,” he said at last, “but Monseigneur will dine at five o’clock!”
- Why? How is that? - exclaimed the marshal.
— Because it is physically impossible for Monsignor to have lunch earlier.
“Sir,” said the marshal, “if I am not mistaken, you have been in my service for twenty years?”
- Twenty-one years, Monsignor, one month and two weeks.
- So, sir, to these twenty-one years, one month and two weeks you will not add one day, not one hour. Do you hear? - exclaimed the old man, - from this evening look for another master.

The butler then explains that he has made sure that the best Tokay wine, of which there are only two bottles left in all of France, is served at the table, and also explains how this wine will be in the Marshal's house at four o'clock, and that it must rest for at least an hour. When the Marshal learns all the tricks necessary to ensure that the wine is served at dinner, he reverses his decision to fire the butler.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he exclaimed, “you are the king of butlers!”
“And you drove me away,” he answered with an indescribable movement of his head and shoulders.
- I'll pay you a hundred pistoles for this bottle.
- And another hundred pistoles for travel expenses. That makes two hundred pistoles. Monseigneur, I must admit that this is for nothing.
“I am ready to confess to anything you want, sir, but for now, from today on, I am doubling your salary.”

“Did I really write so colorfully and so succinctly?” I asked. “And how did you manage to remember all this?”

“I only quoted the most colorful parts of the dialogue, although I know it all by heart,” Vivi answered.

I blushed with pride. Besides, I wasn't angry with Vivi anyway, having read the fee amount on the check that was given to me as an advance. And it was only half of the fee that was promised to me!

"Vivi, you're not my secretary anymore," I said. "You're my executive director now. You'll be negotiating with publishers. But you'll still be my secretary."

“With all the points that were concluded earlier?” Vivi asked with a sly smile.

“Of course!” I replied.

"And my salary?" Vivi asked. "What amount are you setting for me?"

“You yourself hinted to the publisher what she was like,” I replied. “I accept your terms.”

“Dudou, you are trying in vain to outdo the heroes of your novels,” said Vivi. “The Marshal in The Queen’s Necklace only doubled the butler’s salary. You are going to raise it fivefold. That way you will go broke very quickly! Your heroes pay left and right with purses full of gold. Your Fouquet treats his guests to a vase full of beautiful pearls, inviting each guest to scoop out as much as he can grab in his hand. If your heroes did that in real life, they would all go broke in a couple of weeks, or at best in a couple of months. When you want to go on a spree, first mentally name the maximum amount you can afford, then the minimum that would still be acceptable. The true price is somewhere in the middle of these two extremes.

“I will obey you, and you obey me in those matters in which I still remain your boss,” I said.

“As you say, dear,” Vivi replied.

And I began to think hard about what were the issues where my authority for this amazingly charming and amazingly impudent little girl still retained its power. I admit, it was not easy for me to find such spheres.

“Let’s talk about this instead,” I continued. “What is this second volume that you promised on my behalf, and for which I just received a fee?”

- Oh, that, - Vivi waved her hand. - Nothing special. It will be a play. Maybe a trilogy. It will begin with a hunting scene of young Athos, whom you call "the Vicomte". He will be friends with the young Marquis Hureau, the Comte de Cheverny, and also with the Baron de Livarot, In the first act, the Vicomte, the Baron and the Marquis are hunting in the forests of the Vicomte's father, the Comte de La F;re. The action begins with a scene in a hunting lodge, where the Vicomte, the Baron and the Marquis, waiting for the servants to roast the venison they have caught on a spit, share various stories, and perhaps also plans for the future.

- Not bad! - I said. - What are they talking about?

"There shouldn't be too much talking in the play," Vivi added. "But first the baron tells a story. Roughly, it will go like this.

And Violetta began her story.

“ While the venison is roasting, allow me, gentlemen, to tell you an instructive story,” says the Baron. “Do you know the old Count de Rochefort?”

“I think I’ve heard something about him,” the Viscount replied.

- He had only one boy from his first marriage, and his wife died in childbirth, the baron continues. - He chose a wife from among the not particularly noble, but, as he was told, very wealthy girls. Since the count had spent a little in his first marriage, he was not averse to improving his situation with a new marriage.

“It’s business as usual, what’s interesting here?” asked the Viscount.

- Listen to what happened next, - the baron continued. - The count was especially voluptuous, and his young wife greatly excited his passion. Unlike most exemplary spouses, moderately restrained and rational, he wanted to see her in all her beauty. And so one day, in a fit of passion, he tore her shirt and what do you think he found on her shoulder?

- What can be found on the shoulder of the young wife? - asked the Marquis. - A birthmark? A rash? Traces of smallpox? Or some minor deformity? Surely not signs of leprosy!?

"Much worse than anything you've listed, Viscount," the Baron objected. "He found a brand on her left shoulder. His wife turned out to be a thief!"

The Viscount turned pale.

“What did the Count do?” he asked.

"He immediately filed for divorce, but the college refused him, since the divorce would have been possible if the lady had married him under a fictitious name," the baron replied. "The college ruled that since the lady had not lied about her name and origin, the fact of branding her did not change the essence of the matter. The Count de Rochefort married the very woman whose name she had given him, so the marriage could not be dissolved at the request of only one party.

“How did it end?” asked the Marquis.

"The Count paid off," the Baron replied. "He gave up half the real estate he still owned and almost all the cash. Only on these terms did his wife agree to a divorce, and the board allowed them to divorce.

“And then?” asked the Viscount.

- The old Count de Rochefort married for the third time, this time his wife was rich, well-born, and unbranded, - the baron answered. - She bore the Count four sons, but for the love of her the old Count completely disowned his son from his first marriage, depriving him. The poor fellow got neither money nor estates. The old Count, at the instigation of his young wife, wanted to send him to the priesthood, but young Rochefort ran away and got a job with Cardinal Richelieu. He liked him because he tried in every way to curry favor with him.

“But tell me, Baron, how did Countess de Rochefort explain to her husband that she had a brand?” asked the Marquis.

“What difference does it make?” the baron replied. “After all, whatever she says is a lie.”

“And what is the moral of this story?” asked the Marquis.

“Firstly, don’t marry for convenience,” the Viscount said gloomily. “Secondly, try to see the shoulder of your future spouse before marriage.”

- Viscount! What kind of girl would allow such liberty to a young man? - objected the baron. - Only one whom he should never marry!

“You are right, Baron,” the Viscount agreed. “In that case… I don’t even know what to do in that case.”

- And I would do as my father did! - said the Marquis. - I will tell you a true story that no one knows.

Here Violetta interrupted her story.

- If the play is only about talking, it will be boring. It is necessary for the audience to see the action. So while the Marquis is talking, everything he is talking about will happen on stage.

- Well, tell me how you imagine it! - I said.


CHAPTER TWENTY FIFTH



Vivi offered her retelling of the future play.

- So, the baron, the viscount and the marquis are located on the left side of the stage and after the Marquis of Huro begins to tell the story of his family, the action begins to take place in the middle of the stage.

– Do you know, gentlemen, that every noble family has its own secret? I will prove it to you using my own family as an example. I know that you are noble people, and our friendship will not be interrupted simply because I let you in on my family secret.

"Marquis, you shouldn't tell us this," says the Viscount. "A secret must remain a secret."

“But I want to tell it to you!” the Marquis objects. “Listen, you won’t regret what you’ve heard.”

The Baron says that there is nothing wrong with listening to something interesting. Marquis Yuro begins his story. The light illuminating the interlocutors goes out, and the lighting picks out the middle of the stage, where what the young Marquis Yuro is telling is happening.

– My father, Henri Hurot, Marquis de Cheverny, having married the young Fran;oise Chabot, who was only eleven years old at the time, went to war the day after the wedding, – says Marquis Hurot. – It must be said that on their wedding night, the Marquis de Cheverny did not touch his young wife, considering that she was still too young to fulfill her marital duty. He really did not want to leave his young wife alone, but he believed that she loved him, since she swore at the altar to be a faithful and loving wife, as was customary. Visiting his castle only occasionally, the Marquis delightedly noticed how the girl was gradually turning into a beauty. He looked forward to those days when, finally, military campaigns would not take up all his time, when he would be able to give his tenderness and love to his young wife in all the fullness of a man’s affection. Until this time, the Marquis only platonically loved his young wife, loved her madly, more than life itself!

