full text
COMPARISON
A word-by-word comparison of text from the first edition (Naples : The English Book Press. Privately Printed, 1906), and the adapted version (New York : Masquerade, 1992.) by Anonymous.
Back to Imre: A Memorandum
Joy, Sex, and Imre After 85+ Years
Infamously, the 1992 text of Imre: A Memorandum, adapted as simply Imre for Masquerade by Anonymous, prioritizes eroticism, romantic drama, and the modern reader's experience. In addition to line-by-line edits to shift story points and remove antiquities, eight sexual scenes ranging from masturbatory imaginings to moonlight sex appear throughout the novel.
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By the end of the 1906 text, the "self-disgust" (177p) Oswald feels in the "hated sexual stir" (121p) Imre evokes is dispelled by Imre's verbal assurance that he is the same (180p)—evidently, change was necessary for Anonymous to adapt Imre for the Badboy erotica line. In the 1992 version, Oswald is "unashamed [...] unabashed" (67p) about sex, and helps Imre feel "free" and "liberated" (155p) in reciprocated desire.
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Notably, the hand which put sex on the page also removed around 4,000 words of sex theory (1906, ​121-125p; 131-141p; 142-144p; 184-186p). These missing portions discuss queer theory, science and psychiatry, and gender. All of them also depict a negative experience. Many more comparable dialogues remain, however, and are either untouched or revised with modern terms. Thus, Anonymous' excisions were chosen to create a happier, less scientifically dense, and more fantastical text—as well as a text which, by avoiding medical terms and environments, avoided the contemporary specter of AIDS.
Oswald's tendency to relate his sexuality with sorrow was also lightened. He no longer calls queer love by the names "Torment, Shame, and Despair!" (1906, 77p to 1992, 77p), and he does not add, "...happier than I!" (1906, 170p to 1992, 149p) when he wishes Imre happiness. In one of the most intense changes, Anonymous found a cry for queer rights in Oswald's lament that queer life is so often a suffering only relieved by the void of death. In the 1906 text, a paragraph about queer men's self-hatred ends, "Death would meet him, and say 'Come—enough!—Be free of all!—be free of thyself most of all!'" (1906, 120p). Anonymous inverted the dialogue into a call for unity and liberation: "men such as myself will gather and say in one strong voice, 'Come— enough!—Be free of all!'" (1992, 115p).
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Language & Social Updates
In order to achieve the transition between times, Anonymous altered the text down to its grammar to suit a modern, casual audience. Added segments replicated Prime-Stevenson's diction down to the thee's, thou's, and use of exclamation points, but Anonymous also eliminated superfluous ellipses and italics. To reduce confusion, many non-English loan words such as ménage (1906, 15p), vis-à-vis (1906, 11p, 27p), and bonnes fortunes (1906, 56p) were substituted with their nearest English equivalents. Other changes simply updated outdated terms: "turtle-dove letter" (1906, 24p) to "love letter" (1992, 25p), "snap-shot "(1906, 89p) to "sling-shot" (1992, 92p), and, most importantly, all mentions of Uranianism, similisexualism, or homosexualism were either removed (1906, 76p) or replaced with a modern variant such as "homosexuality" (1906, 118p to 1992, 114p) or "men who love men" (1906, 68p to 1992, 71p). Most references to Greek figures were removed (1906, 34p; 36p; 63p)—a change which reduces Oswald's queer literacy yet prevents alienating or bogging down the reader.
Certain intolerances and racial comments were removed as well. "Confidential business-interviews with Jewish usurers" (1906, 15p) received an update to "discreet loans from usurers" (1992, 17p)—reducing syllabic clutter and removing its anti-Semetic tone. However, the "gipsey" (1906, 89p) slur is retained and only now spelled correctly (1992, 93p). Furthermore, statements about race and racial stereotypes were removed. The Magyar no longer have inborn racial qualities (1906, 12p; 18p; 43p), and Oswald no longer claims to Imre that he "should love thee, no matter what thy race" (1906, 150p).
The bulk of social sensitivity changes were towards femininity. Imre's fear of being "womanish" (1906, 75p) was not just toned down to "feminine" (1992, 76p); his entire speech about the shame he feels towards his femininity was removed (1906, 199-200p to 1992, 167p), as was Oswald's counter-speech on the virtues of women (1906, 200p to 1992, 160p). Relatedly, Oswald's rant about homosexual men who are "flaccid, gross, womanish beings! perverted and imperfect [...] effeminate artists" (1906, 116-117p) was replaced with a declaration that he was introduced to queer history and pride by former lover (1992, 113p).
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Character Growth & Contradiction
Oswald's backstory received other dramatic—and contradictory—updates. In the original, Oswald falls in love when he is sixteen with a seventeen year old boy who dies several months later (1906, 108-109p). Anonymous changed the other boy to an "older gentleman" (1992, 107p) and removed the age details. The gentleman dies in the same way. It was most likely Anonymous' intention that this lover be the same one they added earlier: a man ten years Oswald's senior who teaches him self-acceptance, sex (1992, 63-64p), and queer history (1992, 113p). However, Anonymous also stated that Oswald abandoned this older lover for a Viennese doctor, who Oswald then pursued for five years until the affair's abrupt, sorrowful end. This motivated him to travel to Hungary (1992, 65p), where he met Imre a few days later (1992, 14p). Somehow in this span—as in the original—Oswald also becomes engaged to a woman, meets the friend who furiously rejects his sexuality, and retreats "a few months later" (1906, 142p; 1992, 123p) into European exile.
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The changes to Imre's backstory are more simple. It was adjusted to prioritize his past male relationships and to remove his psychiatric experience (1906, 184-186p). To this end, Anonymous added a mention to Hermes (1992, 24p) to extend Imre's comparison of Karvaly's beauty to the Greek statue (1906, 23p). Oswald ruminates on Imre's sorrow over Karvaly two additional times (1992, 28p; 57p). In addition, the way Karvaly addresses Imre when he condemns homosexuality changed from "youngster" (1906, 190p) to "Imre" (1992, 161p) to avoid the unromantic dynamic which "youngster" evokes. Imre's other past connection, Captain Clement, is named in the first chapter (1992, 72p) instead of the final one (1906, 190). This reveal shifts the story of Clement's military discharge from a rumor recounted by Imre to an experience which Imre has a direct, if tangential, association with. Of course, Clement's name was also introduced by Anonymous so it could be used in a voyeuristic humiliation fantasy six pages later (1992, 78-81p).
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However, as outlined earlier, the adjustments to Oswald's backstory create a contradictory and unclear timeline. This timeline conflict occurs elsewhere. The back cover states inaccurately that the original text was published in 1908 while the prefatory still states "19—." Thus, the events of the book, their writing, and their publication must have occurred between 1900-1908, yet Anonymous' Oswald behaves as though the book was published at a much later date. "Unlike the attitudes that I witness now in my old age," he says, "I was forced to hide [...] No longer today" (1992, 32-33p). This addition does, at least, occur in accordance to the first chapter's reflective character study of Imre—a focus lost by both versions in the following chapters.
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Certain romantic and sexual additions in the 1992 version also undermine the drama and potential surprise of Imre's confession. All three sexual encounters between the two characters are initiated by Imre (1992, 128p; 146p; 154p). His letters are informal in both versions but only "flirtatious" (140p) in 1992. His relationship with Karvaly is highlighted to a greater extent, and his happiness for Karvaly's marriage is framed as sarcasm (1992, 23p) from a "jilted lover" (1992, 28p). As the pair discuss homosexuality on the Széchenyi Chain Bridge, Anonymous adds that both characters speak with caution—suggesting that they are experiencing an identical sexual fear (1992, 73p). Finally, Oswald theorizes that "however unconsciously" (1992, 35p) Imre behaved in a sexual manner to him, he "had found my double [...] and though he could not yet speak it, Imre knew it was so" (1992, 36-37p). This confirmation of their future love—and one other (1992, 59-60p)—is contradicted by Oswald's many theories, despairs, and hopes present in the original text (practically the entire novel) and in added segments (1992, 27p; 35p; 62p; 63-64p; 69p).
Further Transformations
Some rewritten portions simply revise Prime-Stevenson's text. For example, a paragraph describing the way people reveal themselves to friends became more concise, clear, and impactful under Anonymous' changes.
Using "I," Prime-Stevenson limited perspective to the individual vagaries, past and present, of "Once on a time I believed that, but now I believe this" (1906, 37p). The 1906 text summarizes all friendships as "two natures are seeking to blend," and follows into the "Castle of Self" metaphor with an unspecified "him" (1906, 38p). In complete contrast, Anonymous focused on the coupled present through the repeated use of "our." In the 1992 text, Oswald and Imre's relationship actively uncovers "our mutual interests [...] mutual desires [...] our mutual fear." This exchange has a clear result: they "find a missing component" in themselves. While this component is not explained, it is implied to be reciprocal and confessed love—a love which, tying back to the epigraph, would complete "the true satisfaction of friendship, and deeper still of love." While their friendship still has a similar summary to the original, it instead centers Oswald and Imre: "our two natures instinctively sought to blend" (1992, 39-40). The "him" of the "Castle of Self" is undeniably Imre in this context, which strengthens Anonymous' extended use of the metaphor in an added sexual scene (1992, 40-44p).
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However, other changes produced a text with a weaker character foil and emotional payoff. Anonymous removed most of the detail around the friend who Oswald confessed to and was devastated by. The fallout of that key argument—Oswald's exile—was also gutted of detail.
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Firstly, Oswald now lacks the loneliness of never finding love among the other queer men he met in his exile (1906, 147p to 1992, 125p). Secondly, he never talks of his estrangement from art (1906, 143-144p). In the original text, Oswald's visit to the Elizabeth Square café represents a recovery of his love of music—a lowering of his guard that leads him into his acquaintance with Imre—but it is simply a shared interest in the 1992 text. Finally and most significantly, the mirror behind Oswald's confession to his friend and to Imre is broken. In 1906, Oswald reveals his secret under duress first and willingly next; he hopes for acceptance and a silence from both of his listeners; his vow that his next love "shall know absolutely what manner of man I am" (1906, 148p) is in direct contrast to Imre's commitment to go to death with his secret (1906, 197p). All of these foils were lost to pursue Anonymous' less severe tone and to grant a larger presence to the "older gentlemen," who Anonymous introduced to Oswald's backstory (1992, 63-64p; 107p; 113p).
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Other changes contributed little to the narrative, but adjusted expectations and the reading experience.
In the same sentence which describes Imre's "peculiarly brilliant but not shadowless hazel eyes," Oswald becomes "a little unnerved by his [Imre's] lovely green, feline eyes" (1992, 14p). The contradiction is repeated once more (1992, 49p), but otherwise Imre's eyes remain green in twelve additional mentions. To suit his tall, dark, and brooding persona, Imre's hair is also shifted from blonde to "jet black" (1992, 28p)—without paradox.
New melodramas also take their place among the old: Oswald laments his "once-frigid soul" (1992, 15p), Imre hosts a "mysteriously shadowed melancholy" (1992, 19p), and both backstories are more relentlessly teased (1992, 16p; 17p; 45p) In addition, Anonymous maintained the tension between their more mysterious heroes with clear reminders of Oswald's attraction to Imre—seventeen were added in Chapter 1 alone.
Conclusion
The affirmational joy of both texts suit their eras. When Prime-Stevenson published Imre: A Memorandum in 1906, it was a text of the queer experience as he had lived and fantasized it. Anonymous adapted it for erotica, embellishing the fantasy with deeper optimisms and less detailed struggles. The characters must find the courage to unmask themselves to the other, affirm the love they had not allowed themselves to find, and accept that their future will be both difficult and hand-in-hand. The heart of the story remains in both versions, and it is the addition of sex, the removal of antiquities, and the shifted backstories which form the greatest changes between 1906 and 1992.
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The final paragraphs of the novel epitomize the reality that Oswald and Imre face: they are still victims of secrecy, but they have found each other and "rest" from external conflict—not a solution or escape. For all that Anonymous narrowed the morose portions of the text, they did not ignore this fact. At the novel's close, Anonymous lifts the veil of fantasy when they acknowledge, with optimism, the hardships of Oswald and Imre's love and any love: "Come then. And though our path ahead may be arduous, O friend! O brother, to our rest!" (1992, 171p)
1906. 61-62p.
I asked myself; ridiculous to me, even at at so early a stage of our intimacy
1992. 62p.
Even at so early a stage of or [sic] intimacy, ridiculous was the notion.
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1906. 62p.
ah, his serious eyes! . . . whatever else he was seeing in his perturbed mind.
"Well", I continued, "isn't that probable? Have I made you angry by hinting at such a stupidity . . . . such an aesthetic tragedy?"
"No, no," he returned hastily,—"of course not!" And then with a laugh as curious as that look of his, for it was not his real, his cheerful and heart-glad laugh, but one that rang false even to being ill-humored, he added . . . "By God, you have spoken the truth! Yes, to the dot on the i!"
1992. 62-63p.
ah, his serious eyes! I stood unmoving for a moment, locked in his searing, meaningful gaze. What was it?!! Nay, I didn't dare to think that I chanced to see love there!
"Well", I continued, "isn't that probable? Have I made you angry by hinting at such?"
"No, no," he returned hastily, "of course not!" And then with a laugh as curious as that look of his, for it was not his real, his cheerful and heart-glad laugh, but one that rang false, he added, "My God, we must go—we will be late." And he stood to depart.
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1906. 63p.
Imre could open himself to me thereon, or not: I was not curious, nor a purveyor of reading-matter to fashionable London journals.
[text break]
Two matters more in this diagnosis . . . shall I call it so? . . . of my friend. Let me rather say that it is a memorandum and guidebook of Imres' emotional topography.
Something has been said
1992. 63-67p.
Imre could open himself to me thereon, or not: I was simply going to be excruciatingly patient for Imre to speak.
I spent a night of broken hours and disrupted sleep. I had been awakened by a painful throbbing in my groin, which I knew well was the product of yet another dream in which Imre figured as the main character. I lay awake, caressing my stiff and over-filled member, thinking of him with a little sadness in my heart for I feared that I was going to be terribly heartbroken by this exquisite young man.
I remembered back not five years past when I had been terrified of my own erotic desires for other men, I rather hopefully thought that perhaps Imre shrunk from the touch of other men precisely because he desired it. Certainly I could understand his feelings. But he had yielded me precious few sighs that my suspicions were right, and so I thought on the other hand that perhaps I was jus wishing something to be true that simply was not.
I had been lucky myself. I had been released from the hideous burden of shame and fear because of a relationship that I embarked upon with a man ten years my senior. He rather gently taught me that I had nothing to be ashamed of at all, that I was not alone in my desires and that I simply had to be judicious about those whom I decided to lavish my attentions upon. When he kissed me, it was with the vigour of a man who had taken possession of his heart’s desire and who chose to pour forth his passion into my mouth at his leisure and discretion. He pulled at the globes of my buttocks, tugged at my groin and pulled me to him with heat and candor. I was moved to do the same to him, and together we explored the sensuous limits of our sexuality, utterly free within the confines of his chambers. In time, I learned the endless ecstasy beyond the brief pain that was the consummation of such passion between men, and I took his large and unhooded cock, bring him to spend his seed deep in my loins, with a pleasure exquisite beyond my youthful dreams.
This special gentleman and myself came to a parting of ways because of my childishness and foolishness, for he loved me, but sadly I was too young and impetuous to understand the strength and courage of such a passion as his. Instead I became infatuated with a striking young doctor from Vienna. I followed him around the continent, more than eager to accept the teased stroke of his fingers upon my thighs, a playful nip upon my ear, or even a rare kiss upon his exposed member as signs of his returned affections. Indeed, he gave me sporadic, if not utterly cruel attentions. And then one day, quite out of nowhere, he told me that people were beginning to suspect our relationship was more than a manly companionship, and so told me that he never wanted to see me again. I was crest-fallen, for I had devoted five years of my life to garnering his affection, all to be so horrible rebuffed in a single day. And so, in full realization of my folly, I had fled to Hungary where I came to learn the language. It is only now that I can thank God for that terrible heartache, for had it not happened, I would have never made the acquaintance of Imre von N.
I was unashamed of my erotic desires internally. I was unabashed by my nightly imagining in which Imre and I consummated our friendship in a passionate exchange of lovemaking. Yet I could not even bring myself to touch him in a mere friendly embrace. I could not force a man to return my affections, no matter how certain I was that we were somehow meant to be.
Each and every night I dreamed of caressing the beautiful structure of his form, the taut smoothness of his skin. I envisioned wrapping my eager hands around the firmly-muscled, beautifully fleshed girth of his torso: to feel the density of the vivacious meat over his ribs as his chest rose and fell; to admire though sense of touch those subtly swilling portions of manly flesh which stretched down along each of his flanks from his lower ribs to the sharper notches which marked his narrow waist. I could fairly feel the rounded flesh of his buttocks under my imaginary touch. And of course in my dreams, all my attentions were returned with equal desire and affections.
