Fanny (38 page)

Candlelight flicker’d in hollow Eye-Sockets, so that the empty Skulls seem’d to have a sort of ghastly Life within ’em. In a trice, one of these Skulls began to speak: “Welcome Sisters,” came a thund’ring Voice, follow’d by a Gale of devilish Laughter that near knockt me off my Feet with Terror.

Our Guide led us still deeper into the Hillside, until I was sure I would ne’er emerge again, and I was all but ready to kiss my Immortal Soul goodbye. I curst my restless Nature, my foolish Adventurousness, my Willingness to risque Life and Limb for mere Curiosity. Just as I was ready to shout, “No more!” and turn upon my Heel and flee—no matter what the Consequences—we were usher’d into a Great Hall, hollow’d deep inside the Hill, with a central Banquetting Table illumin’d by a great Oil Lamp of curious Design, and surrounded by Statues of unclad Nymphs and Venuses and prancing Satyrs, which stood in shallow Niches ’round the Perimeter of the Room.

Seated at this Banquet Table (which was, by the by, set for Thirteen with pewter Plates, and Goblets fashion’d from Skulls) were five “Monks,” dress’d all in brown Robes, and maskt like ourselves (but in brown Masks); and five “Nuns” in Attire precisely like our own. Our Guide led us to our Seats at Table, where a Footman stood to take our Wraps, and then we were seated, whereupon our Wine Goblets were fill’d with Claret.

The “Monk” who sat at the Head of the Table then lifted his Skull-shap’d Goblet and propos’d the Toast:

“Here in the gloomy Caves of Endless Night,

We Stalwart Sons of Satan pledge to fight

’Gainst all the False Morality of Fear

And Dedicate our Lives to endless Chear!”

To which the Brothers responded “Hear! hear!” and rais’d their Goblets to drink. I peer’d into the Depths of my Skull-Goblet with considerable Suspicion, but then drank, at the Urging of the Brothers.

Now a Feast was set before us, and the Brother who sat at the Table’s Head solemnly nam’d each Dish for the assembl’d Multitude. First we were serv’d “Holy Ghost Pye” (which seem’d a sort of Kidney Pye to me), then “Devil’s Loins” (a Leg o’ Mutton, to my View), then “Breast of Venus” (being nought but two Pullets, set Breasts upwards and garnish’d with Cherryes for Nipples). When each Dish was nam’d, the Maskt Brothers chear’d and made various witless, lewd Remarks, which scarcely bore repeating (could I, in any case, remember ’em—which indeed I cannot). The Drinking continu’d fiercely thro’out Supper, the Ladies growing quite as drunk as the Men.

Now my Fears were quieted again, for this devilish Club seem’d nothing more than a Group of bor’d Rakes pursuing their usual Pleasures of Wine, Women, and Gluttony, albeit in monastick Garb and deep within the Bowels of the Earth. What a silly Goose Melinda was, I thought, to be so terrified! If these foolish Pranks could conjure the Devil, then surely the Devil was no more than a Fop that strutted in the Mall, or lounged at White’s or the Cocoa Tree, showing off his new Paris-made Suit, his French Valet, and his Smatt’ring of the French Tongue!

When Supper was quite finish’d and the Plates had been clear’d away, the head Monk stood, rais’d his Goblet again, and demanded that we all make a Solemn Oath ne’er to report what had transpir’d in these Stygian Caves.

“For whosoe’er will break the Devil’s Oath,” says he, “the Devil himself will fetch him straight to Hell!”

The assembl’d Company swore the Oath readily enough, whereupon the head Monk, with all due Ceremony, nodded to the Nun on his right, help’d her climb upon the Table, threw her Habit upwards so that it quite cover’d her Face, and ravish’d her there within Sight of all.

“In the Name of Satan, I anoint thee!” said he as the crucial Fit of Lust was upon him. And then he fell, heaving with Passion, upon the chosen Bride of Christ, whilst the other Monks toasted his amatory Skills with their Skull-shap’d Goblets.

What idiotick Entertainment! thought I. What uninspir’d Loving. To swive a Whore in a Nun’s Habit upon a Table before one’s Friends was the sort of Play one would expect of Boys of Fourteen, not of grown Men! But the Nun seem’d to enjoy it; indeed, she seem’d to enjoy it still more when the next Monk, in his Turn, climb’d upon the Table and also anointed her “in the Name of Satan.” Surely I hop’d all the Women were not to be accorded like Treatment, for now it appear’d that a third Monk was beginning his Ministrations to the Nun, but this Monk was hardly so inept a Lover, and he made certain to kiss and fondle her for a Time before he began (whilst his brother Monks made lewd, encouraging Noises as if they were Footmen at a Play). I sat transfixt, for there was something uncannily familiar about the Motions this Monk made. ’Twas almost as if I knew him—despite his Disguise, but i’faith, I could not place him. Then, slowly, he began to apply his Tongue to the Nun’s Nether Orifice, and she began to moan and writhe with Pleasure, whereupon he lifted the Skirts of his Monk’s attire, brandish’d a fine brown Cock of ample Proportions, thrust it into her eager Cunnikin, and cried aloud, “In the Name of Satan I anoint thee!”

