Literary Love

by Gabrielle Vigot

  “You are right,” said Morrel, calmly.

  “In what a tone you speak!” cried Valentine.

  “I speak as one who admires you, mademoiselle.”

  “Mademoiselle,” cried Valentine; “mademoiselle! Oh, selfish man,—he sees me in despair, and pretends he cannot understand me!”

  “You mistake—I understand you perfectly. You will not oppose M. Villefort, you will not displease the marchioness, and tomorrow you will sign the contract which will bind you to your husband.”

  “But, mon Dieu, tell me, how can I do otherwise?”

  “Do not appeal to me, mademoiselle; I shall be a bad judge in such a case; my selfishness will blind me,” replied Morrel, whose low voice and clinched hands announced his growing desperation.

  “What would you have proposed, Maximilian, had you found me willing to accede?”

  “It is not for me to say.”

  “You are wrong; you must advise me what to do.”

  “Do you seriously ask my advice, Valentine?”

  “Certainly, dear Maximilian, for if it is good, I will follow it; you know my devotion to you.”

  “Valentine,” said Morrel pushing aside a loose plank, “give me your hand in token of forgiveness of my anger; my senses are confused, and during the last hour the most extravagant thoughts have passed through my brain. Oh, if you refuse my advice”—

  “What do you advise?” said Valentine, raising her eyes to heaven and sighing. “I am free,” replied Maximilian, “and rich enough to support you. I swear to make you my lawful wife before my lips even shall have approached your forehead.”

  “You make me tremble!” said the young girl.

  “Follow me,” said Morrel; “I will take you to my sister, who is worthy also to be yours. We will embark for Algiers, for England, for America, or, if you prefer it, retire to the country and only return to Paris when our friends have reconciled your family.” Valentine shook her head.

  “I feared it, Maximilian,” said she; “it is the counsel of a madman, and I should be more mad than you, did I not stop you at once with the word ‘Impossible, impossible!’“

  “You will then submit to what fate decrees for you without even attempting to contend with it?” said Morrel sorrowfully. “Yes,—if I die!”

  “Well, Valentine,” resumed Maximilian, “I can only say again that you are right. Truly, it is I who am mad, and you prove to me that passion blinds the most well-meaning. I appreciate your calm reasoning. It is then understood that tomorrow you will be irrevocably promised to M. Franz d’Epinay, not only by that theatrical formality invented to heighten the effect of a comedy called the signature of the contract, but your own will?”

  “Again you drive me to despair, Maximilian,” said Valentine, “again you plunge the dagger into the wound! What would you do, tell me, if your sister listened to such a proposition?”

  “Mademoiselle,” replied Morrel with a bitter smile, “I am selfish—you have already said so—and as a selfish man I think not of what others would do in my situation, but of what I intend doing myself. I think only that I have known you not a whole year. From the day I first saw you, all my hopes of happiness have been in securing your affection. One day you acknowledged that you loved me, and since that day my hope of future happiness has rested on obtaining you, for to gain you would be life to me. Now, I think no more; I say only that fortune has turned against me—I had thought to gain heaven, and now I have lost it. It is an everyday occurrence for a gambler to lose not only what he possesses but also what he has not.” Morrel pronounced these words with perfect calmness; Valentine looked at him a moment with her large, scrutinizing eyes, endeavoring not to let Morrel discover the grief which struggled in her heart. “But, in a word, what are you going to do?” asked she.

  “I am going to have the honor of taking my leave of you, mademoiselle, solemnly assuring you that I wish your life may be so calm, so happy, and so fully occupied, that there may be no place for me even in your memory.”

  “Oh!” murmured Valentine.

  “Adieu, Valentine, adieu!” said Morrel, bowing.

  “Where are you going?” cried the young girl, extending her hand through the opening, and seizing Maximilian by his coat, for she understood from her own agitated feelings that her lover’s calmness could not be real; “where are you going?”

  “I am going, that I may not bring fresh trouble into your family: and to set an example which every honest and devoted man, situated as I am, may follow.”

  “Before you leave me, tell me what you are going to do, Maximilian.” The young man smiled sorrowfully. “Speak, speak!” said Valentine; “I entreat you.”

  “Has your resolution changed, Valentine?”

  “It cannot change, unhappy man; you know it must not!” cried the young girl. “Then adieu, Valentine!” Valentine shook the gate with a strength of which she could not have been supposed to be possessed, as Morrel was going away, and passing both her hands through the opening, she clasped and wrung them. “I must know what you mean to do!” said she. “Where are you going?”

  “Oh, fear not,” said Maximilian, stopping at a short distance, “I do not intend to render another man responsible for the rigorous fate reserved for me. Another might threaten to seek M. Franz, to provoke him, and to fight with him; all that would be folly. What has M. Franz to do with it? He saw me this morning for the first time, and has already forgotten he has seen me. He did not even know I existed when it was arranged by your two families that you should be united. I have no enmity against M. Franz, and promise you the punishment shall not fall on him.”

  “On whom, then!—On me?”

  “On you? Valentine! Oh, heaven forbid! Woman is sacred; the woman one loves is holy.”

  “On yourself, then, unhappy man; on yourself?”