This night in particular, I had been awakened by a gnawing desire between my thighs. I had seen Imre kneeling before me. He looked up at me with his exquisite almond eyes. His lips formed a smile and then he took my throbbing member into his perfect mouth. He licked and kissed and caressed my organ, lavishing ardent attention upon it and the balls below it with his lips, his teeth, his tongue, loving welll. He would occasionally stop to look into my face, and Oh! once again I came in great spurts, bringing myself into the throws of lonely ecstasy, not simply because I lusted for the body of a young Hungarian soldier, but because I had imagined our eyes had connected and the hidden, occult passions of our souls had leapt without and would touch one another forever.
I stayed awake to watch the sun rise, slowly casting limpid light on my bedchamber.
[text break]
Something has been said
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1906. 63p.
He never invited nor returned (to speak as Brutus)—"the shows of love in other men".
1992. 67p.
He never invited nor returned "the shows of love in other men".
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1906. 64p.
Imre made a wry face at me, and said... "The best fellow in the world! and generally speaking, most rational! But I do wish he had forgotten to kiss men!"
1992. 68p.
Imre made a wry face at me, and said, "The best fellow in the world! But I do wish he had forgotten to kiss men!"
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1906. 66p.
my dear Imre!... chiefly as I looked upon you
1992. 69p.
my dear Imre! I looked upon you
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1906. 66-67p.
I should find myself turning aside from the path of straightest truth which I would hold-to in these pages, if I did not find that question written down early and frankly here, with the rest. It must be written; or be this record broken now and here!
Was Imre von N... what is called among psychiaters of our day, an homosexual? an Urning?—in his instincts and feelings and life?—in his psychic and physical attitude toward women and men? Was he an Uranian? Or was he sexually entirely normal and Dionian? Or, a blend of the two types, a Dionian-Uranian? Or what, . . . or what not? For that something of a special sexual attitude, hidden, instinctive, was maintained by him, no matter what might be the outward conduct of his life—this I could not help believing, at least at times.
Uranian? Similisexual? Homosexual? Dionian?
Profound and often all too oppressive,
1992. 69-70p.
I should find myself turning towards thoughts of a frankly erotic nature. I desired Imre as I had desired none other, and I would be a liar were I not write it here!
But did Imre von N. desire me? Every time I thought I saw the faintest glint of a happy answer he would shelf his emotions. I knew, nearly instinctively, that he yearned for me. But would he ever say the worlds? Or was he sexually entirely attached to women? Or perhaps he loved both sexes? Or what...or what not? For that something of a special sexual attitude, hidden, instinctive—manifest perhaps in his warmest of gazes, his fluid and sensual physical movements, the heated extra second or two he added to our good-night hand clasps—was maintained by him, no matter what might be the outward conduct of his life. This I could not help believing at least at times.
Profound and often all too oppressive
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1906. 67p.
Even more terrible to those who understand them not, may be the human natures of which they are but new and clumsy technical symbols, the mere labels of psychiatric study, within a few decades of medical explorers.
What, then, was my new friend?
1992. 70p.
Even more terrible to those who understand them not may be this aspect of human nature. So old and yet unstudied they are, and yet they bare such new and clumsy technical symbols, the mere labels of psychiatric study, within a few decades of medical explorers and subject still to the prejudices of society.
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1906. 67p. such a mingling of psychic and physic and temperamental traits
1992. 70p. such a mingling of psychic and physical and temperamental traits
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1906. 67-68p.
Long before now, I had found it out as a practical psychiater, in my own interests and necessities, by painful experience.
1992. 71p.
Long before now, I had found it by painful experience.
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1906. 68p.
Precisely how suggestive, and yet how adverse... where quite vaguely?.. where with a fairly clear accent?.. was inference in Imre's case
1992. 71p.
Precisely how suggestive, and yet how adverse—where quite vaguely—was inference in Imre's case
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1906. 68p. subtle problems of Uranianism or its absence, can appreciate best.
1992. 71p. subtle problems of men who love men or its absence, can appreciate best, but would perhaps be just as lost in this precarious case.
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1906. 68p. I had been a good deal struck with the passionate—as it seemed—note in Imre's friendship
1992. 71p. I had been a good deal struck with the passionate note—as it seemed—in Imre's friendship
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1906. 68p.
the deeply-buried mystery of a heart's uranistic impulses, the mingling in the firm, manly nature of another inborn sexual essence which can be mercifully dormant; or can wax unquiet even to a whole life's unbroken anguish!...
1992. 71p.
the deeply-buried mystery of a heart's sensual impulses, the mingling in the firm willful nature.
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1906. 69p. I had no right! Even if I..... But there! I swore to myself that I had no wish!
1992. 71p. I had no right! I desperately tried to quell my internal fires. But it was impossible.
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1906. 69p. I was querying with myself what I might do believe.
1992. 71-72p. I was querying with myself what conclusion I might make.
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1906. 71p. That gentleman used to be a captain in our regiment.
1992. 72p. That gentleman is named Clement. He used to be a captain in our regiment.
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1906. 70-71p. In fact, nobody, to this day, knows how far the... intimacy really went. [...] perhaps really amounting to only a trifling incident... But, the man's character was smirched. The regiment's Council didn't go into details ... didn't even ask for the facts. [...] You know, or perhaps you do not know, how specially sensitive, indeed implacable.. the Service is on that topic. Anything but a hint of it!
1992. 72-73p. In fact, nobody, to this day, knows how far this... intimacy really went. [...] perhaps really amounting to only a trifling incident. But, the man's character was smirched. The regiment's Council didn't go into details, they didn't even ask for the facts. [...] You know, or perhaps you do not know, how specially sensitive, indeed implacable.. the Service is on that topic. Anything but a hint of it!
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1906. 71p.
«Do you have any such affairs in England?»
«Yes. Certainly.»
«Yes.»
«In military life?»
«In military and civil life. In every kind of life.»
1992. 73p.
"Do you have any such affairs in England?"
"Yes. Certainly," I replied cautiously.
"In military life?"
"In military and civil life. In every kind of life."
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1906. 71p.
«A... a man's feeling that way for another man? What's the explanation?—the excuse for it!»
1992. 73p.
"A... a man's feeling that way for another man?" He was speaking with caution now, too.
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1906. 71-72p.
not try to understand...»
Ah, had I only finished that the sentence as I certainly meant to do in beginning it!... with some such words as "—so much as often to pardon." But the sentence remained open; and I now that it sounded as if it was meant to end with some such phrase as ... because they are so beyond any understanding, beyond any excuse!»
Imre walked on beside me
1992. 73p.
not try to understand..."
Imre walked on beside me
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1906. 73p.
Yes, I laughed. And unfortunately Imre von N... thought that I sneered; that I sneered at my fellow-men!
«Yes,» I replied, «I knew such a man, such a 'person.' On the whole, pretty well. He had other rather acceptable qualities, you see; so I didn't allow myself to be too much stirred up by... that remarkably queer one.»
1992. 74p.
Yes, laughed. And oh! the doubly unfortunate irony. Imre von N. thought that I sneered; that I sneered at my very own beloved!!
"Yes," I replied, "I knew such a man, such a 'person.' On the whole, pretty well. He had other rather fine qualities," said I.
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1906. 74p. had well-nigh forgot when I was!—forgot him, forgot Szent-Istvánhely........!
1992. 75p. had well-nigh forgot where I was!—forgot him, forgot Szent-Istvánhely....
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1906. 75p. "Do you observe anything particularly womanish—abnormal—about me, if you please?"
1992. 76p. "Do you observe anything particularly feminine about me, if you please?"
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1906. 76p. "Womanish? Abnormal? Certainly not, But [sic] you
1992. 76p. "Womanish? Certainly not. But you
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1906. 76-77p.
Imre waved his hand gaily and vanished.
I got to bed, concluding among other things that so far from Imre's being homosexual—as Uranian, or Dionian-Uranian, or Uranian-Dionian... or what else of that kind of juggling terminology in homosexual analysis—my friend was no sort of an Uranistic example at all No! he was, instead, a thorough-going Dionian, whatever the fine fusions of his sensitive and complex nature! A complete Dionian, capable of warm friendship, yes—but a man to whom warm, even passionate, friendship with this or that other man never could transform itself into the bitter and burning mystery of Uranistic Love,—the fittest names for which so often should be written Torment, Shame, and Despair!
Fortunate Imre! Yet, as I said so to myself, altruistically glad for his sake, I sighed . . . and surely that night I thought long, long thoughts till I finally slept.
1992. 77-81p.
Imre waved his hand gaily and vanished. [text break]
I got to bed feeling half-strangled. I had concluded among other things that so far from Imre's being homosexual—or what else of that kind of juggling terminology in homosexual analysis—my friend was no sort of homosexual at all. No! He, instead, clearly disdained the affections of men, whatever the fine and fusions of his sensitive and complex nature! A complete heterosexual, capable of warm friendship, yes—but a man to whom warm, even passionate, friendship with this or that other man never could transform itself into the bitter and burning mystery of Love. Fortunate Imre! my mind cried out, shrill and anguished as tears stung my eyes.
Yet, as I said so to myself, altruistically glad for his sake, I sighed, giving myself over to one final, butter fantasy, this one of a voyeuristic nature, as I imagined the powerful and elder Captain-in-Exile Clement as he had his way with Imre:
With a set jaw and my hand held tightly about my flesh, I feverishly dreamt of an empty barracks in the dark of a week-long eve. The others were away about town to carouse and indulge their lusty sensibilities upon the local women. Dear Captain Clement had already been stern with my lackadaisical Imre all day, and chose him for night duty, thereby deriving him of his own sensual pursuits. How would Lieutenant Imre stand up to inspection this eve? I wondered, and so did the Captain. Of course, the barracks would be immaculate, as Imre was diligent and thorough if nothing else—but what was this? A cool and subtle sign of rebellion? It would seem Imre’s soldier’s cap had been tucked within the confine of his right epaulet, much in the fashion his fellows did while engaging in revelry at some tavern or such. Lieutenant Imre was out of uniform, and such insubordination demanded the strictest of reprimands, lest he continued to bring down stride upon his superior officers!
Imre was ordered, nay! Commanded to lower his fatigue trousers at once to receive corporal punishment from Captain Clement. His emerald eyes flashing, he face growing taut, the lines upon his forehead furrowing with drawing horror, Imre had little other choice, and soon his shining buckled belt was unclasped and the buttons on his trousers were undone. His pants now dropped about his ankles, Imre was then ordered to lift the tails of his fawn-coloured blouse to reveal the buttons of his modest undergarments where they bordered upon the taut, dark, and supple flesh of his waist. Captain Clement tugged sharply, till they fell to bind Imre’s knees, and Imre was turned about in such a way as his round, tight bottom faced Clement’s appraising gaze.
In an instant, the Captain was seated upon a cot, and Lieutenant Imre was draped over his thighs, his firm, muscular seat pointed heavenward, now prepared to receive a swift and brutal spanking by Clement’s white gloved hand. Again and again, that strong, hard hand fell to Imre’s bottom, stinging it, burning it, making it flush for crimson with each impact. Naturally, Imre would not cry out, but received his punishment with belligerent silence, grunting only occasionally, when Clement’s onslaught grew nearly unbearable. Lieutenant Imre’s member had grown long and thick and stiff as it had been pushed violently, repeatedly, between the Captain’s thighs. With each deliberate slap upon his now-tender and smarting hindquarters, Imre was brought closer still to the bursting point. Brief moments later he did indeed gasp under the voluptuous waves of pain and pleasure that were the height of his ecstasy; and Imre flooded the fork of Clement’s trousers—as well as the cot beneath them—with volcanic jets of sperm-loaded semen.
Infuriated with yet another sign of Lieutenant Imre’s subordination, Captain Clement forced the beautiful young warrior to his knees, where he would be fed by force the red and raging priapus which now jutted from the Captain’s strained and opened pants. Taken roughly by the short, black hairs, Imre’s head was drawn back and forth upon Clement’s cock; he was made to deliver pleasure despite himself and despite the angry tears which continued to well from his deep green and wincing eyes. Long moments later, Captain Clement bellowed a deep and masculine groan, and let fly an endless stream of come into Lieutenant Imre’s mouth, flooding his cheeks and forcing his throat to first choke upon, then gulp his superior’s voluminous spendings.
I also came with a maddening fury that night, bellowing and crying aloud as much did the Captain in my angry fantasy. But there were also tears upon my cheeks, much like those of Imre’s in my waking dream, and surely that night I lay upon my bed and thought long, long thoughts till I finally slept.
I.
MASKS.
​
1906. 10p. a pair of peculiarly brilliant but not shadowless hazel eyes; and I sat down for my coffee.
1992. 14p. a pair of peculiarly brilliant but not shadowless hazel eyes; and I, a little unnerved by his lovely green, feline eyes, sat down for my coffee.
​
1906. 10p. my neighbour was of no ordinary beauty of physique and elegance of bearing,
1992. 14p. my neighbour was extraordinary beauty of physique. He had an elegance of bearing,
​
1906. 11p.
But this was a vague concern. What was Hecuba to me?—or Priam, or Helen, or Helenus, or anybody else, when for the moment I was so out of tune with life!
1992. 14p.
Yet I was still distracted and melancholy with thoughts of a sad affair ended abruptly only days before in Vienna.
​
1906. 11p. Becoming interested in the leader
1992. 14p. Becoming interested in the young man once again
​
1906. 11p. I looked across the table at my vis-à-vis.
1992. 14p. I looked across the table at him.
​
1906. 11p.
I met again the look, this time full, and no longer unfriendly, of as winning and sincere a countenance, a face that was withal strikingly a temperamental face, as ever is bent toward friend or stranger.
1992. 15p.
his startling green eyes, this time his gaze full, and no longer unfriendly. He had a winning and sincere countenance, a face that was as strikingly temperamental a face as is ever bent toward friend or stranger.
​
1906. 11-12p.
And it was a Magyar voice, that characteristically seductive thing in the seductive race, which answered my query; a voice slow and low, yet so distinct, and with just that vibrant thrill lurking in it which instantly says something to a listener's heart, merely as a sound, if he be susceptible to speaking-voices.
1992. 15p.
And he answered me with a Magyar voice, with the characteristically seductive quiet that matched his bearing. A voice slow and rich, very distinct, and with just that vibrant thrill lurking in it which instantly says something to a listener's heart, merely as a sound, a deep, dangerous resonance.
​
1906. 12p.
A few commonplaces followed between us, as to the band, the programme, the weather—each interlocutor, for no reason that he could afterward explain, any more than can one explain thousands of such attitudes of mind during casual first meetings—taking a sort of involuntary account of the other
1992. 15p.
A few commonplaces followed between us, as to the band, the programme, the weather—each of us as we chatted politely taking a sort of involuntary account of the other
​
1906. 12p. Evidently, this Magyar fellow-idler
1992. 15p. Evidently, this Magyar soldier
​
1906. 12p.
As for myself, indifference to the world in general and to my surroundings in particular, dissipated and were forgot, my disgruntled and egotistical humour went to the limbo of all unwholesomenesses, under the charm of that musical accent, and in the frank sunlight of those manly, limpid eyes.
1992. 15p.
As for myself, my indifference to the world, the painful memories of another whom I had loved, all but dissipated. My disgruntled and egotistical humour gave way to gentle waves of desire for this man. The charm of the music, and the frank sunlight of his manly, emerald eyes, warmed my once-frigid soul.
​
1906. 13p. From music (that open road to all sorts of mutualities on short acquaintanceships) and an art of which
1992. 15p. From music—an art of which
​
1906. 13-14p.
I found myself charting out to him what things I liked and what things I anything but liked, in this world where most of us must be satisfied to wish for considerably more than we receive.
1992. 16p.
I found myself charting out to him short scenarios of some of my more amusing adventures. I realized later that I had already subtly hinting at my desires for him by the nature of my accounts, my travels and foibles across Europe.
​
1906. 14p.
that irresistible undercurrent of human intercourse that is indeed, the Italian simpatia, by the quick confidence
1992. 17p.
that irresistible undercurrent of lively conversation that is indeed, the Italian simpatia. In speaking with him—the quick confidence
​
1906. 14p. Imre von N..., hadnagy (Lieutenant)
1992. 17p. Imre von N., a lieutenant
[In the 1992 text, name censorships of this vein use one period rather than ellipsis. I won't mark them all. Examples include Imre von N., A. Honvéd Regiment, and the Z. Monument.]
​
1906. 14p.
Lieutenant Imre's concrete story was an exceedingly simple matter. It was the every day outline of the life of nine young Magyar officers in ten.
1992. 17p.
