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CORNELL
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
ornell Universit:

wii

9
OPUS SADICUM
This edition is limited to 250 copies of
which this is No. 18...

PRINTER
83, Rue du Bac
PARIS
OPUS
SADICUM

A Philosophical Romance

FOR THE FIRST TIME TRANSLATED
FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH

(Holland 1791)

With an engraved fronticepiece

 

PARIS
ISIDORE LISEUX

1889

tH
ae

oT
WS Nene

oe Eo eC Se
a a pe gee

 

 

 
JUSTINE,

OR

THE MISFORTUNES

OF

VIRTUE.

 

« O my friend! the prosperity of Crime is like the thunder,
the deceiving fires of which embellish the atmosphere for
an instant, only to hurl into the abyss of death, the unfor-
tunate one they have dazzled. »

 

 

HOLLAND,

At the Associated Booksellers’.

x:

L99L,

 

 
ORR RR ROR RIOR

PREFACE ')

 
  

 

J HE original edition of the fa-
| T 7 mous Justine or the misfortunes
| of Virtue, by the Marquis de
@| Sade, is a book in some man-
Me) ner unknown to readers of the
generation. The author dis-
owned it, pretending, according to custom,
that an unfaithful friend had robbed him of
his manuscript and had published therefrom
only quite a shabby extract, unworthy of him
whose energetic crayon had sketched the
true Justine. He was strangely mistaken.
This pretended extract is, on the contrary,

 

 

(1) Translated from the French edition: Paris, Liseux,
1884.
the main work of the too celebrated mono-
maniac, and the alterations and additions to
which he afterwards subjected it, completely
spoiled it. Undaunted courage is necessary
to face the reading of Justine in four vol-
umes, followed by Juliette in six others, and,
should one attempt it, ennui and disgust soon
get the better of the most tenacious will.
Here the case is quite a different one. In the
two medium-sized tomes, of which the
original edition is composed, we have the
writer’s first conception, such as he had ex-
pressed it, before, emboldened by success,
he undertook to outdo his own eccentricities;
we possess the book which caused so much
sensation from 1791 to 1795, that Revolu-
tionists did not disdain to peruse, and which,
having become exceedingly rare, is to-day
wholly forgotten.

The analysis of this work, having been
given in the Literary and bibliographical
Curiosity (1), dispenses us from entering
here into detailed criticism; we refer the
reader to it.

It will suffice for us to state that this primi-
tive Justine, contrary to the long rambling

 

(1) First Series, 1880. — La Curiosite litteraire et
bibliographique. Paris, Liseux, 1880-1883, 4 vols.
om VIE

which was afterwards drawn out of it, is not
only readable, but may be read with interest.
It is a document. The system which the
author presents therein as an intuition of a
man of genius, a fundamental truth until
then unobserved and which was his lot to
reveal to the world, viz., that true voluptuos-
ness, complete voluptuousness, ought to
have for its seasoning the cries of suffering
from the victims delivered up to frightful
tortures, is a monstrous system; his demon-
stration is moreover illogical, for the paint-
ings of Justine are more appropriate to give
one the nightmare, than to provoke erotic
passions: but there is in this strange amalga-
mation, in this chaos of tenebrous imagina-
tions and criminal follies, a curious subject of
study for the scholar, the philosopher. The
moral, political, religious, social and other
dissertations, which serve as interludes to the
scenes of debauchery and torments, show
that the Marquis de Sade was. not simply
monomaniac enraged after lust: he had read
very much, and, what is surprising, medi-
tated a good deal. He is not alone the echo
of D’Holbach and La Mettrie, with whom he
is evidently inspired: he has ideas of his own,
and sometimes new ideas. Who would ex-
pect, for instance, to find in germ within a
— VIII —

book such as Justine, Darwin’s doctrines on
the evolution of species and the selection
through struggle for life? Such was the or-
dinary fermentation of minds, at the dawn
of the French Revolution, that we encounter
proofs thereof even within documents where
we should not certainly dream of looking for
them.

 
OR RR CRON

THE EDITOR’S NOTICE.

ur Forefathers, in order to be interesting,
4 made use of Magicians, evil Geniuses, all
fabulous personages to whom they fancied
they were allowed, accordingly, to lend
every vice requisite for the entertainment
of their Romances. But since there exists,
unfortunately for Humanity, a class of men among which
the dangerous propensity towards libertinism determines
transgressions as frightful as those with which ancient
Authors were wont to fabulously blacken their Ogres
and Giants, why not prefer Nature to the Fable? And
why refuse one’s self the finest dramatic effects, through
fear of being so bold as to search into that quarry?
Shall one dread to unveil crimes which appear com-
mitted never to issue from out the darkness? The chil-
dren’s maids relate them to the children, bad lived
girls set on fire the imaginations of their sectarians
with them, and Magistrates, by a far more guilty im-
prudence, in alleging a very false love of order, dared
sully by them the annals of Themis. Who will then
keep back the Romancer? All imaginable species of vice,
all species of crimes, are they not all at his disposal?
Has he not the right to paint every one of them to bring
men to detest them? Woe to those whom the paintings
of Justine could corrupt! but let nobody accuse us of
such; whatever way we should have taken, they would
have become no better: there is a kind of persons for
whom virtue itself is a poison

 
RO ROR
EXPLANATION OF THE CUT.

IRTUE between Lust and Irreligion.
To the left is Lust, under the
figure of a young man, whose leg
is entwined by a serpent, symbol
of the author of our evils; with one
hand she lifts the veil of chastity; which con-
cealed Virtue from the gaze of the profane;
and with the other, as well as with her right
foot, guides the fall in which she wishes to
make her succumb. To the right is Irre-
ligion, who forcibly holds back one of Vir-
tue’s arms, whilst with a perfidious hand,
she tears from her bosom a serpent, in order
to poison her. The abyss of Crime is yawn-
ing beneath their steps. Virtue, still strong
in her conscience, raises her eyes towards the
Eternal, and seems to say:

 

Qui sait, lorsque le Ciel nous frappe de ses coups,
Si le plus grand malheur n’est pas un bien pour nous?
Cidipe chez Admete.

Who knoweth, when Heaven doth strike us with its darts,
But the greatest evil to us some good imparts?
RRR ARR OPN

TO MY LADY FRIEND.

ES, CoNSTANCE, fo thee I dedicate this
work; to thee at the same time the honor
and example of thy sex, uniting to the most
sensible soul the most upright and enlight-
ened mind, it becomes only thee to recog-

j yh nise the sweetness of the tears which un-
happy Virtue forces. Abhorring the sophisms of libertin-
ism and irreligion, incessantly combatting them by the
actions and discourses, I fear not on thy account whom
the class of set personages has necessitated in these
Memoirs; the cynicism of certain sketches (softened
down nevertheless as much as possible) will not frighten
thee either; it is Vice who, bemoaning because of its be-
ing unveiled, cries out shame as soon as it is attacked.
The suit against Tartuffe was carried out by bigots; that
of Justine will be the work of libertines. I care very
little about them: my motives, revealed by thee, shall he
disowned by none; thy opinion suffices for my glory, and
I ought, after having pleased thee, either to please uni-
versally, or to console myself for all censures.

