Justine
Marquis de Sade
‘Justine’ was the Marquis de Sade's first novella, written in 1787, whilst imprisoned for two weeks in the Bastille. Although published anonymously, de Sade was eventually indicted for blasphemy and obscenity (without trial) for the authorship of ‘Justine’ at the behest of Napoleon Bonaparte.Who suffers in the pursuit of desire?The Countess de Lorsange reveals her history, in a tavern, to a young woman named Therese; where a young girl and her sister fight a battle of morality. Set in a period before the French Revolution, Justine shows the battle of virtue versus vice, where earning your keep takes on fresh connotations, and a titled lady holds a lifetime of illicit secrets.
Justine
orThe Misfortunes of Virtue
D. A. F. Marquis De Sade
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uf8d1053f-e1cc-547a-9f3a-9398693c8ad3)
Title Page (#u5a1596f3-6b40-5950-8dc6-7284b8a6901b)
Prologue (#u3a0a632b-62ce-5a0f-a884-a4a32bb9b9c8)
One (#uab06695b-32ad-52e3-9165-c609bd1f6abd)
Two (#ue1701f29-2781-50f4-943a-2f2081cc22d0)
Three (#ua14aec9f-41bf-5f77-8389-1a9a3da063a4)
Four (#u42fd6428-64c7-558a-9cc2-7cf7cb21a4b4)
Four(continued) (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Harper Perennial Forbidden Classics (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_475e09b0-2151-5e5c-ae7d-641b22b03418)
…A little less debauchery and he would have had his will of me; but the fires of Dubourg’s ardour were extinguished by the effervescence of his attempts.
One (#ulink_a60591a5-7db1-5569-8c53-464ede0117e4)
The triumph of philosophy would be to reveal, amply and lucidly, the means by which providence attains her ends over man; and, accordingly, it would trace those lines of conduct which might enable this unfortunate biped individual to avoid, while treading the thorny path of life, those bizarre caprices of a fate which has twenty different names, but which, as yet, has never clearly been defined.
For although we may fully respect our social conventions, and dutifully abide by the restrictions which education has imposed on us, it may unfortunately happen that through the perversity of others we encounter only the thorns of life, whilst the wicked gather nothing but roses. Things being so, is it not likely that those devoid of the resources of any firmly established virtues may well come to the conclusion suggested by such sad circumstances – that it were far better to abandon oneself to the torrent rather than resist it? Will it not be said that virtue, however fair she may be, becomes the worst cause one can espouse when she has grown so weak that she cannot struggle against vice? Will it not equally be said that, living in a century so thoroughly corrupt, the wisest course would be to follow in the steps of the majority? May we not expect some of our more educated folk to abuse the enlightenment they have acquired, saying with the angel Jesrad of Zadig that there is no evil which does not give birth to some good – adding that, since the imperfect constitution of our sorry world contains equal amounts of evil and of good, it is essential that its balance be maintained by the existence of equal numbers of good and wicked people. And will they not finally conclude that it is of no consequence in the general plan whether a man is good or wicked by preference; and that if misfortune persecutes virtue and prosperity almost always accompanies vice, things being equal in the sight of nature, it seems infinitely better to take one’s place among the wicked, who prosper, than among the virtuous, who perish.
Therefore it is important to guard against the sophisms of a dangerous philosophy, and essential to show how examples of unfortunate virtue, presented to a corrupted soul which still retains some wholesome principles, may lead that soul back to the way of godliness just as surely as if her narrow path had been bestrewn with the most brilliant honours and the most flattering of rewards. Doubtless it is cruel to have to describe, on the one hand, a host of misfortunes overwhelming a sweet and sensitive woman who has respected virtue above all else, and – on the other – the dazzling good fortune of one who has despised it throughout her life. But if some good springs from the picture of these fatalities, should one feel remorse for having recorded them? Can one regret the writing of a book wherein the wise reader, who fruitfully studies so useful a lesson of submission to the orders of providence, may grasp something of the development of its most secret mysteries, together with the salutary warning that it is often to bring us back to our duties that heaven strikes down at our side those who best fulfil her commandments?
Such are the thoughts which caused me to take up my pen; and it is in consideration of such motives that I beg the indulgence of my reader for the untrue philosophies placed in the mouths of several of my characters, and for the sometimes rather painful situations which, for truth’s sake, I am obliged to bring before his eyes.
Two (#ulink_b826bbae-5476-581e-a013-8d164bf7da80)
The Comtesse de Lorsange was one of those priestesses of Venus whose fortune lies in an enchanting figure, supported by considerable misconduct and trickery, and whose titles, however pompous they may be, are never found save in the archives of Cythera, forged by the impertinence which assures them, and upheld by the stupid credulity of those who accept them. Brunette, vivacious, attractively made, she had amazingly expressive dark eyes, was gifted with wit, and possessed, above all, that fashionable cynicism which adds another dash of spice to the passions, and which makes infinitely more tempting the woman in whom it is suspected. She had, moreover, received the best possible education. Daughter of a very rich merchant of the rue Saint-Honoré, she had been brought up, with a sister three years younger than herself, in one of the best convents in Paris; where, until she was fifteen years old, nothing in the way of good counsel, no good teacher, worthwhile book, or training in any desirable accomplishment, had been refused her. Nevertheless, at that age when such events are most fatal to the virtue of a young girl, she found herself deprived of everything in a single day. A shocking bankruptcy plunged her father into such a cruel situation that all he could do to escape the most sinister of circumstances was to fly speedily to England, leaving his daughters in the care of a wife who died of grief within eight days of his departure. One or two of their few remaining relatives deliberated on the fate of the girls, but as all that was left to them totalled a mere hundred crowns each, it was decided to give them their due, show them the door, and leave them mistresses of their own actions.
Madame de Lorsange, who at that time was known as Juliette, and whose wit and character were already almost as mature as they were when she had reached the age of thirty – which was her age at the time of our story – felt only pleasure at her freedom, and never for an instant dwelt on the cruel reverses which had broken her chains. Justine, her sister, however, just turned twelve, and of a sombre and melancholy turn of mind, was endowed with an unusual tenderness accompanied by a surprising sensitivity. In place of the polish and artfulness of Juliette, she possessed only that candour and good faith which were to lead her into so many traps, and thus felt all the horror of her position.
This young girl’s features were totally different from those of her sister. The one held just as much of artifice, flirtation, and guile, as the other did of delicacy, timidity, and the most admirable modesty. For Justine had a virginal air, great blue eyes gentle with concern, a clear dazzling complexion, a small slender body, a voice of touching softness, ivory teeth, and beautiful fair hair. These were the subtle charms of the younger sister, whose innocent grace and delicious features were so delicate and ethereal that they would escape the very brush which would depict them.
Each of the two were given twenty-four hours to leave the convent, and were left to provide for themselves, each with her hundred crowns, wherever and however they might choose. Juliette, enchanted at being her own mistress, wished for a moment to dry Justine’s tears; but realising that she would not succeed, set to scolding instead of consoling her, exclaiming that such behaviour was foolish, and that girls of their age, blessed with faces like theirs, had never starved to death. She cited, as an example, the daughter of one of their neighbours who, abandoning her paternal home, was now being kept in luxury by a rich landowner, and drove her own carriage around Paris. Justine expressed horror at such a pernicious example, and she said she would rather die than emulate it. Moreover she flatly refused to share a lodging with her sister, since it was obvious that this young woman had decided to follow the abominable way of life which she had so recently praised.
Thus the two sisters separated from each other without promise of any reunion, since their intentions were found to be so different. Could Juliette, who had pretensions to becoming a great lady, ever consent to see again a little girl whose low and virtuous inclinations would disgrace her? And, on her side, is it likely that Justine would wish to risk her morals in the company of a perverse creature who was about to become the victim of vile lubricity and general debauchery? Each, therefore, relying on her own resources, left the convent on the following day as had been agreed.
Justine, who as a child had been fawned over by her mother’s dressmaker, imagined that this woman would feel a natural sympathy for her position. She therefore sought her out, told her of her unfortunate position and, asking for work, was immediately thrown on to the street.
‘Oh heaven!’ cried the poor little creature, ‘must it be that the first step I take in the world leads me only to further miseries…This woman loved me once! Why, then, does she cast me away today?…Alas, it must be because I am orphaned and poor…Because I have no resources in the world, and because people are esteemed only by reason of the help or the pleasure which others hope to receive from them.’
