Chapter 7. My ascent to Slava Paris, 19 …I started a lot of diaries, with the same ease, cut them off in half a word, but not a single one of them is as important as this.
It will be the artist’s diary, he will embody the impressions of Mata Hari.
Where did she disappear, this poor, exhausted and humiliated Margaret Gertrude? She is no longer there, this daughter of a respectable burgomaster, she turned into a brilliant dancer-ward, at the feet of which is all of Paris. My role is much easier than I thought. Oh, if St. Petersburg could see me now! Wouldn’t he be proud of his student? It was he who aroused me to a new life, my teacher, my good patron …In any case, these respectable Parisians now look at me, holding their breath, not because of my dances, but primarily because of my exotic beauty, eyes and figures that so contributed to my success.
“Tall, slender, she proudly keeps on a wonderful be-loser neck the charming face of an ideal shape. Full lips create a proud and voluptuous line under a straight and thin nose. Luxurious, velvet, delicate dark eyes are amplified by very long, tender-no-curled eyelashes. Their dreaminess resembles an eternal secret inherent in the Buddha itself. Her gaze is full of charm. He hugs the entire universe. Blue-black, thinly separated hair gives her face extremely expressive expression. All this creation is delighted, fascinating and stunning “.
So claimed Paul Bourget, describing my portrait in the “Salon”. Not even seeing me in the flesh! But, at the end of the Kontsov, he knew that what was …
Now I’m really happy. I can dance where and when I want. I can express any desire, and it would have no extravagant, men are fighting each other for the honor to be represented by incomparable, great mat Hari.
Honor? For most, this is a secret hope to know my body. It is this passionate desire that attracts these men to me. Oh, I must admit that there are very influential and strong men among them.
From the fateful day when I performed the eastern tanks at Musa Gima and danced in the Church of the Eastern religious east for the chosen public, overwhelming high-scientists and prompting them to celebrate my appearance as a big event, my life became a violent and cheerful. There is not a single pleasure that I would neglect. I literally bathe in luxury, and they honor me, as if I am a divine creature, whose eccentricity is a desire to reveal secrets to the amazed masses.
Sometimes I can’t believe that my life has completely changed. Is it really me, Mata Hari, or a poor, intimidated woman, a humiliated slave of Captain McLeod, whose fury pursued me as a terrible ghost during my first stay in the Pari-also also. Now all this is ridiculous: I, a stupid little goose, really left the place of my first triumphs and again locked myself in that small town, which always stinks, as if they never cleaned pots …
My relatives in a joyless, eternally foggy Niimegen, where I tried to hide cowardly, ashamed me. The concept of “public dancer” in the eyes of the provincials was shameful. They not only adopted me, but also hated me. For them, I was only one of those Parisians-parasites who led a godless, sinful life, were always inclined to seduce unusual husbands, and then rob them. Art? They laughed at it. Art, talent, fate – these words themselves are alien to them. Art? They reduced him in their dried and lifeless minds only to one little fantasy – Burlescu. Followed by me. But I was too shirt and really did not tang in Niimegen.
But they could not take one from me-the gift of foresight, the confidence that one day life will turn to the better. The breath of this great world affected me easily, but I knew that my wonderful purpose is a life completely dedicated to my art. To be surrounded by beautiful things and men who are idolizing you – for the sake of what to live …
I often looked in the mirror, and it convinced that I read on the faces of many – you are beautiful. Yes, the mirror said, you are beautiful. But not only this gave me confidence. I now knew that I was not only beautiful, but also seductive. I just hid O because not.
I wanted to undergo humiliation again. I knew that my presence excites men, that I have the ability to conquer them. No, I am not one of those model painted by Zhordan, with their trembling, like jelly, white breasts, thick hands and legs, with fish eyes and twin-my chin.
And this gift gave me strength. I made a decision and began to fulfill my plans.
Despite my husband’s dirty letters, I freed myself from the suffocating shackles of my respectable family and fled to Paris again.
And I danced. Again in the temple of the Eastern religions, and after all at numerous festivals, on large and masters. And always before the noble public: ministers, diplomats, nobility, intelligentsia.
Famous archaeologists belonging to forty-free ones, they considered it the honor to introduce me into the most noble circles of society. Each of my dance, each pantomime rose to the level of an important ceremony.