 

The design of this Romance (not so Romantic as one
would think) is undoubtedly novel; the ascendancy of
Virtue over Vice, the reward of good, the punishment
of evil, that is the ordinary plan of all the Works of this
kind; should people be not sick of it?
6

But to present Vice everywhere triumphing and Virtue
victim of hey own sacrifices, to show an unfortunate
woman erring from misfortune; the play-toy of wicked-
ness; the merry-maker of all debaucheries ; exposed to the
most barbarous and monstrous tastes; giddy with the
most impudent, the most specious sophims; a prey to the
most crafty seductions, to the most irresistible suborna-
tions; having, to oppose so many reverses, so many
plagues, to repel so much corruption, but a sensible soul,
a natural mind and very much courage; in fine, to hazard
the boldest paintings, the most extraordinary situations,
the most dreadful maxims, the most energetic strokes of
the brush, with the sole aim of obtaining from all this one
of the sublimest lessons of ethics that man has as yet re-
ceived: this was, you will agree, to arrive at the end by a
track but slightly beaten up to the present.

Shall I have succeeded, Constance? Will one tear
from thine eyes determine my triumph? After having
read Justine, wilt thou finally say: “ Oh! how much
these pictures of Crime render me proud to love Virtue!

How sublime she is in her tears! How misfortunes em-
bellish her! ”

O Constance! let these words drop from thy lips, and
my toils are crowned.

—
 

JUSTINE

THE MISFORTUNES OF VIRTUE

PART FIRST

 

HE master-piece of philosophy
would be to develop the means
] which Providence employs to at-
4] tain the ends it proposes over man,
and to mark out accordingly a few
lines of conduct which might make known
to this unhappy biped individual the way in
which he must walk within the thorny career
of life, that he might guard against the whim-
sical caprices of this fatality to which they
give twenty different names, without having
as yet come to understand or define it.

 
8

If, respectful of our social conventions and
never erring from the duties they impose
upon us, it happens, notwithstanding this,
that we have met only with briars, while the
wicked were gathering but roses, persons de-
prived of a stock of virtues as sufficiently
proved to place themselves above those re-
marks, will they not then conclude that it is
better to abandon one’s self to the torrent,
than to resist it? Will they not say that
Virtue, however fair she, may be, becomes
the worst party one riya prise. when she is
to weak to struggle against vice, and that, in
an age wholly corrupted, the surest way is
to do as the others? A little more instructed
if you will, and abusing the lights they have
acquired, will they not say with the angel
Jesrad of Zadig, there is no evil from which
some good does not spring, and that they
may, according to this, give themselves up
to evil, since it is only in fact one of the ways
of producing the good>| Will they not add
that it is indifferent to the general plan
whether ‘such or such a one be good or
wicked by preference, that, if misfortune
persecutes virtue and prosperity accom-
panies Crime, things being equal in the sight
of Nature, it is infinitely better to espouse
the party among the wicked who prosper,
than among the virtuous who fail? It is
9

therefore important to guard against the
dangerous sophisms of a false philosophy; it
is essential to show that the examples of un-
happy virtue, presented to a corrupted soul,
within which remain however a few good
principles, may lead back this soul to the
good as surely as if one had pointed out to
it, in this path of virtue, the most brilliant
palms and the most flattering rewards. It is
undoubtedly hard to have, on the one hand,
to paint a host of misfortunes overwhelming
the gentle and sensible woman, who respects
virtue the most, and, on the other, the afflu-
ences of prosperity over those who crush
and mortify this same woman But if there

springs however 0 some good from the paint-
___Ing of these atalities, shall one feel remorse
for having offered them? Can one be sorry
for having established a fact from which it
will result, for the wise man who fruitfully
reads so useful a lesson of submission to the
orders of Providence, and the fatal warning
that it is often to bring us back to our duties,
that Heaven strikes down at our side the
being which appears to us to have best dis-
charged its own?

Such are the feelings which are about to
direct our toils, and it is in consideration of
these motives that we beg the Reader’s in-
dulgence for the erroneous systems placed in
10

the mouths of several of our personages, and
for the sometimes rather painful situations,
which, for truth’s sake, we are obliged to
bring under his eyes.

The Countess of Lorsange was one of
those Priestesses of Venus, whose fortune is
the work of a pretty face and much mis-
conduct, and whose titles, however osten-
tatious they be, are only to be had in the
archives of Cytheria, forged by the imperti-
nence which assumes them, and sustained
by the silly credulity which imparts them.
Dark, of fine waist, eyes of singular expres-
sion; that incredulity of fashion, which,
while lending another savour to the passions,
causes the women in whom it is expected to
exist to be sought after more carefully;
somewhat wicked, no principles, believing
no harm in anything, and still without cor-
ruption enough in her heart to have extin-
guished the sensibility thereof; proud, lewd:
such was Madam of Lorsange.

This woman had nevertheless received the
best education: being the daughter of a large
Parisian Banker, she had been brought up
with a sister called Justine, three years
younger than herself, in one of the most
famous Abbeys of this capital, where until
the age of twelve and fifteen, no counsels,
11

no masters, no books, no talents had been
refused to either of these two sisters.

At this period fatal for the virtue of two
young girls, everything failed them in one
sole day: a frightful bankruptcy cast their
father into so trying a situation, that he died
of sorrow. His wife followed him a month
later to the tomb. Two cold and distant
relations thought over what they should do
with the young orphants; their portion of
an inheritance, absorbed by debts, amounted
to a hundred crowns for each. While nobody
caring to take charge of them, the Convent
door was open to them, their dowry handed
to them, they being left free to become what-
ever they pleased.

Madame of Lorsange, who was then called
Juliet, and whose character and mind were
nearly as formed as they were at thirty years
old, the age she attained at the time of the
history which we are going to relate, ap-
peared sensible only to the pleasure of being
free, without reflecting an instant on the
painful reverses which were severing
her chains. As to Justine, being as
we have stated, twelve years old, she
was of a gloomy and melancholy char-
acter, which caused her the better to
feel all the horror of her circumstances.
Endowed with a tenderness, a surprising
12

sensibility, instead of her sister’s craft and
cunning, she had but one ingenuity, one in-
tegrity, which were to make her fall into
many snares. This young girl united to so
many qualities a sweet physiognomy, abso-
lutely different from that with which nature
had adorned Juliet; the more artifice, in-
trigue, coquetry you beheld in the counte-
nance of the one, so much the more chastity,
decorum and timidity did you admire in the
other; a virgin’s look, large blue eyes, full of
soul and interest, a dazzling skin, a supple
and flexible waist, a pathetic voice, teeth like
ivory and the loveliest golden hair: such is
the sketch of this charming younger sister,
whose natural graces and delicate features
are beyond our brushes.