“Not a bad start!” I approved.

– The center of the stage lights up, and the viewer sees the tender parting of the Marquis and Fran;oise, – continued Vivi. – The Marquis disappears into the depths of the stage, Fran;oise waves her handkerchief after him, then wipes away her tears with this handkerchief. The center of the stage darkens. The narrator lights up again, and he continues his story to the Viscount and the Baron. The stage darkens, the Marquis’s voice says: “The Marquis often visited the court of King Henry the Fourth. Once, at a ball, he saw such a scene in the mirror.” The stage lights up again, the viewer sees a hall where courtiers stand in small groups. The King approaches one group, then another, all the other courtiers politely turn to face the monarch.

King Henry says: "Marquis! Look, your fellow countryman and neighbor, Chevalier Chamelin, has arrived!" Yuro turns to face the newcomer and says: "You are mistaken, sir, it is not he, although he looks like him. As far as I know, Chevalier Chamelin is now in Blois." At this moment, Henry IV puts both hands in the shape of deer antlers to the back of the Marquis's head. All the courtiers, except Yuro, laugh. Yuro looks in the mirror and understands what is going on. Then he slowly turns to face the King, who manages to remove his hands.

Yuro says: "Your Majesty, it seems you haven't hunted deer for a long time? I invite you to visit me in Blois! There is excellent deer hunting there! I invite you all, gentlemen!" Then Yuro bows coldly and leaves the hall. Darkness, again the lighting shows the viscount and the marquis. The marquis continues the story: "The young marquise knew for sure that her husband had left for Paris for a long time. But she was mistaken, the marquis raced home on horseback, not sparing his horse, having spent the whole night in the saddle. He arrived at the family castle at dawn, when everyone was still asleep.

The stage lights up, and in the center of the stage is the Marquise’s bedroom. Behind the wall, the cries of a servant: “Madam! Your husband has returned!” The Marquise screams in horror and wakes up the handsome young man sleeping next to her. “Get up quickly, Chameleon! My husband will enter the bedroom now! Run through the window! Quickly!” Chameleon, in his underwear, grabs his clothes and jumps out the window at the back of the stage. A scream is heard. At that moment, the Marquis enters the room. “So this is how you wait for your husband!” He goes to the window and looks down. “The scoundrel has broken his leg! Well, that means he won’t escape from me.” He goes out the door. Loud words are heard: “Hold your sword, puppy!” “I can’t defend myself, my leg is broken!” “I will fight you on my knees!” “Impossible! I will not fight you!” “Well, it’s your choice!” "Die, you scoundrel!" Chameleon's wheeze is heard, The Marquis re-enters the door. He holds a goblet and a dagger in his hands. "Marquise, choose what you prefer. This very dagger with which your lover was stabbed, or poison?" The Marquise silently points to the goblet. The Marquis hands her the goblet, she drinks it and falls unconscious. Fade out.

The light illuminates the narrator again. "The doctor stated that the Marquise died of indigestion, or perhaps from unhealthy food. The doctor also noted that the Marquise was three months pregnant."

The Viscount asks the Marquis: "Why did you tell me this story? I don't feel like eating at all now, although I believe the venison was roasted superbly!"

- Sorry, friends, I drank too much, and when I drink, I become excessively talkative and tell some scary stories.

“However, Marquis, your story is very useful, because we can draw a moral from it!” the Viscount suddenly says.

“What is this moral?” asks the baron.

“First of all, don’t leave your wife alone for long,” says the Viscount.

– Secondly, leave no witnesses! – says the Marquis. – Really, no one can say for sure that anything like that happened. All that is known is that Chamelin apparently fell from his horse, and so unsuccessfully that his sword broke and a piece of it entered his throat. In any case, everything pointed to that. It is also known that the young Marquise died of indigestion. My father married a second time. This time his wife was my mother, the Marquise de la Morini;re, I believe that this time he married very well, at least for me. Otherwise, I would simply not have been born. So I am even in some way grateful to this same Chamelin for giving me the chance to be born and to become my father’s eldest heir, that is, the Count de Jureau, Marquis de Cheverny!

“I understand, Marquis, why you told us this story,” says the Viscount. “You have answered the question of what the old Comte de Rochefort should have done! Your father’s example, Marquis, is worthy of attention. There is no trial for an unworthy wife higher than that of her deceived husband. And in such a case no one has the right to condemn him.”

“And do you agree with this, my child?” I asked.

- In no case! - answered Violetta. - But this is a story about the events of the beginning of the seventeenth century, and we live in the middle of the enlightened nineteenth century! More than two hundred years separate us from that wild time, when a count or marquis could completely dispose of the fate of his servants, and even their lives, and also considered himself the absolute master of the fate of his wife and his children! Now, I think, such a thing is impossible! And I hope that never in the future will such a thing be possible. From the standpoint of our enlightened times, Athos is simply a criminal!

“As painful as it is for me to agree with you, I am forced to admit that you are right, my child,” I said.

“ But you will tell us about how Athos conducted his own investigation and found out that Charlotte, Anne de Beyle, is a criminal who deserves the death penalty according to all human and divine laws!” Vivi continued.

“How is that possible, my dear?” I asked.

“You will tell us about her criminal past and how Athos found out about it,” Vivi answered with firm conviction.

I didn't want to argue with her.


CHAPTER TWENTY SIXTH



“But let me object, my child,” I said. “First, your version of the play tells too much about the past. A drama must have dramatic action that takes place right before the eyes of the audience. Second, the episode with King Henry the Fourth requires a large number of characters who are not used anywhere. It is expensive and ineffective. Third, one small digression, unrelated to either the main characters or the main action, requires two additional sets of scenery. The impresario will laugh at me. Fourth, the story of the discovery of the brand on the young wife’s shoulder is the key episode of my drama. But in your version this episode is revealed to the audience practically from the first scene. The element of surprise will disappear, the tragedy will turn into farce. Instead of being horrified by the incomprehensible, incredible, impossible discovery, Athos will have to simply state that exactly the same story has happened to him as the one he heard the day before! And finally, his further actions, which can be justified by the shock of the horror of the whole situation, will now appear as a cold calculation based on the firm conviction that a divorce from the deceiver, although possible, will cost him half of everything he owns. It turns out that he tried to kill his wife only in order not to lose half of his money? A mercantile hero does not evoke sympathy, and a mercantile villain is precisely a villain, a theatrical, deliberate one! And if we add to this the fact that he has not yet entered into his inheritance rights, then he risked very little. Such a turn of events turns Athos into a monster! Thus, your additions are interesting as an example of a flight of thought, but I will not accept them.

"As you say, dear," Vivi said. "You can reduce my rate, since I'm not yet smart enough to be your secretary, much less your executive director."

- Oh, Vivi! - I objected. - I am simply trying to teach you to better understand the laws of drama, the characters and, most importantly, the needs of the public! You are an excellent student and you have a very fresh outlook on things, as well as a literary talent that I would call innate if I had not learned from you that you developed it together with your young friend, who was like a sister to you.

“Of us, you are the genius, and I am only an apprentice,” Vivi continued. “My job is to bring you stones from which you carve works of art, with which you enter eternity.”

“I must admit, you described the situation quite accurately,” I said with the most serious look, after which we both burst out laughing.

- Just don't get too cocky, my friend! - Vivi added playfully, abruptly changing her tone to mischievous. - I'm going to firmly take the place of your best muse. Best, because the only one. I won't tolerate other muses, just know that!

“I don’t need any others, you are more than enough,” I replied. “I completely capitulate to your very flattering offer, to which I have neither the strength nor the desire to object. By the way, write down for memory everything you told me, it may come in handy. Not for the play, of course. But for a new chapter or even for a book. If I decide to write an introductory novel about the youth of the Musketeers, this may be used at least partially. But the reference to the troubles of the Comte de Rochefort senior does not interest me. I have already used this episode in The Three Musketeers and there will be no other stigma in my novels. This terrible lily on the shoulder of a woman of indescribable beauty, looking as innocent as she is attractive, is my find, which should not be repeated in other novels, except for a play on the same topic and with the same heroes.

“Your discovery is in the ‘Memoirs of the Count de Rochefort,’” Violetta clarified with a smile. “I don’t want to upset you, but I must tell you that the ‘Memoirs of the Count de Rochefort’ were not written by Rochefort at all, but by a certain author named Sandra de Courtil,”

“I guessed about it, but I didn’t know the name of the real author,” I lied. “How do you know that?”