Lieutenant Imre's own personal story seemed to be an exceedingly simple matter. I was to learn later that it was far more complicated than I had originally believed. As he told it, his story was the every day outline of the life of nine young Magyar officers in ten.
​
1906. 14p. one poor now as never before
1992. 17p. a family poor now as never before
​
1906. 15p. So he had graduated
1992. 17p. So Imre had graduated
​
1906. 15p. too frequently only with the aid of confidential business-interviews with Jewish usurers.
1992. 17p. too frequently only with the unhappy reliance on discreet loans from usurers.
​
1906. 15p. ménage
1992. 17p. field
​
1906. 16p.
And there came to me, now and then, as it was sketched, certain inferences that made it a thought less promising.
1992. 18p.
And there came to me, now and then, as he spoke, certain inferences that made my thoughts less promising.
​
1906. 16p. I guessed the speaker's own nervous distaste
1992. 18p. I guessed at Imre's own nervous distaste
​
1906. 16p. I caught his something too-passionate half-sigh for the more ideal daily existence
1992. 18p. I heard his passionate half-sigh for the more ideal daily existence
​
1906. 16p. in holding-out against its tyrannies.
1992. 18p. in battle against its tyrannies.
​
1906. 16p. the sense of fatality as not only a hindrance but as excuse.
1992. 18p. the sense of a deep fatality.
​
1906. 17p.
Lieutenant Imre von N. . . . .'s forehead showed those three or four lines that were incongruous with as sunny a face.
1992. 19p.
Lieutenant Imre von N.'s forehead showed those three or four lines that were incongruous with a handsome boy his age.
​
1906. 17p. blessed with a cheerful temperament and a good appetite, and plagued by no undue faculties of melancholy or introspection.
1992. 19p. blessed with a cheerful temperament and a good appetite, yet he seemed plagued by a mysteriously shadowed melancholy and introspection.
​
1906. 17p.
And, by-the by, merely to hear, to see, Imre von N. . . . laugh, was to forget that one's own mood a moment earlier had been grave enough, it migt [sic] be
1992. 19p.
But, by the bye, merely to hear, to see, Imre von N. laugh, was to forget that my own mood a moment earlier had been grave enough, I could not help but smile with him.
​
1906. 17p. Lieutenant Imre seemed to have his full share of acquaintances.
1992. 19p. Lieutenant Imre seemed to have many cheerful acquaintances.
​
1906. 18p. I came to the conclusion as the afternoon went along, that he must be what is known as a distinctly «popular party».
1992. 19p. I came to the conclusion, as the afternoon went along, that those many others had been charmed as irresistibly as I.
​
1906. 18p. exchange a bit of chaff with him.
1992. 19-20p. exchange a bit of chaffering with him.
​
1906. 18p.
And in such of the meetings, came more or less—how shall I call it?—demonstrativeness, never unmanly, which is almost as racial to many Magyarak as to the Italians and Austrians.
1992. 20p.
And in such such of the meetings, came more or less friendly displays of affection, never unmanly.
​
1906. 18p. Lieutenant Imre, did not seem to be at all a friend of such demeanor.
1992. 20p. Lieutenant Imre did not return the delight of a friendly caress.
​
1906. 18p. If a hand were put out
1992. 20p. If another's hand was put out
​
1906. 19p. in that d––d little hole in Galizien!
1992. 20-21p. in that damned little hole in Galizien!
​
1906. 19-20p.
For the first time, that day, since one or another topic had occurred, something like scorn—or a mocking petulance—came across his face.
«I must make you a stale sort of answer, to—pardon me—a very stale little flattery,» he answered. «I have acquaintances,
1992. 21p.
For the first time that day, since we had pleasantly conversed, something like scorn—or a mocking petulance—came across his face.
"I have acquaintances,
​
1906. 20p. But friends? Why, I have the fewest possible!
1992. 21p. "But friends?" he added gravely. "Why, I have the fewest possible!"
​
1906. 20p.
I live too much to myself, in a way, to be more fortunate, even with every Béla, János and Ferencz reckoned-in.
1992. 21p.
I live too much to myself.
​
1906. 20p.
I don't believe you have to learn that a man can be always much more alone in his life than appears his case. Much!
1992. 21p.
I don't believe you have to learn that a man can oft be most lonely in vast company.
​
1906. 20p.
I have just lost, so to say, one of my friends. One of the few of them. One who has all at once gone quite out of my life
1992. 21p.
I have just lost, so to say, my dearest of friends. A man who has all at once gone quite out of my life
1906. 21p. «I infer that your friend is not dead?»
1992. 21p. "Is your friend dead?"
​
1906. 21p. Everyone likes him!
1992. 22p. Everyone is charmed by him!
​
1906. 21p. And then, "besides, he continued in a more earnest tone"
1992. 22p. He paused, and then continued in a more earnest tone
​
1906. 22p. Not at all a dreamer.... not morbid.. and so on.
1992. 22p. Not at all a dreamer.
​
1906. 22p. He cannot possibly return for many years, quite likely never.
1992. 22p. "He cannot possibly return for many years, quite likely never," he replied sadly.
​
1906. 22p.
Dear me, no! nothing of the sort! I am only too delighted that it has come about for him. His bride has gone out to Hong-Kong with him, and they expect to settle down into the most complete matrimonial bliss there.
1992. 23p.
"Dear me, no! nothing of the sort!" he proclaimed a little too loudly. And then with the slightest pinch of sarcasm he continued, "I am only too delighted that it has come about for him. His bride has gone out to Hong-Kong with him, and they expect to settle down into the most complete matrimonial bliss there."
​
1906. 23p.
He glanced across at the acacia-tree opposite, as if not having heard my careless question, or else as it momentarily abstracted.
1992. 23p.
He glanced across at the acacia tree opposite, as if not having heard my careful question, or else he acted as though he were momentarily distracted.
​
1906. 24p.
For, I was not a little stirred by this frank evidence, of a trait that sometimes brings to its possessor about as much melancholy as it does happiness.
1992. 24p.
For, I was not a little stirred by this frank evidence, that Imre had been plainly in love with his Hermes whether he knew it or not.
​
1906. 24p. He turned full upon me.
1992. 24p. He turned his sharp gaze full upon me.
​
1906. 24p. eyes that were, for the instant, sombre, troubled ones.
1992. 24p. eyes that were, for the instant, turned a darker, troubled color.
​
1906. 24p. a regular turtle-dove letter
1992. 25p. a love letter
​
1906. 25p. «Teremtette!» he exclaimed, with a short laugh
1992. 25p. "Teremtette!" he exclaimed, with a self-conscious laugh
​
1906. 25p. all this personal, sentimental stuff—rubbish—
1992. 25p. all this personal, sentimental stuff—such rubbish—
​
1906. 25p. a mixture of, shall I say, antagonism and appeal
1992. 25p. a mixture of clouded antagonism and appeal
​
1906. 25p. «You haven't the slightest need to beg it,» I answered, «much less to feel the least discomfort
1992. 25-26p. "You haven't the slightest need to beg it," I answered. I was inwardly pleased—more than pleased—that he had so unwittingly exposed his vulnerable state to me. "Much less," I continued, "to feel the least discomfort
​
1906. 26p.
Believe me, stranger or not... and, really we seem to be passing quickly out of that degree of acquaintance... I happen to be able to enter thoroughly into your mood.
1992. 26p.
Believe me, stranger or not... and, I might add, we seem to understand each other almost uncannily as friends.... I happen to be able to comprehend thoroughly your despair.
​
1906. 26p.
the exchange of friendship for friendship is a chemical result often not to be analyzed; and too often not at all equal as an exchange.
1992. 26p.
the exchange of friendship for friendship is sadly not an equal exchange.
​
1906. 26p. «Too often—not equal?»
1992. 26p. "An equal exchange?"
​
1906. 27p. My vis-à-vis again was mute.
1992. 26p. My new friend again was silent.
​
1906. 27-28p.
So had its course my breaking into an acquaintance... no, let me not use as burglarious and vehement a phrase, for we do not take the Kingdom of Friendship by violence even though we are assured that there is that sort of an entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven—so was my passing suddenly into the open door of my intimacy (as it turned out be) with Lieutenant Imre von N..... It was all as casual as my walking into the Erssébet-tér Cafe. That is, if anything is casual. I have set down only a fragment of that first conversation; and I suspect that did I register much more, the personality of Imre would not be significantly sharpened to anyone, that is to say in regard to what was my impression of him then. In what I have jotted, lies one detail of some import; and there is shown enough of the swift confidence, the current of immediate mutuality which sped back and forth between us. «Es gibt ein Zug, ein wunderliches Zug»... declares Grillparzer, most truthfully. Such an hour or so.... for the evening was drawing on when we parted..... was a kindly prophecy as to the future of the intimacy, the trust, the decreed progression toward them, even through our—reserves.
1992. 27-30p.
And it was thus that I made my first acquaintance with Imre von N., an event that changed the entire course of my life. Yet, I was not to know that as we talked so easily and confidentiality into the purple-lit dusk of the afternoon. I can write with simplicity and clarity my immediate feelings for him which were so vehement because my desire for his friendship was abetted and ignited by a yet more forceful fire—that of the fire of my loins, the conflagration in my heart and veins. My very flesh burned with longing for him. I feared the sharp need to possess him, I feared that he might see the desire on my face, and so I struggled to be nonchalant and pleasant, desperately attempting to hide my true emotions for the young officer.
Yet I remember feeling a deep, hopeful scintillation of prophecy as we shook hands. Was there a secret promise in his lively green eyes? Nay, I thought as I made my way home. I had imagined it. But there had been such an easy mutuality between us almost instantly. His lamenting over the loss of his friend Karvaly gave me thoughtful pause, for he sounded more the jilted lover than I am sure he even knew.
That night I was forced to lie alone in my chambers and attempted to gently lull my ignited passion. At last when no sleep would come, I gave myself over to imagining Imre, standing before him adorned in the fabrics and accouterments of his soldier's uniform, grinning that dazzling, lascivious and mischievous grin in the late afternoon light.
Those acute emerald eyes, the jet black hair curling boyishly at his temples, his mouth. Ah! Imre's mouth. Beautiful lips full but not effeminate, lips which glided over his white teeth and into his easy and ready smile. But for all his charming wit and gaiety, I sensed that there was a deeper, more melancholy Imre hiding behind a mask of happiness. I intuited that Imre von N. has secrets.
I knew the feeling of carrying the heavy burden of secrets around for too long. My passionate desires for those of the same sex at first horrified me and filled me with guilt and shame. But as I grew older, as I made the fortunate acquaintance of some older men who acted as guides to me, I learned to accept my driving passion for other men. This darkness—this sadness stowed safely behind the glimmer in Imre's green eyes...this is what drew me as a magnet would metal filaments. It is a sorrow I felt compelled to touch, as if I had to move my hands through his jacket, through his blouse, through the very flesh of his breast to his heart.
How I desired to touch my lips to his and to draw out this pain which went so much further and deeper than his youthful years! And I would caress him with my fingertips, running them down his face, his neck, drawing them to his collar—so prettily decorated with the brass of his lieutenant's rank— to unfasten the clasp so that I might lay warm and comforting kisses at Imre's throat.
Would he weep at my touch? Would he take joy in the release I would so gladly provide him? Oh yes! Yes! In my dark night musings I kissed the tears from his cheeks, relishing the liquid salt of his bittersweet joy even as I pulled the jacket from his broad and muscular shoulders and opened the clasps of his tight-fitting regiment's blouse down to the snug-buttoned front of his fatigue trousers.
I would take Imre, lay him down in the lonely, twilit out-of-doors, and I would worship the tortured soul locked within the flesh and muscle and sinew of his firm and heated body. Running my fingers over the hard ridges of his torso's grand musculature—the hints of which I had seen impressed through the soft, crisp officer's shirt he'd worn that afternoon—I would taste the tanned skin of his belly and slowly pull his undergarments to unveil his beautiful and prominent cock, itself standing and pulsing at full attention, fattened and fortified with passion.
I could not resist, at last, lightly stroking my own flesh, imagining that my hands were Imre's. My member was stiff under my caresses, and breathing heavily and enraptured by my own muse, I gave myself over to the indulgence of solitary pleasure. All too soon, whilst imagining only but the handling of Imre's cock, the gentle toying with the heavy velvet of his balls, the taste of his skin under my repeated kisses, did my face flush red, and my body give itself over to spasms of voluptuous culmination. My passion erupted in great jets upon my belly. And there, did I, in the dark of my room moan a mixture of lonely pleasure and sincere longing for this man Imre whose heart and disposition I barely knew and might never know.
At last, and thinking last of Imre's lovely mouth, and worse still, his penetrating green eyes, I fell into an exhausted sleep.
​
1906. 29p. at the Hotel L—
1992. 31p. at the Hotel Louvre
​
1906. 29p. The fourth or fifth day of our ripening partnership
1992. 31p. The fourth or fifth day of our rapidly strengthened bonds
​
1906. 29p. a long inspection of Imre's pleasant lodging
1992. 31p. a long, rather lazy inspection of Imre's pleasant lodging
​
1906. 29p. music-library; and ending it with a bit of an excursion
1992. 31p. music-library. The afternoon ended with a bit of an excursion
​
1906. 29p. what had already become a custom, our late supper, with a long aftertalk.
1992. 31p. what had already become a custom, our late supper, with conversation late into the evening.
​
1906. 29p. The said suppers by the by, were always amusingly modest banquets.
1992. 31p. Our suppers, by the by, were always amusingly modest banquets.
​
1906. 30p.
Lieutenant Imre von N.... and I made it clear to one another, though without it dozen words to such effect, that we regarded the time
1992. 31p.
Lieutenant Imre von N. and I made it clear to one another, almost without speaking aloud, that we regarded the time
​
1906. 30p. they seemed so colourless
1992. 32p. seeming so colourless
​
1906. 30p.
a removed sphere inhabited by only ourselves, with each meeting. As it chanced, Imre was for the nonce,
1992. 32p.
a removed sphere inhabited by only ourselves, with each meeting. I can safely write this in retrospect, yet my nights during those weeks were filled with anxious uncertainty combined with a kind of animal surety that he desired me as much as I him. Yet I did not want to destroy our companionship by speaking my erotic fantasies to Imre, lest I were wrong about him.
As it chanced, Imre was for the nonce,
​
1906. 31p.
something like an eighth sense... I could abide my time, or the date when Imre must start for certain annual regimental maneuvers, down in Slavonia. With reference to the idle curiosity of our acquaintances as to this so emphatic a state of dualism for Imre and myself.... such an inseparable sort of partnership which might well suggest something...
... «too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, Too like the lightening which doth cease to be Ere one can say "It lightens"...
... why we were careful.
1992. 32-33p.
something like an eighth sense— I could abide my time, and wait for Imre to awaken to his natural feelings for me. One unhappy consequence was the idle gossip of our mutual acquaintances about Imre and myself and our inseparable friendship.
Alas, reader, friend. Imre and I were products of our oppressive environment wherein, unlike the attitudes that I witness now in my old age, as a young man who loved other men I was forced to hide, to lie. I was taught to be ashamed of who I was. No longer today. This is in part why I write this story. Nevertheless, Imre and I were forced to be careful.
​
1906. 32p.
«The lie that is half a truth is ever» .... the safest of lies, as well as the convenientest one.
1992. 34p.
Imre feigned an almost sort of ignorance to the obvious necessity of our lies. Yet still he was not ready to allow himself to fall into my arms, though many was the night I imagined it.
​
1906. 33p.
of what did we talk, hour in and hour out, [...] centering ourselves on the time together as the best thing in the world for us.
1992. 34p.
of what did we talk, hour in and hour out, [...] It was simple. Imre and I silently agreed that our time together was essential to our individual well-being.
​
1906. 33-34p.
But the real secret evades us. It ever will evade. We are drawn together because we are drawn. We are content to abide together just because we are content. We feel that we have reached a certain harbour, after much or little drifting, just because it is for that haven, after all, that we have been moving on and on; with all the irresistible pilotry of the wide ocean-wash friendly to us
1992. 35-36p.
But the real secret evades us. It is silent and mysterious, and it will ever evade. With a precarious mixture of hope and certainty, I could have written, even at that early point, that Imre and I were drawn together because we were secretly drawn by desires dark and erotic. Perhaps it was in the way he gazed into my eyes a heartbeat longer than warranted after he had made some suggestion or theory. Or maybe it was in the warm tilt of his head as he listened to my langourous droning on a summer's afternoon. Or better still, could it have been in the way he absently touched his own breast with his slender and nimble fingers as we spoke; the way he slowed his step when he knew he was in my vision just after he rose to move away from our table, mayhap allowing me—however unconsciously—a better view of his thigh and pubic region, and his extraordinarily tight and well-rounded bottom as he moved by.