The both got twenty-four hours notice to
quit the Convent, being left the care of pro-
viding for themselves, with their hundred
crowns, wherever they liked. Juliet, de-
lighted at being her own mistress, wished for
a moment to wipe away Justine’s tears; then,
seeing she was not succeeding, she began to
scold instead of consoling her; she re-
proached her with her sensibility; she told
her, with a philosophy much beyond her age,
that it was not necessary to afflict ourselves
in this world except with what affected us
only personally; that it was possible to find
13

within ourselves physical sensations of a
voluptuousness keen enough to extinguish
all the moral affections of which the shock
might be painful; that this procedure became
the more essential to be put into practice, as
doubling the sum of one’s pleasures, than in
multiplying that of one’s pains; in fine, that
there was nothing which ought not to be
done in order to deaden in one’s self this per-
fidious sensibility of which only others pro-
fited, whilst it brought us but chagrins. But
a kind of heart is with difficulty hardened:
it resists the reasonings of a bad head, and its
enjoyments console it for false sparks of wit.

Juliet, making use of other resources, then
told her sister, that with the age and form
each of them had, it was impossible for them
to die of starvation. She cited for her one of
their neighbors’ daughters, who, having fled
from the paternal roof, was to-day richly
kept up and undoubtedly far happier, than
if she had remained in the bosom of her
family; that we should take care not to be-
lieve that it was marriage which rendered a
young girl happy; that, a captive under the
laws of matrimony, she had to suffer with
much whimsey, expect a very slight dose of
pleasures; whereas, delivered up to libertin-
ism, they could always assure themselves of
14

lover’s humour, or console themselves by
their number.

Justine had a horror of these discourses;
she stated that she preferred death to ig-
nominy, and at a few fresh importunities
which her sister made her, she resolutely
refused to lodge with her, from the moment
she saw her decided on a conduct which
caused her to shudder.

The two young girls separated therefore,
without any promise of seeing each other
again, as soon as their intentions were so
opposed. Juliet, who was going, as she pre-
tended, to become a grand lady, should she
consent to receive a little girl whose virtuous,
though base, inclinations would be capable of
dishonoring her? And, Justine, for her part,
should she like to risk her behaviour in the
society of a perverse creature, who was about
becoming the victim of vile lewdness and
public debauchery? The both then bade
each other an eteranl adieu, and the both left
the Convent on the following day.

Justine, being since the time of her child-
hood caressed by her mother’s Dressmaker,
fancies that this woman will be sensible of
her misfortune; so she goes to her, informs
her of her disasters, asks her for work.....
she is: hardly recognized; she is rudely re-
pulsed.—‘“‘Oh Heaven!” cries the poor little
15

creature; “‘is it necessary that the first steps
“ I take in this world be already marked by
“such sorrows! This woman loved me
formerly, why does she reject me to-day?
Alas! it is because I am an orphan and
poor; it is because I have no longer any re-
sources in the world, and that people are
esteemed only in ratio to the helps and
pleasures that others imagine to receive
from them.” Justine goes bathed in tears
to her Parish Priest; she paints her state to
him with the energetic candor of her age...
She was dressed in a little white frock; her
lovely hair carelessly bound up under a large
bonnet; her throat, barely appearing, was
concealed beneath two or three ells of gauze;
her face rather wan, owing to the sorrows
which were eating her up; a few tears stood
in her eyes and lent them still more ex-
pression. ‘You behold me, Sir,” says she
to the holy Ecclesiastic. .. “Yes, you behold
“ meinavery afflicting position for a young
“ girl: I have lost my father and mother...
‘ Heaven takes them from me at an age
“ when I have most need of their help.....
“ They died ruined, Sir; we have no longer
“ anything. .... There is all they left me, ”
continued she, in showing her twelve louis. . .
“ and not a nook wherein to repose my poor
“ head.... You will take pity on me, will you

“cc

“

“

6c
16

se

not, Sir. You are a Minister of Religion,
and Religion was always the virtue of my
“ heart; in the name of that God whom I
“ adore and whose voice you are, tell me, like
a second father, what I must do..... what
“ T must become?” The charitable Priest an-
swers, while eyeing Justine, that the Parish
was very burthened; that it was impossible
for it to embrace new alms, but that if Justine
wished to serve him, that if she wished to do
the rough work, there would be always a
piece of bread for her in his kitchen. And,
as while saying that, the interpreter of the
Gods had slipped his hand under her chin,
in giving her a kiss by far too worldly for a
Churchman, Justine, who only too well un-
derstood him, repulsed him in saying: “Sir,
“ Task you for neither charity nor a servant’s
place; I left too short awhile ago a state
above that which could cause me to desire
these two favors, in order to be reduced to
beg them: I solicit the counsels which my
youth and misfortunes need, and you wish
“ to make me purchase them a little to dear.”
The clergyman, ashamed of being discov-
ered, drove quickly away this little creature,
and the unhappy Justine, twice repulsed
since the first day she is doomed to isolism,
enters a house where she sees a bill, hires a
small furnished closet on the fifth floor, pays

66

be

a

‘

46

6

ee

ce
17

for it in advance, and there abandons herself
to her tears, the more bitter as she is sensible
and her little pride has been just cruelly
compromised.

Shall we be allowed to leave her here
awhile, to return to Juliet, and state how,
from the simple state out of which we saw her
go forth, and without having more resources
than her sister, she became however, in fif-
teen years, a titled woman, possessing an
income of thirty-thousand livres, very fine
jewels, two or three mansions both in town
and country, and, for the moment, the heart,
fortune and confidence of Mr. de Corville,
Counsellor of State, a most influential man,
and on the eve of entering into the Ministry?
The career was a thorny one, surely nobody
doubts of it. It is through the most shame-
ful and hardest apprenticeship that those
young ladies make their way; and such to-
day in a Prince’s bed is she, who still bears
perhaps on her the mortifying marks of the
brutality of libertines, into whose hands her
youth and inexperience cast her.

Juliet, on leaving the Convent, went to a
woman whom she had heard named by that
young friend of her neighborhood; perverted
as she had a mind to be and perverted by this
woman, she accosts her with her little bundle
18

under her arm, a blue gown much out of
repair, her hair dishevelled, the prettiest
form in the world, if it is true that indecency
can have charms in certain eyes; she relates
her story to this woman, entreating her to
protect her as she did with her old friend. —

“ How old are you? ” la Duvergier inquires
of her. — “ Fifteen years old in a few days,
“ Madam, ” replies Juliet... — “ And no
“ mortal ever... ” continued the matron. —
“ Oh! no, Madam, I swear to you, ”, replied
Juliet. — ‘‘ But it is because sometimes in
“ those convents... ” says the old hag, “ a
“ Confessor, a Nun, a Comrade... I want
“ sure proofs. — It depends only on your-
self to procure them, Madam, ” replies
Juliet in blushing... And the Duenna having
clapped on a pair of spectacles, and having
scrupulously scrutinized things everywhere:

6c

a”?