- I found the book "True Memoirs of Messire d'Artagnan, Captain - Lieutenant first companies Musketeers kings containing set things personal And secret, happened at board Ludovica "The Great " and learned the name of its real author, and then found out what else this same author had written," Vivi replied. "These fake memoirs were written by the same author who wrote the fake "Memoirs of the Comte de Rochefort."

I was shocked. How clever and inquisitive this girl was! Maybe I shouldn't have rejected her interpretation of Athos's youth so categorically? I felt ashamed, I had been too categorical. In literature there is no firm "incredible" or firm "impossible", just as there is no firm "credible" or "psychologically accurate". All people are different. The reaction of one person to the same events differs from the reaction of another, sometimes simply diametrically. One in the situation in which Athos found himself would have raged and cursed, another would have rushed away, a third would have sat down and remained silent, as if petrified, a fourth, perhaps, would have actually decided to commit murder, a fifth would have preferred suicide. So the writer, describing the reaction of his characters to certain events, most often describes his own reaction to something similar, but only in his imagination. It may well be that he would have reacted quite differently in a similar situation. Perhaps he is not describing his own reaction, but the reaction he considers correct, or better, or more natural, but he himself may not have been in similar circumstances and never will be. Thus, all of us, writers, are liars, fantasists, storytellers. And what is required of a storyteller? That he entertain! That is the first and foremost. But it is also required that he not teach bad things, isn't it? Not everyone remembers this. And not everyone knows about it! And I myself almost always forget about it. If I turn my novels into didactic parables, my royalties will not feed me. Even with the most modest diet. Perhaps they will simply disappear! If I write what should tell my fellow citizens, not a single publisher will take my books on! I am forced to indulge the tastes of the depraved crowd. It seems that the times have passed when people would gather with pleasure at the Place de Gr;ve to watch the execution of a criminal. The more horrible the execution, the larger the crowd. The townspeople would take small children with them, including infants. Richer people would rent neighboring houses with windows overlooking the square during the execution, in order to admire the execution from the most convenient place, where everything could be seen in the best possible way, where they could sit comfortably and see everything in detail. Are those times gone? It seems that the first revolution and its aftermath saturated the crowd with these terrible spectacles. Public executions are a thing of the past. Forever? I am afraid not! If a new Marat were to come to power, who would turn these executions into a new entertainment for the crowd, then new generations would form a cohort of spectators with no less pleasure than their grandfathers did! Now such performances have ceased to shake Paris. Therefore, the people are eager to see them on the stage. They want to see the spectacle of the execution of Mary Stuart, or Charles I of England, or Ravaillac, or Jacques Clement, or Joan of Arc, or the Marquise de Brinvilliers.

I write for the crowd! This girl opened my eyes to my creativity! She pushed forward and exaggerated one episode of my best novel, using already known plots. And I saw it in all its ugliness! I should have taken the drama "Youth of the Musketeers" off the stage and returned the advance to the publisher, and also returned the fee already received to the entrepreneur and the director of the theater! And I would be ready to do it! I could do it! Easily! But in this case, I must immediately move out of the apartment that I rented for Violetta and me. And part with Violetta. Am I ready to pay this price for the right to look down on my readers?

No, no and no! I love this girl. This angel. This living antique goddess! Every curve of her young body evokes youthful delight in me. I feel twice as young! I feel almost her age next to her. I am old Doctor Faustus, who in his old age, well over forty, and therefore with one foot in the grave, suddenly sipped the life-giving drink of eternal youth. I don’t care that Mephistopheles filled this cup for me! He gave it to me and pointed to this new Margarita, to Violetta, who is younger, more beautiful, more stunning than my wildest dream of a beauty! The Trojans kidnapped Elena, because of whom the war began. It always seemed like nonsense to me. But if Elena was like my Violetta, I firmly believe that such things are possible. Two states could easily fight each other at the whim of their rulers, if these rulers disputed the right to possess Violetta! And if I were the head of one of these states, I would lead my troops without a second thought, I would go to my death for her sake! No, I do not believe myself. Why die for love? So that someone else could take advantage of this love? My beloved Alexander Pushkin died in order to defend the honor of his beloved Natalie! And what is the result of this sacrifice? Is it not that his beloved wife became the spouse of one of the three Lansky brothers-generals, who turned a blind eye to the excessively frequent dances of her spouse with Emperor Nicholas I? And so that to the four children from Pushkin, the poor widow in her second marriage would add three daughters from Pyotr Lansky? And from Lansky? No, I am not ready to lay down my life for love! But I am ready to love one woman all my life, and no matter how hard it may be, unnatural for any man, and no matter how impossible it may be given the experience of communicating with the female sex that I already had by the time I got to know Violetta closely, I am still voluntarily and consciously ready to give up all the women in the world for her alone, to be with her forever, until that fateful moment when my heart stops beating, so that I can bless her with my last kiss.

What dark thoughts, however, are born in me at the thought of bright love!

“What are you thinking about, dear?” Vivi asked.

- Let's make a stop, - I said. - We'll have lunch at Maxim's restaurant, and then head home. We'll continue reading my drama "Youth of the Musketeers", which you criticize so brilliantly. I enjoyed this activity.

“As a result of the addition to the contract?” Vivi asked, smiling slyly.

“For the most part, it’s for this reason,” I admitted frankly.

“ In other words, you acknowledge my victory over you?” Vivi asked with a proud and smug smile.

“Remember, my child,” I said. “In all times and in all wars, the winner is not the one who actually won, but the one who managed to convince the whole world that he was the winner. No one won the Battle of Borodino, so the Russians consider themselves the winners, and we consider ourselves the winners. In fact, Satan and the marauders won. More precisely, the true winners of the battle are those who did not participate in it. Any war is a defeat for all sides. But in history, the winners are those who write this very history. You may think that you defeated me, but if the world thinks that I conquered you, then so it will remain in history.

"Did our relationship go down in history?" Vivi asked.

“All of France reads me,” I reminded him. “And France is always world history. Consequently, the ladies who do me the honor of allowing me to share their bed will be seen by history as ladies to whom I, a great writer, have done the honor of being in my bed.”

With these words I cemented my victory over Violetta, at least in my own mind.

- Sir, it was I who did you the honor, and in our relations it will always be exactly that way, - said Violetta with emphasized pride. - And I don't care about the opinion of the world. It was not you who conquered me, but I who conquered you.

“But even before that, I won you over with my books, without even knowing it and without intending to do so,” I reminded him.

“An involuntary victory in an undeclared war does not count,” said Violetta.

I kept quiet. After all, I know that the best way to win an argument with a woman is to pretend that she has won and let her have the last word in the argument.


CHAPTER TWENTY SEVENTH



We had a wonderful dinner at Maxim's and returned home in an excellent mood.

“ Well then, my dear, shall we continue reading?” I asked, hoping that it would proceed in the same charming manner in which Vivi and I had communicated for two evenings in a row.

- Stop mixing work and entertainment, - Vivi objected. - My proposal about the form and place where we will work on your texts came from an inexperienced applicant for the position of your secretary, and now I am your commercial director. One Russian poet, quite a good one, by the way, although he created only one significant work and many trivial ones, and also wrote a couple of waltzes, said: "When I work, I hide from work, when I fool around - I fool around, and there are tons of people who like to mix these two crafts, I am not one of them!"

“Well said, it’s a pity it doesn’t rhyme,” I replied.

“In the original Russian it rhymes,” Vivi answered.

“What is the author’s last name?” I asked.

“ Griboyedoff, which means a truffle lover,” Vivi said.

- Truffle Eater Griboyedov, - I repeated. - What is the name of that one work that you praised?

"Woe from Wit," Vivi replied. "That would be a very good title for your memoirs when you decide to write them."

“So you are denying me those innocent amusements to which I have become so accustomed these two times that I cannot imagine how I can do without them?” I asked.

“You will receive my body and my love after we finish work, otherwise it begins to seem to me that you simply bought me like a whore, and are only pretending that you need my secretary services.

