The God of the Labyrinth

by Colin Wilson

  Esmond was a romantic sixteen-year-old, and he looked speculatively at every woman he encountered. If Minou was a Manon Lescaut, Delphine was altogether closer to Julie—or perhaps to the docile and sweet-natured Claire in the same novel. Esmond saw she was shy, and took pains to amuse her. He lent her La Nouvelle Héloïse, after making her promise to keep it under lock and key. (The reason for this touch of secrecy is not clear, for he mentions elsewhere that neither his father nor his mother could speak French; perhaps he wanted to establish some sort of in­timacy.) But he was worried in case Minou should be jealous, and tried not to make his interest in the new arrival too obvious. He underestimated Minou! A few days later, after he had spent an hour with her in his own bed, she told him that she thought Delphine was in love with him, and told him he was stupid not to have noticed. Esmond decided to find out, by the usual methods—allowing his hand to brush against hers as he passed her, touch­ing her arm or waist when they were alone, to find out if she accepted the familiarity. She did. On a picnic in the abbey ruins, he caught her in a corner and kissed her. She burst into tears, and he went away, worried and puzzled, to ask Minou’s opinion. Minou told him that Delphine was more serious about him than he about her, and that her tears came from her intuition of this, a remarkable piece of analysis. So on the next occasion when they were alone, Esmond asked Delphine: ‘Don’t you like me kissing you?’, and assured her that he would never do it again if she objected. She blushed, whispered several disconnected sentences, and then, when pressed, admitted that she had no objection. Esmond invited her for another ramble in the ruins, and spent the afternoon kissing her. On his return, he had to rush to Minou’s room and possess her; the self-restraint had been too much for him. Minou told him he was a clumsy lover. What he needed was tenderness and caresses. He should stroke her face, her arm—any part of her that happened to be exposed; accustom her to respond with pleasure to his touch, and then advance cautiously on the forbidden regions. Esmond’s description of this campaign lasts for nine closely written pages; he was fascinated by the minutiae of seduction. After a week, he was allowed to expose her breasts and caress them, and to kiss her above the knees—although she held down her dress with both hands to prevent a further advance. They discussed Julie and Saint-Preux, and she agreed in theory that two people in their position should become lovers. In practice, she drew a sharp and clear line between caresses and lovemaking.

  And now the inimitable Minou produced a suggestion that dazzled him. She was convinced that Delphine was virtuous ‘by theory and inexperience’ (as she put it), but that her curiosity was healthy enough. She told Esmond to get Delphine to the barn on the following afternoon, and to make sure that she made no sound when Shawn Rafferty came up to scatter the hay for their usual session of lovemaking. ‘If she refuses to look, then she is virtuous, and you had better escape from her before she marries you. If she looks, she is already yours.’

  As the hour drew near, Esmond became nervous, and decided several times to abandon the whole preposterous scheme. He suspected that a girl who could draw the line so rigidly would give the game away by revealing the hiding place. His sister announced her intention of calling on a neighbour that after­noon, and Delphine said she would go with her; Esmond heaved a sigh of relief. Then, at the last minute, Delphine said she had a headache, and his mother said she would go instead. Esmond began to play a kind of Russian roulette with Fate. He wanted the project to fail, but he was willing to go through the motions—anxiously looking out for the first excuse to abandon it. He went to Delphine’s room at half past three and asked her if she felt like going for a walk. She said she thought it was going to rain. Ten minutes later, the sun came out, and she suddenly declared that the headache had gone and she felt like walking. They took their favourite stroll towards Adare, then walked back along the stream, paddling in the shallows. Esmond talked about his childhood, and the hours he had spent reading forbidden books in the barn. (These seem to have been nothing worse than Mrs Aphra Behn’s The Nun and Smollett’s Ferdinand, Count Fathom.) And as they crossed the empty farmyard, Delphine suggested that they look at the barn. It was now half past four; there was a chance that Shawn would already be there. But he was not. Esmond led the way up the ladder to the loft, then went to the place he had already prepared in the corner—placing clean sacks on the floor—and flung himself down. Delphine did the same without hesitation—no doubt this was what she intended.