— “ Come,

4c

she says to the little girl,
you have but to stay here; with much re-
spect for my counsels, a great stock of
complacency and submission to my cus-
tomers, cleanliness, economy, candour to-
wards me, policy towards your fellows,
and knavery with men, shall, in ten years,
put you into a position of retiring to a third
floor, with a chest-of-drawers, a pier glass,
a servant; and the skill you shall have ac-

ce
19

“ quired in my house, will afford you the
“ means of procuring yourself the rest. ”
Having given these recommendations, la
Duvergier seized on Juliet’s little bundle; she
asks her if she has not some money, and the
latter having to candidly acknowledged that
she had a hundred crown-pieces, the dear
mamma confiscates them, while assuring her
new boarder that she will place this small
fund at a lottry for her, but that a young girl
must not have money. “ Thisis, ” she says
to her, “ a means of doing evil, and in so cor-
“ rupted an age, a wise and well-bred girl
ought to carefully avoid all that may drag
her into some snares. It is for your own
good I am speaking to you, my little darl-
ing,” addedithe Duenna, “ and you ought
to take kindly of me what I am doing. ”
This sermon being over, the new comer
is introduced to her fellows; they show her
the room she is to occupy in the house, and
from the next day her first fruits are for sale.
In four months the ware is successively
sold to nearly a hundred persons; some con-
tent themselves with the rose, others more
delicate or more depraved (for the question
is not solved) want to blow out the bud which
is blossoming aside. Every night la Duver-
gier straightens, sets in order, and during
four months it is still the first flowers that the

ce

ce

se

“ce

“cc
20

knavish woman offers to the public. At the
end of this hard novitiate, Juliet obtains the
patents of lay-sister; from this moment she
is really recognised as maid of the establish-
ment; since then she partakes of its pains
and profits. Another apprenticeship: if in
the first school, with a few slight exceptions,
Juliet served Nature, she now forgets its laws
in the second; she entirely corrupts her
morals therein; the triumph she sees vice ob-
taining wholly degrades her soul; she feels
that, born for crime, she ought at least to go
at large and cease languishing in a subordi-
nate state, which, while causing her to com-
mit the same faults, while equally abasing
her, falls far short of bringing her the same
profit. She pleases an old and very de-
bauched Lord, who gets her to come at first
for the business of a moment; she possesses
the skill of having herself magnificently kept
up by him; she appears, in short, at the spec-
tacles, on the promenades, along side the
order of knights of Cytheria; she is admired,
invited, desired, and the cunning creature
knows so nicely how to get the right way,
that in less than four years she ruins six men,
the poorest of whom had an income of one
hundred thousand crowns. Nothing further
was wanting to make her reputation; the
blindness of men of the world is such, and the
21

more one of these creatures has proved her
dishonesty, so much the more jealous are
they to figure on her list; it seems that the
degree of her abasement and corruption be-
comes the measure of the sentiment which
they have the boldness to proclaim for her.

Juliet had attained her twentieth year,
when a certain Count of Lorsange, an Ange-
vin Gentleman, about forty years of age, fell
so madly in love with her, that he resolved to
‘bestow his name upon her; he allotted to her
an income of twelve thousand livres, assur-
ing her of the rest of his fortune should he
chance to die before her; he gave her a
mansion, servants, livery-men, and a kind of
esteem in the world, which, in two or three
years, succeeded in causing her debuts to be
overlooked.

It was here that the unfortunate Juliet, un-
mindful of every sentiment of her birth and
good education; perverted by evil counsels
and dangerous books; eager to enjoy alone,
to possess a name and on ties, dared let her-
self be carried away by the guilty project of
shortening her husband’s days. Having con-
ceived this odious scheme, she fostered it:
she considered it unfortunately in these
perilous moments, when the natural is in-
flamed by the errors of the moral: instants
when people least deny themseles, as then
22

nothing is opposed to the irregularity of
vows or to the impetuosity of desires, and as
the received voluptuousness is alive only by
reason of the multitude of laws violated, or
of their sanctity. If one became wise, when
the dream is vanished, the inconvenience
would be a moderate one; it is the history of
the wrongs of the mind: one knows that
they offend nobody, but they go further un-
fortunately. What will be, dares anyone
state, the realisation of this idea, since its
mere aspect has just exalted, has just stung
to the quick? One vivifies the cursed
chimera, and its existence in crime.

Madame of Lorsange executed so secretly,
fortunately for her, that she secured herself
against every pursuit, and buried with her
spouse the traces of the terrible crime which
precipitated him into the tomb.

Having become free and a Countess,
Madam of Lorsange resumed her former
customs; but, fancying herself somebody in
the world, she displayed rather less inde-
cency in her conduct. She was no longer a
kept up maid: she was a rich widow who
gave fine supper parties, into whose house
the Court and city were only too happy to be
admitted. Briefly, she was a decent woman,
who not withstanding used to go to bed for
two hundred louis, and bestowed herself for
23

five hundred a month. Up to twenty-six
years of age, Madame of Lorsange still made
some brilliant conquests; she ruined three
foreign Ambassadors, four General Farmers,
two Bishops, one Cardinal and three Knights
of Orders of the King; but as it is rare to
stop after a first crime, especially when it has
succeeded, the unfortunate Juliet blackened
herself with two fresh crimes like the first;
the one, to rob a lover of hers who had en-
trusted her with a considerable sum, ignored
by his family, and which Madam of Lorsange
was able to secure by this frightful action;
the other, in order to have the sooner a legacy
of a hundred thousand francs which one of
her adorers made her in the name of a third
person, charged to render the amount after
decease. To these horrors Madame of Lor-
sange added three or four infanticides. The
fear of spoiling her pretty waist, the desire
of concealing a double intrigue, all prompted
her to stifle within her womb the proof of her
debaucheries; and these crimes, ignored like
the others, did not prevent this crafty and
ambitious woman from daily procuring fresh
dupes.

It is therefore true that prosperity may
accompany the worst conduct, and that, even
in the midst of disorder and corruption, all
which men call happiness may spread over
24

life. But let not this hard and fatal truth
alarm; let not the example of misfortune
pursuing virtue everywhere, as we are going
to show, annoy honest persons either. This
felicity of crime is deceitful, it is only ap-
parent. Independent of the punishment
which Providence most certainly reserves
for those who have been seduced by its suc-
cesses, do they not feed in the depth of their
soul a worm, which incessantly gnawing
them, prevents them from being rejoiced
with those false gleams, and leaves in their
soul, instead of delights, only the bitter re-
membrance of crimes which brought them
to what they areP With respect to the un-
fortunate man whom destiny persecutes, he
has his heart for consolation; and the inward
rejoicings which his virtues procure him,
soon recompense him for the injustice of
men.