- I am happy with this state of affairs, - I said. - I should have known that your love cannot be bought, it will have to be won daily. And to pay for it not with money, but with my whole life. But I am happy with it, I repeat. So, let us begin, my cruel child, to dissect the work of the unfortunate author in love, Alexandre Dumas,

– I don’t agree with the definition of “unfortunate”, but I won’t argue, you know better, – answered Vivi. – But before we move on in the text, let’s go back to the beginning of the drama. So, Charlotte arrived with her imaginary brother Georges in Blois in 1620. Everyone in this area was talking about the brother and sister who loved each other very tenderly. Athos names his brother. He says that Charlotte’s devotion to her brother “ was like a sacrifice, for the sullen and unsociable nature of Georges Backson deprived you of the opportunity to be in society.” Then he says that her intelligence, youth and beauty would have given her a position in society, where she would have been if not for her brother. So, he is also Backson and his presence prevents her from advancing in society. Did I say everything correctly?

“That’s right, my dear,” I agreed, not expecting a catch. “Then he says: ‘Admit it, this sacrifice hasn’t made you happy.’”

– Very well, but Athos is reading Charlotte’s papers. Her father is William Backson, a Welsh nobleman, and her mother is Anne de Beyle. It’s a pity you didn’t listen to me and give Charlotte the name Anne de Beyle, but never mind. But why does Charlotte suddenly say that her brother Georges is her brother from her mother’s first marriage? And then she says that she is talking about the same brother that the Viscount knows. So it is Georges Backson. Georges Backson is the son of Anne de Beyle and not the son of William Backson at all. To begin with, under what name did Milady’s imaginary brother appear? He is called Georges. In the future, she will definitely address him in the same way when he appears on the scene. They made up the surname and forged the documents of nobility. We know from the novel The Three Musketeers that Milady cohabited with her lover, passing him off as her brother. But if this is the first son of Milady's mother, as follows from the presented documents, and her mother's name was Anne de Beyle... And Backson was the surname of Milady's father, who is not at all, according to the documents, the father of her alleged brother Georges... Then why is he called "Georges Backson"?!? After all, we are talking about Georges, Charlotte says about him that the Viscount knows him, and he only knows one of her brothers, Georges Backson, or a person who introduced himself under this name. Are Charlotte and Georges really so stupid that they allegedly call Anne de Beyle's son Georges Backson? If Anne de Beyle's first husband was a nobleman, then after his death his son should have inherited his name, he would not need the name of his stepfather! Or was Anne de Beyle's first husband not a nobleman? But according to the concepts of the nobles of that time, this would automatically transfer Anne de Beyle herself to the category of not noblewomen! Why did Athos not pay attention to this discrepancy? After all, he is so sensitive about matters of noble blood!

“What do you propose, my dear?” I asked, completely taken aback by her verbal torrent.

“There wouldn’t be a problem in the following cases,” Vivi said in a mentoring tone. “ First, If Charlotte hadn’t claimed that Georges was her mother’s son from her first marriage. It would have been enough to simply call him his brother. Then she’s Charlotte Buckson, he’s Georges Buckson. It’s all logical. Second, If Charlotte had said that Georges was her father’s son from his first marriage. Obviously. Third, If Georges had a different surname. In this case, Georges de Beyle, if Charlotte’s mother received the name de Beyle as a result of her first marriage. Or any other name except Georges Buckson. Then it would have been enough to mention that Georges was Charlotte’s mother’s son from her first marriage. Anyone with an understanding mind would understand. Fourth, If Charlotte had said that her father had adopted her brother from her mother’s first marriage. Then it would have been better to have such a document in hand.”

"To sum up," I said. "Either Charlotte should not have emphasized the fiction that Georges is his mother's son by her first marriage, or, if she did, it should have explained the fact that he bears a different surname. Is that what you're trying to achieve?"

- Of course! - answered Vivi. - Otherwise it turns out absurd, and the author can be reproached for carelessness.

“That’s enough for today!” I said.

- Shall we do something better? - Vivi asked, smiling slyly. - I see our offended author is not in the mood for mischief? We'll fix that now.


She came up to me and did... No, I absolutely refuse to describe our intimate affairs. It is, after all, no one's business except me and her!

That evening we did not discuss my play any more. By the way, it is not bad at all, my play, if it was the reason for our sweet entertainment for the second time, which I will remember for the rest of my life! Especially since this time Vivi came up with something new, but I will keep quiet about it!


CHAPTER TWENTY- EIGHTH



After I had once again proven my manliness to Violetta and thus slightly improved my prestige as a great writer, we paid tribute to light snacks and light wine, which were prepared for us by our maid and part-time cook.

"Darling, I hope you're not angry with me for the criticism I gave your play?" Vivi asked.

“If your criticism always ends the way it did just now, I will start deliberately making mistakes and inaccuracies in my texts so that you will never run out of work as a secretary until the end of my life!” I replied, since I was in an extremely good-natured mood.

“Then let’s continue!” she said with an enthusiasm that was offensive to me.

“ You know, my dear, I am no longer of that age and strength to prove my worth as a man again after you have destroyed my sense of pride as a writer,” I said anxiously. “Your criticism is so merciless that there will be no trace left of my sense of my own greatness. And that, you know, is insulting and tiring.”

“I will simply summarize what I have read, without any particular criticism,” answered Violetta, and without waiting for my consent, or rather, foreseeing that she would not receive it, she continued. “So, we see that the documents about Charlotte’s origin are extremely important to the Viscount. This could be understood if the Viscount wanted to obtain her father’s consent to his marriage with her. But he is not going to obtain such consent. The father is opposed to this marriage for reasons that are unclear to the viewer. Then we see that Athos gives Charlotte a whole box of his mother’s diamonds. Even before the wedding. Why and for what reason? It would be logical if the Viscount had no spare money, and if for some strange reason the Viscount had the freedom to dispose of his mother’s diamonds in such a way that it would never occur to her father to even look at them under any circumstances. He could offer her to pawn them in order to appear before the old Comte de La F;re as a bride worthy of his son. But that is not even close.” And besides, the Viscount himself could have pawned the jewels, but if Charlotte had done so, she could have been suspected of theft. So this gift looks strange. It would have been better if the Viscount had made an effort to reconcile Charlotte with his father. In a rich family, the only heir should not have been short of money. And if he wanted to hide his marriage from his father, it was unwise to take his mother's jewels from his father's house, even if they already nominally belonged to the Viscount himself. The father might have wanted to look at the jewels of his deceased wife before his death, undoubtedly adored. He would have wanted to touch them, remembering the days of his youth when the Countess wore them. Therefore, it would have been better if he had given something less dangerous for exposing his secret marriage to Charlotte, that is, simply given her a gift. He could have ordered for her a piece of jewelry expressing his love for her, a symbol of this love. A ring with a good diamond would have been enough. But if he had the opportunity to spend money on Charlotte, it would be much easier for him to ask Charlotte to tell her father, that is, the Viscount's father and her future father-in-law, that in fact she was rich and noble, but her money and lands were in England, and that her brother was currently managing them, but managing them for her benefit. That is, to present herself as a bride with a sufficient dowry and sufficient nobility. This would be desirable in order to obtain the consent of the Viscount's father to the marriage. After that, the marriage would take place, and Charlotte could become the Viscount's wife in every sense, openly and officially, without waiting for the death of the old count. And how old is he? And why is the Viscount so sure that his father will die soon? And why does this not bother him at all, it seems he is waiting - he cannot wait for his father's death to fully realize his marriage. More precisely, to stun Charlotte with his wealth and bring her into the house as a full-fledged Countess de La F;re!

“ Have mercy,” I begged. “You promised not to be too cruel to my play and to me.”

“Very well, let Athos give the jewels to Charlotte, but I can understand that only in one case,” said Vivi. “Let Athos say that he remembers his mother poorly, but he loves her, and he remembers her as she is depicted in the family portrait. In this portrait she is depicted wearing her family diamonds, which became her so well! And Charlotte is amazingly similar to his mother in her youth, so he begs her to wear these jewels so that he can admire her and especially enjoy this resemblance to his mother. And then, when Charlotte puts on these jewels, he delightedly offers her to keep them for herself as his wedding gift.

“That’s good, I like it,” I said.

- No good! - Vivi suddenly exclaimed. - If she reminds the Viscount of his mother, then she reminds the old Count of his mother. Then the old Count should have happily agreed to the marriage of the Viscount and Charlotte. Men always identify a woman's appearance with her soul. In any case, this is true of young, pretty girls! The old Count simply could not be angry with a young beauty who reminded him of his beloved wife in appearance.