  “I am the only guilty person, am I not?” said Maximilian.

  “Maximilian!” said Valentine, “Maximilian, come back, I entreat you!” He drew near with his sweet smile, and but for his paleness one might have thought him in his usual happy mood. “Listen, my dear, my adored Valentine,” said he in his melodious and grave tone; “those who, like us, have never had a thought for which we need blush before the world, such may read each other’s hearts. I never was romantic, and am no melancholy hero. I imitate neither Manfred nor Anthony; but without words, protestations, or vows, my life has entwined itself with yours; you leave me, and you are right in doing so,—I repeat it, you are right; but in losing you, I lose my life.

  “The moment you leave me, Valentine, I am alone in the world. My sister is happily married; her husband is only my brother-in-law, that is, a man whom the ties of social life alone attach to me; no one then longer needs my useless life. This is what I shall do; I will wait until the very moment you are married, for I will not lose the shadow of one of those unexpected chances which are sometimes reserved for us, since M. Franz may, after all, die before that time, a thunderbolt may fall even on the altar as you approach it,—nothing appears impossible to one condemned to die, and miracles appear quite reasonable when his escape from death is concerned. I will, then, wait until the last moment, and when my misery is certain, irremediable, hopeless, I will write a confidential letter to my brother-in-law, another to the prefect of police, to acquaint them with my intention, and at the corner of some wood, on the brink of some abyss, on the bank of some river, I will put an end to my existence, as certainly as I am the son of the most honest man who ever lived in France.”

  Valentine trembled convulsively; she loosened her hold of the gate, her arms fell by her side, and two large tears rolled down her cheeks. The young man stood before her, sorrowful and resolute. “Oh, for pity’s sake,” said she, “you will live, will you not?”

  “No, on my honor,” said Maximilian; “but that will not affect you. You have done your duty, and your conscience will be at rest.” Valentine fell on her knees, and pressed her almost bursting heart. “Maximilian,” said she, “Maximilian,
my friend, my brother on earth, my true husband in heaven, I entreat you, do as I do, live in suffering; perhaps we may one day be united.”

  “Adieu, Valentine,” repeated Morrel.

  “My God,” said Valentine, raising both her hands to heaven with a sublime expression, “I have done my utmost to remain a submissive daughter; I have begged, entreated, implored; he has regarded neither my prayers, my entreaties, nor my tears. It is done,” cried she, willing away her tears, and resuming her firmness, “I am resolved not to die of remorse, but rather of shame. Live, Maximilian, and I will be yours. Say when shall it be? Speak, command, I will obey.” Morrel, who had already gone some few steps away, again returned, and pale with joy extended both hands towards Valentine through the opening. “Valentine,” said he, “dear Valentine, you must not speak thus—rather let me die. Why should I obtain you by violence, if our love is mutual? Is it from mere humanity you bid me live? I would then rather die.”

  “Truly,” murmured Valentine, “who on this earth cares for me, if he does not? Who has consoled me in my sorrow but he? On whom do my hopes rest? On whom does my bleeding heart repose? On him, on him, always on him! Yes, you are right, Maximilian, I will follow you. I will leave the paternal home, I will give up all. Oh, ungrateful girl that I am,” cried Valentine, sobbing, “I will give up all, even my dear old grandfather, whom I had nearly forgotten.”

  “No,” said Maximilian, “you shall not leave him. M. Noirtier has evinced, you say, a kind feeling towards me. Well, before you leave, tell him all; his consent would be your justification in God’s sight. As soon as we are married, he shall come and live with us, instead of one child, he shall have two. You have told me how you talk to him and how he answers you; I shall very soon learn that language by signs, Valentine, and I promise you solemnly, that instead of despair, it is happiness that awaits us.”

  “Oh, see, Maximilian, see the power you have over me, you almost make me believe you; and yet, what you tell me is madness, for my father will curse me—he is inflexible—he will never pardon me. Now listen to me, Maximilian; if by artifice, by entreaty, by accident—in short, if by any means I can delay this marriage, will you wait?”

  “Yes, I promise you, as faithfully as you have promised me that this horrible marriage shall not take place, and that if you are dragged before a magistrate or a priest, you will refuse.”

  “I promise you by all that is most sacred to me in the world, namely, by my mother.”

  “We will wait, then,” said Morrel.

  “Yes, we will wait,” replied Valentine, who revived at these words; “there are so many things which may save unhappy beings such as we are.”

  “I rely on you, Valentine,” said Morrel; “all you do will be well done; only if they disregard your prayers, if your father and Madame de Saint-Meran insist that M. d’Epinay should be called tomorrow to sign the contract”—

  “Then you have my promise, Maximilian.”

  “Instead of signing”—

  “I will go to you, and we will fly; but from this moment until then, let us not tempt providence, let us not see each other. It is a miracle, it is a providence that we have not been discovered. If we were surprised, if it were known that we met thus, we should have no further resource.”

  “You are right, Valentine; but how shall I ascertain?”

  “From the notary, M. Deschamps.”

  “I know him.”

  “And for myself—I will write to you, depend on me. I dread this marriage, Maximilian, as much as you.”