Reflecting thus, Justine called on her parish priest and asked his advice. But the charitable ecclesiastic equivocally replied that it was impossible for him to give her any alms, as the parish was already overburdened, but that if she wished to serve him he would willingly provide her with board and lodging. In saying this, however, he passed his hand under her chin, and kissed her in a fashion much too worldly for a man of the Church. Justine, who understood his intentions all too well, quickly drew back, expressing herself as follows: ‘Sir, I am asking of you neither alms nor yet the position of a servant. I am not so far reduced from my recent position in society as to beg two such favours; all I ask of you is the advice of which my youth and my present misfortune stand so much in need. Yet you would have me buy it with a crime…’ The priest, insulted by this expression, opened the door and pushed her brutally on to the street. Thus Justine, twice repulsed on the first day of her isolation, walked into a house displaying a notice and rented a small furnished room, paying in advance. Here, at least, she was able to abandon herself in comfort to the grief caused not only by her situation but by the cruelty of the few individuals with whom her unlucky star had constrained her to have dealings.
Three (#ulink_14e02b7b-58d2-5c39-8ad7-793d9231551c)
With the reader’s permission we shall abandon our heroine for a while, leaving her in her obscure retreat. This will allow us to return to Juliette, whose career we will sum up as briefly as possible – indicating the means whereby, from her humble state as an orphan, she became within fifteen years a titled woman possessing an income of more than thirty thousand livres, the most magnificent jewels, two or three houses in the country as well as her residence in Paris, and – for the moment – the heart, the wealth, and the confidence of M. de Corville, a gentleman of the greatest influence, and a Counsellor of State who was about to enter the Ministry itself…
That her path had been thorny cannot be doubted, for it is only by the most severe and shameful of apprenticeships that such young women attain their success; and she who lies today in the bed of a prince, may still carry on her body the humiliating marks of the brutality of depraved libertines into whose hands she had once been thrown by her youth and her inexperience.
On leaving the convent, Juliette quickly went to find the woman she had once heard named by a corrupt friend from her neighbourhood, and whose address she had carefully kept. She arrived with abrupt unconcern, her bundle under her arm, her little dress in disorder, with the prettiest face in the world and the undeniable air of a schoolgirl. She told the woman her story, and begged her to protect her, just as, several years previously, she had protected her friend.
‘How old are you, my child?’ asked Madame du Buisson.
‘In a few days’ time I shall be fifteen, Madame.’
‘And nobody has ever…?’
‘Oh, no, Madame, I swear it to you!’
‘Nevertheless it is not unknown for convents to harbour a chaplain, a nun, or even a schoolfriend who…So I must be supplied with certain proofs!’
‘All that you need do is look for them, Madame…’
And du Buisson, fixing herself up with a pair of spectacles, and having verified the exact state of things, said to Juliette: ‘Well, my child, all you need do is stay here. But you must strictly observe my advice, show the utmost-compliance with my customs, be clean and neat, economical and candid so far as I am concerned, courteous towards your companions, and as dishonest and unscrupulous as you like with men. Then, a few years from now, you will be in a position to retire to a nicely furnished place of your own, with a servant, and such proficiency in the art you will have acquired in my establishment that you will have the means quickly to satisfy each and every desire you may wish.’
With these words la du Buisson seized Juliette’s little bundle, enquiring, at the same time, if she were absolutely without money. And Juliette having too frankly admitted that she had a hundred crowns, her new-found mama quickly took possession of them, assuring her young pupil that she would invest this small sum to her profit, and that it was unnecessary for a girl to have money, especially as it could be a means towards the indulgence of wickedness. Moreover, in such a corrupt century, any wise and highly-born young lady must carefully avoid anything which might cause her to fall into a trap. This sermon completed, the newcomer was introduced to her companions, taken to her room in the house, and from the following day her first-fruits were on sale. Within four months’ time the same merchandise had successively been sold to eighty different people, all of whom paid for it as new; and it was not until the end of this thorny novitiate that Juliette took out her patents as a lay-sister. From that moment, however, she was readily accepted as a daughter of the house, and entered the new novitiate of partaking in all its libidinous fatigues…If, excepting a few slight deviations, she had served nature during her early days in this place, she now forgot all natural laws and began to indulge in criminal researches, shameful pleasures, dark and crapulous orgies, scandalous and bizarre tastes and humiliating caprices – all of which arose, on the one hand, from a desire for pleasure without risk to health – and, on the other, from a pernicious satiety which so wearied her imagination that she could delight only in excess and revive herself only by way of lubricity…
Her morals were totally corrupted in this second school; and the triumphs of vice which she witnessed completed the degradation of her soul. She began to feel that she was born only for crime, and that she might as well cultivate only wealthy and important people rather than languish in a subordinate state wherein, though she committed the same faults and debased herself just as much, she could not hope to gain anything like the same profit. She was fortunate in pleasing an old and very much debauched nobleman, whose original intention had merely been the passing of a pleasantly salacious fifteen minutes. But she was clever enough to persuade him to keep her in magnificent style, and finally showed herself at the theatre or walking in company with the most aristocratic members of the Order of Cythera. She was admired, discussed, envied; and the roguish little cheat knew so well the art of grabbing what she wanted that within four years she had ruined three men, the poorest of whom had boasted an income of one hundred thousand crowns a year. Nothing more was necessary to establish her reputation. For the blindness of the present century is such that, the more one of these miserable creatures proves her dishonesty, the more envious men become of finding a place on her list. It would seem that the degree of her degradation and corruption becomes, in fact, the measure of those amorous feelings for her which men dare to proclaim.
Juliette had scarcely passed her twentieth year when the Comte de Lorsange, a forty-year-old nobleman from Anjou, became so infatuated by her that he determined to give her his name – not being rich enough to keep her. He allowed her an income of twelve thousand livres and assured her of the remainder of his fortune – a further eight thousand – if he died before she did. He also presented her with a house and servants, her own livery, and built up for her the kind of social importance which, within two or three years, caused people to forget the means by which she had attained such celebrity. This was the time when the wretched Juliette, forgetting all the sentiments due to her honourable birth and her excellent education, perverted by evil theories and dangerous books, anxious to be completely independent – to have a name, yet not be chained by it – began to ponder the criminal idea of shortening her husband’s life…The odious project once conceived, she nursed it, caressed it, and finally executed it with so much secrecy that she was, unfortunately, protected against all investigation. Thus she managed to bury, together with her troublesome husband, all traces of her heinous crime.
Free once more, and still a Countess, Madame de Lorsange resumed her former habits. But, considering herself something of an important figure in society, she maintained an outward appearance of decency. She was no longer a kept woman but a rich widow who gave delightful suppers to which the townspeople and the court were only too happy to be admitted. She was, we might say, a respectable woman who would go to bed with anyone for two hundred louis, or accept a lover on receipt of five hundred a month. Until her twenty-sixth year she continued to make brilliant conquests, ruining three ambassadors, four financiers, two bishops, and three Chevaliers of the Ordres du Roi; and, as the criminal rarely stops at his first crime – especially when it has been successful – the vicious and guilty Juliette blackened herself with two more of a similar nature. The first was committed in order that she might rob one of her lovers who had entrusted her with a considerable sum of money of which his family knew absolutely nothing; the second, in order that she might more speedily come by a legacy of a hundred thousand francs, which another of her adoring lovers had included in his will in the name of a third person, who was instructed to hand it over to the said lady after his friend’s decease.
To these horrors Madame de Lorsange added two or three infanticides. The fear of spoiling her attractive figure, strengthened by the necessity of hiding a double intrigue, several times encouraged her to have abortions; and these crimes, as undiscovered as the others, in no way hindered this clever and ambitious creature from daily finding new dupes and increasing, moment by moment, both her fortune and her crimes. It will thus be seen that it is, unfortunately, only too true that prosperity often accompanies crime, and that from the very bosom of the most deliberate corruption and debauchery men may gild the thread of life with that which they call happiness.