“Why dearly beloved?” I asked. “Nowhere in my books is this stated.”

“Do I need to say that Athos was extremely demanding of his wife?” Vivi asked. “This proves that he wanted his wife to be like his mother. Consequently, his mother was ideal in his eyes. And in the eyes of the old count, too. This is not up for discussion. Everything is clear with this. So, it is strange that Athos insistently demands that Charlotte tell him about her origins, but, having received the papers, does not use the fact of their existence to solve this problem. Either there was no need to find out and demand the papers, or, having received the papers, it was necessary, based on this, to try to arrange this marriage with the consent of the father. In addition, if the viscount’s father was dying, it would obviously be desirable for him to make sure before his death that the viscount would marry, and thus that his line would not be interrupted.” If Charlotte was beautiful, charming, as we find further, Athos himself says that he fell in love "with a lovely sixteen-year-old girl, beautiful as love itself, she not only pleased, she intoxicated", then why should not this charming woman charm the dying Count as a future daughter-in-law, to demonstrate to him that she is worthy of his son's love? Amazingly illogical!

"You naughty, cruel girl!" I exclaimed.

“ The viewer may not share your opinion of Charlotte,” Vivi replied.

“I called you, not her, a worthless, cruel girl,” I clarified.

“I understand you, but in your assessments of living people you are as biased as in your assessments of your literary heroes,” Vivi objected. “After reading your play, I fell in love with Charlotte and hated Athos. I don’t like it! I protest! I read The Three Musketeers and its two sequels. I love Athos! I adore Athos! And you made me hate him! And I always hated Milady, but with this play you literally made me pity her and love her! Dumas, you destroy your heroes, slander them. See for yourself. Charlotte was only sixteen years old! As old as I am now! Maybe your Georges was as old as you?” But in this case, Georges is responsible for everything that happened to them, and Charlotte is only a victim, first a victim of Georges, who corrupted her and drew her into criminal activity, then of his brother the executioner, who branded her, and then, finally, she is a victim of the Viscount, who swore his love to her, promised that she would be the Countess de La F;re, and then hanged her, having first torn off all her clothes and tied her hands! He degraded her physically and, in addition, before that, destroyed her morally, humiliated her so that it is hardly possible to humiliate her more! Without even understanding the reasons for the appearance of this brand!

“We’ll quarrel,” I predicted sadly.

“Not at all,” Violetta waved her hand. “And by the way, what could have angered Athos so much in the future? The fact that she, being branded, agreed to marry him secretly, or the fact that she, being branded, provided forged documents about her noble birth, thereby convincing both him and his old father that she was worthy of being Athos’s wife? I think his indignation would have been more understandable in the second case! And one more thing. Where did Charlotte get such documents?! As we know, she fled from the monastery with Georges. That is, she lived in a monastery. Therefore, the documents about her birth were in the monastery. Did she steal them? Then we must assume that the documents are not forged? In any case, she is, in fact, Charlotte Buckson, the daughter of William Buckson, an English nobleman, and Anne de Beyle, apparently a French noblewoman?” Well, in that case, it would have been easy for the Viscount to make inquiries about her and find out that she had no brother! Why did she take such a risk by presenting him with genuine documents? And if the documents were forged, then Athos could have easily found out that Charlotte had no relation to the de Beyle family! If documents were to be forged, then it would have been better to indicate in them that both of Charlotte's parents were foreigners! And where did a petty thief who stole sacred vessels from a monastery and his young sixteen-year-old mistress get forged documents? They themselves could hardly have been experts. Ordered, bought? Where did the money come from? After all, they did not have time to sell the stolen vessels; the vessels were returned to the monastery! And forged documents of nobility are not so easy to buy! Or was Georges a notorious criminal with connections who was able to pull off this scam as well? And anyway, Dudu, don't you think that if Charlotte arrived at the Vicomte's place of residence at the age of sixteen, that is, very young, like myself, and her lover was already able to get a job as a curate, that is, not so young as she, then the words about her persuading him to steal the sacred vessels somehow do not fit with all these circumstances? Her brother the executioner in vain shifts the blame from her! Rather, these acts should be classified as follows: Georges, already quite experienced, gained her trust and seduced the underage Charlotte. He stole the sacred vessels from the monastery and ran away with them, and also persuaded Charlotte to join him and run away from the monastery with her. Then he persuaded her to cohabit and lived with her in sin for six months. During this time, he obtained forged documents about the noble origin of both of them. According to these documents, they were not married. So it turns out that Georges managed to seduce Charlotte, to persuade her to live with him as his mistress, but he could not convince her to marry him. Could not or did not want to? Most likely, he did not want to! It looks like he was counting on her beauty! He deliberately passed himself off as her brother in order to lure rich nobles or merchants with the beauty of his mistress, because this is very similar to the truth, isn't it? And how else did they live together for half a year if they never managed to sell the sacred vessels? Most likely due to the favor of Athos, which is what they were initially counting on! And is it easy to sell such things? They could only be sold by melting them down or flattening them so that no one would understand that they were sacred vessels, otherwise they would be suspected of theft. And if the vessels were returned to the monastery, then nothing like that was done to them. And why was Georges sent to hard labor if the vessels were returned? Let's assume that the law is so strict, but why did he manage to escape from the galleys after six months? How? Did his brother-executioner help him? Does the executioner have connections with the galley owners?

"You're throwing questions at me like hail on a tiled roof," I said. "We'll discuss all this later."

- Agreed, but for now let's sum it up, - said Vivi, actually contradicting me. - In the passage we cited, Athos is inconsistent, Charlotte is inconsistent, they all behave strangely, all this is impossible, Dudu! And, most importantly, Charlotte, in general, cannot be accused seriously enough to agree that she deserves the death penalty. Well, Georges corrupted a minor! So it is Georges who deserves punishment! But not her! In this play there are three villains and one victim. The villains are Georges, his brother the executioner and the Viscount. And the victim is Charlotte Backson!

“You should be spanked on the spot for making fun of the writer beloved by all of France!” I said indignantly.

- Finally, you figured out what I was trying to achieve! - Vivi answered with a laugh. - Begin!

And the shameless woman lifted her dress, under which, of course, there was nothing, showing me her lovely buttocks and offering them to me for punishment.

Well, what can I say! I don't like to hurt anyone, and the beautiful scoundrel, of course, knew it. I very gently, lovingly, nevertheless did what she asked for, after which we again indulged in tender intimacy, for which, to my surprise, not only did I have enough strength, but, funny to say, these strengths manifested themselves with such persistence, against my will, that there was nowhere to retreat. Having punished or rewarded the scoundrel, or rather, having done both at the same time, I was no longer angry with her at all. Damn it, if she had suggested burning the play, I would have agreed with ease!

However, no. I will leave it for tomorrow and other days. She will continue to criticize my sins against the truth, and then I, this has already been decided and approved, will reward myself with this action, which I have not yet decided what I will call - punishment for insolence, or gratitude for the intellectual analysis of my mistakes.


CHAPTER TWENTY -NINTH



The next morning, after we had breakfasted and returned home, I suggested to Violetta that she continue her criticisms of my play, which I certainly liked, but not as much as the results that had already followed three times a similar heated discussion.

- Well, my dear, shall we continue to torment my drama and my soul with your impudent remarks? - I asked in an elevated mood, preparing to first listen to unpleasant words, and then receive pleasant compensation for them.

- My dear, I am no longer interested in this, - said Violetta somewhat lazily and languidly. - I certainly did not want you to hack your play to pieces with edits and change it beyond recognition with the help of numerous edits! The play was a success yesterday. And, as I think, it was not the first time it was staged? The dress rehearsal was connected only with the fact that this particular troupe was completing preparations for the production of this drama this season, and, perhaps, only with a slightly updated cast? I will probably not be mistaken if I assume that this was the premiere of this production, but not the premiere of the drama as such?

" You can't fool me," I said. "Yes, the public has already seen the play, although not in this cast, and probably not exactly this public. The public is constantly changing, otherwise the theaters would go bankrupt, no drama could be shown twice, or, in any case, it would be impossible to repeat it next season."

“So, we are both bored by this,” Violetta concluded. “You are bored and offended by hearing criticism from such a young and inexperienced reader or viewer, and I, to be honest, am tired of the topic that is chewed over in this drama. It gives the viewers practically nothing new. If it showed the musketeers in a new and unexpectedly noble quality, it would be interesting. But in the form in which I got to know it, it rather discredits them. At least, as I have already said, it discredits Athos and rehabilitates Milady in the eyes of the viewer.

