Sacher-Masoch – Eros in Leather | Part 1

The famous novel “Venus in Furs” by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch was published 150 years ago, is about fetish addictions and his most well-known and at the same time most controversial work, strongly inspired by his own life. Knight Leopold von Sacher-Masoch lived in Graz from 1854 to 1872, where he developed from a lecturer in Austrian history at the university to the author of erotic stories, in which he artistically captured his own instinctual desire for pain and submission. Whips, furs, homoeroticism and slavery as well as his preference for the cruel are essential in his stories.

Since Sacher-Masoch’s death in 1895, “Venus in Furs” has by far been his most frequently reprinted and translated book, which is now considered a classic of erotic literature. In “Venus in Furs” he describes the extreme feelings that Severin experiences from Wanda, to whom he gives himself up as a slave and who in her dominant role as Venus in furs pushes him to his physical and mental limits. The plot begins with the protagonist Severin von Kusiemski giving his experiences to a friend in the form of a manuscript. The trigger is a dream of this friend and a painting in Severin’s room that shows him at a young age in a humble posture at the feet of a Venus in furs.

I rewrote the following excerpts from Sacher-Masoch’s novel into a homoerotic narrative and shortened to the essential diary entries. Wanda becomes Ivan, fur becomes leather and thus Venus in Furs becomes Eros in Leather. Otherwise the text has been left in its original form in order to illustrate and summarize this classic:

“Of course, I know, but why this great fondness for leather?” “I was born with it,” I replied. “I already had it as a child. Furthermore, leather have a stimulating effect on all highly organized natures. This is due both to general and natural laws. It is a physical stimulus which sets you tingling, and no one can wholly escape it.”

“And so leather now rouse strange imaginings in you,” said Ivan, and simultaneously he began to drape his magnificent leather-cloak coquettishly about him. “Well, how do you feel now, half broken on the wheel?” His piercing green eyes rested on me with a peculiar mocking satisfaction. Overcome by desire, I flung myself down before him, and threw my arms about him. “Yes – you have awakened my dearest dream,” I cried. “It has slept long enough.” “And this is?” He put his hand on my neck. I was seized with a sweet intoxication under the influence of this warm big hand and of his regard, which, tenderly searching, fell upon me through his half-closed lids. “To be the slave of a man, a handsome man, whom I love, whom I worship.” “And who on that account maltreats you,” interrupted Ivan, laughing. “Yes, who fetters me and whips me, treads me underfoot, the while he gives himself to another.” “And who in his wantonness will go so far as to make a present of you to your successful rival when driven insane by jealousy you must meet him face to face, who will turn you over to his absolute mercy. Why not? This final tableau doesn’t please you so well?” I looked at Ivan frightened. “You surpass my dreams.”

Today he suddenly took his hat and shawl, and I had to go shopping with him. He looked at whips, long whips with a short handle, the kind that are used on dogs. “Are these satisfactory?” said the shopkeeper. “No, they are much too small,” replied Ivan, with a side-glance at me. “I need a large -” “For a bulldog, I suppose?” opined the merchant. “Yes,” he exclaimed, “of the kind that are used in Russia for intractable slaves.” He looked further and finally selected a whip, at whose sight I felt a strange creeping sensation.

“Give me the whip.” I looked about the room. “No,” he exclaimed, “stay as you are, kneeling.” He went over to the fireplace, took the whip from the mantle-piece, and, watching me with a smile, let it hiss through the air; then he slowly rolled up the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Marvelous man!” I exclaimed. “Silence, slave!” He suddenly scowled, looked savage, and struck me with the whip. A moment later he threw his arm tenderly about me, and pityingly bent down to me. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, half-shyly, half-timidly. “No,” I replied, “and even if you had, pains that come through you are a joy. Strike again, if it gives you pleasure.” “But it doesn’t give me pleasure.” Again, I was seized with that strange intoxication. “Whip me,” I begged, “whip me without mercy.” Ivan swung the whip and hit me twice. “Are you satisfied now?” “No.” “Seriously, no?” “Whip me, I beg you, it is a joy to me.” “Yes, because you know very well that it isn’t serious,” he replied, “because I haven’t the heart to hurt you. This brutal game goes against my grain. Were I really the man who beats his slaves you would be horrified.” “No, Ivan,” I replied, “I love you more than myself; I am devoted to you for death and life. In all seriousness, you can do with me whatever you will, whatever your caprice suggests.” “Severin!” “Tread me underfoot!” I exclaimed and flung myself face to the floor before him. “I hate all this play-acting,” said Ivan impatiently. “Well, then maltreat me seriously.” An uncanny pause. “Severin, I warn you for the last time,” began Ivan. “If you love me, be cruel towards me,” I pleaded with upraised eyes. “If I love you,” repeated Ivan. “Very well!” He stepped back and looked at me with a somber smile. “Be then my slave and know what it means to be delivered into the hands of a man.” And at the same moment he gave me a kick. “How do you like that, slave?” Then he flourished the whip. “Get up!” I was about to rise. “Not that way,” he commanded, “on your knees.” I obeyed, and he began to apply the lash. The blows fell rapidly and powerfully on my back and arms. Each one cut into my flesh and burned there, but the pains enraptured me. They came from him whom I adored, and for whom I was ready at any hour to lay down my life. He stopped. “I am beginning to enjoy it,” he said, “but enough for today. I am beginning to feel a demonic curiosity to see how far your strength goes. I take a cruel joy in seeing you tremble and writhe beneath my whip, and in hearing your groans and wails; I want to go on whipping without pity until you beg for mercy, until you lose your senses. You have awakened dangerous elements in my being. But now get up.” I seized his hand to press it to my lips. “What impudence.” He shoved me away with his foot. “Out of my sight, slave!”