  We wasted little time in conversation, but fell immediately to kisses and soft caresses, which quickly passed to their usual point of familiarity. She was wearing no stays, so it was less trouble than usual to expose her breasts and com­mence assault with my lips. I had observed before that I could increase her pleasure by biting the nipples very gently, whereupon she crossed her ankles and pressed her thighs tight with an involuntary motion, from which I drew the inference that the spot thereby compressed was ready for more delicate attentions. But when my lips moved above her knees, she quickly entangled her fingers in my hair and held me tight. We were in this position when we heard foot­steps on the ladder, and she straightaway rearranged her gown, and was about to sit up when I placed my finger on my lips and shook my head. We sat there, scarcely breath­ing, and then I heard the swish of the hay as Shawn tossed it upon the boards and proceeded to spread it with the fork. Then he went below, and brought up another load, and I whispered to her to remain silent, and all would be well, for it was only the stable boy, a particular friend of mine. But when I tried to kiss her again she shook her head and pushed me away.

  We heard Shawn go down and out of the door, and she said: ‘Quickly, now is the time to go.’ But as we stood up, we heard Minou’s voice below, and she quickly sat again without further urgence from me. I had so arranged the bales that we were able to see between two of them without standing up. Delphine was alarmed and whispered: ‘What if they should come here?’, but I reassured her, pointing to the hay. It was then, I think, that she began to suspect what Shawn had purposed in spreading it thus, for I could see that she blushed.