Such was the state of affairs with Madam
of Lorsange, when Mr. de Corville, aged fifty,
enjoying the trust and consideration which
we have painted further back, resolved to
entirely sacrifice himself for this woman,
and to attach her forever to himself. Be it
attention, proceedings, or policy on the part
of Madam of Lorsange, he had succeeded
therein, and lived with her for four years,
quite as with a lawful spouse, when the ac-
25

quisition of a very fine land property near
Montargis, obliged them both to go and
spend some time in the Provinec.

One evening when the beauty of the
weather had caused them to prolong their
walk, from the grounds they inhabited to
Montargis, the both being too tired to under-
take to return as they had come, they stopped
at the inn where the Coach from Lyons draws
up, On purpose to dispatch a man hence on
horseback to fetch them a car. They were
resting themselves in a low and fresh room
of this house, looking over the yard, when
the Coach we have just mentioned entered
it:

It is an amusement natural enough to
watch people alighting from a coach: one
may bet on the kind of persons that are on
it, and should you name a Fast-Girl, an Of-
ficer, a few Abbots and a Monk, you are al-
most sure of winning. Madam of Lorsange
gets up, Mr de Corville follows her, and the
both enjoy themselves seeing the jolting so-
ciety coming intotheinn. Itappeared there
was no longer anyone inside the coach, when
a marechaussee (1) Cavalier, alighting

 

(1) Sort of troopers that patroled the Country, now
replaced by the gendarmerie. (Note of the Translator.)
26

from the box, received into his arms, from
one of his comrades likewise placed in the
same spot, a girl of about twenty-six or
twenty-seven years old, dressed in a short
shabby Indian caraco, and muffled up to the
eyebrows with a large dark taffeta mantle.
She was bound as a criminal, and so weak,
that she would have certainly fallen had not
her guards held her up. Ata cry of sur-
prise and horror which escaped from Madam
of Lorsange, the young girl turns round, and
presents to view, with the loveliest waist in
the world, the noblest, the most pleasing, the
most interesting form; in fine, all the charms
the most deserving of pleasing, rendered a
thousand times still more enticing, because
of this tender and touching affliction which
innocence adds to the features of beauty.
Mr de Corville and his mistress can not
forbear from taking an interest in this
wretched girl. They draw nigh, they in-
quire of one of the guards what this un-
fortunate girl has done. — “ She is ac-
“ cused of three crimes, ” replies the Cava-
lier; “it is about murder, robbery and
“ house-burning; but I confess to you that
“my comrade and I have never conducted
a criminal with so much reluctancy; she
is the mildest of creatures, and appears the
“ honestest. — Ah! ah! ” exclaimed Mr de

6c

ce
27.

Corville, “ might there not be in this case a
“ few of those blunders usual to subordinate
“ Tribunals?.... And whereabouts is the
“crime committed? — In an inn a few
leagues from Lyons, where she was tried;
she is going, according to custom, to Paris
for the confirmation of the Sentence, and
she shall come back to be executed at
Lyons. ”

Madam of Lorsange, who had drawn nigh,
who was listening to this tale, softly inti-
mated to Mr de Corville the eagerness she
had to learn, from this girl’s own lips, the
story of her misfortunes; and Mr de Corville,
who also conceived the same idea, informed
the two guards of it, while telling them who
he was. They saw no reason for opposing
it. It was decided they should spend the
night at Montargis; they request a comfor-
table apartment; Mr de Corville pledges him-
self in behalf of the prisoner; she is unbound.
And when they had administered her a little
food, Madam of Lorsange, who could not
forbear taking the liveliest interest in her,
and who doubtlessly said to herself: ‘‘ This
“ creature, perhaps innocent, is still treated
“ asacriminal, whereas everything prospers
“about me... about me who have stained
“ myself with crimes and horrors! ”
Madam of Lorsange, I say, as soon as she

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28

saw this poor girl somewhat refreshed, some-
what consoled by the caresses that they
hastened to bestow upon her, persuaded her
to relate by what adventure, with so sweet
a physiognomy, she was in so unlucky a
circumstance.

— “ To relate to you the history of my
“ life, Madam, ” says this lovely unfortun-
ate one, while addressing herself to the
Countess, “ is to offer you the most striking
‘“ example of the misfortunes of innocency,
is to accuse the hand of Heaven, is to
complain of the will of the Supreme Be-
ing; it is a species of revolt against his
“holy intentions... I dare not... ” Tears
then abundantly flowed from the eyes of this
interesting girl, and after having given them
vent, she began her recital in these terms:

“cc
ce

You will permit me to conceal my name and birth,
Madam; without being illustrious, it is honorable, and
I was not, destined to the humiliation to which you
now see me reduced. I lost my parents while I was
quite young; I thought that, with the little help they
had left me, I could wait for a becoming employment,
and refusing all those that were not so, I got through,
without perceiving it, in Paris where I was born, the
trifle I possessed; the poorer I became, the more I was
despised; the more I was in need of assistance, the
least I expected to obtain any; but of all the trials I
experienced at the beginning of my unhappy situation,
29

of all the horrible proposals which were made to me,
I shall only mention the one which befell me at Mr
Dubourg’s, one of the richest rate collectors of the
capital. ‘The woman at whose house I was lodging sent
me to him, as to a person whose name and riches
could the most surely alleviate the rigor of my destiny.
After having waited a very long while in the ante-
chamber of this man, I was introduced; Mr Dubourg,
of about forty-eight years old, had just got out of bed,
wrapped in a loose morning-gown which scarcely hid
his disorder; they were preparing to coif him; he dis-
missed them and asked me what I wanted. — “ Alas!
“ sir, ” I answered him quite confused, “ I am a poor
“ orphan who am not yet fourteen years old, and am
“ already acquainted with all the shades of adversity:
“ IT implore your compassion, have pity on me; I do
“ beseech you. ” And then I gave him an account
of all my woes, the difficulty of finding an employ-
ment, perhaps too somewhat of the pain I felt about
taking one, not being born for the state; the misfor-
tune I had had, all the while, to get through the trifle
I possessed... the lack of work, the hope I was in that
he would facilitate me for the means of living; in fine,
all that the eloquence of misfortune dictates, ever sweep-
ing in a sensible soul, ever a burden to opulence....
After having listened to me with many distractions,
Mr Dubourg asked me if I had been always good? —
“ T should be neither so poor nor so embarrassed,
“ sir, ” replied I, “ had I wished to cease being so.
— But, ” to this Dubourg said, “ by what right do
“ you pretend that the rich should relieve, if you are
“ of no service to them? — And what service do you
“ pretend to speak, sir? ” replied I; “ I desire nothing
“ better than to render those which decency and my
“ age permit me to do. — The services of a child like
oe