Or even better yet, in the rare late-night moments when we were alone in in one or another’s chambers, and Imre, loosened and somewhat more relaxed with wine and song, undid the buttons at his sleeve and through to open his skin to the cool breeze of the evening—how this innocent and meager exposure of such sun-warmed flesh of his arms and breast excited me. For long moments I would sit in discomfort and barely contained embarrassment as I gazed at smiling Imre, my cock stiff and throbbing low against my belly, feeling as if it would burst through my trousers at any moment. Imre would pause, and there would be a disquieting lull, electrified by my desire and his coy and smiling uncertainty with what went on. Had his own member climbed and leapt in his breeches the way my own did? Did he lick his lips and catch his own warm breath to hold back the desires he grappled with as did I?
And still, despite this deeply submerged and thunderous turmoil, we were content to abide together because we are content. It is safe to say in retrospect that we felt that we had reached a certain harbor after much drifting.
​
1906. 34p.
Friendship?—love? what are they if real on both sides, but the great Findings? Grillparzer... once more to cite that noble poet of so much that is profoundly psychic... puts all the negative and the positive of it into the appeal of his Jason.
1992. 36-37p.
Friendship?—love? What are they if real on both sides, but what Imre and I were embarking on was a journey of passion. I had found my double, the other side of myself, and though he could not yet speak it, Imre knew it was so.
​
1906. 35p.
O... come!»
As a fact, my new friend and I
1992. 37p.
O... come!"
So writes the poet Grillparzer, who lends voice to my emotions. Despite the undercurrent of roiling tumult and confusing desire, my new friend and I
​
1906. 35p. the complicated, troublous aspects of the present and the future of the Magyar Kingdom.
1992. 37p. the complicated, troubled aspects of the present and the future of the Magyar Kingdom.
​
1906. 35-36p. he could speak precisely seven words, four of them too forcible for use in general polite society.
1992. 38p. he could speak precisely seven words, four of them quaintly unsuitable for use in general polite society.
​
1906. 35p.
I smile now as I remember the range, far afield often, of our talks when we were in the mood for one.
1992. 38p.
I smile now as I remember the range, far afield often, of our electric conversations when the doubled energy of such dialogues seemed to grow in vehemence and agitation as what I prayed was our secret passion for one another seemed steadily to grow stronger.
​
1906. 36-37p.
No,—one never was at a loss for a topic when with Imre, and one never tired of his talk about it, any more than one tired of Imre when mute as Memnon, because of his own meditations, or when he was, apparently, like the Jolly Young Waterman, "rowing along", thinking of nothing at all.
1992. 39p.
No, we were never at a loss for topics to heatedly debate.
​
1906. 37p.
ever that quiet undercurrent of inexhaustible curiosity about each other as an Ego, a psychic fact not yet mutually explained.
1992. 39p.
ever that quiet undercurrent of inexhaustible curiosity about each other as a personality, a psychic miracle never to be mutually explained.
​
1906. 37p.
the Other, is a being not yet fully outlined, as one whom we would understand even from the farthest-away time when neither friend suspected the other's existence
1992. 39p.
the Other, is a being not yet fully outlined, it was as though we could understand even a time past when neither friend suspected the other's existence
​
1906. 37-38p.
So met, the simple personal retrospect is an ever new affair of detail for them, with its queries, its confessions, its comparisons. «I thought that, but now I think this. Once on a time I believed that, but now I believe this. I did so and so, in those old days; but now, not so. I have desired, hoped, feared, purposed, such or such a matter then; now no longer. Such manner of man have I been, whereas nowadays my identity before myself is thus and so.» Or, it is the presenting of what has been enduringly a part of ourselves, and is likely ever abide such? Ah, these are the moods and tenses of the heart and the soul in friendship! more and more willingly uttered and listened-to as intimacy and confidence thrive. Two natures are seeking to blend.
1992. 39-40p.
As we slowly grew to realized our mutual interests, our mutual humours and indeed our as-yet hidden, mutual desires, we slowly began to unravel the other's layering of faces, laying of opinions, confessions, hopes, and desires—and of course, later, our mutual fear. Is the presenting of what has been enduringly a part of ourselves, only to find a missing component, the true satisfaction of friendship, and deeper still of love? More and more willingly we uttered and listened to our intimacy and confidence thrive. Our two natures instinctively sought to blend.
​
1906. 38p.
while yet something of a stranger to it; opening to him any doors and windows that will throw light on the labyrinth of rooms and corridors, wishing to keep none shut. . . . perhaps not even some specially haunted, remote and even black-hung chamber.
1992. 40p.
while yet something of a stranger to it: I was pleased to open to him any doors and windows that will throw light on the labyrinth of rooms and corridors, wishing to keep none shut. . . . perhaps not even some beautiful, haunting, and mysterious chamber.
​
1906. 38p.
[...] the Master, who at last, has arrived!
Probably this is the best place in my narrative [...]
1992. 40-44p.
[...] the Master, who at last, has arrived!
I write of castles, because falling in love with Imre was like discovering a welcome new land, a beautiful new home. His soul, I oft fancied, was mine to explore. I readily laid open the doors to my own being with joy at meeting so worthy a companion with whom I could share so many varied opinions and ideas. Yet there was something between us that I could innately sense; a reticence on both our parts to give admittance to a certain chamber of this luxurious new castle. That chamber where my deepest passions lay, the chamber where my bed stood, the room where I did my most profound thinking, and where the fires that kept me wide-eyed and tight of throat late into the midnight hours could—if for but a few moments—be quelled.
I felt compelled on more than one occasion when alone to suddenly, impulsively cry out my burning desire for him. I wished desperately to relieve my soul unto him. I wanted to tell him that, each night when we parted, I felt as though I were being robbed. That Night himself had stolen him from me once again. But night after night I returned to my bed-chamber, alone, morose and wakeful with thoughts of the day that I had just passed in the delightful company of Imre.
I would lay there re-forming him in my mind, taking immense pleasure in slowly drawing him on my imagination’s canvas. But I must add that my inspiration was fueled by erotic desire. I would recreate the tilt of his dark curly head, the sleek slant of his almond-shape green eyes, in their sparkling lively dance. I would dream the angles and contours of his wonderful body moving in lynx-like movements though the cobbled streets as we walked side by side.
At times I believed Imre was aware of the fact that I was secretly stealing glances at him: Imre as he leaned upon a tavern-counter, his index finger gently caressing the lip of his drinking glass; Imre kneeling, the true dimensions of his muscular back showing themselves through the dampened fabric of his soldier’s blouse. But I could not seem to stop myself from at least taking a visual essence of him home with me when we parted at day’s end. I would selfishly and greedily indulge myself by using this information to fuel my imaginings.
Better now than only last week could I envision the lay and lines of sumptuous flesh and muscle as it so perfectly stretched and draped across Imre’s frame. A patchwork collection of images and memories helped me to place his true form with some degree of precision: the thickness of Imre's biceps from within their shirtsleeves as he took some tool from the ground: the deep cut of his pectorals over the grooved muscles of his abdomen, from when he twisted upon his seat, drawing tight the fabric of his blouse over his torso; the manly flare of Imre's thighs and buttocks—so tantalizingly sealed within the snug fit of his trousers—before they drew into the belt of his waist, from when he reached high upon a cupboard or knelt low to pet a dog or caress the cheek of a child: and not the least, the positively maddening impression of his ample endowments placed into the fork of his pants, a gorgeous mound whose appearance I had enjoyed on rare occasions while Imre dozed in the summer sun.
On rarer occasions I thought that Imre might be gazing back at my not unpleasant body, but then I thought otherwise, for his behavior towards me was always nothing more than friendly. Lonely, at night, I would in fact fabricate a return of the addiction and desire that I had secreted in my innermost thoughts. I began to realize that I would most likely have to be satisfied with my daydreams, my night-thoughts and the pleasure of Imre’s platonic companionship.
One night in particular, my waking thoughts bled into a fabulous sleeping fantasy. I dreamed that Imre and I lived in a world, a wonderful mystic place, wherein my love for him would not have to replain locked within the fortress of such secrecy and shame. I dreamed that he and I walked arm and arm down this city’s streets chatting happily. The lingering touch of his hand on my arm was a mere promise, a certainty of later intimacies. In my dream, our greatest passions were realized in full. We spent the evening very much like we did in reality, talking with great animation on a variety of subjects at some modest cafe late at night. Yet as the evening drew to a close, in my dream, Imre did not merely clasp my hand in farewell, but there was no farewell. Indeed, Imre leaned across the expanse that separated our bodies and kissed me upon my lips. And when our lips met, when our flesh chanced to brush against on another’s, it was as though a flint and stone had been struck, sending sparkes of erotic delight throughout my entre body. He would take my body, bigger and broader than his own—though not nearly as coiled and tightly muscled—and he would relish and ravish it. He would run his sweet tongue along my side, stopping to taste the musk of my under-arm before grinning and biting into the flesh at my shoulder. When our lips met again, this time his tongue would dip into my mouth, tasting me from within, mixing my saliva with his own.
The taste of his flesh, the smell of his body so close, racked my unconscious body with burning arousal. The puckered and wrinkled hole in my bottom twitched with a frightful hunger, and that subsequent image of dear Imre, with his sparking green-dark eyes as he prepared to press his huge and throbbing cock into that hole was absolutely electrifying. So much so that, alas, I awoke with a start, flushed and swooning as wave upon wave of my pent-up essence burst into the tangled folds of my bedclothes.
[text break] Probably this is the best place in my narrative [...]
​
1906. 39p.
From them, as from two or three of his officer-friends with whom I occasionally foregathered, when Imre did not happen to be of the party of us, I derived facts—side-lights and perspectives—of use.
1992. 45p.
It was from them—as from two or three of his officer-friends in whose company I occasionally found myself when Imre had not happened to be free—that I derived facts—side-lights and perspectives—about Imre.
​
1906. 39p.
But the most part of what I note came from Imre's tendency toward introspection; and from his own frank lips.
1992. 45p.
But the most part of what I note came from Imre's tendency toward introspection; and from his own propensity towards frankness, about such things, at least.
​
1906. 39p.
He had been petted by even the merest strangers because of his engaging manners and his peculiarly striking boyish beauty.
1992. 45p.
He had attracted affection by even the merest strangers because of his engaging manners and his peculiarly striking beauty.
​
1906. 40p. contributed toward the outward semblance that was at least so desirable.
1992. 46p. contributed toward the outward semblance at least, that was so desirable.
​
1906. 40p. he played his unwelcome part well and manly
1992. 46p. he played his unwelcome part well and in manly fashion
​
1906. 40p. Imre von N... hadnagy, would have doffed gladly
1992. 46p. Imre von N. would have doffed gladly
​
1906. 40p. Ambition failed him, alas! just because he was at heart indifferent to the reward.
1992. 46p. Ambition failed him, alas! Simply because he was at heart indifferent to the reward.
​
1906. 41p. Imre led his life in Szent-Istvánhely so much to himself, however open to others it seemed to be.
1992. 46p. Imre led his life in Szent-Istvánhely so much to himself, however open to others it seemed to be.
​
1906. 41p.
As a fact he was so happily a creature of buoyant temperament, that his popularity was not surprising, on the basis of comrade-intercourse and of the pleasantly superficial side of a regimental life.
1992. 46p.
Yet as I grew to know him better and better, I could sense a great wailing storm and longing within him that he tried to bury with his charm. As for appearances, he was so happily a creature of buoyant temperament, that his popularity was not surprising.
​
1906. 42p. He was among the crack gymnasts
1992. 47p. He was among the finest gymnasts
​
1906. 43p. I have never seen any other man—unless Magyar, Italian or Arab—walk with such elasticity and dignity.
1992. 48p. I have never seen any other man walk with such elasticity and dignity.
​
1906. 43p. close-cut golden hair
1992. 48p. close-cut jet black hair
​
1906. 43p. As to his face (generally a detail of least relative importance in the male type), I do not intend to analyze
1992. 48p. As to his face, Imre's beautiful, sculptured face! I do not intend to analyze
​
1906. 43p. The actual features were delicate enough, but without womanish-ness.
1992. 48p. His features were delicate enough, but without womanly attributes.
​
1906. 44p. his merely technical beauty.
1992. 48p. his merely superficial beauty.
​
1906. 44p. I did not wonder that not only the women
1992. 48p. It was no wonder that not only the women
​
1906. 44p.
Those lustrous hazel eyes, with the white so clear around the pupils... the indwelling laughter in them that nevertheless could be overcast with so penetrating a seriousness...!
1992. 49p.
Those lustrous hazel eyes, with the white so clear around the pupils, his lively, laughing eyes that nevertheless hid penetrating seriousness...!
​
1906. 44p.
my own eyes suddenly blur. Yet why?. [sic] We should find tears rising for a living grief, not a living joy!
1992. 49p.
my own eyes suddenly blur. Yet why?
​
1906. 45p.
nor worried concerning the ultrafitting of his clothes, nor studied with anxiety details of his person
1992. 49p.
nor worried concerning the ultra fitting of his clothes, nor studied with anxious glances the details of his person
​
1906. 45p. baldness was gaining ground slyly, pitilessly, on the speaker's hyacinthine locks. [...] "Pooh, pooh" returned Imre, hadnagy, scornfully,
1992. 49-50p. baldness was gaining ground slyly, pitilessly, on the his hyacinthine locks. [...] "Pooh, pooh" returned Imre scornfully,
​
1906. 47p. from the much-married Karvaly, did Imre receive respecting this defect.
1992. 51p. from the recently married Karvaly, did Imre receive respecting this defect.
​
1906. 48p. I wish to record one thing at variance
1992. 51p. I must write one thing at variance
​
1906. 48p.
At least it was in contradiction to his showing such modest "literary impulses", his relative almost comical aversion to belles-lettres.. When Imre was deeply stirred over something or other that "struck home",
1992. 52p.
At least it was in contradiction to his showing such modest "literary impulses", and to his relative aversion to belles-lettres, and so on. When Imre was deeply stirred over something or other that "moved him,"
​
1906. 49p.
intercourse when it surged up. It must in most part be taken for granted; read between the lines now and then. But... one must be mindful of its natural explanation. For, after all, there was no miracle in it. Imre was a Magyar; one of a race in which sentimental eloquence is always lurking in the blood
1992. 52p.
intercourse when it surged up. Imre was a Magyar; one of a race in which an almost magical eloquence is always lurking in the blood
​
1906. 50p.
But he was a firm believer in [...] avoiding debts "when one could possibly do so" ([...] usually the case with young Hungarian officers living in a capital city, with small home-subventions); in honour; in womanly virtue; in a true tongue and a clean one.
1992. 53p.
But he was a firm believer in [...] avoiding debts "when one could possibly do so" ([...] usually the case with young Hungarian officers living in a capital city, with rather limited incomes).
​
1906. 51p.
But Lieutenant Imre von N.... had no relish for the stupid-smutty sallies and stock racontars of the officers' mess
1992. 53p.
But Lieutenant Imre von N. had no relish for the cheap sallies and stock raconteurs of the officers' mess
​
1906. 51p. he took uncertain because untaught interest in painting
1992. 54p. he took certain untaught interest in painting
​
1906. 51p. playing the piano-forte superbly well, as to general effect, with an amazingly bad technic of his own evolution,
1992. 54p. playing the piano-forte superbly well with an amazingly bad technique of his own evolution,
​
1906. 52p.
standing-place in the Royal Opera. He did not care for the society of professional musicians or of the theaterfolk in general. "They really are not worth while," he used to say... "art is one thing to me and artists another—or nothing at all—off the stage." As for more general society
1992. 54p.
standing-place in the Royal Opera.
As for more general society
​
1906. 53p. personal subjects sufficiently sobering for home-consumption
1992. 55p. personal subjects sufficiently sobering for private dialogues
​
1906. 54p. "I have tried to cultivate cheerfulness"
1992. 56p. "I have tried to cultivate happiness"
​
1906. 54p. two traits in our acquaintance, ab initio, which are of significance
1992. 56p. two traits in our acquaintance which are of significance
​
1906. 55p. neither of us octogenarians, nor troubled with super-sensitiveness
1992. 56p. neither of us elderly, nor troubled with most burdens of self-consciousness
​
1906. 55p.
Imre referred so little to Karvaly.... he seemed so indifferent to his absence, all at once... indeed he appeared to be shunning the topic... that I avoided it completely.
1992. 57p.
Imre referred so little to Karvaly that he seemed so indifferent to his absence, all at once. Indeed he appeared to be shunning the topic so that I avoided it completely.
​
1906. 55p.
It gradually was borne in upon me that he wished me to avoid it. So no more expansiveness
1992. 57p.