“But it seemed to me that the audience applauded, and that the spectators took the side of the musketeers and were outraged by Milady’s behavior!” I objected.

- So much the worse for the audience, because it is rude and insensitive, so much the worse for the theatre company, because it is offensive to play for spiritually callous people, so much the worse for the entrepreneur, because the play did not cause a scandal, therefore, the audience will soon cool towards it, and so much the worse for you, because you are proud of something you should not be proud of, - said Violetta. - Shouldn't you try writing a new version not by correcting the old one, but completely from scratch, excluding all the twists and dialogues that are in this version?

“Why write a new play if this one is well received by the public and brings in more than expected income?” I asked.

- And indeed! - agreed Violetta. - Why strive for the best if the mediocre is accepted as excellent? Tomorrow take the advance for the second volume to Mr. Chateren, I hope the penalty he takes from you will not be too large.

How could I forget about the advance?! The two-volume edition is almost already bought! I can't get by with just one volume!

“Perhaps I will write something else instead of the second volume in the form of a revised edition of the same play?” I asked.

- "There was a universal uncertainty in the questioner's voice!" - Violetta recited. - My dear, you know yourself that your conditions will be considered unacceptable. Shateren has probably already ordered an announcement of the second volume to be printed in the first volume with a short announcement, in which he indicated that from the second volume readers will learn new details about the youth of the musketeers. He was probably smart enough to claim that the new edition is not only more detailed, but will also make readers shudder from touching a new, previously unknown secret, and also experience other feelings from wild joy to bewilderment, from indignation to laughter.

“Why do you think he uses these epithets?” I asked.

“Because I sent him the text of this announcement and recommended that he place it on the first page of the first volume,” Violetta answered with a smile.

I wanted to spank the scoundrel, and not just as a joke, but seriously!


CHAPTER TWENTY -NINTH



"Listen, Dudu," Vivi said. "I want to discuss Charlotte's image with you."

- Excellent! - I supported her idea. - I'm listening to you carefully!

“The fact that you portrayed her in your play as a completely good girl who deserves indulgence, forgiveness, sympathy, made me think that it would be nice to add this note of sympathy to the first chapters of The Three Musketeers, don’t you think?” Vivi asked.

“The Three Musketeers is not subject to revision,” I replied coldly. “Whatever its merits or demerits, this novel has firmly entered into …

I was having trouble coming up with the right term without sounding boastful, but Vivi came to my rescue.

- It has become a world classic, a treasure trove not only of French literature but of all world literature, - Vivi prompted. - You can say this without the slightest hesitation, modesty has nothing to do with it, because it is the pure truth. And I was not going to suggest that you rewrite this novel, because it is, indeed, impossible. The reader will not accept corrections. But the reader might accept an expanded version of the book. As long as the author is alive, no work of his can be called finished.

“That’s an interesting thought, but I don’t rewrite my novels, I write new ones,” I replied.

- That's exactly what I'm talking about! – Vivi was delighted. – You could write a novel called “The Musketeers: The Beginning,” or even better: “The Musketeers. Genesis".

“ What kind of stupid titles are these?” I objected. “No one will ever buy a novel with a title like that!”

“Okay, let it be ‘The Youth of Milady’ or ‘The Youth of Athos’, or, as you have already called your drama, ‘The Youth of the Musketeers’,” Vivi agreed.

“I’m not giving my consent, but I’m not saying that I don’t agree either, I’m just ready to listen to you,” I said.

I confess to you, my reader, sometimes you should let a woman speak. You don’t have to listen to her at all, but you should be able to hide yourself. A woman will not forgive you for not paying attention to her words, even one as young as Vivi was then. Even a five-year-old girl will not forgive you for not paying attention to her words! You should also hide the fact that you are not interested in what she says, that you are bored, or that you do not agree with her words. All this can greatly spoil your relationship with her, and even completely quarrel. Of course, the best advice would be to listen carefully, agree with everything or almost everything she says, and in case of disagreement, only ask very tactful and gentle questions. However, this is also dangerous. And besides, sometimes it is simply impossible! Agree, it is impossible when a venerable writer in his mature years is explained by some fifteen-year-old or even sixteen-year-old girl what and how he should write, in what colors he should depict the characters of the heroes, whom you suffered, and whom your readers already love or hate, depending on what feelings you wanted to evoke in them towards these heroes and antiheroes. And what kind of whim is it to depict an antihero in rosy tones? To describe a villain so that the reader feels sympathy for him? Sympathize with the criminal? What kind of good guy, after that she will suggest describing the disgusting character traits of the positive heroes? Maybe I should depict Athos as a drunkard, Aramis as a libertine, Porthos as a fool, and d'Artagnan as a treacherous adventurer?!

And here I stopped short! After all, I really showed them as such! True, Athos does not drink all the time, but over a fairly long period of time, described in The Three Musketeers! Porthos is almost always stupid, and besides, he lives at the expense of his married mistress, and so does Aramis, who, although not stupid, is cunning, secretive, cruel, in a word, a Jesuit of Jesuits! And hypocritical too! Among the Musketeers, he is an abbot, among abbots - a musketeer, he manages the Order's money as if it were his own, gives the Superintendent of Finances Fouquet such advice that completely ruins him, and even ruined his friend Porthos, drawing him into an adventure that was alien to him! Lured him with the promise of a duchy and a peerage! Worse, he simply abandoned poor Philippe, Louis's brother, without any support! He simply ran away from him! And d'Artagnan, the main character of the trilogy? How is he better than the others? He kidnapped his boss Mazarin! He only let him go for a ransom, which was quite good! He kidnapped General Monk by deception. Well, war is war, but true soldiers wage war face to face with the enemy, and do not hide like thieves, disguised as simple fishermen, abusing the enemy's trust. And they do not attack with numerical superiority on an enemy who made a mistake, not expecting a catch! Of course, I love my heroes, my musketeers, but what's the point? After all, I showed them as far from ideal! And I'm beginning to believe Violetta that in my play Charlotte is not a criminal at all! That is, if according to human laws she is guilty, then she suffered a punishment much stronger than she deserved!

“What do you say to that?” Vivi asked and fell silent, waiting for my answer.

A cold sweat broke out on me! I realized that, lost in my thoughts, I had not been listening to her at all! I was not yet ready to hurt her so cruelly by telling her that I had ignored all her words. Her almost childish soul was so vulnerable! Or did it only seem that way to me? I wonder if she will endure such clear proof of my disregard for her words and her opinion? The cruelest test for her is to hear the truth, and a severe exam for me is to continue the conversation as if I had listened and understood every word she said!

- Darling, this is a great idea, it interests me, let's talk about it again, and this time in a little more detail, with all the details, do you agree? - I answered.

Vivi looked at me carefully and nodded.

“Okay, if you want to hear the same thing, but in more detail, I’ll try to present it exactly as you ask,” she said.

“Wonderful!” I replied and prepared to listen to her attentively, not missing anything from her words.

“So Georges turned out to be not Charlotte’s false brother, but her real brother, while the executioner from Lille was an impostor sent by Count Rochefort, and the Count’s goal was to create exactly the situation that arose, so that Charlotte would be abandoned by Athos, and then Rochefort pulled her out of the noose and made her a dowel for Cardinal Richelieu,” said Violetta.

I was stunned. After all, I had already said that I liked the idea, and Violetta had laid out some kind of utter nonsense that I could not have agreed to even in complete intoxication and for an advance four times greater than what I had been given.

“You know, Vivi, regarding the details of this line, I would like to clarify a few points first,” I said slowly.

- Okay, admit that you didn't listen to me, and then I'll admit that everything I told you has nothing to do with what I just told you. " What! " Vivi said laughing. "You should have seen the stupid face you made first when you were thinking about how to tell me more gently that you hadn't listened to me, and then when you listened to all the nonsense I told you in revenge for your inattention to me! Oh, you're so funny!"

She couldn't resist and burst into such laughter that I couldn't help but laugh too. The scoundrel had tricked me! She read me like a book! There was no way to deceive her.

- My dear, you are right, - I said finally. - I repent, I ask for a chance to atone and make amends for my guilt before you! I did not listen to you, I was thinking about the idea that you expressed at the very beginning of your monologue, so yes, I am an old Donkey who did not listen to my smart girl, who should always be listened to! Let me ask for your forgiveness with kisses!

