When I was serving dinner on the following day Wanda said: “Bring
another cover, I want you to dine with me to-day,” and when I was
about to sit down opposite her, she added, “No, over here, close by
She is in the best of humors, gives me soup with her spoon, feeds me
with her fork, and places her head on the table like a playful kitten
and flirts with me. I have the misfortune of looking at Haydee, who
serves in my place, perhaps a little longer than is necessary. It is
only now that I noticed her noble, almost European cast of
countenance and her magnificent statuesque bust, which is as if hewn
out of black marble. The black devil observes that she pleases me,
and, grinning, shows her teeth. She has hardly left the room, before
Wanda leaps up in a rage.
“What, you dare to look at another woman besides me! Perhaps you
like her even better than you do me, she is even more demonic!”
I am frightened; I have never seen her like this before; she is
suddenly pale even to the lips and her whole body trembles. Venus in
Furs is jealous of her slave. She snatches the whip from its hook and
strikes me in the face; then she calls her black servants, who bind
me, and carry me down into the cellar, where they throw me into a
dark, dank, subterranean compartment, a veritable prison-cell.
Then the lock of the door clicks, the bolts are drawn, a key sings
in the lock. I am a prisoner, buried.
I have been lying here for I don’t know how long, bound like a calf
about to be hauled to the slaughter, on a bundle of damp straw,
without any light, without food, without drink, without sleep. It
would be like her to let me starve to death, if I don’t freeze to
death before then. I am shaking with cold. Or is it fever? I believe
I am beginning to hate this woman.