30

you are of but little use in a house, ” Dubourg ans-

wered me; “ you are neither of the age nor make to

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be placed as you request. You had better to busy your-
self in pleasing men, and try to find somebody that
may consent to take care of you; this virtue of
which you make so great a boast is worthless in the
world; you may bow ever so much at the foot of its
altars, its vain incense will not feed you. What
flatters men the least, what they think the least
about, what they despise the most thoroughly, is the
wisdom of your sex; they value here below, my child,
only what brings them profits or delights; and of
what profit is woman’s virtue to us? Their disorders
serve and amuse us; but their chastity does not
interest us in the slightest. In short, when men like
us bestow, it is never except with the hope of receiv-
ing; now, how can a little girl like you repay what
is done for her, if it be not the most complete giving
up of all that is required of her person? — Ohi
sir, ”’-I answered with a heart big with sighs, “ there
is then no longer either honesty or beneficence among
men? — Very little, ” replied Dubourg; “ there is
so much said about it, why should you have it so?
people have recovered from that mania of obliging
others gratis; they have discovered that the pleasures
of charity were but the enjoyment of pride, and as
nothing is so soon dispelled, they have desired realer
sensations; they saw that with a child like, for instance,
it was infinitely better to reap, as fruit of their ad-
vance money, all the pleasures that lust can afford,
than those very trivial ones of alleviating her for
nothing; the reputation of a liberal, alms-giving,
generous man, is not worth, even at the instant he
enjoys it the most, the slightest pleasure of the senses.
— Oh! Sir, with the like principles, the unfortunate
31

one must then perish! — What matter? there are
more subjects than are wanted in France; provided
the machine has always the same elasticity, what does
it matter to the State the more or fewer individual:
who press it down? — But do you believe children
respect their parents, when they are thus treated by
them? —- What does it matter to a father, the love of
children who trouble him? — It would have been then
better had we been smotherd from the cradle! —
Surely such was the custom in many countries, such
was the custom of the Greeks; such is that of the
Chinese: there, unfortunate children are exposed or
put to death. What is the good of letting these crea-
tures live, which, being no longer able to rely upon the
assistance of their parents, either because they are
bereft of them or because they are not owned by them,
serve only from then to over-burden the State with a
commodity of which it has already too much? Bas-
tards, orphants, badly framed children ought to be
condemned to death from their birth: the former two,
because having no longer anybody to watch over or
take care of them, they sully society with a dreg
which can’ but become fatal to it one day; and the
latter, because they can be of no use to it. Both of
these classes is to society what excrescences are to the
flesh, which, feeding on the sap of the sound members,
degrade and weaken them; or, if you prefer, like those
parasitic vegetables which, while binding themselves
to the good plants, spoil them in adapting to them-
selves their nutritive seed. Telling abuses are those
alms destined to feed such a scum those richly en-
dowed houses which people have the extravagance of
building for them; as if the human species was so ex-
ceedingly rare, so exceedingly precious, that it was
necessary to conserve even the vilest portion thereof!
32

“ But let us drop a policy of which thou understandest
“ nothing, my child; why complain of one’s lot, when it
“ depends on one’s self to remedy it? — At what price,
“ good Heavens! — At that of chimera a thing which
“ has no other value than the one thy pride sets on it.
“ Moreover, ” continues this barbarian in rising and
opening the door, “ that is all I can do for you; agree to
“ it, or get out of my sight; I do not like beggars... ”
My tears flowed, could not retain them; will you believe
it, Madam? they irritated this man instead of softening
him. He shuts the door and, seizing me by the collar of
my dress he says to me with brutality that he is going
to make me do through force what I do not wish to
grant him with good will. In this desperate instant,
my misfortune lends me courage; I rid myself of his
hands, and rushing to the door: — “ Hateful man, ”
I say to him while getting away, “‘ may Heaven so
“ grievously offended by thee, punish thee one day, as
“ thou deservest, for thy execrable obduracy! Thou
are neither worthy of these riches of which thou
makest so vile a use, nor even of the air which thou
breathest in a world stained by the barbarities. ”
I hastened to relate to my landlady the reception of
the person to whose house she had sent me; but what
was my surprise to see how this wretch loaded me with
reproaches instead of sharing in my grief! — “ Thou
mean creature, ” she says to me in a rage, “ dost thou
imagine that men are dupes enough to bestow charity
on little girls like thee, without exacting the interest
of their money? M. Doubourg is too kind to have
acted as he has done; in his place I should not have
let thee go out of my house without having satisfied
myself. But, since thou wilt not profit by the suc-
cours I offer thee, dispose of thyself as thou pleasest;
thou owest me: to-morrow money, or the prison. —
33

“

Madam, have pity... — Yes, yes, pity; people starve
“ with pity! — But what will you have me do? —
“You must go back to Doubourg’s; you must satisfy
“ him, you must bring me back some money; I shall see
“him; I shall make up, if I can, for your silliness; I
“shall offer him your apologies, but mind you behave
“ better. ”

Ashamed, in despair, not knowing which side to take,
seeing myself cruelly repulsed by everybody, almost with-
out resource, I say to Madam Desroches (this was my
landlady’s name) that I was ready for everything, in
order to satisfy her. She went off to the financier’s, and
told me on her return that she had found him very
‘angry; that it was not without difficulty she had pre-
vailed on him to yield in my favor; that by dint of en-
treaties she had however succeeded in persuading him
to see me again the next morning: but that I had to look
after my conduct, because if I thought of disobeying
him again, he would himself undertake the care of having
me locked up for life.

~~ J arrive quite excited. Doubourg was alone, in a more
indecent state than on the eve. Brutality, libertinism,
all the marks of debauchery shone in his sullen looks.

— “Thank la Desroches, ” he says to me roughly,
“ because I condescend on her account to render you
“ awhile my kindnesses; you ought to feel how unworthy
“"you are of them, after your conduct of yesterday.
“ Undress, and if you again offer the slightest resistance
“ to my desires, two men are waiting for you in my
“ antechamber in order to lead you to a spot out of
“ which you shall never go during your life. — Oh!
“ Sir, ” I cried in tears and throwing myself at the
knees of this barbarous man, “ let yourself relent, I do
“ ‘beseech 'you; be generous enough to succour me
“ without exacting from me what costs me sufficiently
os Ba ee

to offer you rather my life than to submit to it...
Yes, I had rather die a thousand times than trans-
gress the principles I received in my childhood...
Sir, sir, do not constrain me, I do implore you; can
you conceive happiness in the bosom of disgusts and
tears? Do you dare suspect pleasure to be where
you shall behold only repugnance? You shall have
no sooner consummated your crime, than the spec-
tacle of my despair will overwhelm you with re-
morse... ” But the infamies to which Dubourg was
giving himself up hindered me from proceeding; could I
have thought myself able of affecting a man who al-
ready found in my very grief a vehicle more to his
horrible passions? Will you believe it, Madam? in-
flaming himself at the bitter accents of my bewailings,
relishing them with inhumanity, the unworthy wretch
was preparing himself for his criminal attempts! He gets
up, and at last showing himself to me in a state in which
reason seldom triumphs, and in which the resistance of
the object which caused it to be lost is but another
stimulus to the delirium, he seizes me with brutality,
impetuously lifts the veils which still conceal what he
is burning to enjoy; by turns he abuses me... flatters
me... he uses me ill and caresses me... Oh! what a
picture, great God! What a strange medley of hard-
ness... of lust! It seemed that the Supreme Being
wished, in this first circumstance of my life, to imprint
for ever in me all the horror that I ought to have for a
kind of crime, from which the abundance of evils with
which I was threatened was to spring! But was it the
case to complain then? Undoubtedly, no; I owed my
safety to his excesses; a little less debauchery, and I was
a dishonoured girl; the fires of Dubourg were extin-
guished in the effervescence of his enterprises; Heaven
avenged for me the offenses to which the monster was
3a SS

going to abandon himself, and the loss of his strength,
preserved me from being the victim thereof.