But, in order that this cruel and fatal truth should not alarm the reader, and in order that the sensibilities of honourable and righteous people may not be disturbed by our subsequent example of misfortune and misery relentlessly pursuing virtue, let us immediately state that this prosperity of crime is only apparent, not real. Independently of the punishment certainly reserved by providence for those who have succeeded in this way, they also nourish in the depths of their hearts a worm which ceaselessly gnaws at them, and prevents them from enjoying the false glow of happiness which they would seize, leaving in its place only the rending memory of those crimes by which they attained it. With regard to the torment of virtue by misfortune, the unfortunate victim whom fate persecutes in this way has his conscience for consolation, and this, together with the secret joy he draws from his purity, soon compensates him for the injustice of men.
Such, then, was the state of the affairs of Madame de Lorsange when M. de Corville, a gentleman of fifty, and enjoying the position in society already described above, resolved to sacrifice himself entirely for this woman, attaching her life permanently with his own. Whether by his attention, his conduct, or the wisdom of Madame de Lorsange, he succeeded, and had been living with her for four years, entirely as with a legitimate wife, when they decided to spend several months during the summer on a superb estate he had lately purchased near Montargis. One evening in June, when the beauty of the weather had tempted them to wander as far as the town, they felt too tired to make their return on foot. Instead, they entered the inn where the Lyons coach makes a stop, intending to send a rider to the château to demand a carriage for their return. They were resting in a low, cool room opening on to the courtyard, when the aforesaid coach drew up before the inn. As it is natural enough to study the comings and goings of travellers – and there is no one who has not whiled away an idle moment with this form of entertainment when it has presented itself – Madame de Lorsange, followed by her lover, arose to watch the coachload of people enter the inn. The vehicle seemed to be empty, until one of the guards, in descending, received in his arms from one of his companions a young girl of about twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age, wrapped in a miserable little calico cloak and bound like a criminal. A cry of horror and surprise escaped from Madame de Lorsange, at which the young girl, turning, revealed such a sweet and delicate countenance, such a slim and graceful figure, that M. de Corville and his mistress could not help being interested in the unfortunate creature. M. de Corville approached the guards and asked one of them what the unfortunate girl had done.
‘To tell the truth, Monsieur, she has been accused of three or four very serious crimes: robbery, murder and arson. But I must admit that both my companion and myself have never before felt such repugnance over the transport of a criminal – she is the most gentle creature, and seems to us unusually honest…’
‘Ah!’ exclaimed M. de Corville, ‘it seems to me that we have here another of those everyday blunders of the lower courts. And where,’ he continued, ‘was the offence committed?’
‘At a hostelry three leagues from Lyons. She was tried at Lyons and is being taken to Paris for confirmation of the sentence. She will, however, be taken back to Lyons for execution.’
Madame de Lorsange, who had drawn close and listened to this recital, whispered quietly to M. de Corville that she wished to hear the story of her misfortunes from the girl’s own lips. And M. de Corville, urged by the same desire, made himself known to the guards and asked if this would be possible.
As they were not at all opposed to the idea, it was decided that they should spend the night at Montargis, and two comfortable suites were placed at the disposal of the prisoner and her guardians. The nobleman accepting responsibility for her safety, she was untied and conducted to the apartments of the Comtesse. The guards retired to bed after an early supper, and when the unfortunate girl had been persuaded to take a little nourishment, Madame de Lorsange, unable to restrain the most intense interest, doubtless said to herself: ‘This wretched and probably innocent creature is treated as a criminal. On the other hand everything prospers around me – who, assuredly, am much more a criminal than she is!’
Madame de Lorsange, I say, as soon as she saw her young guest a little more at ease, a little consoled by the caresses and attentions lavished on her and the interest taken in her, induced her to describe in some detail the events which had brought such an honest and sensible-looking creature into such disastrous circumstances.
‘To tell you the story of my life, Madame,’ said the beautiful unfortunate, addressing the Comtesse, ‘is to offer you the most striking example of the misfortunes of innocence. It would be to accuse providence to complain of it – it would be a sort of crime, and I dare not do it…’
Tears flowed abundantly from the eyes of the poor girl. But, having given way to her emotions for a few moments, she regained control of herself and commenced her narrative in these terms.
Four (#ulink_e9c66812-bc0b-5d0c-83e2-68cc3b588695)
You will permit me to conceal my name and birth, Madame; without being illustrious it is honourable, nor was I originally destined to the humiliation to which you now see me reduced. I lost my parents while quite young, and thought that, with the little money they left me, I could wait for satisfactory employment. I refused many offers of work because of their dubious nature. And so, without perceiving it, I exhausted my small capital in Paris – where I was born. The poorer I became, the more I found myself despised; the greater my need of assistance, the less did I expect to obtain any. But of all the trials I experienced during the early days of my unhappy situation, of all the horrible proposals made to me, I shall only tell you of the events which befell me at the home of Monsieur Dubourg, one of the wealthiest landlords in the capital. I was sent to him by the woman who kept the boarding-house where I was lodging, and she recommended him as a gentleman whose good name and riches could the most surely alleviate the rigours of my condition. After waiting a very long time in the ante-room of Monsieur Dubourg, I was at last introduced to him. This odd-looking creature, about forty-eight years old, had just got out of bed. He was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown which scarcely hid his disorder; and, when I entered, his servants were dressing his hair. He dismissed them immediately and asked me what I wished for.
‘Alas! sir,’ I replied, very much confused, ‘I am a poor orphan, and despite the fact that I’m not yet fourteen years of age, I am already acquainted with every shade of adversity. I come to beg your pity, to implore your compassion…’
And so I related to him every detail in the story of my misfortunes, the difficulty I had experienced in finding work, and the shame I felt about accepting any, especially as I had not been born into such a lowly position. I told him how my money had slowly gone, how I could not find employment, and how I hoped he would be able to offer me a means of livelihood. To be brief, I unburdened myself with all the eloquence dictated by misfortune; an eloquence which rises quickly in a simple and sensitive soul – yet one which is abhorrent to the mind of the opulent…
Monsieur Dubourg listened to me, indulging in many distractions the while. He then asked me if I had always been good.
‘I should neither be so poor nor so embarrassed, sir,’ I replied, ‘did I wish to cease being so.’
‘But,’ exclaimed Monsieur Dubourg, ‘by what right do you claim that the wealthy should assist you, while you refuse to be of service to them?’
‘Of what service do you pretend to speak, sir?’ I enquired, informing him that I desired nothing better than a chance to render those which decency and my age permitted.
He answered me at some length: ‘The services of a child like you are but little use for domestic purposes; you are neither old enough nor even strong enough for such a position as you wish. You had far better occupy yourself in pleasing men, and in trying to find some fellow who will consent to take care of you. All this virtue of which you make such a fuss is worthless in the world; you may bow continually at the foot of its altars, yet its vain incense will never feed you. What pleases men least, what they hold in the least esteem, and what they despise above all else, is the so-called wisdom of your sex. Here, in this world, my child, we value only what brings us profit or delight – and of what profit is a woman’s virtue to us? Her caprices and her disorders serve us and amuse us, but her chastity never interests us in the slightest. In other words, when men like us grant a request, it is always in the hope of receiving something in return. And how can a little girl like you repay what is done for her, unless she abandons herself completely to us, allowing us all that we may desire of her person?’
‘Oh, sir!’ I replied, my heart grown heavy with sighs, ‘have honesty and benevolence altogether disappeared from the intentions of men?’
‘Very nearly,’ replied Dubourg; ‘people talk about them a great deal, yet why would you have things so? Don’t you realise that people have recovered from the mania of obliging gratis? – they have discovered that the pleasures of chastity are but the enjoyments of pride; and, as nothing is so rapidly dispersed, have come to prefer more genuine sensations. They realise, for example, that with a child like you, it is infinitely more profitable to reap, as the fruit of their monetary advances, all those pleasures offered by the refinements of lust, rather than the very chilly and unsatisfying ones of handing out alms for nothing. The knowledge of his reputation, enjoyed by a liberal, open-handed, and generous man, never equals in pleasure – even at the instant he enjoys such actions most intensely – the slightest delights of the senses.’
‘Oh, sir! When mankind is ruled by principles such as these, there can be nothing left for the unfortunate except to perish!’
‘What matter? The population of France is much greater than is necessary; providing its machine always has the same elasticity, what does it matter to the State whether its body is composed of a few more or a few less individuals?’
‘But do you believe that children can respect their fathers or their elders when they are ill-treated by them?’