  “Thank you, my adored Valentine, thank you; that is enough. When once I know the hour, I will hasten to this spot, you can easily get over this fence with my assistance, a carriage will await us at the gate, in which you will accompany me to my sister’s; there living, retired or mingling in society, as you wish, we shall be enabled to use our power to resist oppression, and not suffer ourselves to be put to death like sheep, which only defend themselves by sighs.”

  “Yes,” said Valentine, “I will now acknowledge you are right, Maximilian; and now are you satisfied with your betrothal?” said the young girl sorrowfully.

  “My adored Valentine, words cannot express one half of my satisfaction.” Valentine had approached, or rather, had placed her lips so near the fence, that they nearly touched those of Morrel, which were pressed against the other side of the cold and inexorable barrier.

  “Valentine,” Maximilian sighed, “I wish to touch you, my love, will you allow me.”

  “I could deny you nothing,” she answered.

  He quickly maneuvered to climb over the barrier and in only a few minutes time he found himself in the presence of the beautiful creature he longed to see at every moment.

  Young love is more than just soft words and softer petting. There is an underlying passion in quick trysts and stolen kisses in an alcove. Maximilian and Valentine had neither of those things but the passion that resided within them was just as strong as any other young couple in all of France.

  Maximilian wrapped the frail Valentine in the circle of his arms and she went without complaint, laying her cheek against his chest, which held his heart, beating erratically.

  “I can hear your heart, my love.”

  “It beats only for you, and for the time we can finally be together for the rest of our days and beyond.”

  The young Valentine grew brave in her lover’s arms and reached up to pull his lips down to her own. She kissed him clumsily but he did not mind and returned the kiss with equal the ardor the girl presented.

  When, finally, they disentangled they both exhausted heavy breaths.

  Like the young do, Maximilian and Valentine concealed themselves further beneath the trees and the shadow of the gate to explore each other more thoroughly. The lady wished to explore the young man’s body as he had hers the previous time they had allowed themselves a small embrace.

  “Valentine, I will not take you the first time here on the ground but there are other wonderful things we could do.”

  She swallowed, and his heart beat loudly as he waited for her response.

  “In a novel, one no one knows I have read, there was something I was curious about.”

  “I am at your mercy, my lady,” Maximilian jested.

  “It’s called: fellatio?”

  The word itself was innocuous but the riot of images the word coming from her lips inspired in Maximilian’s mind was enough to send him off balance. Valentine held him arm to steady him.

  “If it is not your wish, or something that is just not done, please, we can do something else. I was simply seeking to make you happy while taking my thoughts off this terrible day.”

  He smiled and interlaced their fingers.

  “Lady, I would be honored to do such a thing for you.”

  Valentine laughed, a light-tinkling giggle, belying her age.

  “My love, you misunderstand, I wish to perform this act on you. My dress is simply too much to remove and arrange in a timely manner but I wish to know your body as you have known parts of mine.”

  “My dear Valentine, anything you want I could not deny you, now or ever.”

  Valentine’s smile was warm and genuine. Hidden beneath the trees next to the spot belonging to the two lovers Maximilian showed Valentine a skill he barely understood himself. He’d never even heard of it before his military service and then subsequent acquaintance with brothels.

  He helped Valentine to her knees and he joined her in an effort to preserve some of her dignity.

  “You don’t have to do this, my dear; we will be together soon enough.”

  “No, please, Maximilian, it is truly my wish to pleasure you as you did for me not so long ago.”

  Maximilian kissed her, truly kissed her, in that passionate way she expressed liking in their last assignation. As their lips melded together he guided her small hand to the opening of his breaches and helped her remove his manhood, which grew rigid, ready and waiting.

  Valentine gasped, breakin
g the kiss, as he wrapped her fingers around his member with gentle care.

  “Maximilian…I did not, I…” She broke off her statement and gently explored him. He did not move for fear of frightening her away. The touch of her skin was like heaven and her enrapt focus at the erotic nature this visit had afforded him was beyond a fantasy.

  He pulled a gasping break in when Valentine moved her hand in a vertical motion, and then again as he stared into her face at the power she discovered. The young woman found the power that all women gain over men and she seemed to revel in it.

  “My love, do you still wish to…” Maximilian started, but she held up her slender hand before bending her head and licking his length from base to tip.

  One large wave of pleasure washed over Maximilian and he shook violently from head to toe at the surprising onslaught.

  “Oh, Maximilian, my friend, my lover. I think I quite enjoy this.”

  He cleared his throat; unable to speak in full sentences, encouraged her back to the task.

  She took to it with more ardor than he thought possible. Each movement and dash of her tongue became a dance between them as she learned what curled his toes and made him gasp her name.

  Under her attention it did not take long to reach completion and he gently removed her head when he was very close.

  “Lady, I’m afraid you have done your task well. I don’t want to, I mean, that is to say, I don’t want to overwhelm you when…” again she broke his speech.

  “When your seed comes forth?” she asked, surprising Maximilian.

  His look of inquiry made her blush from her hairline to her chin.

  “I started to read more romantic novels and the like after our last meeting, simply trying to understand what passed between us and why we both enjoyed it so.