As the newspapers wrote, some evenings were “fabulous and intoxicating, the most glorious events in life”. I danced at the evening at the ambassador Chili, then in the palace of Princess Murat, then at the ball given in my honor Prince Del Drago. The heiress of the American millionaire Natalie Clifford Barney invited me to the evening in a huge castle in Neui.
According to the program, I was supposed to play the role of the queen of the Amazons with a real golden Greek helmet on a slaughter horse with turquoise jewelry. Beautiful white horse and jewelry were donated to me.
Luxury …Yes, I now know what it means. I think, in a different way, I could not live. I need this brilliant-a bodily situation, these royal mansions on the Elisha fields, servants and maids who are always ready to fulfill my desires, horses and carriages, rare exotic flowers, expensive silk and jewelry, especially pearls and diamonds-how easy it is toYou get used to all this. Can I refuse all this?
I am decorated as a goddess. And when they call me the most beautiful woman of Paris, I perceive it for granted.
Yes, I am beautiful and have an unprecedented success. But I am not beautiful in the usual sense of the word – a rose growing in the courtyard of a peasant is also beautiful. No, I am beautiful with my individuality, like a precious orchid in a single form, and it grows far, in a fabulous country, in the swamp jungle, and is guarded by wild tribes.
I am just such an orchid, and a fairy-tale country is an In-Dia, temporarily moved to Paris, but nevertheless, there is a jungle here. This is my impregnable house. Wild tribes are my servants, dangerous swamps-their bottomless pockets that devour small tribute, and the greater is sacrificed to my altar.
Because I am Mata Hari, not the wife of a provincial captain. Yes, I’m vicious, I am determined to enjoy life to the end, thereby taking revenge for all my suffering. And men? They are only a means to finish the goal. After the death of Peter, everything that I am for is the art is an art sacred to me, and this luxury. This is the price that others should pay, nameless, with their loud titles that climb to me to take their treasures. Because I do not allow them to pay for their love, I am not capable of pretense, no, at best I allow these proofans to touch the body of the goddess, caress him …
Love …How life changes! I can’t remember how long this word meant something for me. My new life gives all the possibilities to forget the meaning of this concept, but I will never renounce its sweet taste. I am picked by ambition, inspiring to constant new movements and gestures in my exotic tan-tits. I read everything that can be found about customs and caste.
System of this eastern empire. And I am always satisfied when gray-haired specialists in Sanskrit express surprise, asking me: “How did you find out, a beautiful woman who was a beautiful woman? Is it possible that the wives of the lover in your country are taught more than studying art and science in our?»I am known in Paris as a sacred bayader of Shiva. Festivals and evenings that I am ennobled by my art-the most exceptions, and when they are held in a narrow circle, the effect of my body and dancing borders on the supernatural.
The atmosphere becomes heated and intoxicated. The air itself, it seems, exudes pleasure, and my fans barely restrain their passion. Their eyes are devoured by me, almost completely naughty, and as soon as I change the pose, turning around my body or wriggling it, putting my seductive ass on display of the public, which, as experts in art assured me, is in itselfa work of art, the audience begins to breathe heavily. Exotic music plays, fumiam smells intoxicated, the semi-dark illumination forces the bronze color of my perfect skin to sparkle like a zo-loto-this is how the effect is created that I seek.
These special performances are accompanied by drop-down dinners, and strong wines enhance the condition of the trance in which I fulfill my dancing. The most obscene movements replace the most eloquent words. What a spectacle is the faces of voluptuous men, how they lick their lips, how their views try to enter my flesh, reaching an imaginary orgasm, because their hands are doomed to passivity! Their slutty views encourage me to occupy more and more voluptuous people, because I am covered by an insatiable desire to vi-, as all these men rush to my legs, gently undress me and go crazy with wild passion. I always did this without fear for my reputation, since my ideas were unprecedented success. Some compared them with epileptic sods, when I overturned back, trembling with my whole body, and the serpentine movements of my hands stroked my voluptuous body, and sometimes with outstretched fingers touched the beard of some respectable orientalist.