‘What does it matter to a father whether the children who trouble him love him or not?’
‘It would, then, have been far better had we been smothered in our cradles!’
‘Certainly! – Such was once the custom in many countries; amongst the Greeks for instance; and such is the custom of the Chinese: in that country unfortunate children are exposed, or put to death. What is the good of letting such creatures live when they cannot rely on the assistance of their parents – either because these happen to be dead, or because they disclaim their offspring? If such children are allowed to live they only serve to overburden the State by increasing a population which is already too great. Bastards, orphans and deformed children should be condemned to death at birth; the first two classes because they no longer have anyone to watch over them and care for them – and because a childhood endured under such conditions may one day make them dangerous to society; the others because deformed weaklings can be of no use to society. All children coming within these categories are to society what excrescences become to the flesh: they nourish themselves on the sap of the healthy members, and at the same time weaken them causing them to degenerate. They might be compared with those parasitic plants and vegetables which, attaching themselves to healthy growths, completely spoil these by drawing off their nutritious essence. The funds collected to feed such scum are crying abuses; particularly those richly endowed establishments which are built for such creatures, and at such an expense! As if the human species was so exceedingly rare, so infinitely precious, that it becomes necessary to consider the welfare of its lowest segment! But let us leave the discussion of these policies of which you cannot, my child, comprehend a thing; and as for yourself, why complain of your predicament when the remedy lies within yourself?’
‘At what a price, gracious heaven!’
‘At the price of a mere chimera, a thing which has no value at all, other than the one which your pride places on it. Briefly,’ continued this barbarian, whilst rising and opening the door, ‘that is all I can do for you – If you can’t agree to my proposition, get out of my sight! I do not like beggars…’
My tears flowed; I could not hold them back any longer. Would you believe it, Madame? – they served only to increase the irritable temper of this man, instead of softening him. He slammed the door, and seizing me by the collar of my dress brutally told me that he was going to force me into doing that which I would not willingly grant him. At this cruel moment my misfortune lent me courage; I extricated myself from his arms and threw myself towards the door.
‘Loathsome man,’ I shouted as I ran; ‘may heaven, so grievously insulted by you, punish you as you deserve for your execrable cruelty and hardness of heart! You are worthy neither of those riches which you put to so vile a use, nor of the air which you breathe in a world stained by your barbarities.’
Reaching my lodgings I hastened to inform my landlady as to the kind of reception given me by the man to whose house she had sent me. But my surprise passed all bounds when I heard this female wretch load me with reproaches instead of sympathetically sharing my grief!
‘You mean little creature,’ she exclaimed in her rage; ‘do you imagine that men are foolish enough to bestow charity on little girls such as yourself without exacting the interest on their money? Monsieur Dubourg is too kind to have acted as he has done. Had I been in his position you would not have escaped from my room before I had satisfied my desires. However, since you do not wish to profit by the help I have offered, I can only let you dispose of yourself as you wish. You owe me rent – by tomorrow you must either pay me my money or go to prison!’
‘Madame, have pity on me…’
‘People starve through indulging in pity.’
‘But what would you have me do?’
‘You must return to Monsieur Dubourg – you must satisfy him, and bring me back some cash. I shall go and see him and make up, if I can, for your silly behaviour. I shall offer him your apologies. But mind you behave better next time!’
Ashamed and in despair at not knowing which path to take, seeing myself harshly repulsed by everyone, and without any other resource, I told Madame Desroches (that was my landlady’s name) that I was ready for everything in order to placate her. She went off to see the financier, and on her return informed me that she had experienced considerable difficulty in prevailing on him to grant me another chance – that only by dint of repeated entreaties had she persuaded him to see me again the following morning. She ended by warning me that I had better keep an eye on my conduct, for if I disappointed him again, or disobeyed him in the least, he would himself undertake the business of having me locked up for life.
Next day I arrived at the mansion quite excited. Dubourg was alone, and in a more indecent state than on the previous evening. Brutality, libertinism, all the marks of debauchery shone forth from his sullen features.
‘You have la Desroches to thank for my welcome,’ he grumbled in a harsh tone; ‘for it is only on her account that I condescend to grant you my kindness for a space. You should certainly feel undeserving of it after your conduct yesterday! Undress immediately! And if you offer anything like the slightest resistance to my desires, two men who are waiting in my ante-room will take you to a place which you will never leave again while there is life in your body…’
‘Oh, sir!’ I wept, throwing myself at the knees of this despicable man, ‘relent, allow yourself some mercy, I beseech you! I would rather die a thousand deaths than betray the principles I received during my childhood. Do you not realise that you will no sooner have accomplished your crime than the spectacle of my despair will overwhelm you with remorse…’
But the infamies to which Dubourg had abandoned himself whilst I spoke hindered me from proceeding further. I realised the folly of pretending to myself that I could affect a man who found my grief merely a vehicle for the increase of his horrible passions. He became more and more inflamed at my bitter accents, at my weeping and shuddering, relishing them with an inhumanity which frightened me, and further preparing himself for his criminal attempts. He rose to his feet, revealing himself to me in a state in which reason rarely triumphs, and during which the resistance of the object which causes such loss of reason is but an added stimulus to the delirium of the senses. He grasped me brutally; impetuously he tore away those veils which still concealed what he was burning to enjoy; then, in turn, he abused me, flattered me, caressed me, and treated me with contempt…Oh! what a picture! Almighty God, what a strange medley of hardness and mad unbridled lust! It seemed as if the Supreme Being, during the first of such circumstances in my life, wished to imprint eternally on my soul an image of all the horror I ought to feel for the kind of crime, or sin, which so often has its genesis in an abundance of evils similar to those with which I was threatened…But was there necessity for complaint at this hour? Certainly not – for I owed my very safety to his excesses…A little less debauchery and he would have had his will of me; but the fires of Dubourg’s ardour were extinguished by the effervescence of his attempts. Heaven avenged, on my behalf, all the assaults to which the monster tried to abandon himself – for the loss of his force before the sacrifice preserved me from becoming his victim.
Nevertheless, Dubourg only became the more insulting. He accused me of being the cause of his weakness, and wished to recompense himself by fresh outrages and abuses of an even more terrifying nature. There was nothing disgusting he did not say to me, nothing he did not attempt, nothing his vile imagination, the hardness of his nature, and his depraved morals did not cause him to undertake. But my awkwardness tired his patience, especially as I made not the slightest attempt to play up to him. You may well imagine that it required considerable fortitude on my part to lend myself in such a manner; nor has the passage of time been able to obliterate my remorse…Nothing, however, succeeded; his final attempts failed miserably; and my submission lost its power to inflame him. In vain he successively passed from tenderness to severity, from severity to tyranny, from glances of loving sympathy to the excesses of filth and lust. At length we were equally tired – a condition which fortunately persisted and prevented his being able to recover the ability necessary for truly dangerous attacks. He gave over, but made me promise to return the following day; and in order to be absolutely sure of this he paid me only the sum I owed la Desroches. And so I returned to the woman’s house exceedingly humbled by my adventure, and firmly decided, whatever might happen to me in the future, never to expose myself to this man a third time. I expressed these ideas to my landlady when paying her, and decried with maledictions the old rogue who had been capable of so cruelly taking advantage of my misery. Nevertheless, my curses, far from bringing on him the wrath of God, seemed only to bring him good fortune. Eight days later I learned that this notorious libertine had just received from the government a grant which increased his annual revenue to more than 400,000 livres. I was lost in reflections on this and similar inconsistencies of destiny, when a ray of hope seemed suddenly to lighten my heart.
La Desroches came to tell me that at last she had discovered a house where I would gladly be received, providing I conducted myself well therein.
‘Oh! Merciful heaven,’ I cried delightedly, flinging myself into her arms, ‘– that is the very condition I should myself lay down; do not doubt my decision for an instant – I accept the offer with pleasure…’
And so I left the home of Desroches for what I hoped would be a changed and better period of life.
My new master was an old usurer who had become rich not only by way of lending money, but also by robbing everyone with whom he came into contact – whenever he found it possible to do so safely and with impunity. He lived on the rue Quincampoix, in an apartment on the first floor, accompanied by an old mistress whom he called his wife and who was at least as wicked as he himself.