’Twas Lord Bellars’ own Voice. Upon hearing it, I grew cold as Ice and my Heart began to beat so loudly I fear’d all the Monks should hear it as well. ’Twas unmistakable that those resonant Cadences belong’d to Lord Bellars. His Face might I forget in Heaven or Hell, but his Voice ne’er! Hearing it, I e’en felt Passion for him again, and then Loathing for myself for feeling Passion towards one who had us’d me so scurvily. Had my Heart no Pride? (But then, hath
any
Heart Pride? Pride is a Possession of the Brain, not the Heart; and the Heart will triumph o’er the Brain in any Contest.)

I sat as if in a Trance whilst I watch’d the Rest of the foul Ceremony, each Monk in turn climbing upon the Table, ravishing the Nun, with greater or lesser Skill, and climbing down to the Chears and Huzzahs of his Brothers. I watch’d, but my Eyes saw nothing. I listen’d but my Ears heard nothing. In the Cave of my Skull, there echo’d only the Ghost of Lord Bellars’ Voice, saying again and again, “In the Name of Satan I anoint thee!”

’Twas a Dream, I thought—this doltish Merriment, this childish Debauch. Thro’ it all, I sat still as a Statue, terrified lest Bellars recognize me (yet, how could he, in my Disguise?) and terrified lest I be askt to lye upon the Table in my Turn, whereupon I would have to submit to his splendid Love-making. Surely then all would be lost! My fine Resolve to hate him would vanish into the Ether if he so much as touch’d me!

’Twas not to be, thank Goddess. These Fops were no longer young and virile, and they had eaten and drunk to Satiety. One Debauch apiece was all most of ’em desir’d. Indeed, most of ’em could hardly rise to
that
Occasion. As the last weary Fop roger’d the still-willing Nun, the head Monk declar’d:

“Now are we all most truly join’d in Soul,

For we are Brothers of the self-same Hole!”

Whereupon (and quite as if this were the most ordinary of Soirées) the Ladies withdrew, leaving the Gentlemen to piss, drink, and smoke their Pipes.

The Nun whose Cunnikin had been the Site of the quaint, fraternal Ceremony was help’d down from the Table—seeming not much the worse for Wear—and all the other Nuns usher’d her out.

“How was it?” one Nun whisp’red to her when we were out of the Monks’ Range of Hearing.

“Dull as always,” says she, “except for the third one. They’re a tired old Lot, I vow.”

“And the third?”

“Ah,” sighs she with remember’d Pleasure. “He’s the only lively Fellow in the Bunch. The others are half dead.”

Now this Piece of News was scarce soothing to my Ears; it but inflam’d my senseless Passion more. How could I still desire a Man who had us’d me so cruelly? ’Twas past all Reasoning—and yet, and yet, I did.

Melinda now came up beside me. “Were you terrified, Fanny?” she whisper’d in my Ear.

“Utterly,” said I.

“I fear the Devil, Fanny,” said Melinda.

“And so do I,” said I. And yet the Devil that I fear’d was my own Step-Father, Lord Bellars. Both his Touch and his Voice held greater Terrors for me than the scaly Embrace of the Foul Fiend himself. I’faith, I was beginning to wonder whether the Foul Fiend wasn’t more Chimera than Reality, for Man was Devil enough, I knew. The Witches had been murder’d by Mortal Men; and I had been undone by one Young Man who claim’d to love me as a Daughter. What need was there for Devil more than this?

“I fear the Devil, too,” I said to Melinda, clutching her Hand. And she squeez’d my Hand warmly—for she was a True Friend, despite her Foolishness.

Now the Nuns retir’d to their Robing Room—another Chamber dug from sheerest Stone—where Chamber-Potts were provided for their Use, as well as Scents of various sorts. Some of the Ladies unmaskt merely to cool themselves; most did not. Some avail’d themselves of the Chamber-Potts and Scents, daubing the Perfumes under their Habits, as if indeed they hop’d to be “anointed” next.

I was still so shaken by the unexpected Presence of Lord Bellars at this Revel that I was almost unaware of the Chatter of the Ladies, but by and by my Ears became attun’d to a Conversation betwixt two Nuns which had the Pow’r to penetrate my Trance.

“Do you know him, Madam?” says one Nun to another.

“Know him! Aye, as well as the Beggar knows his Dish. We have been Lovers these five Years past!”

“And doth it not raise Jealousy in your Heart to see him swive another?”

“No, Madam; Jealousy is the basest of Emotions—suitable for the commonest of Folk. Noble Hearts ne’er feel Jealousy. Why, we tell each other of our Liaisons—’tis Capital Sport!”