Witnesses of my art are only newspapers.I became the heroine of many novels and plays. My most successful portrait was given in his novel by the young writer Louis Demar:
“What desired this woman seemed to me, how the young lines of her body are co-labalancing and elastic! Its wonderful breasts are covered with thinly processed metal plates. Bracelets with precious stones are worn on the wrists, the upper parts of the hands and ankles. Everything else is naked, seductively, shamelessly naked from the fingers to a bright red pedicure. The plasticity crowned with the blessed line of the neck and the strength of this perfect body is fertilized by her own symmetrical forms with its own symmetrical forms, which extend from the seductive armpits of its raised hands to the delicate roundness of the hips. Her knee cups are similar to delicate sprouts of lilies, muscles tense. It seems that everything flickers with sparkles of gold and pink snowflakes, and her not too narrow pelvis, ascended by luxurious hips, seems to be sculpted from ivory.
When Mata Hari leans over the statue of her sleeping God with a smile, the miraculously scheduled her hips are even more seductively rounded and find in this pose an amazing tension of soft, but strong muscles. A charming sight, everyone’s breathing. These cheeks are similar to two bowls made of bronze – two bowls in which any deity would consider it honor to invest their tribute.
The dancer touches the floor three times with her forehead. Then, slowly, very slowly, it turns very slowly and in a voluptuous impulse shifts a wide gold bracelet on its left wrist, representing our gaze of a bracelet-tata-irrigation on its skin of ivory. This is a skillfully filled image of a snake biting itself by the tail … ”
I reached the top. My triumph is unprecedented even in Paris, where life is so swift and glory is rapidly after being. Neither Paiva nor Sarah Bernard were as Pularny as I. And that means a lot. But the first was only a courtesan, grotesque and ugly, when, on-Coon, it reached the top. And the second – the actress – was never a mistress (at least the poor thing had a good excuse – a wooden leg). She seduces from afar, captivates the gallery, but is not at all impressive in the first rows. But it is there that true experts of excellent female flesh are sitting.
Newspapers are full of descriptions of my success, why should I repeat them? Here, on these pages, I want to talk about other successes, secrets, which, of course, could not get into the newspapers. In most cases, what I’m going to write about can cause bloody duels and even international scandals. Advertising is a valuable thing, but sometimes something should not be done by the subject of publicity. What is the use of the journalists to open the Duke of Orleans? Or Grand Duke Mikha-Ila? Or the Duke of Battenberg and many, many others?
I am an honorary guest at receptions, which are so puffy that they are envious everywhere.
I feel like a certain pagan deity, the advance to which in most cases does not give any hope. I prefer to express my sympathy only in special cases. But none of those who pay fantastic amounts, just so that at least a moment to touch me, can ever conclude that I am frigid, as I tell them all. On the contrary, I am sensual, voluptuous and obsessed with a grotesque, insatiable desire for physical love. Nobody knows how often I turn on my silk pillows without sleep and how to slip away from my apartments in the middle of the night, on a shelter in a house with a bad reputation. Perhaps the neo-Board passion I have experienced during these secret campaigns plays an important role. And when I, returning home after such nights and using my fairy-tale bathroom, my boudoir covered with blue silk, where sparkling bottles, silver calculations and brushes, expensive perfumes and exotic soaps surround me, then this change of situation gives meInexpressible satisfaction. In addition to the full discharge that I get. Only so can I act. And I really need a very strong dose of such a drug to feel good..
Outwardly, I am impregnable. I have long established that it was the contradiction between my voluptuous, worshiping body and cold, impregnable appearance that most of all shocks men. I am considered divinely gracious when I honor the random sign of attention of the richest of them. If I succumb to his desires and let my fan take possession of my body, I will destroy his own illusions and deprive myself of large income. I will cease to be the goddess, the bayader of Shiva and the dancer of the Holy Temple, with the attention of which they cannot and do not dare to abuse and the greatest mercy of which is to allow them to be near for at least a few minutes.
I go to the houses of dates, hiding my face under the thick Wu-al-al, bypassing the piles of crowded streets: it is very important that they would not recognize me. Fortunately, customers visiting these relatively cheap houses are not on my premises. And vice versa. Marquis Santonzh, Don Haima, Viscount Papel, Prince Trubetskoy-these gentlemen visit other, more sophisticated institutions. They start with a buffet, then a night club, and then a brothel. They finish their production in the morning, on the latest fashion they eat onion soup next to the cabs, bazaar merchants and prostitutes.
Well, if anyone recognizes me, I can always get rid of a link to my whim. I can say that I am interested in knowing life, the life of ordinary people. Fortunately, I never had to resort to such excuses. I liked this double life terribly. In the end, if the Roman Empress Messalin did this, why I can not and I.
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