A little tea, a little chat

On the matter of sex. What I got out of this book was exactly one thing. That in some parts of Europe at the time, women and men were equal in this respect: everybody had lovers. It wasn’t something men did to women. This makes scenes that might otherwise be repugnant resonate with eroticism. Perhaps the equality is merely in the minds of men – but Stendhal is a realist and so I doubt that. An expert in the area might demolish my illusions, however….though I’m not sure I want you to, if you are reading this.

In Chapter 3, two of Stendhal’s friends decide to cheer him up by taking him to see a courtesan.

Alexandrine appeared and surpassed all expectations. She was a tall and slim girl of seventeen or eighteen, already mature….she was quiet and gentle but not at all shy, fairly gay and not unseemly in her behaviour. My friends’ eyes goggled at the sight of her. Lussinge offered a glass of champagne, which she refused, and disappeared with her. Mme Petit introduced us to the two other girls who weren’t bad but we told her that she herself was prettier…..Poitevin took her off. After a dreadfully long interval, a very pale Lussinge returned.

---Your turn, Beyle [ie Stendhal:], they cried. You’ve just come home; it’s your privilege. [not at all sure why getting to go second is special:]

I found Alexandrine on a bed, a little wan, almost in the costume and in the exact position of Titian’s Duchess of Urbino.

---Let’s just talk for ten minutes, she said in a lively way. I’m a bit tired, let’s chat. My young blood will flare up again soon.

She was adorable, I perhaps had never seen anyone prettier. There wasn’t too much licentiousness about her except in the eyes which gradually became suggestively animated and full (you could say) of passion.

I failed entirely with her; it was a complete fiasco. So I had to rely on a substitute which she submitted to. Not quite knowing what to do, I wanted to try this manual expedient again, but she refused. She seemed astonished. Considering my situation, I said several quite good things and then went out.

Of course, I had to hurry off to Google to look up Titian’s Duchess of Urbino. What was she wearing?

Ah…

I should have guessed….




That’s what she’s wearing.

It turns out that this picture is a matter of great controversy – nothing to do with whether you like her outfit, by the way. Mark Twain said of it:

You enter [the Uffizi:] and proceed to that most-visited little gallery that exists in the world --the Tribune-- and there, against the wall, without obstructing rap or leaf, you may look your fill upon the foulest, the vilest, the obscenest picture the world possesses -- Titian's Venus. It isn't that she is naked and stretched out on a bed --no, it is the attitude of one of her arms and hand. If I ventured to describe that attitude there would be a fine howl --but there the Venus lies for anybody to gloat over that wants to --and there she has a right to lie, for she is a work of art, and art has its privileges. I saw a young girl stealing furtive glances at her; I saw young men gazing long and absorbedly at her, I saw aged infirm men hang upon her charms with a pathetic interest. How I should like to describe her --just to see what a holy indignation I could stir up in the world...yet the world is willing to let its sons and its daughters and itself look at Titian's beast, but won't stand a description of it in words....There are pictures of nude women which suggest no impure thought -- I am well aware of that. I am not railing at such. What I am trying to emphasize is the fact that Titian's Venus is very far from being one of that sort. Without any question it was painted for a bagnio and it was probably refused because it was a trifle too strong. In truth, it is a trifle too strong for any place but a public art gallery.

What Twain is saying here, in Tramp Abroad I think, is that if you wrote this picture in words – it would be obscene rather than erotic. Indeed, it has been referred to as the masturbating Venus…so you see what I mean. Interesting in this context, that Stendhal, whether intuitively or consciously knew that to be the case, and thus refers to Alexandrine in this most sexy way without any sex in his language whatsoever. A mere reference to a painting says it all. I’m completely ignorant of art, but I expect back then educated people reading this book would have understood the reference immediately…indeed, maybe everybody else does!

But permit the matter to be more complex. Is it not fair to say that although in this case the exquisitely erotic painting of the Duchess/Venus looking directly as us, her invited lover, hard nipples, touching herself, does the job no words would, to Twain’s chagrin; at the same time, one could readily imagine a tacky picture rendered delicate via choice words. Tit for tat – if you will forgive me putting it this way?