‘Sophie,’ said this miser to me (for that was the name I had assumed in order to conceal my own), ‘my dear Sophie, the first of the virtues necessary to anyone who lives in my house is that of honesty…And if ever I should find you appropriating to yourself the tenth part of one of my pennies, I shall have you hanged – hanged, do you understand, until it would be impossible to revive you! For if my wife and I are able to enjoy a few small pleasures in our old age, it is only because it is the fruit of our excessive labours and profound sobriety. By the way, my child, do you eat a lot?’
‘Only a few ounces of bread a day, sir,’ I replied; ‘together with a little water and some soup when I am lucky enough to be able to have it.’
‘Soup! Soup! – good heavens!’ exclaimed the old miser to his wife – ‘Let us bewail the extravagance of luxury and its progress in our times!’ Then he continued: ‘For a year this child has been looking for a job; for a year she has been dying of starvation; and at the same time she wants to eat soup! We ourselves have it only rarely – once every Sunday, to be precise – we who have worked ourselves like galley-slaves for forty years. You will receive three ounces of bread a day, my girl, half a bottle of river water, and every eighteen months one of my wife’s old dresses from which you can make your petticoats. At the end of a year, if we are satisfied with your services, and if your approach to economy corresponds with our own; if, in short, you order arrangements so that our domestic matters prosper, then we will pay you three crowns.
‘Looking after us is only a small matter. It is simply a case of cleaning and polishing this six-roomed flat three times each week. And, of course, you will make the beds, answer the door, powder my wig, dress the hair of my wife, look after the dog, the cat, and the parrot, attend to your kitchen duties, and wash the dishes regularly, whether they have been used or not; as well as helping my wife with the cooking and spending your spare time making caps, knitting stockings, and producing other little things for the household. So you see, Sophie, there isn’t much to do, and you will have quite enough leisure in which to attend to your own odd jobs and make whatever clothing you may need.’
You can easily imagine, Madame, that one would have to be in precisely that state of misery in which I happened to be before you would have accepted such a position. Not only were these creatures asking me to do far more work than my age and strength permitted, but was it possible to keep going on the food and the pittance they offered? Nevertheless I was careful not to be difficult, and installed myself in their home that same evening.
If, Madame, the cruel situation in which I found myself allowed me to think of amusing you for a moment – when I ought only to try and arouse sympathetic feeling for me in your heart – I honestly believe I could send you into paroxysms of laughter by relating in detail some of the manifestations of avarice which abounded so plentifully in that house. But such a terrible catastrophe befell me during my second year there that, when I think of it, I find it difficult to offer humorous details before acquainting you with the nature of this misfortune. Nevertheless, I can tell you, Madame, that lights were never used in that house. The bedroom of my master and mistress was situated directly opposite the street lamp, so they dispensed with any other means of illumination, not even using a light to see their way to bed. As for underwear and suchlike, they never wore it, but sewed into the sleeves of their coats and dresses old ruffles, which I washed each Saturday evening, so that they would be clean and fresh for Sunday. Neither were there any sheets or towels, so as to avoid the expense of laundering – for this, according to the respectable Monsieur Du Harpin, was an unusually expensive item. They never had wine in the house, for, according to Madame Du Harpin, clear water was the natural beverage of the first men, and the only one prescribed us by nature. Every time bread was cut a basket had to be placed underneath the loaf so as to catch the crumbs. To these were added the remnants of every meal, and on Sundays the mixture was fried in a little rancid butter and served up to form the special dish of the Sabbath day. Clothes and upholstery were never brushed in the usual manner, as that might have tended to produce wear in the material. Instead they were lightly swept with a feather duster. Their shoes were reinforced with metal caps, and each of them kept, as venerable relics, those which they had worn on their wedding day. But a much more bizarre duty was one which I had to undertake once a week. There was one large room in the flat with completely bare walls. Here I used to go regularly in order to scrape some of the plaster off the walls with a knife. This was then passed through a fine sieve, and I was instructed to use the resulting powder each morning to dress the gentleman’s wig and the chignon of the lady.
I would to God that these were the only depraved methods of economy indulged by this sorry couple. Nothing is more natural than the desire to conserve one’s means; but what is not equally so is the wish to increase them with the fortunes of others – and it did not take me long to realise that it was in this manner that Monsieur Du Harpin had become so rich.
Now at that time there was living above us an individual in very easy circumstances, owning some very pretty jewels; and these, perhaps because they belonged to our neighbour, or perhaps because they had actually passed through his hands, were well known to my master. Quite frequently I heard him lamenting to his wife about a certain gold box worth thirty or forty louis, which, he said, would certainly have belonged to him if he had been a little more adroit at an earlier time. In order to console himself for having returned the box which he had once borrowed, Monsieur Du Harpin planned to steal it, and it was me he commanded to effect this transference.
Having delivered a long speech on the unimportance of stealing, and on the possible utility to society of such an activity – since it served to re-establish an equilibrium totally upset by the unequal distribution of wealth, Monsieur Du Harpin presented me with a false key, assuring me that it would open the apartment of our neighbour, and that I would find the box in a desk which was never locked. He added that I would be able to remove it without any danger, and that for such a considerable service he would add an extra crown to my wages for the following two years.
‘Oh, Monsieur!’ I cried, ‘is it possible that a master dares attempt to corrupt his servant in such a manner? What is to prevent me from turning against you the very weapons which you have placed in my hands? And how could you reasonably object if I robbed you according to your own principles?’
Monsieur Du Harpin, astonished at my reply, did not dare insist further. He reacted by nursing a secret grudge against me; but explained his behaviour by pretending he had been testing me, saying that it was fortunate I had not succumbed to his insidious suggestions as otherwise I should have been hanged. I accepted his explanation, but from that time onwards I felt both the misfortunes with which such a proposition menaced me, and how unwise I had been to answer so firmly. Nevertheless, there had been no middle way; for I had been faced with the choice of actually committing the crime, or of obstinately rejecting the proposal. Had I been a little more experienced I should have left the house at that instant; but it had already been written on the page of my destiny that every honest impulse in my character would have to be paid for by some misfortune. I was therefore obliged to submit to circumstances without any possibility of escape.
Monsieur Du Harpin allowed almost a month to pass – that is to say nearly the turn of my second year in his employ – and never said a word, or showed the least resentment at my refusal. Then one evening, my work being finished and having just retired to my room for a few hours of rest, I suddenly heard the door thrown open, and saw, not without fear, Monsieur Du Harpin accompanied by a police official and four soldiers of the watch who immediately surrounded my bed.
‘Perform your duties, officer,’ he said to the police official. ‘This miserable creature has stolen a diamond of mine worth a thousand crowns. You will almost certainly find it in her room, or on her person!’
‘But, sir! You cannot possibly think I have robbed you,’ I cried, throwing myself, in consternation, at the foot of my bed. ‘Ah! who knows better than you how repugnant such an action would be to me, and how impossible it is that I should commit it!’
But Monsieur Du Harpin made a great commotion so that nobody could hear what I was saying, and so contrived to order the search that the miserable ring was found in my mattress. In face of such proof there could be no reply. Therefore I was immediately seized, handcuffed, and ignominiously led to the Prison du Palais – without a word being heard of the many things I could have said in my defence.
The trial of those unfortunate wretches who lack both influence and protection is quickly over in France. For it is believed that virtue is incompatible with poverty; and misfortune, in our courts, is accepted as conclusive proof against the accused. An unjust bias causes a presumption that the person who might possibly have committed the crime actually did commit it. The feelings of one’s judges thus take their measure from the situation in which one is found – and if titles or wealth are not available to prove the honesty of the accused, the impossibility of his being so is immediately accepted as demonstrated.
Well might I defend myself, well might I furnish an exact description of the true state of affairs to the state lawyer who was sent to question me. My master accused me in court – the diamond had been found in my room; therefore, clearly, I must have stolen it. When I wished to describe Monsieur Du Harpin’s horrible deed, and to show how the misfortune which had befallen me was simply a consequence of his vengeance, of his obsessive desire to ruin a creature who knowing his secrets was in a position to wield considerable power over him, they interpreted my complaints as recriminations, and informed me that Monsieur Du Harpin had been known for forty years as a man of integrity and was quite incapable of such an outrage. Thus it was that I found myself about to pay with my life for my refusal to participate in a criminal conspiracy – when an unexpected happening set me free, once more to plunge me into the further miseries still awaiting me in the world outside.