I fell on Vivi's hand, and did it not without pleasure. Then I tried to kiss her on the cheek, but my lips met her hastily extended palm. Well, I had to be content with this, I kissed her palm.

"You're pardoned conditionally," Vivi said. "If it happens again, you'll be punished."

“What punishment have you come up with for me?” I asked with a sly smile.

“You will not enter my bedroom for three days,” Vivi said.

“Well, that’s too cruel!” I tried to object.

- So, Mr. Writer, are you already trying to negotiate a lesser punishment for yourself in advance? - Violetta noted. - So, you intend to offend me again by not paying attention to my words in the same way? In that case, my punishment will be harsher. If you repeat your offense, you will not enter my bedroom for a week.

- Vivi! - I cried. - Be reasonable!

“Two weeks,” Vivi said coldly.

“Okay, so be it, you won’t have to punish me, because I will always listen to what you tell me,” I said. “I give in!”

- That's better, - said Vivi. - Now let's see how you'll keep your promise. I'll repeat my thoughts to you, and just try not to listen to me! It will cost you dearly. Two weeks, no less!

“I’m listening carefully to every word you say,” I said seriously.


CHAPTER THIRTY


“Try to describe Charlotte in the same words you would use to describe a girl you were head over heels in love with,” Vivi suggested.

“Why do this?” I asked.

“You must convince your readers that Athos, d’Artagnan, Felton and the other men who fell in love with Milady were not mad,” answered Violetta. “Can you make your readers fall in love with Charlotte the first time they meet her? So that the reader agrees with these men that it was impossible not to fall in love with her! I would advise you to make Aramis and Porthos feel something like love the first time they meet her. Only then would your words about her being Satan himself be convincing, and the very idea that a charming beauty who drives mad everyone who meets her would be both creepy and charming at the same time. It is necessary to evoke strong emotions in your readers. Then they will not only enjoy your book, they will be addicted to it!” They will be eagerly awaiting the sequel, and if there is no sequel, they will storm the publishing house, demanding that a new book about the adventures of the musketeers be published!

“It’s too late, I already wrote in the third book of the trilogy that all my heroes, except Aramis, died,” I answered.

“That’s nothing,” Violetta objected. “You can write books about what the Musketeers did before the first novel, and what they did between the first and second novels, and between the second and third, and what Aramis did after the third novel, whether he managed to become a bishop again, or perhaps even a cardinal? You have plenty of possibilities! Describe how the Duke of Buckingham fell in love with Milady when he met her at a ball, the same ball at which she cut off two of his twelve pendants! Surely she used all her charms. She was enchanting, charming! He wanted to make her his mistress, and she made him understand that it was possible. He let down all his vigilance, and as a result she was able to do it!”

“But Buckingham could not have fallen in love with Milady, since at that time he was in love with Queen Anne!” I objected.

"What nonsense!" Vivi replied, laughing. "I never thought I'd hear such nonsense from a man! How can being in love prevent a man from wanting another woman when the one he loves is far away, unattainable, even more unattainable than the moon, since the moon, at least, can be looked at and admired, and Queen Anne was lost to Buckingham forever, only her portrait could convey her frozen image to him, provided the resemblance was sufficient.

“But love doesn’t allow other passions,” I lied, because I knew from my own experience that Vivi was right, I was only upset by the fact that she believed that all men were like that, and, therefore, included me among the frivolous men, which I categorically did not want.

We are not as offended when absurd rumors are spread about us as when sometimes someone finds out the real truth about us. This is much more dangerous, and it humiliates our dignity, because we have nothing to say in response, and even if we do say something, we will be unconvincing, and, most importantly, we do not believe ourselves in this case. And to be ignoble in your own eyes is simply unbearable! It is very hard not to be able to deceive yourself in your own eyes. So I took such revelations from the one whom I wanted to convince of my sincere love and my extreme constancy painfully, as any man in my place would have felt.

“Let me remind you, my dear, that the Duke of Buckingham was married at the very time he declared his love to Queen Anne,” Vivi said with considerable malice. “He also had some relations with King Charles of England, as he had with his father in his time.”

“I don’t like that you are aware of all these outrages and talk about these nasty things so calmly, as if this is the most ordinary thing,” I said with understandable irritation.

- What do you want, dear? - asked Vivi. - This is England!

“Well, yes, this is a completely wild country,” I agreed.

“Extraordinarily wild,” Vivi confirmed. “Almost like France. This island monarchy is so wild that its Kings behaved exactly like Henry III and Louis XIII! And so wild that they chopped off the heads of royals there – Charles I and Mary Stuart! Just like in France, where they chopped off the heads of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette!”

- Let us leave politics and return to Milady, - I said. - So you want me to describe her as if I were in love with her? But do I know how to do that? When you love, all words seem inadequate, every description is dull, every comparison only insults the object of love, which you dare to compare with something or someone!

“ Well then, describe her, at least as you described Diana de Monsoreau, or some other positive heroine from one of your many romantic books,” suggested Vivi.

“I will try,” I said. “So, Charlotte de Beyle. A very young girl, who was sixteen at the time, but by her appearance one could have given her fifteen or even fourteen years old.

“Great, keep going!” Vivi encouraged me.

“It was as if nature had tried to combine in her all the beauty that could be combined in one creature,” I continued, looking closely at Violetta. “If Cupid, the son of Venus, had been a girl, and if he had looked fifteen years old, he would not have been as beautiful as Charlotte was. Luxurious blond hair fell in curls over her shoulders, and when the open dress allowed this hair to touch not only her delicate neck, but also her perfectly shaped shoulders, any man would have envied this hair, which had the opportunity to constantly caress these delicate shoulders.

“Colorful,” Vivi supported me.

“Her high, round, perfectly shaped forehead not only inspired admiration, but also made one suppose that this head with its charming curly hair contained enough intelligence to become an interesting conversationalist not only for her peers, but also for their mature, worldly-wise husbands, which they could easily see for themselves if they entered into a conversation with her,” I added.

"Why are you complimenting her intelligence without finishing her appearance?" Vivi asked. "Don't get distracted from describing how she looked."

– Large blue eyes, long eyelashes that can be compared to the almond-shaped eyes of a gazelle, thin expressive eyebrows, the curve of which gave her face an expression of playful interest, combined with extreme trust in the interlocutor, made anyone who looked at her believe that he was pleasant and interesting to her, that he would be listened to with attention and favor. With all this, her angelic face amazingly gave the impression of childishness and naivety, purity and natural tenderness. Her neat nose, slightly swollen lips, the ideal oval of the face, all this was so ideally combined in her that it attracted the glances of not only men, but also women. Even those ugly women offended by fate, who hated all beauties, could not have ill feelings towards her, but, on the contrary, were imbued with complete trust, sympathy and compassion. It was impossible not to want to get closer to her, and if not touch her, then at least inhale the scent of her light hair and look at her delicate skin.

" Have you finally turned on your imagination, dear?" Vivi asked approvingly. "Go on!"

“And indeed, the most delicate aroma emanated from her,” I continued. “She smelled elusively of jasmine, or lilac, or rose, or rather none of the above, but a little of all of them, and perhaps something even more attractive, just as the smells of pine needles, orange, freshly cut watermelon, and snow melted in the sun create some kind of fantastic feeling of celebration, freshness, and purity. I cannot describe the aroma of her body, but I can only insist that it drives you crazy.”

- Darling! - Violetta exclaimed. - Why are you looking at me so intently? It seems to me that you decided to deceive me and instead of giving free rein to your imagination, you are simply describing my portrait? And the aromas too! After all, this is the Cologne water that you bought me!

“It’s your own fault,” I objected. “You told me to describe a girl I could love for the rest of my life, so what kind of description do you want from me, except for me to describe you in every detail? I simply reject any other options!”

- Oh, is that so? - Vivi exclaimed cheerfully. - Then go on! But what will you do after you describe my figure, my arms and legs?

“I will demand that you show me everything else so that I can create the most accurate and detailed portrait!” I said.

- But you're not going to paint a picture of Susanna bathing and the elders peeping at her, are you? - Vivi asked. - You're not going to describe a picture from ancient stories, in which women and especially goddesses believed that the beauty of their bodies was the best clothing for them, and no other was needed? The trilogy about the musketeers cannot contain detailed descriptions of Milady's body! After all, this cycle is not about love, but about adventure!