Dubourg became only the more insolent at it; he ac-
cused me for the wrongs of his weakness, ..... wished
to redress them by fresh outrages and abuses still more
mortifying; there was nothing he did not say to me,
nothing he did not try, nothing his base imagination,
the hardness of his nature and the depravity of his mo-
rals did not cause him to undertake. My awkwardness
tired his patience, I was far from wishing to act, it was
a good deal even to lend myself, my remorse is not yet
extinguished. .... However nothing succeeded, my sub-
mission ceased to inflame him; in vain, he successively
passed from tenderness to severity..... from severity
to tyranny..... from the look of decency to the excesses
of filth, we both found ourselves tired, fortunately with-
out his being able to recover what was necessary to
direct against me the most dangerous attacks. He gave
it over, made me proimse to come to him the next day,
and the more surely to determine me to do so, he wished
absolutely to give me only the amount I owed to la
Desroches. I returned therefore to this woman’s house,
exceedingly humbled by such an adventure and firmly
resolved, whatever might befall me, not to expose my-
self there a third time. I warned her about it when
paying her, and while loading with maledictions the
rascal capable of so cruelly taking advantage of my
misery. But my imprecations, far fom drawing on him
the wrath of God, only brought him good-luck; I learned,
eight days after, that this notorious libertine had just
obtained from the Government a General Exciseship,
which increased his revenues to more than four hundred
thousand livres yearly; I was absorbed by the reflections
which similiar inconsequences of destiny cause to rise,
when a ray of hope seemed an instant to shine in my
eyes.

La Desroches came to tell me one day that she had at
last found a house where I would be willingly received,
provided I conducted myself well in it. — “ Oh!
“ Heavens, Madam, ” I cried throwing myself with
rapture into her arms, “ this is the condition that I
“ should myself lay down; fancy whether I accept it
“ with pleasure! ” The man whom I was to serve was
a famous Parisian usurer, who had enriched himself, not
only in lending on pledges, but also in robbing with im-
punity the public every time he thought he could safely
do so. He lived in the rue Quincampoix, on a second
floor, with an old creature of fifty, whom he styled his
wife, and at least as wicked as himself. — “ Therese, °
he says to me (such was the name I assumed in order to
conceal my own..... ), “ Therese, the first virtue of my
“« house is uprightness; if ever you convert to your own
use from here the tenth part of a penny, I will have
you hanged, do you understand, my child? The little
sweetness we enjoy, my wife and myself, is the fruit
of our immense toils and sobriety..... Do you eat
much, my darling? — A few ounces of bread a day,
Sir, ” I-answered him, “ some water and a little soup
when I am fortunate enough to have any. — Some
soup! zooks, some soup! Look here, my dear, ” says
the usurer to his wife, “ lament the progress of luxury:
“that thing seeks a condition, that thing is starving
since a year, and the thing wants to eat soup! Scar-
cely do we take any once on the Sundays, we who
work like galley-slaves. You shall have three ounces
of bread a day, my girl, have a bottle of river water,
my wife’s old gown, every eighteen months, and three
crown-pieces of wages at the end of the year, if we
are satisfied with your services, if your economy ans-
=

“wers ours, and in fine if you make the house prosper
by order and arrangement. Your service is light, it is
“the affair of one glance: you have to rub and clean
“this apartment of six rooms three times a week;
“make our beds, to answer the door, to powder my
“ wig, to coif my wife, to care for the dog and parrot, to
“ look after the kitchen, to polish the utensils thereof,
“ to assist my wife when she is preparing a bit to eat
“and to spend four or five hours a day in making
“ linen, stockings, caps and other little household
“ trifles. You see it is nothing, Therese, you will have
“ whips of time left, we shall allow you to utilize it for
““ your own account, provided you are good, my child,
“ discreet, especially economical, that’s the essential. *
You easily imagine, Madam, that it was necessary to be
in the frightful state I was to accept such a place; there
was not only infinitely more work than my strength
allowed me to undertake, but also could I live on what
they offered me? I took good care however from acting
the hard to please, and I was installed on the same
evening.

If my wretched situation permitted me to amuse
you awhile, Madam, when I ought to think only of mov-
ing you to pity, I should venture to relate to you a few
acts of avarice of which I was witness in that house; but
so terrible a catastrophy for me was awaiting me there
since the second year, that it is very difficult on my part
to detain you with these amusing details, before enter-
taining you with my misfortunes.

You shall know however, Madam, that there was
never any other light in the apartment of Mr du Har-
pin, except the one he used to rob from the street-lamp
happily placed in front of his room; neither of them ever
used linen; they stowed by that which I made up, they
never touched it during their living; there was on the
= BE

sleeves of the master’s vest, as well as on those of Madam,
an old pair of cuffs sewed to the stuff, and which I
washed every Saturday evening; no sheets, no towels, and
all to avoid the washing. Wine was never drunk in his
house, pure water being, Madam du Harpin used to say,
the natural drink of man, the wholesomest and the least
dangerous. Every time bread was cut, he was wont to
place a basket under the knife, in order to catch what
was falling; they added to this with great exactitude all
the crumbs which might be made at meals, and this mess,
fried on Sunday, with a little butter, composed the ban-
quet dish of the days of rest; the clothes were never to
be beaten or the household stuffs either for fear of wear-
ing them, but they were to be lightly swept with a
feather duster. Master’s soles, as those of Madam, were
lined with iron, they were the same as those they had
worn on their wedding day; but a far stranger practice
was that they made me exercise once a week: there was
in the apartment a pretty large cabinet the walls of which
were not papered; I was obliged to go with a knife and
grate a certain quantity of plaster from these walls,
which I next sifted in a fine sieve; that which resulted
from this operation became toilet powder with which T
adorned every morning the Master’s wig and Madam’s
chignon. Ah! would to God, that these turpitudes had
been the only ones to which these niggardly folks had
delivered themselves! Nothing is more natural than the
desire of conserving one’s wealth; but what is not so
much so, is the envy of increasing it with that of others.
And I was not long before perceiving that it was thus
the du Harpins were enriching themselves.