  Shawn came up first and stood there, and Minou had no sooner joined him than she flung her arms about his neck and gave him a most prolonged kiss, whose nature I could imagine from having experienced it, for she had a marvel­lous skill in bringing fire to the blood through quick dartings of her tongue. Then she untied the rope at his waist, so that his breeches fell to his ankles, revealing the great crested cock raised in salute. I now observed with delight that Delphine was following every motion with the most avid curiosity, and I recalled Minou’s saying that she was already mine. Whereupon I reached out and pulled down the shoul­ders of her gown, and reached under her arms to place a hand on each breast. She made no attempt to prevent me; I could feel her heart beating with quick, heavy thumps beneath my fingers. Minou, without her skirts, was now on her knees before Shawn, who was turned sideways so that no detail of their actions could escape us. He held her head in his hands, and moved it back and forth to suit his pleasure. I was more interested in wondering how I might take advan­tage of my present situation than in the progress of their lewd joys. I removed my hand from her breast for long enough to unbutton my flap and allow my own impatient steed to sniff the air, then returned to my caresses. Delphine was kneeling, and from a slight movement of her behind, I guessed the impatience that compressed the lips of her secret place. I therefore raised her skirt above the level of the knee, and allowed my hand to press her thigh. This time, she made no move to hinder me. I raised it higher, and reached the tender mount, scarcely covered with light down; but when I attempted to insinuate a finger tip between the lips, she shook her head and compressed her thighs more tightly. Her breathing was so heavy now that only the rustling of the hay prevented it being overheard. A quick glance through the aperture in the bales showed me that they were still engaged in the preliminaries, although both were now lying down, and his face was hidden between her thighs. I changed my position, without removing m
y hand from her belly, and began to bite her breast. Her thighs yielded, and my finger slipped in, to find lips that were plentifully lubricated by the tears of the love god. These were so unformed that I had to guess rather than sense the location of the berry that hid within the fold. I moved my finger back and forth, and her body moved to aid its motion, while I continued to bite her nipple—a position of some discomfort. Then her fingers gripped my hair, and her hips moved with a swift oscillatory motion; her thigh closed tight upon my hand, and a long sigh was squeezed from her bosom. Her body drooped, and she would have fallen forward had I not been there to support her. The sounds coming from the hay had now risen to a fury, but she was as indifferent as if it had been a storm outside; she let herself sink upon the sacks, and closed her eyes, tugging and smoothing her gown to re-cover her modesty. I subdued my impatience with some difficulty, observing the regularity of her breathing; but after five minutes or so, fearing that she would sleep, and so lose me my advantage, I laid myself beside her and kissed her. She lay there as though asleep, so I placed my hand on her knee, and slid it up to the mount. She shook her head, and turned her mouth away, but made no other resistance. I now took her lifeless hand and laid it upon my swollen member; she let it rest loosely for a moment, then closed it, but all in a manner so devoid of energy that I wondered if she knew what she clasped. The sounds from the other side of our barrier had ceased, and all was now so silent that a mouse would have been heard. Therefore, I made no attempt to improve my position, but lay there, my hand upon her wet and inert nether mouth, her own hand lightly holding the root of my life, which I moved ever so slightly, being unable to tame its impatience. We lay thus for about a quarter of an hour; then I heard Minou’s whisper, and knew that she had renewed her energies, and now intended to arouse her sleeping swain, whose only reply was a grunt. But I knew the power of her arguments well enough to be assured of her success; and it was not long ere the crackling of the straw enabled me to press my own panting suit. I exposed her bosoms, and fell to teasing and biting the nipples, meanwhile pinching the moist berry between my thumb and forefinger. Soon her thighs parted, and I took this as an invitation to rest between them; but when I raised myself upon her, she closed them again, and shook her head. I held it still with a kiss, and moved my weight upon her, letting my balls nestle in the hollow between her thighs, while the head of my charger nuzzled the cold spot I had been caressing. Her knees were pressed too tight to afford any lodgement in the cleft, but when I returned to teasing her nipples, their pressure relaxed, and her ankles uncrossed. Although the head of my steed had now slipped down between her thighs, it had lost its direc­tion, and knew not against what place it battered. Feeling myself so close to the goal, I lost patience and reached down with my hand, which swiftly rearranged the folds so that the entrance lay clear. I gave a sharp push, and felt the head slip within the tight orifice, where it immediately encountered an obstruction. I gave a further push, and she shook her head and moaned. Afraid now of the sound she might make if I persisted, I contented myself with moving the head gently in and out of its new home, which each time closed around it like a garter. Soon, she also began to move under me, and it was too much for my overcharged battering ram, which gushed forth its homage into the mouth that sucked it so shyly. As this happened, I groaned and pushed with all my might; the obstruction gave, her knees parted, and my steed buried itself deep within her as if drinking from a river. Her arms clasped tight around me, and I sealed her mouth with a kiss.

  The tone of this whole incident gives the impression that Esmond was already a skilled Casanova who left nothing to chance. The sequel reveals that this is untrue. Casanova would have grown tired of the girl before he withdrew from her. Esmond decided he was in love with her, and that he would marry her. Perhaps he felt ashamed of the stratagem that had overcome her resist­ance. He was certainly aware of the damage that would follow if he showed any lessening of his tenderness towards her. She was already ashamed of herself for allowing him to see her sexual excitement, and still more for allowing him to take advantage of it. If he had abandoned her completely after her surrender, it would have struck her as no more than she deserved. Esmond determined to prove this was not so. Left alone with her—after Minou and Shawn had left the barn, and the hay had been tossed below again—he told her they were engaged. That night, when Minou raised the catch of his door, she found it bolted on the inside. The next morning, he sought her out and told her he was betrothed, and that from now on they must cease to be lovers. She seems to have taken this philosophically; she was even sympathetic enough to warn him to keep the engagement a secret from his father. He took her advice. But Delphine showed less tact; she confided her secret to Esmond’s sister Judith, which proved to be the worst kind of miscalculation. Judith was appar­ently fond of Delphine, and under different circumstances might have welcomed her as a sister-in-law. But Delphine was a Roman Catholic, and the Donellys were Protestants. It was the most serious obstacle, for in Ireland a Catholic was a pariah. The gentry were Protestants; Catholics were social outcasts. Delphine was the daughter of a French aristocrat, but this made no differ­ence, since they were in Ireland. Judith pointed this out; there were tears and long discussions. Esmond began to feel he had made a mistake. It was a matter of total indifference to him whether Delphine turned Protestant, or he became a Catholic, or they both became Buddhists. He wanted to marry her because he felt he owed her love and protection, and because seducing her had given him so much satisfaction. Now they were ‘en­gaged’, and she was not even willing to come to the barn. He remarks ironically in his journal that they would both have been far happier if he had never mentioned marriage.