It gradually was borne in upon me that he wished me to avoid it. I have to admit that I regretted it not, for even as I first met Imre as we spoke so expansively of Karvaly, I did feel certain pangs of envy mixed in with my overwhelming delight with Imre himself. So no more expansiveness
​
1906. 56p. ordinary chatter about a young man's bonnes fortunes,
1992. 58. ordinary chatter about a young man's lusty adventures,
​
1906. 56p. assertions of vague, aristocratic, deep, unconfessed ties and adventures.
1992. 58p. assertions of vague, aristocratic, deep, unconfessed ties and gossips.
​
1906. 57p.
But when it came to his alluding, when we were by ourselves, to anything like really intimate sentimental—I would best plainly say amorous—relations with the other sex, Imre never opened his mouth
1992. 58p.
But when it came to his alluding, when we were by ourselves, to anything like really intimate relations with women—Imre never opened his mouth
​
1906. 57p.
one to whom woman was a sufficiently definite social and physical attraction . . . . necessity . . . quite as essentially as is to be expected with a young soldier of normal health and robust constitution.
1992. 59p.
one to whom woman was a sufficiently definite social and physical attraction; a necessity, quite as essential as is to be expected with a young soldier of such physical, personal beauty as him.
​
1906. 58p. He never so much alluded to a light-o' love, to an "affair"
1992. 59p. He never so much alluded to an affair
​
1906. 58p.
[...] his entire individuality.
In this connection, came a bit of an incident [...]
1992. 59-60p.
[...] his entire individuality.
Of course I have to add that I was secretly relieved that the majority of Imre’s focus seemed to be in our tensely fraternal relations. I write tense, because I know the reason for Imre’s smiling silence upon the issue of women. I was tormented by our mutual silence in regard to desire that grew more and more forceful with every passing day in my company with him.
On one occasion I even ventured to say, “I dreamed of you last night, Imre.” Yet, I was responded to with his enigmatic albeit charming smile of silence.
In this connection came a bit of an incident [...]
​
1906. 59p. "go into the tailoring-line yourself," he observed... "then you can adorn yourself
1992. 60p. "go into the tailoring-line yourself," he observed, "then you can adorn yourself
​
1906. 59p. a pretty woman makes eyes at you!... Are you under the impression
1992. 60p. a pretty woman makes eyes at you! Are you under the impression
​
1906. 59-60p.
So I suspended operations with my hairbrushes.
"You appear to be labouring with a remarkably difficult idea," said I.
He answered abruptly
1992. 61p.
So I suspended operations with my hairbrushes.
"Imre, I am your friend. Speak your heart freely in my home," said I, very generously.
He answered abruptly
​
1906. 60p.
See here, you! I wish... I wish you would tell me something.... you won't think me a conceited ass? Do you... for instance... do you... find me really specially good-looking... when you look around the lot of other men one sees.... in comparison with plenty of others, I mean?"
1992. 61p.
Here, you! I wish... I wish you would tell me something.... you won't think me a conceited ass? Do you, for instance... do you... find me really specially good-looking when you look around the lot of other men one sees—in comparison with plenty of others, I mean?"
​
1906. 60-61p.
uncalled-for earnestness in his tone. "You do not need to put me on oath, such a newcomer, too, into your society, to give you the conviction. Or, stay . . . how would you like me to draft you a kind of technical schedule, my dear fellow, stating how and why you are—not repulsive? I could give it to you, if I thought it would be good for you, and if you would listen to it. For you are one of those lucky ones in the world whose good-looks can be demonstrated, categorically, so to say—trait by trait—passport-style.
1992. 61-62p.
uncalled-for earnestness in his tone. Yet my heart leapt. The constraining ties of silence were at last coming a little unraveled. "You do not need to put me on oath, such a newcomer, too, into your society, to give you the conviction. For you are one of those lucky ones in the world whose good-looks can be easily called classical.
​
1906. 61p.
bestow even an half-eye on you! . . . some being who remains, first and last, totally unimpressed, brutally unmoved, by all your manly charms!
1992. 62p.
​bestow even an half-eye on you! Some being who remains, first and last, totally unimpressed, brutally unmoved, by all your charms!
​
​
II.
MASKS AND—A FACE.
​
1906. 81p.
So was it that about a week after the little incident closing the preceding portion of this narrative,
1992. 87p.
So was it that about a week after the conversation on the suspension bridge,
​
1906. 81p. I had been superstitiously.... absurdly... irresistibly oppressed
1992. 87. I had been superstitiously, absurdly, irresistibly oppressed
​
1906. 81p. if often, thank Heaven!
1992. 87p. if often, thank heaven!
​
1906. 82p.
To myself, I accounted for the mood as a simple reaction of temperament. For, I had been extremely happy lately; and now there was the ebb, not of the happiness, but of the hyper-sensitiveness to it all. The balance would presently be found, and I would be neither too glad nor too gloomy.
1992. 87p.
To myself, I accounted for the mood as a simple reaction to my despairing emotions concerning Imre and myself. But I tried to remain cheerful for I could not yet bring myself to quit his company. I appeared wondrously glad.
​
1906. 82p. "But why.. why... have you found your self so wonderfully happy lately?"
1992. 87p. "But why.. why... have you found your self so wonderfully happy lately?"
​
1906. 83p. in pleasant Szent-Istvánhely?—could not go on studying Magyar
1992. 88p. in pleasant Szent-Istvánhely? Could not go on studying Magyar
​
1906. 84p.
Austria, England. O dear, yes!... there were A.., and B..., and C... and so, on very decently through a whole alphabet of amities. Why should I feel
1992. 89p.
Austria, England. Why should I feel
​
1906. 84p. pleasant but not extraordinary intimacy, quite one de voyage on its face, between two men
1992. 89p. pleasant but not extraordinary intimacy, quite one de voyage on its face, between two men
​
1906. 85p.
Why did existence itself seem so ironical, so full of false notes, so capricious in its kindness... seem allowed us that we might not be glad in it as... Elsewhere?
1992. 89p.
Why did existence itself seem so ironic, so full of false notes, so capricious in its kindness?
​
1906. 86p. that one which Imre von N... had asked,.. "And why, pray,
1992. 89p. that one which Imre von N. had asked. "And why, pray,
​
1906. 86p. Imre "looked right, looked left, looked straight before" For an instant his look was almost painfully serious.
1992. 90p. For an instant his look was almost painfully serious.
​
1906. 86p. At this moment, up came the tram. It was packed with an excursion-party. We were hustled
1992. 90p. At this moment, up came the tram. We were hustled
​
1906. 86p. in the afternoon to England... why, what of it! We mustn't let the tragedy spoil our last afternoon. Eh?...
1992. 91p. in the afternoon to England. Why, what of it! We mustn't let the tragedy spoil our last afternoon. Eh?
​
1906. 87p. I have ceased to get into bad humour over any such contretemps.
1992. 91p. I have ceased to get into bad humour over any such contretemps.
​
1906. 88p. I was... shall I write piqued?—by what seemed to be his indifference
1992. 91-92p. I was piqued by what seemed to be his indifference
​
1906. 88p. I had inferred.... at least, colder than some other natures... had indeed learned
1992. 92p. I had inferred, at least colder than some other natures had indeed learned
​
1906. 88p. crosswise to my mood; so wholly intransigéant.
1992. 92p. crosswise to my mood; so wholly intransigent.
​
1906. 88p.
along with increasing bitterness of heart. It is edifying to observe what successive and sheer stupidities a man will perpetrate under such circumstances... edifying and pitiable!
1992. 92p.
along with increasing bitterness of heart.
​
1906. 89p. Ei! you over there!
1992. 92p. Hey! you over there!
​
1906. 89p. something suspiciously like a snap-shot in his hand
1992. 92p. something suspiciously like a sling-shot in his hand
​
1906. 89p. those snap-shots when a gipsey handles them are as bad as a fowling-piece.
1992. 92-93p. those sling-shots when a Gypsy handles them are as bad as a fowling-piece.
​
1906. 90p.
The atmosphere was a trifle electric! [...] as we strolled onward.
Thought I, "A pleasing couple of hours
1992. 93p.
The atmosphere was black and electric! [...] as we strolled onward. Thought I, "A pleasing couple of hours
​
1906. 90p. I had taken the right course not to "spoil this last afternoon together".... probably the last such in our lives!....
1992. 93p. I had taken the right course not to "spoil this last afternoon together!" Probably the last such in our lives!
​
1906. 92p.
toward daily life. And what is more, any worthy, any elevating profession, and in the case of the soldier the sense of himself as a prop and moral element in the State must not be insulted! The army-life even if
1992. 94p.
toward daily life. The army-life, even if
​
1906. 92p. he may find her presence lamentably unsympathisch.
1992. 95p. he may find her presence lamentably unsympathetic.
​
1906. 93p. For your father's sake and yours!.... You have shown
1992. 95p. For your father's sake and yours! You have shown
​
1906. 93-94p. you feel you can do any better?... beginning such an experiment at twenty-five years of age.... with no training
1992. 96p. you feel you can do any better? Beginning such an experiment at twenty-five years of age, with no training
​
1906. 94p. "Be a man? In this, as in all? [...] "I wish. But I cannot will..... Do not talk any more
1992. 96p. "Be a man? In this, as in all? [...] "I wish. But I cannot will—do not talk any more
​
1906. 95p. if you possess any earnest, definite regard
1992. 97p. if you possess any earnest, definite regard
​
1906. 95p. At least, not for me. Possibly for nobody, my dear N...!
1992. 97p. At least, not for me. Possibly for nobody, my dear!
​
1906. 95p. One, two... one, two... again was Imre walking along in silence
1992. 97p. Again, Imre walked along in silence.
​
1906. 97p. that love, a love indeed strong as death
1992. 98-99p. that love, a love indeed strong as death
​
1906. 98p. Such is life!... unless we are born sultans and kaisers... and if we are that
1992. 99p. Such is life! Unless we were born sultans and kaisers! And if we are that
​
1906. 99p. only worth their day with you?... have they no real,
1992. 100p. only worth their day with you? Have they no real,
​
1906. 99p.
Again a brief interval. Imre was beating a tattoo on his braided cap, and examining the top of that article with much attention.
1992. 100p.
Again there was a brief interval. Imre was beating a tattoo on his braided cap, and examining the top of it with overzealous attention.
​
1906. 100p. He began speaking gravely... kindly..
1992. 100p. He began speaking gravely—kindly—
​
1906. 101p. Why Oswald, you understand me... the real me! [...] Because I wished it... I hoped it.
1992. 101p. Why Oswald, you understand me... the real me! [...] Because I wished it. I hoped it.
​
1906. 102p.
You seem to forget some times that I am a man, and that you too are a man. Not either of us a—woman. Forgive me—I speak frankly. We are both of us, you and I, a bit over-sensitive... exalté... in type. Isn't that so? You often suggest a [...]—a love indeed [...] I mean back coming to me from any other man. [...] Our friendship must be friendship as the world of today accepts friendship! Yes—as the world of our day does.
1992. 102p.
You seem to forget something; that I am a man, and that you too are a man. You often suggest a [...]—a love indeed [...] I mean back coming to me from any other man. [...] Our friendship must be friendship as the world of today accepts friendship! Yes—as the world of our day does.
​
1906. 103p. into the vague distance... at whatsoever was visible
1992. 103p. into the vague distance at whatsoever was visible
​
1906. 103p.
I, cold-natured?.. Ah, ah! [...] But though friendship can be a passion... can cast a spell over us that we cannot comprehend nor unbind"... here he withdrew his hard
1992. 103p.
I, cold-natured? Ah, ah! [...] But though friendship can be a passion, it can cast a spell over us that we cannot comprehend nor unbind." Here he withdrew his hard
​
1906. 106p. Of that pray think, carefully.
1992. 105p. Of that pray think, carefully.
​
1906. 106p. adding "I am ready, Oswald."
1992. 105p. adding—"I am ready, Oswald."
​
1906. 106-107p. From the time when I was a lad, Imre... a little child... I felt myself unlike other boys
1992. 105-106p. From the time when I was a lad, Imre, I felt myself unlike other boys
​
1906. 107p. other lads had no such passional sentiment,
1992. 106p. other lads had no such passionate sentiments,
​
1906. 108p.
But this other, more romantic, emotion in me . . . so strongly physical, sexual, as well as spiritual. . . it met with a really like and equal and full response once only. Just as my school-life was closing, with my sixteenth year (nearly my seventeenth) came a friendship with a newcomer into my classes, a lad of a year older than myself, of striking beauty of physique, and uncommon strength of character.
1992. 107p.
But this other, more romantic, emotion in me so strongly physical, sexual, as well as spiritual it met with a really like and equal and full response once only. Just after the close of my school-life came a friendship with an older gentlemen, of striking beauty of physique, and uncommon strength of character.
​
1906. 109p. after a few months together, my schoolmate, all at once, became ill
1992. 107p. after a few passionate months together, my love, my teacher, all at once, became ill
​
1906. 109p.
my nature had gone out to my young mate, nor how his being spontaneously so had blent itself with mine. I was not seventeen years old, as I said.
1992. 107-108p.
my nature had gone out to my young mate, nor how his being spontaneously so had melded itself with mine.
​
1906. 109p. "So I never spoke of my dead mate."
1992. 108p. "So I never spoke of my dead lover."
​
1906. 110p.
the Over-Friendship, the Love-Friendship of Hellas—which meant that between man and man could exist—the sexual-psychic love.
1992. 108p.
the Over-Friendship, the Lánczhidove-Friendship of Hellas—which meant that between man and man could exist, the sexual-psychic love.
​
1906. 111p. what it all meant to most people today!—from the disgust
1992. 109p. what it all meant to most people today! From the disgust
​
1906. 111p. That was now as ever, a nameless horror [...] Therefore, I was, of course,.. [sic]
1992. 109p. That was now as ever, a nameless horror [...] Therefore, I was, of course...
​
1906. 112p. wasting his really unmated individuality, years-long.
1992. 110p. wasting his really unmated individuality years-long.
​
1906. 114p. one master-instinct unsuspected by society
1992. 111p. one master-instinct unsuspected by society
​
1906. 115p. "the will to possess, the wish to surrender" . . oh, then is the flouting world quite right! For then we are indeed not men!
1992. 112p. 'the will to possess, the wish to surrender.' Oh, then is the flouting world quite right! For then we were indeed not men!
​
1906. 116p. "Those, those, terrified me, Imre!"
1992. 112p. "Those, those, terrified me, Imre!"
​
1906. 116-117p.
[...] any noble ideals or lives. Ah, those patently depraved, noxious, flaccid, gross, womanish beings! perverted and imperfect in moral nature and in even their bodily tissues! Those homosexual legions that are the straw-chaff of society; good for nothing except the fire that purges the world of garbage and rubbish! A Heliogabalus, a Gilles de Rais, a Henri Trois, a Marquis de Sade; the painted male-prostitutes of the boulevards and twilight-glooming squares! The effeminate artists, the sugary and fibreless musicians! The Lady Nancyish, rich young men of higher or lower society; twaddling æsthetic sophistries; stinking with perfume like cocottes! The second-rate poets and the neurasthenic, précieux poetasters who rhyme forth their forged literary passports out of their mere human decadence; out of their marrowless shams of all that is a man's fancy, a man's heart, a man's love-life! The cynical debauchers of little boys; the pederastic perverters of clean-minded lads in their teens; the white-haired satyrs of clubs and latrines!"
What a contrast are these to great Oriental princes and to the heroes
1992. 113p.
[...] any noble ideals or lives. And then I chanced to meet a very great and intelligent man who taught me that there was love to be had between men. True love!" And I hesitated briefly, summoning the courage to continue.
"This fine man told me of the great Oriental princes and to the heroes
​
1906. 118p. did not the widest overlook of the record of Uranianism,
1992. 114p. did not the widest overlook of the record of homosexuality,
​
1906. 118p.
Was our Race gold or excrement?—as rubies or as carrion? If that last were one's final idea, why then all those other men, the Normalists, aye, our severest judges,
1992. 114p.
Was our Race gold or excrement? As rubies or as carrion? If that last were one's final idea, why then all those other men, our severest judges,
​
1906. 119p. rightfully, eternally—in millions of hearts?... Could one believe
1992. 114p. rightfully, eternally—in millions of hearts? Could one believe
​
1906. 119-120p.
Could one somehow find in his spirit no dread through this, none, at the idea of facing God, as his Judge, at any instant?... could one feel at moments such strength of confidence that what was in him so was righteousness?... oh, could all this be?—and yet must a man shudder before himself as a monster, a solitary and pernicious being—diseased, leprous, gangrened—one that must stagger along on the road of life, ever justly shunned, ever justly bleeding and ever the more wearied, till Death would meet him, and say "Come—enough!—Be free of all!—be free of thyself most of all!"
1992. 115p.
But I long for the day when men such as myself will gather and say in one strong voice, "Come— enough!—Be free of all!"
​
1906. 120p.