After having spent a feverish night filled with confused dreams, I awoke. Dawn was just beginning to break. How much of what was hovering in my memory was true; what had I actually experienced and what had I dreamed? That I had been whipped was certain. I can still feel each blow and count the burning red stripes on my body. And he whipped me. Now I know everything. My dream has become truth. How does it make me feel? Am I disappointed in the realization of my dream? No, I am merely somewhat tired, but his cruelty has enraptured me. Oh, how I love him, adore him! All this cannot express in the remotest way my feeling for him, my complete devotion to him. What happiness to be his slave!

“You are talking as in a fever,” said Ivan agitatedly, “and you really love me so endlessly.” He held me to his breast, and covered me with kisses. “You really want it?” “I swear to you now by God and my honor, that I shall be your slave, wherever and whenever you wish it, as soon as you command,” I exclaimed, hardly master of myself. “And if I take you at your word?” said Ivan. “Please do!” “All this appeals to me,” he said then. “It is different from anything else – to know that a man who worships me, and whom I love with all my heart, is so wholly mine, dependent on my will and caprice, my possession and slave, while I – ” He looked strangely at me. “If I should become frightfully frivolous you are to blame,” he continued. “It almost seems as if you were afraid of me already, but you have sworn.” “And I shall keep my oath.” “I shall see to that,” he replied. “I am beginning to enjoy it, and, heaven help me, we won’t stick to fancies now. You shall become my slave, and I – I shall try to be Eros in Leather.”

I thought that at last I knew this man, understood him, and now I see I have to begin at the very beginning again. Only a little while ago his reaction to my dreams was violently hostile, and now he tries to carry them into execution with the soberest seriousness. He has drawn up a contract according to which I give my word of honor and agree under oath to be his slave, as long as he wishes.

Sometimes, nevertheless, I have an uneasy feeling about placing myself so absolutely, so unconditionally into a man’s hands. Suppose he did abuse my passion, his power? Well, then I would experience what has occupied my imagination since my childhood, what has always given me the feeling of seductive terror. A foolish apprehension! It will be a wanton game he will play with me, nothing more. He loves me, and he is good, a noble personality, incapable of a breach of faith. But it lies in his hands – if he wants to, he can. What a temptation in this doubt, this fear!

“Yes, you must be a slave, and feel the lash, for you are not a man,” he said calmly. He said this to me with perfect composure, not angrily, not even excitedly, and it was what hurt most. “Now I know you, your dog-like nature, that adores where it is kicked, and the more, the more it is maltreated. Now I know you, and now you shall come to know me.” He walked up and down with long strides, while I remained crushed on my knees; my head was hanging supine, tears flowed from my eyes. “Come here,” Ivan commanded harshly, sitting down on the ottoman. I obeyed his command and sat down beside him. He looked at me somberly, and then a light suddenly seemed to illuminate the interior of his eye. Smiling, he drew me toward his breast, and began to kiss the tears out of my eyes.

“I like that word,” he said then, “you are always to call me Master, do you understand? We leave here tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. As far as the district capital you will be my companion and friend, but from the moment that we enter the railway-coach you are my slave, my servant. Now close the window and open the door.” After I had done as he had demanded, and after he had entered, he asked, contracting his brows ironically, “well, how do you like me.” “Ivan, you -” “Who gave you permission?” He gave me a blow with the whip. “You are very handsome, Master.” Ivan smiled and sat down in the armchair. “Kneel down – here beside my chair.” I obeyed. “Kiss my hand.” I seized his big cold hand and kissed it. “And the mouth -” In a surge of passion I threw my arms around the beautiful cruel man, and covered his face, arms, and breast with glowing kisses. He returned them with equal fervor—the eyelids closed as in a dream. It was after midnight when he left.

“You shall know me! First of all you shall have a taste of the whip in all seriousness, without having done anything to deserve it, so that you may understand what to expect, if you are awkward, disobedient, or refractory.” With a wild grace he rolled back his leather-lined sleeve, and struck me across the back. I winced, for the whip cut like a knife into my flesh. “Well, how do you like that?” he exclaimed. I was silent. “Just wait, you will yet whine like a dog beneath my whip,” he threatened, and simultaneously began to strike me again. The blows fell quickly, in rapid succession, with terrific force upon my back, arms, and neck; I had to grit my teeth not to scream aloud. Now he struck me in the face, warm blood ran down, but he laughed, and continued his blows. “It is only now I understand you,” he exclaimed. “It really is a joy to have someone so completely in one’s power, and a man at that, who loves you – you do love me? – No – Oh! I’ll tear you to shreds yet, and with each blow my pleasure will grow. Now, twist like a worm, scream, whine! You will find no mercy in me!” Finally he seemed tired. He tossed the whip aside, stretched out on the ottoman, and rang.

To be continued…