  Judith rather enjoyed her role as matchmaker; she advised Esmond to say nothing to their parents until Delphine could announce that she would become a Protestant. Three days later, she and Delphine set out for Dublin to present the case to her parents. It was the last Esmond saw of her. Judith returned alone, and announced that the Chevalier de Saint-Ange had decided to return to France immediately with his family. Esmond heaved a sigh of relief, and slipped back into Minou’s bed. But two months later he also lost Minou, when Squire Donelly caught her in the stable with a new stable boy. The squire was broad­minded enough, but he was concerned for the virtue of his son and heir. Minou was packed off back to Lyons, third class, with a month’s wages and several of Judith’s old dresses. Esmond presented her with twenty guineas that he had been saving for a pony and trap, and told himself that he was glad to be able to call his soul—and certain other vital organs—his own again. But a month after her departure, Esmond began his journal: ‘I am often the most wretched and self-derogatory creature under the sun. . . .’ He had tasted too many delights to settle down to this tame existence of a gentleman farmer. Between them, Minou and Delphine had been a complete education in the art of love. He had experienced the delight of masculine conquest, the feeling of power over a woman’s emotions, as well as the complete abandonment of all his sexual inhibitions. He craved sex as an alcoholic craves his tipple, but there was no one who might provide it. He released his frustration in his journal, re-living the hours with Minou, the seduction of Delphine. He tried to read, but found Rousseau priggish, Voltaire shallow, Sterne irritating. Only Johnson’s Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia satisfied the craving for seriousness, and he re-read it until he knew it by heart. Johnson raises the question of the human desire for something more than happiness, more than mere contentment. Six months earlier, Esmond might have supposed this was a desire for physical fulfilment, for experience, for pleasure; now he knew better.

  And now occurs what is, for me, the most interesting section of the journal. As rainy December dragged into rainy January, Esmond plunged into a crisis of acute nervous depression, accen­tuated by worry about his father who, in late December, was attacked and severely beaten by a gang of malcontents whose motives seem to have been vaguely political. It happened in the dark, when he was returning from the hou
se of an unpopular local judge; his horse was struck by a stone, and almost imme­diately afterwards another large flint struck him above the left eye, knocking him unconscious. When he had not returned by midnight, Esmond and a party of grooms went out into a storm to search for him, and found him dragging himself along the road, half naked, still bleeding heavily. The injuries looked more serious than they were; after ten days in bed, Edward Donelly was as well as ever. But no one could find any trace of the attackers, who may have been a party of sailors whose boat was undergoing repairs at Tarbert, on the Shannon.

  The whole district was shocked by the violence, although Edward Donelly was not a popular man; there was too much squalor and misery in Ireland for the peasantry to feel any sympathy for a relatively wealthy Protestant farmer. Robbery was common; there were almost as many brigands as in Corsica. But until 1760 the country had been relatively peaceful; then, with George III, the troubles began; there was agrarian unrest; the Catholic gentry began to recover their courage after the Jacobite suppression. Edward Donelly was not a supporter of George III, but as a Protestant he was regarded as an agent of the English usurpers. But Esmond had grown up in an atmosphere of security; the peasantry could not be obsequious enough; he was always a ‘fine handsome lad who does yer honour credit’ and so on. Now, in his state of nervous depression, it seemed that they were surrounded by hostile neighbours, all waiting a chance to strike a blow in the dark.