Or a broken murmur of something coming to his lips in his own tongue? Was it—no, impossible!... was it a sort of sob, strangled in his throat?
1992. 115p.
Or a broken murmur of something coming to his lips? Was it—no, impossible! I thought I heard a sort of sob, strangled in his throat!
​
1906. 120p. You must not think that I had not had friendships [...] free from this other accent in them.
1992. 115p. You must not think that I had not had friendships [...] free from this other accent in them.
​
1906. 121p.
no matter what they are they still are not, of the Type; of that eternal, mysteriously-disturbing cruel Type, which so vibrates sexually against my hidden Self."
1992. 115p.
no matter what they are I had not yet found love. Of that eternal, mysteriously-disturbing cruel emotion, which so vibrates sexually against my hidden Self."
​
1906. 121p.
How I dreaded, yet sought that Type!... [...] to give me that hated sexual stir and sympathy
1992. 115-116p.
How I dreaded, yet sought that love! [...] to give me a greater sexual stir and sympathy
​
1906. 121-125p.
But fortunately these encounters failed of full realization. Or what might have been my fate passed me by on the other side. But I learned from them how I could feel toward the man who could be in his mind and body my ideal; my supremest Friend. Would I ever meet him?... meet him again?... I could say to myself—remembering that episode of my schooldays. Or would I never meet him! God forbid that! For to be all my life alone, year after year, striving to content myself with pleasant shadow instead of glowing verity!... Ah, I could well exclaim in the cry of Platen:
"O, weh Dir, der die Welt verachtet, allein zu sein Und dessen ganze Seele schmachtet allein zu sein!"
"One day a book came to my hand. It was a serious work, on abnormalisms in mankind: a book partly psychologic, partly medico-psychiatric; of the newest 'school'. It had much to say of homosexualism, of Uranianism. It considered and discussed especially researches by German physicians into it. It described myself, my secret, unrestful self, with an unsparing exactness! The writer was a famous specialistic physician in nervous diseases, abnormal conditions of the mind, and so on-an American. For the first time I understood that responsible physicians, great psychologists—profound students of humanities, high jurists, other men in the world besides obscene humourists of a club-room, and judges and police-courts—knew of men like myself and took them as serious problems for study, far from wholly despicable. This doctor spoke of my kind as simply—diseased. "Curable", absolutely "curable"; so long as the mind was manlike in all else the body firm and normal. Certainly that was my case! Would I not therefore do well to take one step which was stated to be most wise and helpful toward correcting as perturbed a relation as mine had become to ordinary life? That step was—to marry. To marry immediately!"
"The physician who had written that book happened to be in England at the time. I had never thought it possible that I could feel courage to go to any man... save that one vague sympathizer, my dream-friend, he who some day would understand all!.. and confess myself; lay bare my mysterious nature. But if it were a mere disease, oh, that made a difference! So I visited the distinguished specialist at once. He helped me urbanely through my embarrassing story of my... 'malady'.... "Oh, there was nothing extraordinary, not at all extraordinary in it, from the beginning to the end," the doctor assured me, smiling. In fact, it was "exceedingly common... All confidential specialists in nervous diseases knew of hundreds of just such cases. Nay, of much worse ones, and treated and cured them... A morbid state of certain sexual-sensory nerve-centers"... and so on, in his glib professional diagnosis."
—"So I am to understand that I am curable?"—"Curable? Why, surely. Exactly as I have written in my work; as Doctor So-and-So, and the great psychiatric Professor Such-a-One, proved long ago... Your case my dear sir, is the easier because you suffer in a sentimental and sexual way from what we call the obsession of a set, distinct Type, you see; instead of a general... h'm... how shall I style it... morbidity of your inclinations. It is largely mere imagination! You say you have never really 'realized' this haunting masculine Type which has given you such trouble? My dear sir, don't think any more about such nonsense!... you never will 'realize' it in any way to be... h'm... disturbed. Probably had you married and settled down pleasantly, years ago, you often would have laughed heartily at the whole story of such an illusion of your nature now. Too much thought of it all, my dear friend! too much introspection, idealism, sedentary life, dear sir! Yes, yes, you must marry—God bless you!"
"I paid my distinguished specialist his fee and came away, with a far lighter heart than I had had in many a year."
"Marry! Well, that was easily to be done.
1992. 116p.
But I learned from them how I could feel toward the man who could be in his mind and body my ideal; my beloved. Would I ever meet him? Meet him again? I could say to myself—remembering the love of my schooldays.
At last I sought the help of a doctor who simply told me that I would be 'cured' if I were to marry. Suddenly, I was light-hearted. I paid the man and went in search of a wife—my cure!
"Marry! Well, that was easily to be done.
​
1906. 125-126p.
They do not understand the reason of our attraction for them, of their confidence, their strengthening sentiment. For we seldom betray to them our secret, and they seldom have knowledge, or instinct, to guess its mystery. But alas! it is the irony of our nature that we cannot return to any woman, except by a lie of the body and the spirit, (often being unable to compass or to endure that wretched subterfuge) a warmer glow than affection's calmest pulsations. Several times, before my consulting Dr. D... I had had the opportunity of marrying 'happily and wisely' - if marriage with any woman could have meant only a friendship. Naught physical, no responsibility of sex toward the wife to whom one gives oneself. But "the will to possess, the desire to surrender", the negation of what is ourself which comes with the arms of some one other human creature about us—ours about him—long before, had I understood that the like of this joy was not possible for me with wife of mistress. It had seemed to me hopeless of attempt. If marriage exact that effort.. good God! then it means a growing wretchedness, riddle and mystery for two human beings, not for one. Stay! it means worse still, should they not be childless......"
1992. 116p.
But alas! it is the irony of our nature that we cannot return to any woman, except by a lie of the body and the spirit, marriage with any woman could have meant only a friendship.
​
1906. 127-128p.
I fancied that I loved her. Besides, my betrothed was not exacting, Imre. In fact, as I now think over those few weeks of our deeper intimacy, I can discern how I was favoured in my new relationship to her by her sensitive, maidenly shrinking from the physical nearness, even the touch, of the man who was dear to her... how troubling the sense of any man's advancing physical dominancy over her. Yet do not make the mistake of thinking that she was cold in her calm womanliness; or would have held herself aloof as a wife. It was simply virginal, instinctive reserve. She loved me
1992. 117p.
I fancied that I loved her. She loved me
​
1906. 128p. "It was not to be, however, this deliverance, this salvation for me!"
1992. 117p. "It was not to be, however!
​
1906. 129p. it was as if that dead schoolmate of mine
1992. 118p. it was as if that dead lover of mine
​
1906. 129p.
a mysterious bond of soul and of body... the Man-Type which owned me and ever must own me, soul and body together—had started forth in a perfect avatar. Out of the slumberous past [...] it had come to me! The Man, the Type, that thing which meant for me the fires of passion not to be quenched
1992. 118p.
a mysterious bond of soul and of body. Out of the slumberous past [...] it had come to me! The fires of passion not to be quenched
​
1906. 129p. My peace was gone—if ever I had had true peace.
1992. 118p. My brief flight of peace was momentarily shattered—if ever I had had true peace.
​
​1906. 131p. terror the psychic effects it wrought in me..... My hopes
1992. 119p. terror the psychic effects it wrought in me. My hopes
​
​1906. 131p. He could not love a man so.
1992. 120p. He could not love a man so.
​
1906. 131p.
only a woman. He was the normal, I the abnormal. In that, alone, he failed to meet all that was I:
"O, the little more, and how much it is! And the little less.. and what worlds away!"
"Did I keep my secret perfectly from him?"
1992. 120p.
only a woman.
In the gathering darkness, I swallowed and proceeded: "Did I keep my secret perfectly from him?"
​
1906. 131-141p.
"Presently, during that same winter, accident opened my eyes wider to myself. From then, I have needed no further knowledge from the Tree of my Good and Evil. I met with a mass of serious studies, German, Italian, French, English, from the chief European specialists and theorists on the similisexual topic: many of them with quite other views than those of my well-meaning but far too conclusive Yankee doctor. I learned of the much-discussed theories of "secondary sexes" and "intersexes". I learned of the theories and facts of homosexualism, of the Uranian Love, of the Uranian Race, of "the Sex within a Sex". I could, at last, inform myself fully of its mystery, and of the logical, inevitable and necessary place in sexualism, of the similisexual man, and of the similisexual woman".
"I came to know their enormous distribution all over the world today; and of the grave attention that European scientists and jurists have been devoting to problems concerned with homosexualism. I could pursue intelligently the growing efforts to set right the public mind as to so ineradicable and misunderstood a phase of humanity. I realized that I had always been a member of that hidden brotherhood and Sub-Sex, or Super-Sex. In wonder, too I informed myself of its deep, instinctive, freemasonries—even to organized ones—in every social class, every land, every civilization: of the signs and symbols and safeguards of concealment. I could guess that my father, my grandfather and God knows how many earlier forerunners of my unhappy Ego, had been of it! "Cure?" By marriage? By marriage, when my blood ran cold at the thought!...... The idea was madness, in a double sense. Better a pistol-shot to my heart! So first, I found pretexts to excuse meetings with my bride-not-to-be, avoiding thus a comedy which now was odious as a lie and insupportable as a nervous demand. Next, I pleaded business-worries. So the marriage was postponed for three months further. Then I discovered a new obstacle to bring forward. With that, the date of the wedding was made indefinite. Then came some idle gossip, unjust reflections on my betrothed and on myself. I knew well where blame enough should fall, but not that sort of blame. An end had to be! I wrote my betrothed, begging my freedom, giving no reason. She released me, telling me that she would never marry any other man. She keeps her word to-day. I drew my breath in shame at my deliverance. "Any other man!"
"So seldom had I referred to my betrothal in talking with my new friend that he asked me no questions when I told him it was ended. He mistook my reserve; and respected it rigidly."
"During that winter, I was able to prove myself a friend in deed and need to him. Twice, by strange fatality, a dark cloud came over his head. I might not dare to show him that he was dearer than myself; but I could protect and aid him. For, do not think that he had no faults. He had more than few; he was no hero, no Galahad. He was careless, he was foolishly obstinate, he made missteps; and punishment came. But not further than near. For I stood between! At another time his over-confidence in himself, his unsuspiciousness, almost brought him to ruin, with a shameful scandal! I saved him, stopping the mouths of the dogs that were ready to howl, as well as to tear. I did so at the cost of impairing my own material welfare; worse still, alas! with a question of duty to others. Then, once again, as that year passed, he became involved in a difference, in which certain of my own relatives, along with some near friends of my family were concerned; directors in a financial establishment in our city. I took his part. By that step, I sacrificed the good-will and the longtime intimacy of the others. What did I care? 'The world well lost!' thought I".
"Then, from that calm sky, thickened and fell on me the storm; and for my goodly vineyard I had Desolation!"
"One holiday, he happened to visit some friends in the town where was living my betrothed.. that had been. He heard there, in a club's smoking-room, a tale 'explaining'—positively and circumstantially, why my engagement had been broken. The story was a silly falsehood; but it reflected on my honour. He defended me instantly and warmly. That I heard. But his host, after the sharp passing altercation was over, the evening ended, took him aside to tell him privately that, while friendship for me made it a credit to stand out for me, the tale was "absolutely true". He returned to me late that night. He was thoroughly annoyed and excited. He asked me, as I valued my good name and his public defence of it, to give him, then and there, the real, the decisive reason for my withdrawing from my engagement. He would not speak of it to anyone; but he would be glad to know, now, on what ground he rested. I admitted that my betrothed had not wished the withdrawing."
"That was the first thing counter to what he had insisted at the club. He frowned in perplexity. Ah, so the matter was wholly from myself? I assented. Would I further explain?... so that at least he could get rid of one certain local statement... of that other one. An argument rose between us that grew to a sharp altercation. It was our first one, as well as our last. We became thoroughly angry, I the more so, because of what I felt was a manifest injustice to myself. Finally there was no other thing left than for me to meet his appeal—his demand. "No matter what was the root of the mystery, no matter what any attitude toward me because of it, he must know"... Still I hung back. Then, solemnly, he pledged me his word that whatever I might disclose, he "would forgive it"; it should "never be mentioned between us two again"; only provided that it bore out his defence of my relation to a faithful and pure woman."
"So—I yielded! Lately, the maddening wish to tell him all at any risks, the pressure of passion and its concealment... they had never so fiercely attacked me! In a kind of exalted shame, but in absolute sincerity, I told him all! I asked nothing from him, except his sympathy, his belief in whatever was my higher and manlier nature... as the world judges any man... and the toleration of our friendship on the lines of its past. Nothing more: not a handclasp not a look, not a thought more; the more continued sufferance of my regard. Never again need pass between us so much as a syllable or a glance to remind him of this pitiable confession from me, to betray again the mysterious fire that burned in me underneath our intimacy. He had not suspected anything of it before. It could be forgotten by him from now, onward."
"Did I ask too much? By the God that made mankind, Imre—that made it not only male or female but also as We are... I do not think I did!"
"But he, he thought otherwise! He heard my confession through with ever more hostile eyes
1992. 121-122p.
"And of my dear friend, at last I could not contain my feelings for the man and one late evening I told him all! I confessed to disengaging from my betrothed because upon meeting him, I realized that now only could I love men alone, but that I loved him!"
"He heard my confession through with ever more hostile eyes
​
1906. 141p. even a kind of logically essential link, a between-step....
1992. 122p. even a kind of logically essential link, a between-step....
​
1906. 141p.
stay, I will not say that!... because you wished me to be.... [...] what-ever you are!
1992. 122p.
stay, I will not say that!... because you wished me to be.... [...] what-ever you are!
​
1906. 142-144p.
But now, now, I knew that it was to be a refuge, an exile!"
"For so began those interminable, those mysterious, restless pilgrimages, with no set goals for me; those roamings alone, of which even the wider world, not to say this or that circle of friends, has spoken with curiosity and regret. My unexplained and perpetual exile from all that earlier meant home, sphere, career, life! My wandering and wandering, ever striving to forget, ever struggling to be beguiled intellectually at least; to be diverted from so profound a sense of loss. Or to attain a sort of emotional assoupissement, to feel myself identified with new scenes, to achieve a new identity. Little by little, my birth-land, my people, became strange to me. I grew wholly indifferent to them. I turned by back fuller on them, evermore. The social elements, the grades of humanity really mine, the concerns of letters, of arts,... from these I divorced myself utterly. They knew me no more. In some of them, already I had won a certain repute; but I threw away its culture as one casts aside some plant that does not seem to him worth watering and tending."
"And indeed the zest of these things, their reason for being mine, seemed dead.... asphyxiated! For, they had grown to be so much a part of what had been the very tissue of intimacy, of life, with him! I fled them all. Never now did my foot cross the threshold of a picture-gallery, never did I look twice at the placard of a theater, never would I enter a concert-room or an opera-house, never did I care to read a romance, a poem, or to speak with any living creature of aesthetics that had once so appealed to me! Above all did my aversion to music (for so many years a peculiar interest for me)—become now a dull hatred,..... a detestation, a contempt, a horror!... super-neurotic, quintessently sexual, perniciously homosexual art—mystery—that music is! For me, no more symphonies, no more sonatas, no more songs!... No more exultations, elegies, questions to Fate of any orchestra!... Nevermore!"
"And yet, involuntarily, sub-consciously,
1992. 123p.
But now, now, I knew that it was to be a refuge, an exile!"
"And yet, involuntarily, sub-consciously,
​
1906. 144-145p.
I was always hoping... seeking—something. [...] Sometimes I cried out as to that, "God forbid it!" For I dreaded such a chance now; realizing the more what it would most likely not offer me.
1992. 123p.
I was always hoping... seeking—something. [...] Sometimes I cried out as to that, "God forbid it!" For I dreaded such a chance now; realizing the more what it would most likely not offer me.
​
1906. 145p.
Yet I was hoping—seeking—I say: even if there was no vigour of expectancy, but rather in my mind the melancholy lines of the poet:
"And are there found two souls, that each the other
Wholly shall understand? Long must man search
In that deep riddle—seek that Other soul
Until he dies! Seeking, despairing—dies!"
"Or, how easy to meet such a man
1992. 124p.
Yet I was hoping—seeking—I say: even if there was no vigour of expectancy."
And with my last ounces of courage, I did conclude: "Or, how easy to meet such a man
​
1906. 146p. "And nevertheless, the Type that still so stirred my nature?
1992. 124p. "And nevertheless, the desires that still so stirred my nature?
​
1906. 147-149p.
"Have I really ceased to dream of this grace for me, this vision—as years have passed?"