A woman of forty named Dubois, celebrated for her indulgence in every species of horror, was likewise on the eve of her execution – which at least was more deserved than mine, since her crimes had been established while mine did not exist.
Somehow or other I had inspired a kind of sympathy in this woman and one evening, a few days before each of us was due to lose her life, she told me not to go to bed, but to remain as unobtrusively close to her as I could.
‘Between midnight and one o’clock in the morning,’ explained this prosperous villain, ‘the prison will be set on fire…thanks to my machinations. Someone may be burned, but what does that matter? The certain thing is that we shall make our escape. Three men, accomplices and friends of mine, will meet us, and I can answer to you for your liberty.’
The hand of heaven, which had just punished my innocence, became the servant of crime so far as my protectress was concerned. Once the fire had started the conflagration became terrible. Ten people were burned alive, but we made our escape in safety. The same day we managed to reach the cottage of a poacher who lived in the forest of Bondy. He was thus a different kind of rogue, yet nevertheless an intimate friend of our band.
‘Now you are free, my dear Sophie,’ la Dubois said to me, ‘and you can choose whatever kind of life seems to suit you best; but if you listen to me you will renounce your virtuous ways, which, as you see, have never succeeded in helping you. Your misplaced delicacy conducted you right to the foot of the gallows, yet a frightful crime has saved me from a similar fate. Just look at the value which goodness has in the world, and then consider whether it is worth dying for. You are young and pretty; and, if you like, I will take care of your future in Brussels. I am going there, because that is where I was born, and within two years I can place you at the very peak of fortune. But I warn you that it will certainly not be by the narrow paths of virtue that I will promote your success. At your age it is necessary to engage in more than one profession, as well as to serve in more than one intrigue, if you wish to make your way to the top with any promptitude. Do you understand me, Sophie? – Do you understand me? Decide quickly because we must be on the move. We are safe here only for a few hours.’
‘Oh, Madame,’ I replied to my benefactress, ‘I am obliged to you for so much, since you have saved my life; yet it fills me with despair when I consider that this was possible only by way of the commission of a crime. And you may be very sure that had it been necessary for me to participate in it I would rather have died than done so. I know but too well the dangers I have courted in abandoning myself to those sentiments of honesty which for ever spring up in my heart, but whatever the thorns of virtue may be I shall always prefer them to the false glow of prosperity and those unreliable advantages which momentarily accompany crime. Thanks be to heaven, my religious convictions will never desert me, and if providence renders my way of life difficult it is only in order the more abundantly to recompense me in a better world. It is this hope which consoles me, this hope which softens all my griefs, calms my complaints, fortifies me in adversity and enables me fearlessly to encounter any evils with which I may be faced. This joy would immediately be extinguished in my heart were I to stain myself with crime – and, to the fear of even more terrible reverses in this world, I should add the frightening expectation of those punishments which celestial justice reserves in the beyond for those who outrage it.’
‘I’m afraid you have some absurd ideas which will quickly take you to the workhouse, my girl,’ exclaimed la Dubois, frowning. ‘Believe me, you will be well advised to give up your ideas of celestial justice, of punishment, or rewards to come. Those things are all best forgotten as soon as you leave school, for their only result is to help cause you to starve to death – if you are stupid enough to believe them once you have launched out on a life of your own. The hardness of the rich justifies the rascality of the poor, my child; if humanity reigned in their hearts, then virtue would become established in ours; but so long as our misfortunes, and our patience in enduring them, so long as our good faith and our submission serve only to multiply our chains, then we can lay our crimes at their door, and we would be fools indeed were we to refuse to profit by them when they can to some extent ameliorate the yoke with which we are burdened.
‘Nature caused us all to be born equal, Sophie; and if chance has been pleased to disorganise the original plan of her general laws, it is for us to correct such caprices, and to recover, by our adroitness, the usurpations of those who are stronger than us. I love to hear them – those rich gentlemen, those judges and magistrates – I love to hear them preach of virtue to us. It must be very difficult to avoid theft when one has three times more than is necessary for living in comfort; it must be equally difficult never to think of murder when one is surrounded only by the adulations of sycophants, or the submission of absolute slaves; likewise it must be enormously distressing to be temperate and sober when one is perpetually surrounded by the most succulent delicacies; and people must experience a great deal of trouble in being honest when they have no reason to lie.
‘But we, Sophie, we whom this barbarous providence which you are foolish enough to idolise has condemned to crawl on the earth as a serpent crawls in the grass – we who are disdained because we are poor, humiliated because we are weak, and who at length find nothing but bitterness and care over the whole surface of the globe – could you wish us to forbear from crime when it is her hand alone which opens for us the door of life, sustains and maintains life in us, and saves us from losing it? You would, it seems, prefer us to be perpetually submissive and humble whilst those who control us retain for themselves every favour which fortune can grant, we having only the experience of pain, hardship, and sorrow, with the addition of tears, the iron-mark of infamy, and, finally, the scaffold!
‘No, Sophie, no – either this providence which you so revere has been created solely for our scorn – or that is not the intention…Get to know it better, get to know it better and you will soon be convinced that whenever it places us in a position where evil becomes necessary for us, granting us at the same time the possibility of exercising this evil, it is because evil, just as much as good, serves its laws; and it gains equally as much from the one as from the other. We were created in a state of equality, and the man who disturbs this state is not more culpable than he who seeks to re-establish it. Both men are activated by given motives, and each must follow his impulse, tying a bandage round his eyes and enjoying the game.’
I confess that if ever I was shaken it was by the seductions of this clever woman. But a voice louder than hers combated the sophisms she wished to plant in my heart. I listened to it, and asserted for the last time that I had decided never to allow myself to be corrupted.
‘Ah, well!’ exclaimed Dubois. ‘Do what you wish. I leave you to your evil fate – but if ever you happen to get yourself hanged, which you can hardly escape since the destiny which watches over crime inevitably sacrifices virtue, remember, at least, never to mention us.’
While we were reasoning in this fashion, the three companions of la Dubois were drinking with the poacher; and, as wine commonly has the effect of causing the malefactor to forget his past criminal offences, often inviting him to augment them at the very edge of the precipice from which he has just escaped, so did the miscreant wretches who surrounded me feel a desire to amuse themselves at my expense before I had time to run away from them. Their principles, their morals, combined with the sinister location in which we found ourselves, and the apparent security from the law which they felt they at present enjoyed, together with their drunkenness, my age, my innocence, and my figure, all encouraged them in their project. They rose from the table, held counsel amongst themselves and consulted la Dubois – proceedings the mystery of which made me shudder with horror, and which resulted in my having to decide whether, before leaving them, I would pass through the hands of all four willingly or by force. If I did it willingly they would each give me a crown to help me on my way, since I had refused to accompany them. If, on the other hand, they were obliged to use force to settle the matter, the thing would be done all the same, but the last of the four to enjoy me would plunge a knife into my breast and they would bury me immediately afterwards at the foot of a tree.
I leave you to imagine, Madame, the effect which this execrable proposition had on me. I threw myself at the feet of la Dubois, begging her to be my protectress yet a second time; but the villainous creature just laughed at my terrifying situation – which to her seemed a mere nothing.
‘Gracious heavens!’ she said, ‘– just look at you, so miserable and unhappy simply because you are obliged to serve successively four big boys built like these! In Paris, my girl, there must be ten thousand women who would hand over plenty of beautiful crowns if they could be in the position you are in at the moment…Listen,’ she added, after thinking things over for a few seconds, ‘I have enough control over these sly fellows to obtain mercy for you, if you wish to prove yourself worthy of it.’
‘What must I do, Madame,’ I cried in tears. ‘Instruct me! – I am quite ready to carry out your orders…’
‘Follow us, become one of our band, and do the same things as we do without the slightest repugnance. For this price I can guarantee you the rest…’
Consideration did not seem necessary to me. I agree that in accepting I ran the risk of new dangers; but these were less pressing than those immediately facing me. I would be able to avoid them; whilst nothing could help me escape those with which I was menaced.
‘I will go wherever you wish, Madame,’ I said; ‘I promise you I will go anywhere – only save me from the lusts of these men and I will never leave you!’