The Words rang Bells in my Brain! Capital Sport! The very Phrase Lord Bellars had us’d in that foul Letter to his Mistress in which he describ’d his Seduction of me! Could the Voice I was hearing belong to my loathed Rival?

“Madam,” said I, addressing the Nun who had spoken. “You speak of Lord Bellars, do you not?”

“Faith, you are an impertinent Strumpet,” says the Lady. “You know we are sworn here ne’er to use proper Names!”

“Begging your Pardon, Madam,” I said, “but he sounds so like my own Lover that I could not
but
break in. Forgive me.”

“What? Your own Lover? And who, pray tell, are you?”

“Madam,” I continu’d, smiling ’neath my Mask, “I would say my Name most willingly, but you have just reminded me quite rightly that we are not to use proper Names here—so I dare not.”

And with that Retort I turn’d and began applying Attar of Roses to my Breasts and Thighs. I laugh’d a little to myself. O I knew ’twas a small Triumph, but a Triumph nonetheless. I would plot a greater Revenge upon this haughty Lady yet! Revenge was the unworthiest of Actions—that I knew. Revenge belong’d to God, not Man. And yet my Hatred of this Lady was so great, that it gave me sheerest Pleasure to think of the Discomfort I had already caus’d her.

Now a Footman came to summon the assembl’d Company of Ladies and bade them follow him to a Place he call’d the Labyrinth. We were to disperse there, said he, each find a Hiding Place, and when the Monks discover’d us by and by, we should lead ’em a Merry Chase until one Brother should catch us. This Labyrinth was more dimly lit than the Rest of the Caves and ’twas replete with blind Alleys and false Turnings, empty Niches, and thro’out, the Sound of Water dripping upon cold Stone. I shudder’d somewhat with the Cold and Damp; but presently the Monks were heard in Pursuit, and I had to be nimble on my Feet despite the Darkness of the Caves and the Unevenness of the Floors.

One fat Monk came after me, but I quickly eluded him by ducking into a Niche whither his surpassing Corpulence prevented him from following me. Soon I heard the Voice of another Monk calling in the Darkness: “I seek a Sister who is soft and wanton! Here I am, little Sister, here I am!”—but I ran quickly by him, and when he reach’d out his Arms to catch me, I escap’d. Now I thought myself safe, but, alas, I presently ran headlong in the Darkness into another Monk. He clasp’d me firmly about the Waist, pusht me into a Niche despite my Cries, whereupon he fell to his Knees, imprison’d my Legs with his strong Arms, duckt his Head under my Habit, and began to feast upon that Jam-Pott which Nature, in her curious Wisdom, hath placed betwixt the Thighs of the Fair Sex. Now this Sort of Love-making nearly always undoes me—no matter how loathsome the Swain who performs it (for I can close my Eyes and forget his Person), but the Licking and Teazing was so sweet withal that I near fainted away with Rapture.

“Ah what a ready, willing Nun,” says he, emerging from ’neath my Skirts, whereupon I am brought to my Senses in a Flash—for ’tis Lord Bellars’ own Voice!

Suddenly I feel as if cold Water hath been pour’d upon my Passion, and all my melting Lust turns to a steely Desire for Mastery! I disengage myself from his Clutches, fall to my Knees, and begin making love to him the self-same Way in return, but, just as the crucial Fit is on him, I stop with deliberate Abruptness and run away!

“Ah, cruel Sister!” he declares, pursuing me. But I say nothing—both to prevent him from recognizing my Voice and to elude him better.

Still he catches me and kisses me passionately and moistly upon my not altogether unwilling Lips, asking, “Why art thou so cruel, my Love?”

I do not answer, but flee again, whereupon he pursues again, with greater Frenzy still—but now I hide in a Niche and slow e’en my Breath so that he will not discover me. I hear him running to and fro begging for his “Cruel Love” to make herself known to him, whereupon another Lady answers his Call and falls into his Arms sighing most willingly.

“Excuse me, Madam,” says he, eluding her Embrace, and feeling along the damp Stone Walls for me. O this is a pleasant Turn of Events! His Longing for me is almost palpable.

“Where are you, my Love?” he calls to me. “Where are you, my Love?” he sings again. But only the echoing Grots and Tunnels make the slightest Reply.

Suddenly, I dart from my Hiding Place, find him, embrace him fleetingly, then run away again. Now he pursues me thro’ the Caves and I lead him a Merry Chase ’round and about the Labyrinth (for, by this Time, my Eyes have grown accustom’d to the Stygian Gloom). Beyond the Labyrinth, deeper into the Bowels of the Earth, there flows a River, black as the Styx itself, which is cross’d by a small wooden foot Bridge. I flee across; he follows me, and when we come to the other side, I dart at once into a Cavelet, laughing to myself in Triumph. Now I fancy myself safe from him, hidden in the dark Recesses of my chosen Grotto. I crouch there for a few Minutes, holding my Breath, praying for Mercy to the Goddess, to spare me the Temptation of being found and ravish’d by Lord Bellars.