"Never, alas! I have been haunted by it; however suppressed in my heart. And some thing like its embodiment has crossed my way, really nearly granted me again; more than once. There was a young English officer, with whom I was thrown for many weeks, in a remote Northern city. We became friends; and the confidence between us was so great that I trusted him with the knowledge of what I am. And therewith had I in turn, a confession from him of a like misfortune, the story of his passion for a brother-officer in a foreign service, that made him one of the most wretched men on the face of the world—while everyone in his circle of home-intimates and regimental friends fancied that he had not a trouble in life! There was, too, one summer in Bosnia, a meeting with a young Austrian architect; a fellow of noble beauty and of high, rich nature. There was a Polish friend, a physician—now far off in Galizien. There was an Italian painter in Rome. But such incidents were not full in the key. Hence, they moved me only so far and no farther. Other passings and meetings came. Warm friendship often grew out of them; tranquil, lasting, sustaining friendship!—that soul-bond not over-common with us, but, when really welded, so beautiful, so true, so enduring!..."
"But one thing I had sworn, Imre; and I have kept my word! That so surely as ever again I may find myself even half-way drawn to a man by the inner passion of an Uranian love—not by the mere friendship of a colder psychic complexion—if that man really shows me that he cares for me with respect, with intimate affection, with trust... then he shall know absolutely what manner of man I am! He shall be shown frankly with what deeper than common regard he has become a part of my soul and life! He shall be put to a test!... with no shrinkings on my part. Better break apart early, than later... if he say that we break! Never again, if unquiet with such a passion, would I attempt to wear to the end the mask, to fight out the lie, the struggle! I must be taken as I am, pardoned for what I am; or neither pardoned nor taken. I have learned my lesson once and well. But the need of my maintaining such painful honesty has come seldom. I have been growing in to expecting no more of life, no realizing whatever of the Type that had been my undoing, that must mean always my peace or my deepest unrest... till I met you, Imre! Till I met you!"
"Met you! Yes, and a strange matter in my immediately passionate interest in you... another one of the coincidences in our interest for each other... is the racial blood that runs in your veins. You are a Magyar. You have not now to be told of the unexplainable, the mysterious affinity betwen [sic] myself and your race and nation; of my sensitiveness, ever since I was a child, to the chord which Magyarország and the Magyar sound in my heart. Years have only added to it, till thy land, thy people, Imre, are they not almost my land, my people? Now I have met thee.
1992. 125p.
"Have I really ceased to dream of this grace for me, this vision—as years have passed?
"And then my hope returned when I met you, Imre.
"Met you! Yes!" My voice strengthened and I began speaking in the familiar terms of Magyarország with its soft archaic thee's and thou's. Now I have met thee.
​
1906. 150p. I should love thee, no matter what thy race... that I believe!
1992. 125p. I should love thee. That I believe!
​
1906. 150p.
no man shall ever meet any intelligent civilization's disrespect simply because he is similisexual, Uranian! But—oh, Imre, Imre!—I love thee, as can love only the Uranian... once more helpless, and therewith hopeless!
1992. 125-126p.
no man shall ever meet any intelligent civilization's disrespect simply because he loves another man! But—oh, Imre, Imre!—I love thee, as men can only love. Once more helpless, and therewith hopeless!
​
1906. 150p.
We are what we are! . . . This terrible life of ours . . . this existence that men insist on believing is almost all to be understood nowadays—probed through and through—decided! . . . but that ever was and will be just mystery, all!. . . . . . Friendship between us? Oh, whether we are near or far! Forever! Forever, Oswald! . . . Here, take my hand! As long as I live. . . and beyond then! Yes, by God above us, by God in us!
1992. 127p.
We are what we are!...Forever! Forever, Oswald!
"Here, take my hand!" whispered Imre, and in the gathering shadows, he touched my fingers and took my trembling palms into his own.
His words were so beautiful to me, and yet still at this late moment their source, this man Imre, struggled with the vast doubts of tangled fears and passions. And yet I stayed my own listing hopes and mounting fears to listen, to hear Imre as if these would be out last moments to share together on Earth:
"As long as I live. . . and beyond then!" cried Imre. "Yes, my God above us, my God in us!
​
1906. 153-154p.
Thou wilt promise?"
With his hand in mind [sic], my heart so lightened that I was as a new creature, forgetting even the separation before me, I promised. Gladly, too. For, instead of loss, with this parting, what gain was mine! Imre knew me now as myself!—he really knew me: and yet was now rather the more my friend than less, so I could believe, after this tale of mine had been told him! His sympathy—his respect—his confidence—his affection—his continued and deeper share in my strange and lonely life—even if lands and seas should divide us two—ah, in those instants of my reaction and relief, it seemed to me that I had everything that my heart had ever sought of him, or would seek! I made the promise too, gladly with all my soul. Why should he or I ever speak of any stranger emotions again?
Abruptly, after another long pressure of my hand, my friend started up.
"Oswald we must go home!"
1992. 128-134p.
Thou wilt promise?"
And yet despite these words, after only a single moment’s pause, dream to my dreaming, Imre leaned forward, and kissed me on the lips. Our moist flesh met, and the single spark released of the true and bottle passion we shared ignited and set ablaze the chaotic, terrifying darkness within which I had been whirling about as I had spoke. All the darkness of my endless, lonely search was suddenly vanquished with the brilliant flare of reciprocated desire. My emptiness dissipated as Imre’s lips filled every corner of my heretofore perceived being. As he leaned into me and met my lips with his, I felt my physical being change and metamorphose. His touch was almost exact to the sensation of his caresses in my dreams. He held me fiercely, he held on to me in the dark, so close to his quaking chest, and I joyfully returned the passionate kiss.
Our tongues touched, entwining hungrily, deeply within this, our very first kiss. We caressed one another moving our hands to one another’s temples, cheeks, shoulders and arms. I moved on our bench in an effort to be nearer to Imre, and he clutched me until we broke into a frenzy of mutual discovery. Surely we had been starved, deprived of this intimacy for so very long, and now we nearly tore at each other’s flesh in this devouring embrace. We stayed, our lips, our tongues pressed together for what seemed to be a timeless expanse. Our kiss had moved through a languor that gave way to a violent search, as if somewhere within this kiss could be found our very souls. Kissing Imre was like tasting the most magical, the finest of all the wines in the world. I was intoxicated.
I moved my fingers through Imre’s jet black hair, a single action about which I had spent many waking moments fantasizing, and found it to be as soft to the touch as it was to the eye. His fingertips traced the outline of my neck, of my breast within the confines of my shirt. He traced delicate circles around the sensitive aureole of my nipples though the soft, thin fabric. They became erect, and my chest seemed to thrust forward, pushing into his touch, of its own accord.
Imre began to furiously unbutton the ivory clasps of my blouse, as I continued to kiss his lips. I put my nose to his hair, to his skin to inhale the scent of his natural perfume. It was an appealing musk, one that I had smelled frequently upon his clothes, upon his neck when he leaned in to whisper some comment at a cafe table: but now I fairly swam in his smell, I breathed and drank in the smell of Imre. My member strained impatiently against my breeches, responding to his passing caresses with aching desire. I slowly reached between Imre’s muscular thighs to find that he too had become fully erect at our impassioned embrace.
I could feel his hot breath against my chest as he pushed my shirt aside to slowly kiss me there. He put his trembling lips to my nipples, wetting them, drawing them into his mouth, forcing me to shudder with excitement. With a delicate strength, he then slid his hands to my sides and and [sic] moved me back, that his hungry mouth could be drawn over my abdomen, and when his kisses reached the sensitive flesh low upon my belly, my cock leapt with uncontrolled passion.
In turn I undid the buttons of his officer’s blouse, thrilling to feel of the bronze and silver pins that were his lieutenant’s bars and medals, as well as the rough planes of stitching that were the signifying patches of his regiment and battalion. But then, my desire to feel his naked skin against my own became single-minded. I tore away the crisp fawn fabric of his fatigue blouse, and swiftly broke open the belt which sealed his beautiful cock and balls away from me, and soon we were locked in a wilde embrace completely naked on a mossy bed of earth.
“At last,” said I.
“Yes. At long last,” he whispered, his velvet voice plush with desire and emotion.
His smooth tanned flesh was extraordinary to the touch and exceedingly warm, as though there were small fires burning just beneath the surface of his glowing skin. I could not resist allowing my hands to explore the wonder of his beautiful physique. His stomach was a delight of rippling muscle, which contracted as he leaned forward to hungrily take my throbbing member in his capable hands. He began to stroke me with grace and care. And as my hands continued in their travels over the majestic terrain of his buttocks, his legs, the gentle curves of his flanks and waist, I felt that I could quite possibly inhale every particle of him, so splendid did he feel, taste, and smell.
I closed my eyes, suddenly afraid that this was not happening at all, but was simply an extraordinary dream, one among many, so perfect was the fruition of my desire and passion. I wanted to tasted his manhood completely. I bent down and took his cock between my lips. To my delight he had an exquisite penis, perfectly formed and throbbing with anticipation of my kisses. I took him in my mouth, and then deeper still into my throat, and as I did this I heard and felt the deep resonating moan of pleasure ripple through his body, the echoes of which were felt in my own. And then he followed my gesture, twisting atop me so that he too could taste of me.
Imre then took my painfully-throbbing cock into his mouth, and drew upon it with hunger and passion, filling me with voluptuous pleasure. As I sucked and licked Imre, his hips began to slowly, and then more rapidly pump over my face and I took him as deep inside my mouth as I possible could, taking incredible delight from the force of his hips against my chest as they thrust with animal vitality.
Suddenly my mouth, my throat, my being was filled with Imre’s electric seed. I felt his buttocks tighten, then tremble, then contract as I wrapped my hands completely around him, swallowing every drop that he gave me as he softly moaned.
“Will you take me?” he whispered longingly, through harsh breaths. And without waiting for a response, Imre fell over to the side and offered his smooth perfect buttocks up to me as if it were a passionate plea.
I leaned over and moved upon him in a loving embrace, moving my hand to his beautiful face to gently trace the outlet of his lips with my finger. Imre moved his mouth and took my finger between his lips, lubricating it with warm saliva. Slowly, I lowered my hand, and traced my lubricated finger round the sweetly puckered rim of his anus. The simple touch of his most sacrosanct anatomy offered up to me moved my hear and passion further than any fantasy I had yet dared to dream. Unable to wait any longer, I introduced my member to the edge of that blessed abyss and then, without pause, I plunged my dagger into its’ rightful sheath.
Imre cried out with pleasure, and his low cries and groans were soon mingled with mine own as began to thrust. Slowly at first, deeply probing the moist and tight interior confines of my beloved, did I make love to Imre. And then, with swifter and swifter strokes, I plunged wildly into him, gripping his narrow hips tightly, as though I feared I might fall from the edge of the earth. We cried out, moaning into the air like wolves at the charge of our connection, the liquid fire which brought my pearlescent seed to such a boil that it exploded forth, far deep into my lover—Imre—as would a deluge, a torrent unleashed.
We fell together again in a tight embrace on the earth’s cool floor and fell into a brief but opiate-like sleep. But just before we slept, Imre sighed into my hair, my face, my mouth:
“My love.” [text break]
When we awoke, we lay in one another’s precious arms quietly, and simply gaze up as the blankets of starts that had filled the summer sky. And then finally, sadly, our journey had to end
With his hand in mind [sic], my heart so lightened that I was a new creature, forgetting even the separation before me, we promised secrecy to one another. Gladly, too. For, instead of loss, with this parting what gain was mine! Imre knew me now as myself! And I knew him: and yet was now rather the more my friend than less, so I could believe, after this tale of mine had been told him! His wordless impassioned response sent my affections sailing wildly. It seemed to me that I had everything that my heart had ever sought of him, or would seek! I made the promise too, gladly with all my soul.
Abruptly, after another long pressure of my hand, my friend started up.
"Oswald we must go home!"
​
1906. 154p.
Even after quitting the vehicle, neither of us said more than a few sentences... the beauty of the night, the charm of the old Z... park, and so on.
1992. 124p.
Even after quitting the vehicle, neither of us said more than a few sentences: the exquisite beauty of the night, the charm of the old Z. park, our mystic union.
​
1906. 156p. It makes all the world go round"......
1992. 135p. It makes all the world go round."
III.
MASKS AND—A FACE.
1906. 158p.
I had not time to send even a card to Imre; I had no reason to do so.
1992. 139-140p.
I had not time to send even a card to Imre; perhaps I did not send one for fear of being suddenly cruelly reviled.
​
1906. 158p.
at evening came the ensuing communication; which, by the by, was neither begun with the "address of courtesy", as the "Complete Letter-Book" calls it, nor ended with the "salute of ceremony", recommended by the same useful volume; they being both of them details which Imre had particularly told me he omitted with his intimate "friends who were not" prigs." He wrote:
1992. 140p.
at evening came the ensuing communication; which was written in the most informal, almost flirtatious matter. I smiled with unbounded joy as I read. I could nearly hear his ebullient voice chatting excitedly. He wrote:
​
1906. 160p. It depends. I send my [sic] this in a spare moment. [...] or possibly with all of it.
1992. 141p. It depends. I send my [sic] this in a spare moment. [...] or possibly with all of it.
​
1906. 162p. I am awfully out of sorts [...] I would now be glad
1992. 143p. I am awfully out of sorts [...] I would now be glad
​
1906. 163p.
This letter gave me many reflections. There was no need for its closing injunction. To tell the truth,
1992. 144p.
This letter gave me many reflections. Upon reading this last I flushed with anxious pleasure, for I feared Nature would again trick me out of my desire. Thus, my reserve. To tell the truth,
​
1906. 164p. a suppressed emotion—that I could not define.
1992. 144p. a suppressed emotion—perhaps I would not be cheated out of my love!
​
1906. 165p.
I was oppressed. My high-ceiled, spacious room
1992. 146p.
I was oppressed. Despite my calm correspondence with Imre, time would not move quickly enough until we met again. My high-ceiled, spacious room
​
1906. 166p.
He leaned forward, and lightly kissed my cheek.
What!—he Imre von N—, who so had friend ioned the warm-hearted greetings of his quest- Captain M—! An odd lapse indeed!
1992. 146-147p.
He leaned forward, and lightly kissed my cheek.
And when we touched there was that jolt of passionate electricity witch brought back so clearly the memory of that eve she shared in one another's bodies, one another's hearts. We fell together in a long warm kiss, touching chest to chest, hand to hand. To touch him thus by light of day fired me into a pure state of arousal, but at once this embrace made my throat tighten and my soul wrench, for it was proof that Imre's decision was not fickle and fleeting, the result of a glamour spun out of my desperate words. I pushed my body into his, moving my pent-up passions against his own, and only halted when I realized my poor friend's natural state of weariness.
​
1906. 166-167p.
standing up particularly straight again, after a demonstration that so confounded me as to leave me wordless!—"I have had no breakfast,
1992. 147p.
standing up particularly straight again, after this affectionate demonstration which so pleased me as to leave me wordless! "I have had no breakfast,
​
1906. 167p.
Imre manifestly was not too fagged to talk and laugh a great deal; with a truly Homeric exhibition of his appetite.
1992. 147p.
Imre manifestly was not too tired to talk and laugh a great deal, and give a truly Homeric exhibition of his appetite.
​
1906. 168p. he was stretched out, sound asleep
1992. 148p. he was stretched out, completely nude, sound asleep
​
1906. 168p.
The collarless, unstarched shirt (that is so much an improvement on our civilian garment) was unbuttoned at the throat; the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, in unconscious emphasizing of the deepened sun-tan of his fine skin. The long brown eye-lashes lying motionless, against his cheek, his physical abandonment, his deep, regular, soundless breathing... all betokened how the day had spent itself on his young strength. Once left alone, he had fallen asleep where he had sat down.
1992. 148p.
I was taken aback at his physical beauty in the light of the day, for it had been pitched when we first touched. And now I stood and admired his splendid body. His skin had darkened to a deep bronze, and his beautiful, fleshy cock lay in a semi-erect position across his smooth, taut belly. His legs and arms were sprawled across the couch carelessly, and his muscular chest rose and fell in deep regular breathing.
​
1906. 168p.
A great and profoundly human poet, in one famous scene, speaks of those emotions that come to us when we are watching, in his sleep, a human being that we love. Such moments are indeed likely to be subduing to many a sensitive man and woman.
1992. 148p.
There are emotions that come to us when we are watching, in sleep, a human being that we love. Such moments are indeed awesome.
​
1906. 169p. the suggestion of protection from us
1992. 148p. the suggestion of protection from us
​
1906. 169p.
there shall occur the Silence of "the Breaker of Bonds, the Sunderer of Companionships, the Destroyer of Fellowships, the Divider of Hearts"—as (like a knell of everything earthly and intimate!) the old Arabian phrases lament the merciless divorce of death!
1992. 149p.
there shall occur the merciless divorce of death!
​
1906. 170p. "God bless thee, and make thee happy!... happier than I! Thou hast given me thy friendship.