‘Boys,’ said la Dubois to the four bandits, ‘this girl is now a member of our gang. I accept her and I approve her. I forbid you, moreover, to do her any violence. And you mustn’t disgust her with our business on her first day. Just consider how useful her age and face can be to us, and let’s use them to our interest instead of sacrificing her to our pleasures…’
But once roused, the passions can reach such a pitch in a man that no voice is able to recall them into captivity; and those with whom I was dealing were in no state to hear anything at all. All four of them, in fact, immediately surrounded me, and in a condition least calculated to enable me to expect mercy, declaring unanimously to la Dubois that since I was in their hands there was no reason why I should not become their prey.
‘First me!’ said one of them, seizing me round the waist.
‘And by what right do you claim the first turn?’ exclaimed a second, pushing his comrade aside and tearing me brutally from his arms.
‘You shan’t have her until I’ve finished!’ shouted a third.
And the dispute becoming heated, our four champions tore each other’s hair, flung each other on the ground, sent each other flying head over heels and rained blows on one another. As for me I was only too happy to see them all involved in a situation which gave me the chance to escape. So while la Dubois was occupied in trying to separate them I quickly ran away, soon reaching the forest. In a moment the house had disappeared from view.
‘Oh, Being Most Supreme,’ I exclaimed, throwing myself to my knees as soon as I felt myself secure from pursuit, ‘– Being Supreme, my only true protector and my guide, deign to take pity on my misery. You know my weakness and my innocence. You know with what confidence I place in you my every hope. Deign to snatch me from the dangers which pursue me; or by a death less shameful than that which I have recently escaped, recall me promptly to your eternal peace.’
Prayer is the sweetest consolation of the unfortunate. One is stronger after prayer. And so I rose full of courage. But, as it was growing dark, I wound my way deep into a copse so as to pass the night with less risk. The safety in which I believed myself, my exhaustion, and the little joy I was tasting, all contributed to help me pass a good night. The sun was already high when I opened my eyes to its light. The moment of awakening is, however, calamitous for the unhappy; for, after the rest of the bodily senses, the cessation of thought, and the instantaneous forgetfulness of sleep, the memory of misfortune seems to leap into the mind with a newness of life which makes its weight all the more onerous to bear.
‘Ah, well,’ I said to myself, ‘it seems to be true that there are some human beings whom nature destines to live under the same conditions as wild beasts. Living hidden in their retreats, flying from men like the animals, what difference remains between man and beast? Is it worth while being born to endure so pitiful a fate?’
And my tears flowed abundantly as these sad reflections formed themselves in my mind. Barely had I ceased thinking after this manner when I heard a noise somewhere near me. For a moment I thought it was some creatures of the wood; then, little by little, I distinguished the voices of two men.
‘Come along, my friend, come along,’ said one of them, ‘We shall do wonderfully well here. And my mother’s cruel and deadly presence shall no longer prevent me from tasting with you, at least for a few moments, those pleasures which are so dear to me.’
They drew nearer, placing themselves so directly in front of me that not a word they spoke, not a movement they made, could escape me. And then I saw –
‘In heaven’s name, Madame,’ said Sophie, interrupting her narrative, ‘is it possible that fate has never placed me in any situations but those so critical that it becomes as difficult for modesty to hear them as to depict them?…That horrible crime which outrages both nature and law, that frightful offence upon which the hand of God has fallen heavily so many times, that infamy, in a word, so new to me that I only understood it with difficulty – this I saw, consummated before my very eyes, with all the impure excitations, all the frightful episodes which it is possible for premeditated depravity to conjure up.’
One of the men – he who assumed the dominating role – was about twenty-four years old. He was wearing a green coat, and well enough dressed to cause me to think that he came of good family. The other was probably a young domestic of his house, around seventeen or eighteen and with a very pretty face and figure. The scene which followed was as lengthy as it was scandalous; and the passage of time seemed even more cruel to me, for I dared not move for fear of being discovered.
At last the criminal actors who had played this scene before me, satiated, no doubt, arose to make their way to the road which must have led to their home. But the master, coming near the thicket where I was hiding so that he might relieve himself, my high bonnet betrayed me.
He saw it immediately: ‘Jasmin,’ he called to his young Adonis, ‘we have been discovered, my dear…A girl, a profane creature has seen our mysteries! Come, let’s get this hussy out of here and find out what she’s been doing.’
I did not give them the trouble of helping me out of my hiding place, but quickly jumped up and threw myself at their feet.
‘Good gentlemen,’ I cried, extending my arms towards them, ‘kindly take pity on an unfortunate creature whose fate is more to be commiserated than you might think. Few of the reverses which men meet in life can be equal to mine. Do not let the situation in which you have found me arouse your suspicions, for it is the result of my poverty rather than my errors. Instead of increasing the sum of evils which crush me, you can, on the contrary, diminish it by helping me find a means of escape from the misfortunes which continually pursue me.
Monsieur de Bressac, for that was the name of the young man into whose hands I had fallen, had an undue amount of the libertine in his character, but had not been provided with an equal abundance of compassion in his heart. It is, nevertheless, unfortunately only too common to see the debauchery of the senses completely extinguish pity in man. In fact the usual effect of such a life seems to be that of hardening the heart. Whether the greater number of such deviations arise on the basis of a kind of apathy in the soul, or whether they are the result of the violent shock which they imprint on the mass of nerves – thus diminishing the sensitive action of these – it can always be said that a professional debauchee is rarely a man of pity. But, to this natural cruelty in the kind of person whose character I have sketched, there was in Monsieur de Bressac such a marked and additional disgust for our sex, such an inveterate hatred for all that distinguishes it, that it was extremely difficult for me to encourage in his soul those sentiments by which I longed to see him moved.
‘Anyway, my little wood-pigeon, just what are you doing here?’
Such was the only response of this man whom I wished to soften, and it was spoken harshly enough.
‘Tell me the truth! – You saw everything that happened between this young man and myself, didn’t you?’
‘Me? – Oh no, Monsieur!’ I cried quickly, believing I did no wrong in disguising the truth. ‘You may rest assured that I saw only the most ordinary things. I saw you, your friend and yourself, seated together on the grass. I believe I noticed that you chatted together for a moment. But rest completely assured that is all I saw!’
‘I would like to believe you,’ replied Monsieur de Bressac, ‘if only for your own safety. For if I suspected for an instant that you had seen anything else you would certainly never leave this thicket. Come, Jasmin, it is early enough, and we have time to listen to this slut’s adventures. She shall recount them to us immediately; and then we can tie her to this great oak and try out our hunting knives on her body.’
The young men sat down and ordered me to sit near them. Then I told them, quite truthfully, all that had happened to me since I had found myself alone in the world.
‘Jasmin,’ said Monsieur de Bressac, rising as soon as I had finished, ‘let us be just for once in our lives, my dear. The equitable Themis has already condemned this hussy, and we cannot allow the goddess’s wishes to be so cruelly frustrated. We shall ourselves execute upon this criminal the sentence she has incurred. What we are about to commit is not a crime, my friend, it is a virtue, a re-establishment of the order of things. And as we sometimes have the misfortune to disorganise this order, let us courageously right matters – at least when the opportunity presents itself.’
And the heartless men, having pulled me from my place, dragged me towards the tree they had spoken of, without being touched either by my sobs or my tears.
‘Tie her here, in this manner,’ said Bressac to his valet, as he held me with my belly against the tree.
Using their garters and their handkerchiefs, in a moment they had me so painfully tied down that it was impossible for me to move a single muscle. This operation achieved, the villains removed my skirts, lifted my chemise as high as my shoulders, and took out their hunting knives. I thought for a minute that they were going to cleave open my posteriors which had been uncovered by their brutality.
‘That’s enough,’ said Bressac before I had received a single cut. ‘That’s enough to acquaint her with what we could do to her, to keep her dependent on us. Sophie,’ he continued, as he untied the cords, ‘dress yourself, be discreet, and follow us. If you remain loyal to me, my child, you shall have no excuse for repentance. My mother needs a second chambermaid, and I am going to present you to her. On the strength of your story I can guarantee your conduct to her, but if you abuse my kindness or betray my confidence – then remember this tree which will become your death bed. It is only a mile or two from the castle to which we are taking you, and at the slightest fault you will be brought back here.’
Already dressed, I could scarcely find words to thank my benefactor. I threw myself at his feet, embraced his knees, and gave him every assurance possible as to my good behaviour. But he was as insensible to my joy as he had been to my suffering.