- And who is talking about changing the trilogy about the musketeers? - I objected. - We are talking about additional chapters or an additional book, and the genre of this work can be any! Including love!

“It’s too late to write romance novels at your age,” Vivi objected.

- Isn't it too late to be the hero of one of these novels? - I asked. - Based on our relationship, I wouldn't say so!

“ Be the hero of a love story as much as you want, I’m all for it, as you’ve noticed, but the publisher won’t accept such a novel from you, and the readers will laugh at you or excommunicate you!” Vivi replied.

“In that case, I’ll save these descriptions for another novel, in which I’ll describe our relationship,” I said. “I’ll call it ‘The Novel about Violetta.’”

“There aren’t enough events in our relationship for a new romance,” Vivi objected.

“But they have an abundance of feelings and sensual relationships!” I insisted.

- Well, go on, dear, continue your description of my appearance, - said Violetta and smiled slyly. - More precisely, Charlotte's appearance for your new book.

“Charlotte’s skin was so soft and translucent that when the light fell on her face from the side, it seemed as if she was glowing from within,” I continued.

Violetta sat sideways to the window so I could check how accurate my descriptions were. This prompted me to continue my descriptions.

- Her charming head distracted the gaze from the perfect neck and delightful shoulders, but not forever, - I continued. - Paying tribute to the perfection of her face, you could not help but admire everything else. The girlish neck without a single wrinkle seemed to invite you to admire the chiseled shoulders, which could have made the chisel of Praxiteles or the mythical Pygmalion proud, who created a perfect creation from marble, with which he himself fell in love.

Looking at Violetta, I understood that if I had created such a miracle out of marble, I would also have begged all the gods of all religions and concessions to revive her, so that I could love her not only with my gaze. Fortunately, Violetta was alive, not stone! How grateful I was to her for that!

- Well, shoulders are just shoulders! - Vivi decided to flirt. - Nothing special!

She ran her hand over her bare shoulders, and I, looking at her, felt a slight tremor, as if it were not her hand, but mine, that was gently touching her shoulders.

“I know that you men are not interested in the shoulders at all, but in what is below,” Vivi continued.

- You are mistaken, we are interested in everything together, - I objected. - You know, my dear, every man wants to look at the chest and below, especially if he likes the face, although the beauty of the chest is not necessarily connected with the beauty of the face! But that's how we all are! For us, the chest and stomach of the owner of a seductive face are much more desirable than the same attributes of a woman who does not shine with facial beauty.

- And for this reason you attribute incomparable beauty to the breasts if their owner can boast of a pretty face? - Violetta declared rather than asked.

“We are not lying, because we feel the same way ourselves,” I replied.

“Well, go on describing the rest,” said Violetta and took off her robe, rewarding my gaze with a beautiful view that was already familiar to me, but even more beloved than before.



CHAPTER THIRTY-FIRST


“By the way, add to your name Charlotte the second name Anna, in honor of her mother,” suggested Violetta. “And the monastery she ran away from, let it be Abbaye.” de Bardell, Bardell Abbey,

“Very well, my dear,” I agreed. “You mean the very same abbey in relation to which Baron Laubardemont, by order of Cardinal de Richelieu, conducted an investigation into the activities of this abbey in connection with the trial of Urban Grandier?”

“Exactly so,” Violetta agreed.

“Agree if you tell me what the point is?” I asked.

“My Slavic roots tell me that it would be funny that Milady is called Charlotte-Anne, Sharoltte -Anne of Bardell,” Violetta answered. “We could also call her de Bill instead of de Beyle, but that would be too much.”

To be honest, I didn't see what was funny about it.

"You were going to describe my beauty not only in terms of my face, neck and shoulders, but also further," Vivi reminded. "Go on, Dudu."

I must admit, I was already starting to get annoyed by this familiar way she addressed me, this very Dudu, and I was about to show firmness and object, but she began to slowly unbutton the buttons on her blouse, under which she was wearing nothing. This sight attracted my attention so much that I did not even think of being indignant.

“Let her call me whatever she wants, as long as this relationship continues,” I thought. “After all, what’s offensive about this ‘Dudu’? She just took the first syllable of my family name and repeated it twice. After all, I do exactly the same thing! If Violetta turned into Vivi, why shouldn’t Dumas turn into Dudu? I feel like I’m getting younger with this little girl, so why shouldn’t I turn into Dudu?”

However, the new Dudu was unable to finish this thought. Having thrown off her blouse, she revealed views of her body that still excited me, despite the fact that we had already been together for several days, and these few days seemed to me a whole life, and a new life, completely happy and attractive. I would have given all my fame as the first writer of France and all my royalties to continue to be with her in all the senses that we had achieved in our relationship. In addition, I caught myself on a new feeling for me. If before I still felt some responsibility for her life, for her fate, for her moral chastity, then this address "Dudu", which put me on the same level with her, seemed to relieve me of any moral responsibility for her and for myself. We were two lovers, two young people who care about nothing except mutual feelings, who do not need anything except closeness and possession of each other. I felt a strong desire to approach, to touch her breast with my hands, to press her to myself, or to press my lips to her seductive body, and now, again, but as for the first time, freed from the shadow of responsibility, truly in love, loving and loved without restrictions, without fear, without caution, to take possession of her as if for the first time, and to feel the fullness of sweetness and convulsive happiness, completing the sweetest path to the pinnacle of pleasure.

“Darling…” I whispered and walked towards her.

- Don't rush, Dudu, describe me first! - Vivi objected. - Otherwise, I'll put on a blouse and hide from you in my bedroom!

“What are you doing to me?” I exclaimed with feigned indignation.

The intensity of my feelings, making itself felt, demanded immediate action from me, but I tried to convince myself that I could curb it. For the first time in my life I was engaged in literature, marked by a special form of inspiration, which in a man manifests itself in such a specific way that, had I been naked, she could not fail to notice the change in my physical condition and not understand that this change arose as a result of the contemplation of her seductive beauty.

- The flesh distracts me and prevents me from being objective, but I will try, - I answered. - Well, I will tell you that your body, young, with soft skin, slender and elastic, is decorated with such delicate bulges that reveal both the virginal youth of your body and the early maturity of your beauty, the delicate pastel tones of the nipples on your breasts in the tone of your lips make me want to press my lips to them, as gently and as long as possible - I think I said something like that, and maybe something completely different.

I can only admit that I was talking nonsense, and I myself was disgusted by the words I was speaking, because I realized that they were not at all worthy of the subject I was trying to describe, nor of the feelings I was experiencing, nor of the overall picture that could have been immortalized in songs written by someone more talented than King Solomon, who wrote his Song of Songs.

- Listen, Dudu, you stupid genius, this is so funny, and not at all erotic! - Vivi said with a laugh. - You are not a master of erotic prose. You are a master of dialogue, unexpected plot twists, a master of describing characters, moods, historical scenes and all sorts of feasts, banquets, balls and military battles. In other words, you are a genius at describing everything except female beauty!

“I admit that my pen is weak before your indescribable beauty,” I agreed humbly. “I have never written in a situation that makes one feel and perceive more than think and choose words. If I were at a feast, I could not describe the food, I would eat it. If I were next to historical figures, I would not describe them, I would look and listen. If I were in the middle of a battle, I would not write, but would stare with all my eyes. So why do you want me to describe you, when I want to contemplate, touch and smell?”

- You've convinced me, you nasty boy! - said Vivi and with a feigned capricious movement threw the blouse away. - Come into my arms, contemplate, touch and smell!

“Let me free your divine body from the few coverings that remain on it!” I whispered in delight.

“It sounds vulgar and pompous at the same time,” Vivi whispered. “Away with words. Act and be silent, my tireless Demosthenes, Cicero and Homer rolled into one.”

“Your comparisons are not a masterpiece either,” I replied. “So you shut up too.”

“Totally keep quiet?” Vivi whispered, offering me her lips for a kiss.

- If you want to moan, howl or laugh, do it, or whatever, you can even chatter and babble all this nonsense, but know that I am not listening to you anymore! - I said and sealed her lips with mine.

Reader, I will not describe what happened next. If you have ever loved, you will paint the rest in your imagination, and if you have not loved, you will not understand me, so there is no need for you to read such things.