1992. 149p. "God bless thee, and make thee happy! Thou hast given me thy love.
​
1906. 170-171p.
That was at an end for me, verily! O, my God! That was at an end!....
Imre opened his eyes.
"Great Arpád!, he exclaimed
1992. 150p.
That I would no longer be alone [sic] Oh, my God! That was at an end!... Imre opened his eyes.
"Good God!, he exclaimed
​
1906. 171p. We will go to the F—Restaurant.
1992. 150p. We will go to the Filigrete Restaurant.
​
1906. 171p. I do feel most frightfully knocked-out!
1992. 150p. I do feel most frightfully tired!
​
1906. 172p. his ordinary nervous self, ".. but do you know that I have come back
1992. 151p. his ordinary nervous self, "that I have come back
​
1906. 172p. To have a friend to trust myself to wholly—
1992. 151p. To have a friend to trust myself to wholly—
​
1906. 174p. "I have no complaint against you, dear Imre." No, no! God knows that!
1992. 152p. "I have no complaint against you, dear Imre," said I.
​
1906. 174p.
"That evening in the Z... park... you remember... when you were telling me…”
I interrupted him sharply: "Imre!"
He continued—"That evening in the Z—park when you were telling me"—
1992. 152p.
That evening in the Z... park...when we...”
I interrupted him sharply: "Imre!"
He continued—"That evening in the Z—park as we..."—
​
1906. 174p. "No, I do not forget! It was a one-sided bargain, I am free to break it
1992. 152p. ""No, I do not forget! It was a one-sided bargain, I am free to break it
​
1906. 175-176p.
went out to him, unspeakably. For, now, now, the trouble flashed into my mind! Of course it was to be the old, sad tale—he loved, loved unhappily—a woman!
The singer! The singer of Pray! That wife of his friend Karvaly. The woman whose fair and magnetic personality, had wrought unwittingly or wittingly, her inevitable spell upon him! One of those potent and hopeless passions, in which love, and probably loyalty to Karvaly, burdened this upright spirit with an irremediable misfortune!
"Well," I said very gently
1992. 153p.
went out to him, unspeakably.
"Well," I said very gently
​
1906. 176p. A few seconds of that pathetic, trusting nearness
1992. 154p. A few seconds of that tender, trusting nearness
​
1906. 177-178p. those few throbs upon my heart of that weary spirit of my friend...
1992. 154p. those few throbs upon my heart of my friend's weary spirit were enough to flare again my passions.
​
1906. 177-180p.
and then the Sex-Demon brought his storm upon my traitorous nature, in fire and lava! I struggled in shame and despair to keep down the hateful physical passion which was making nothing of all my psychic loyalty, asserting itself against my angriest will. In vain! The defeat must come; and, worse, it must be understood by Imre. I started up. I thrust Imre from me—falling away from him, escaping from his side—knowing that just in his surprise at my abruptness, I must meet—his detection of my miserable weakness. No words can express my self-disgust. Once on my feet, I staggered to the opposite side of the round table between us. I dropped into a chair. I could not raise my eyes to Imre. I could not speak. Everything was vanishing about me. Of only one thing could I be certain; that now all was over between us! Oh, this cursed outbreak and revelation of my sensual weakness! this inevitable physical appeal of Imre to me! This damned and inextricable ingredient in the chemistry of what ought to be wholly a spiritual drawing toward him, but which meant that I—desired my friend for his gracious, virile Beauty—as well as loved him for his fair soul! Oh, the shame of it all, the uselessness of my newest resolve to be more as the normal man, not utterly the Uranian! Oh, the folly of my oaths to love Imre without that thrill of the plain sexual Desire, that would be a sickening horror to him! All was over! He knew me for what I was. He would have none of me. The flight of my dreams, departing in a torn cloud together, would come with the first sound of his voice!
But Imre did not speak. I looked up. He had not stirred. His hand was still lying on the table, with its open palm to me! And oh, there was that in his face... in the look so calmly bent upon me... that was... good God above us!.. so kind!
"Forgive me", I said. "Forgive me! Perhaps you can do that. Only that. You see... you know now. I have tried to change myself... to care for you only with my soul. But I cannot change. I will go from you. I will go to the other end of the world. Only do not believe that what I feel for you is wholly base... that were you not outwardly—what you are—had I less of my terrible sensitiveness to your mere beauty, Imre—I would care less for your friendship. God knows that I love you and respect you as a man loves and respects his friend. Yes, yes, a thousand times! But... but... nevertheless... Oh, what shall I say... You could never understand! So no use! Only I beg you not to despise me too deeply for my weakness; and when you remember me, pardon me for the sake of the friendship bound up in the love, even if you shudder at the love which curses the friendship." [text break]
Imre smiled. There was both bitterness as well as sweetness in his face now. But the bitterness was not for me. His voice broke the short silence in so intense a sympathy, in a note of such perfect accord, such unchanged regard, that I could scarcely master my eyes in hearing him. He clasped my hand.
"Dear Oswald! Brother indeed of my soul and body! Why dost thou ask me to forgive thee? Why should I 'forgive'? For—oh, Oswald, Oswald! I am just as art thou... I am just as art thou!"
"Thou! Just as I am? I do not understand!"
"But that will be very soon, Oswald. I tell thee again that I am as thou art... wholly.. wholly! Canst thou really not grasp the truth, dear friend? Oh, I wish with all my heart that I had not so long held back my secret from thee! It is I who must ask forgiveness. But at least I can tell thee today that I came back to thee to give thee confidence for confidence, heart for heart, Oswald! before this day should end. With no loss of respect—no weakening of our friendship. No, no! Instead of that, only with more—with... with all!"
"Imre... Imre! I do not understand—I do not dare... to understand."
1992. 154-155p.
We sat thus in the quieting heat of my chambers. He rested his head upon my chest, and though I could barely contain my emotions, I lazily stroked his hair. Just the light touch of Imre’s cheek against my bare breast fired my loins and moved me to touch his delicate face with my lips. But before I made the gesture to kiss him, he raised his head to mine own and kissed me for a long languorous moment.
In silence he slowly undressed me. He touched my body tenderly at first, and then with more and more ardour. Our bodies, warmed by the late afternoon sun, moved against one another in silken grace.
“I must possess you,” he whispered in my ear. And with that Imre slid round over my back as I raised my buttocks in response, and he slowly introduced his beautiful member to the outer rim of my anus. As in a dream, Imre slowly penetrated my darkest, most sensuous depths, plunging his noble sword in its rightful sheath. Reaching around my hips he then took my own enflamed member in his agile hand and skillfully matched the strokes of his palms with those of his hips. Mounting waves of throbbing pleasure threatened to engulf us both forever, as we cried out our ecstasy and launched our sperm and semen in final unison.
We fell into a sound slumber, not awakening until it was dark outside. Yet we were reluctant to leave the warm and tender embrace in which we were locked, arm and arm on the couch. At last Imre began to speak. His voice was low and calm. He spoke of heartbreaking attachments to other men, desires which he kept secreted in his heart. And now he said he felt free. Liberated! He professed his love for me again and my heart soared with unbelievable joy.
“Imre…Imre! Do you love me as I love you,” asked I, uncertain that this dream could be possible.
​
1906. 181p.
It is all there. I am an Uranian, as thou art. From my birth I have been one. Wholly, wholly homosexual, Oswald! The same fire, the same, that smoulders or flashes in thee! It was put into my soul and body too, along with whatever else is in them that could make me wish to win the sympathy of just such a friend as thee, or make thee wish to seek mine. My youth was like thine;
1992. 155p.
It is all there. I have loved you from the start. From my birth I have loved men. But I have never loved another as I do you. The same fire, the same, that smoulders or flashes in thee! It was put into my soul and body too. My youth was like thine;
​
1906. 181p. no changing of my nature in that. [...] whatever is the man—
1992. 156p. no changing of my nature in that. [...] whatever is the man—
​
1906. 182p. even with thy affection to heal my heart.
1992. 156p. even with thy love to heal my heart
​
1906. 182p. lest he should see what he was to me
1992. 157p. lest he should see what he was to me
​
1906. 184p.
the workings of the similisexual and uranistic heart; whoever has marvelled at them, either in sympathy or antipathy, even if merely turning over the pages of psychiatric treatises dealing with them—he would find nothing specially unfamiliar in such biography.
1992. 158p.
the workings of an unrequited passion; whoever has marvelled at them, either in sympathy or antipathy, he would find nothing specially unfamiliar in such biography.
​
1906. 184-186p.
in such biography. I will mention here, as one of the least of the sudden discoveries of that afternoon, the fact that Imre had some knowledge of such literature, whether to his comfort or greater melancholy, according to his authour. Also he had formally consulted one eminent Viennese specialist who certainly was much wiser—far less positive—and not less calmin than my American theorist.
The great Viennese psychiater had not recommended marriage to Imre: recognizing in Imre's 'case' that inborn homosexualism that will not be dissipated by wedlock; but perhaps only intensifies, and so is surer to darken irretrievably the nuptial future of husband and wife, and to visit itself on their children after them. But the Austrian doctor had not a little comforted and strengthened Imre morally; warning him away from despising himself: from thinking himself alone, and a sexual Pariah; from over-morbid sufferings; from that bitterness and despair which, year by year, all over the world, can explain, in hundreds of cases, the depressed lives, the lonely existences, the careers mysteriously interrupted—broken? What Asmodeus could look into the real causes (so impenetrably veiled!) of sudden and long social exiles; of sundered ties of friendship or family; of divorces that do not disclose their true ground? Longer still would be the chronicle of ruined peace of mind, tranquil lives maddened, fortunes shattered—by some merciless blackmailer who trades on his victim's secret! Darker yet the "myseterious disappearances", the sudden suicides "wholly inexplicable," the strange, fierce crimes—that are part of the daily history of hidden uranianism, of the battle between the homosexual man and social canons—or of the battle with just himself! Ah, these dramas of the Venus Urania! played out into death, in silent but terribly-troubled natures!—among all sorts and conditions of men!
"C'est Venus, tout entière à sa proie attachèe"...
Imre's youth had been
1992. 158p.
in such biography.
Imre's youth had been
​
1906. 186p. lamentable obsession of precocious, inborn homosexuality
1992. 158p. lamentable obsession of precocious homosexuality
​
1906. 187p. he had discovered how the uranistic nature is regarded
1992. 159p. he had discovered how homosexuality is regarded
​
1906. 187p.
conservatism in psychiatric circles, and of juristic barbarisms; all, of course, accompanied with the full measure of British or Yankee social hypocrisy toward the daily actualities of homosexualism. By comparison,
1992. 159p.
conservatism in psychiatric circles. By comparison,
​
1906. 188p. legal protection of the Uranian
1992. 159p. legal protection of homosexuals
​
1906. 188p. the world is feeling its way forward (should one say back?)
1992. 159p. the world is feeling its way forward (should one say back)
​
1906. 188p. loathed is the Uranian Race.
1992. 160p. loathed is the man who loves men.
​
1906. 189p.
He had grown to have a horror of similisexual types, of all contacts with them. And yet, until lately, they could not be torn entirely out of his life. Most Uranists know why!
1992. 160p.
He had grown to have a horror of other men to whom he was actually attracted to. And yet, until lately, they could not be torn entirely out of his life.
​
1906. 189p. gradually become a fierce, despairing homosexual love.
1992. 160p. gradually become a fierce, despairing erotic desire for Imre.
​
1906. 190p. the true conviction of the dionistic temperament
1992. 161p. the true conviction of the conventional temperament
​
1906. 190p. you cared for another man that way, youngster,
1992. 161p. you cared for another man that way, Imre,
​
1906. 190p. "You can't mix up their emotions like that."
1992. 161p. "You can't mix up their emotions like that."
​
1906. 191p.
how a warm friendship on the part of the homosexual temperament, over and over takes to itself the complexion of homosexual love—the one emotion constantly likely to rise in the other and to blend itself inextricably into its alchemy—Imre had simply sworn to make no intimate friendship again!
1992. 162p.
how a warm friendship can easily become a sexual desire, Imre found how the one emotion constantly gives rise to the other, and the feelings of affection blend themselves inextricably into its alchemy—Imre had simply sworn to make no intimate friendship again!
​
1906. 192p.
absorbed in—woman! This is possibly the most common device, as it is the securest, on the part of an Uranian. Circumstances favoured Imre
1992. 163p.
absorbed in—woman! Circumstances favoured Imre
​
1906. 193p. I, and in high life!.. to be found in town. The less they could trace
1992. 163p. I, and in high life! The less they could trace
​
1906. 193p. stronger rumours!.. you know how
1992. 163p. stronger rumours! you know how
​
1906. 193p. Queer experiences I've tumbled into with them, too!
1992. 163p. Queer experiences I've tumbled into with them, too!
​
1906. 194p. a friendly, cheerful, yet keep-your-distance sort of personality.
1992. 164p. a friendly, cheerful, detached personality.
​
1906. 194p. one of them was when.. you should!
1992. 164p. one of them was when.. you should!"
​
1906. 197p.
It was something against the policy of my whole life!... as I had sworn to live it for all the rest of it... before myself or the world. I had broken that pledge
1992. 166p.
It was something against the policy of my whole life! I had broken the pledge
​
1906. 197p. But I fought with all that, I tell you!
1992. 166p. But I fought with all that, I tell you!
​
1906. 198-199p.
"I was amazed at myself. You would have heard everything from me that day. But the call to the Camp came. I had not a moment. I could not write what I wished. There was nothing to do but to wait."
1992. 167p.
"I was amazed at myself. When I work the morning after our rendezvous at Z. I realized I loved you! I was so filled with joy, and fear that you might not have me for I had been selfish. So I waited to bare my soul till now."
​
1906. 199-200p.
"The waiting has done no harm, Imre."
"And there is another reason, Oswald, why I found it hard to be frank with you. At least, I think so. It is—what shall I call it?—the psychic trace of the woman in me. Yes, after all, the woman! The counter-impulse, the struggle of the weakness that is womanishness itself, when one has to face any sharp decision... to throw one's whole being into the scale! Oh, I know it, I have found it in me before now! I am not as you, the Uranian who is too much man! I am more feminine in impulse—of weaker stuff... I feel it with shame. You know how the woman says 'no' when she means 'yes' with all her soul! How she draws back from the arms of the man that she loves when she dreams every night of throwing herself into them? How she finds herself doing, over and over, just that which is against her thought, her will, her duty! I tell you, there is something of that in me, Oswald! I must make it less... you must help me. It must be one of the good works of your friendship, of your love, for me. Oh, Oswald, Oswald!..."
1992. 167p.
"The waiting has done no harm, Imre."
"Oswald, Oswald!..."
​
1906. 200p.
"We must help each other Imre. But do not speak so of woman, my brother! Sexually, we may not value her. We may not need her, as do those Others. But think of the joy that they find in her to which we are cold; the ideals from which we are shut out! Think of your mother, Imre; as I think of mine! Think of the queens and peasants who have been the light and the glory of races and peoples. Think of the gentle, noble sisters and wives, the serene, patient rulers of myriad homes. Think of the watching nurses in the hospitals... of the spirits of mercy who walk the streets of plague and foulness!... think of the nun on her knees for the world...!"
1992. 168p.
"We must help each other Imre."
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1906. 201p.
The shadows in the room were almost at their deepest. We were still sitting face to face, almost without having stirred
1992. 168p.
The shadows in the room were gone. It was entirely dark. We were still lying in one another's arms, almost without having stirred
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1906. 201p. somehow it haunted one then!
1992. 168p. somehow it haunted me then!
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1906. 202p. Those who cannot give it accept it—let them live without it.
1992. 168p. Those who cannot give it—accept it—let them live without it.
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1906. 202p. "he would better never have been born!"......
1992. 169p. "he would better never have been born!"
​
1906. 202p.
it seemed so long ago! I had heard more of Imre's life and individuality as a boy; full of the fine and unhappy emotions of the uranistic youth. We had laughed over his stock of experiences in the Camp. We had talked of things grave and gay.
1992. 169p.
it seemed so long ago!
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1906. 203p.
square to square, from terrace to terrace. Across from us, at a garden-café
1992. 169-170p.
square to square, from terrace to terrace. Glancing to make certain of our momentary privacy, I touched Imre's strong back with the palm of my hand, allowing for my fingertips to touch the short black hairs just above his collar, at the nape of his neck. I whispered into his ear, telling him he was simply beautiful, then allowed for my lips to mischievously touch the tender flesh of his cheek. Imre grinned shyly, his emerald eyes glancing about us.
Across from us, at a garden-café
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1906. 205p. Come then, O friend! O brother, to our rest!
1992. 171p. Come then. And though our path ahead may be arduous, O friend! O brother, to our rest!
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1906. 205p. THE END.
1992. 171p. [removed]
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1906. 205p. *Matthew Arnold
1992. 171p. [removed]