‘Let’s get going,’ he exclaimed. ‘Your conduct will speak for you, and that alone will decide your fate.’
We continued to make our way. Jasmin and his master talked together, and I followed them humbly without saying word. In less than an hour we arrived at the castle of Madame la Comtesse de Bressac, and its magnificence gave me the impression that whatever position I should fill in this household it would assuredly be more lucrative than that of housekeeper to Monsieur and Madame Du Harpin. I was made to wait in one of the servants’ rooms, where Jasmin gave me a very good lunch. Meanwhile Monsieur de Bressac went up to see his mother, told her all about me and, half an hour later, came to find me himself so that he might introduce me to her.
Madame de Bressac was a woman of forty-five, still very beautiful; and she appeared to be extremely honourable and courteous – but, above all, very kind and human. Nevertheless, a little severity seemed blended in her manner and her speech. She had lost her husband two years previously. He had been a man of unusually distinguished family, but had married her with no other fortune than the celebrated name he gave her. Thus all the benefits which the young Marquis de Bressac could hope for depended on his mother, since what his father had been able to leave him was scarcely enough to live on. Madame de Bressac, however, had augmented this by a considerable allowance. But much more would have been necessary to meet the enormous, as well as the irregular, expenses of her son. There were at least sixty thousand livres of revenue in this house and Monsieur de Bressac had neither brothers nor sisters. Nobody had been able to persuade him to enter the army – for everything which separated him from his chosen pleasures was so insupportable to him that it was impossible to make him accept any tie. For three months of the year the Comtesse and her son lived on their country estate, the remainder of their time being spent in Paris. And these three months, which she insisted her son spend with her, were already a severe torture for a man who could never leave the centre of his pleasures without giving way to despair.
The Marquis de Bressac ordered me to tell his mother the same things which I had related to him; and when I had finished my recital she looked at me and said: ‘Your candour and your naïvety do not permit me to doubt your innocence. I shall ask no further questions of you, except that I would like to know if you are really, as you say, the daughter of the gentleman you have mentioned. If such is the case, I knew your father, and it will give me yet another reason for being even more interested in your welfare. As for your affair at the Du Harpin household, I shall take it upon myself to bring that to a satisfactory conclusion with a couple of visits to the Chancellor – who has been my friend for many years. He is the greatest man of integrity in France, and it will only be necessary to prove your innocence to him in order to bring to naught everything that has been done against you. Then you will be able to reappear in Paris without the slightest fear…But reflect well, Sophie – everything I promise you here is only to be given at the price of the most perfect behaviour. In this way whatever I ask of you will always turn to your profit.’
I threw myself at the feet of Madame de Bressac, assuring her that she would never be anything other than pleased with me; and from that moment I was installed in her home in the position of second chambermaid. After three days the enquiries which Madame de Bressac had made in Paris concerning me brought in all the confirmation I could desire. Every idea of misfortune evaporated at last from my mind, never to be replaced save by the hope of the sweetest consolations I could possibly expect. But it was not written in heaven that poor Sophie should ever be happy, and if a few moments of calm were fortuitously granted her, it was only to render more bitter those horrors which were to follow.
We had barely arrived in Paris before Madame de Bressac began to work for my benefit. A high official asked to see me, listening to my misfortunes with interest. The dishonesty of Du Harpin was thoroughly investigated and fully admitted, and my questioners were convinced that even if I had profited by the fire in the court prisons, at least I had had nothing to do with the starting of it. Finally all proceedings against me were erased from the records (a matter on which they assured me), and the examining magistrates no longer found it necessary to engage in further formalities.
It is easy to imagine the extent to which such circumstances attached me to Madame de Bressac – even had she not shown me many additional kindnesses. Considering such acts as these, how could I be anything other than bound for ever to such a precious protectress? It had, nevertheless, been far from the intentions of the young Marquis de Bressac that I should become so intimately devoted to his mother. Quite apart from the frightful dissipations in which the young man wallowed, the nature of which I have already revealed to you, and into which he plunged with an even more blind prodigality than he had in the country, I was not long in noticing that he absolutely detested the Comtesse. It is true that she did everything in the world to prevent his debauches – or to interfere with them. But she employed, perhaps, too much severity and the Marquis, inflamed even more by the effects of this stringency, gave himself up to libertinism with even greater ardour. Thus the poor Comtesse drew no profit from her persecutions other than that of making herself the object of a sovereign hate.
‘You mustn’t imagine,’ the Marquis often said to me, ‘that my mother acts in your interest entirely of her own volition. Believe me, Sophie, if I didn’t pester her continually, she would scarcely remember the promises she made you. You value her every act, yet all she does has been suggested by me. I am not, therefore, claiming too much when I say that it is only to me that you owe any gratitude. What I demand in return should seem to you even more disinterested, since you are well enough acquainted with my tastes to be quite certain that, however pretty you may be, I shall never lay any claim to your favours. No, Sophie, no, the services I expect of you are of quite another kind. And when you are fully convinced of all I have done for you, I hope that I shall find in your heart everything I have a right to expect.’
These speeches seemed so obscure to me that I never knew how to reply to them. I made random remarks, however – and with perhaps a little too much facility.
Which brings me, Madame, to the moment when I must inform you of the only real fault for which I have felt any need to reproach myself during the whole of my life. While I am describing it as a fault, it was certainly an unparalleled extravagance, but at least it was not a crime. It was a simple enough error, and one for which only I myself was punished; but it also seems to me one which heaven’s equitable hand ought not to have employed to draw me into the abyss which, unknown to me, was opening beneath my feet It had been impossible for me to see the Marquis de Bressac without feeling myself attracted to him by an impulse of tenderness which nothing had been able to quell in me. Whatever reflections I may have made on his lack of interest in women, on the depravity of his tastes, on the moral distances which separated us, nothing, nothing in the world could extinguish this nascent passion. And if the Marquis had asked me for my life, I would have sacrificed it to him a thousand times, feeling that such an action would be as nothing. He was far from suspecting the feelings I entertained for him, as these were carefully locked up in my heart…Ungrateful as he was, he could never discern the cause of those tears which the miserable Sophie shed, day after day, over the shameful disorders which were destroying him. It was, nevertheless, impossible that he could avoid noticing my personal attention to him; for, blinded by my devotion, I went even so far as to serve his errors – at least in so far as decency permitted me – and I always concealed them from his mother.
My conduct had thus earned me something of his confidence, and each small thing he said to me became precious. I allowed myself, in short, to become so dazzled by the little he offered my heart that there were times when I was arrogant enough to believe that I was not indifferent to him. But time after time the excess of his disorders would promptly disabuse me. They were such that not only was the house filled with servants given up to the same execrable tastes as the Marquis, but he even hired outside a crowd of bad characters whom he visited, or who came to see him day by day. And as such tastes, odious as they are, are not the least expensive, the young man disorganised his finances prodigiously. Sometimes I took the liberty of representing to him all the inconveniences of his conduct. He would listen to me without repugnance, but always ended by explaining that it was impossible to correct the kind of vice by which he was dominated and which reproduced itself under a thousand diverse forms. There was a different nuance of this deviation for every age of man, offering continually new sensations every ten years, and thus enabling it to hold its unfortunate devotees in bondage right to the very edge of the grave…But if I attempted to speak to him of his mother and the sorrow he brought her, he would show nothing but vexation, ill-humour, irritation, and impatience. And when he considered for how long she had held a fortune which he felt should already be his, he expressed the most inveterate hatred for this honourable and upright woman, backed by the most unswerving revolt against natural sentiment. Is it then true that when one has so definitely transgressed against the sacred rules of morality and sobriety, the necessary consequence of one’s first crime should be a frightful facility in committing all the others with impunity?
Several times I tried to employ religious argument with him. Nearly always being consoled by my own faith, I attempted to transmit some of its sweetness to the soul of this perverse creature, for I was convinced that I might captivate him by these means if only I could tempt him for a moment to partake of their delights. But the Marquis did not long allow me to employ such methods. The declared enemy of our holy mysteries, a self-opinionated and obstinate railer against the purity of our doctrines, a passionate antagonist against the existence of a Supreme Being, Monsieur de Bressac, instead of being converted by me, sought all the more to corrupt me.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/marquis-sade-de/justine/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.