There was lodging over our heads a private man very
well off, possessing pretty fine jewels; and his effects,
either on account of the vicinity, or because of their
having passed through my master’s hands, were well
=130 =

known to him; I often heard him regretting with his
wife a certain gold box of from thirty to forty louis,
which would have infallibly remained with him, he
used to say, had he known how to hold on to it with
more craft. In fine, to console himself for having re-
stored this box, the honest Mr du Harpin planned to
steal it, and he entrusted me with the business.

After having preached me a long sermon on the in-
difference of theft, on the utility itself it was in the
world, since it re-established therein a sort of equilibrium,
completely disturbed by the inequality of riches; on the
rarity of punishments, since out of twenty robbers it was
proved that not two of them perished; after having
demonstrated for me with an erudition of which I should
not have thought Mr du Harpin capable, that theft was
held in honor throughout all Greece, that several nations
still approved of it, favoured it, rewarded it as a bold
action proving at the same time courage and skill (two
virtues essential to every warlike Nation), in fine after
having extolled his credit which would get me out of
every scrape, if I were discovered, Mr du Harpin handed
me two false keys, one of which was to open the neigh-
bor’s apartment, the other the desk in which the said
box was; he bade me fetch him forthwith that box, and
for so signal a service, I should receive during two years
a crown-piece over and above my wages. “ Oh! Sir, ”
screeched I in shuddering at the proposal, “ is it possible
“ that a master dares thus corrupt his servant! Who
“ hinders me from turning against yourself the arms
“ you put into my hands, and what will you have to
“ oppose me, if one day I render you the victim of your
“ own principles? ” Du Harpin, being confounded, fell
back upon an awkward subterfuge: he told me that
what he was doing was only on purpose to test me; that
I was very fortunate to have resisted his proposals. ....
= AO

that I was lost had I given way..... I paid myself for
this lie; but I soon felt the wrong I was in for answering
so boldly: evil-doers do not like to meet with any resist-
ance in those they seek to seduce; there is unluckily no
medium from the moment one is pretty much to be
pitied for having received their proposals: you must
necessarily become from that time either complices,
which is very dangerous, or their enemies, which is still
more so. With a little more experience, I should -have
left the house on the instant, but it was already written
in the Heavens, that every one of the honest movements
which was to come to light from me, would be paid off
by misfortunes.

Mr du Harpin let nearly a month slip by, namely,
almost until the end of my second year’s stay in his
house, without saying a word, and without expressing
the slightest resentment at the refusal I had made him,
when one evening, having gone into my room, to taste
therein a few hour’s rest, I heard all of a sudden my
door flung inside, and saw, not without fright, Mr du
Harpin leading a Justice of the peace and four Soldiers
of the Guet (1) near my bed. “ Do your duty, Sir, ”
he said to the man of justice; “ this unfortunate girl has
“ robbed me of a diamond worth a thousand crowns,
“ you will find it in her room or about her, the fact is
« certain. — I, to have robbed you, Sir! ” said I in
casting myself all troubled out of my bed; “ I, good
“ Heavens! Ah! who knows better than you do the
“ contrary? Who ought to be better penetrated than
“ you with the degree to which this action is repugnant
“ to me, and with the impossibility there is of my hav-
“ ing committed it? ” But du Harpin, making a deal of

 

(1) A troop formerly entrusted with the police duty
during the night. (Note of the Translator.)

°
as

noise that my words might not be heard, continued to
order the perquisitions, and the unlucky ring was found
in my mattress. With proofs of this forcibleness, there
was no answer to be made; I was instantly seized,
handcuffed, and led off to prison, without its being even
possible for me to make a single word heard in my
favor.

The trial of an unfortunate girl who was neither
credit, or potection, is speedily got over in a country
where virtue is deemed incompatible with misery.....
where misfortune is a thorough proof against the de-
fendant; there, an unjust prevention causes it to be
believed that the one who ought to commit the crime, has
committed it; feelings are compared with the state in
which the culprit is found; and so soon as neither gold
nor titles establish his innocence, the impossibility of
his being innocent becomes then proved (1).

I might defend myself ever so much, I might furnish
with the best means ever there were my Counsellor of
form sake whom they gave me for an instant: my master
was indicting me, the diamond was found in my room:
it was clear I had stolen it. When I wanted to cite the
horrible act of Mr du Harpin, and prove that the mis-
fortune which befell me was but the fruit of his revenge,
and the consequence of the mind he had to rid himself
of a creature who, possessing his secret, became mistress
over him, they treated these complaints as a recimi-
nation; they told me that Mr du Harpin was known
these twenty years for an upright man, incapable of
such a horror. I was removed to the Jail, where I saw
myself at the moment of going to pay with my days, the
refusal of participating in a crime; I was coming to my

 

(1) O Future Ages! ye shall no longer behold this
over-measure of horrors and infamy.
Ae =

end; a fresh offence could alone save me: Providence
would have crime serve once at least as an egis of
virtue, that he might preserve her from the abyss in
which the imbecility of judges was about to swallow
her up.

I had near me a woman of about forty, as celebrated
for her beauty as for the species and multiplicity of her
transgressions; they called her Dubois, and she was, as
the unhappy Therese, on the eve of undergoing a sen-
tence of death. Alone the genus puzzled the judges;
having made herself guilty of all imaginable crimes,
they found themselves almost obliged to either invent
for her a new punishment, or make her undergo one,
from which our sex is exempt. I had inspired a sort of
interest in this woman, a criminal interest no doubt,
since the basis thereof, as I found out afterwards, was
the ardent desire of making a proselyte of me .

One evening, two days perhaps at most before that
on which both of us were to lose our lives, la Dubois
bade me not to go to bed, and to stop with her without
affectation as close as possible to the prison doors.
“ Between seven and eight o’clock, ” continued she,
“ the Jail will be set on fire, it is the work of my
“cares; many persons will be undoubtedly burnt, it
“ matters but little, Therese, ’ dared this wretch tell
me; “ the lot of others ought to be always nought from
“ the moment there is question of our well-being; what
“is certain, is we shall be saved; four men, my accom-
“ plices and friends, will join with us, and I answer
“* thee for thy liberty. ”

IT told you, Madam, how the hand of Heaven, which
had just punished innocence in my person, served crime
in my protectress; the fire broke out, the conflagration
was horrible, there were twenty-one persons burnt, but
we escaped. On the same day we reached a poacher’s
a Ae eS

hut of the forest of Bondy (1), an intimate friend of
our band.

“ There thou are free, Therese, ” la Dubois says to
me then, “ thou mayst now choose whatever kind of
life thou pleasest; but if I have a counsel to give thee,
it is to renounce the practices of virtue which, as
thou seest, have never succeeded with thee; a mis-
“ placed delicacy has led thee to the foot of the scaf-
fold, a dreadful crime saves me from it; see what is
the use of good actions in the world, and whether it
is worth the trouble of immolating one’s self for them!
Thou art young and pretty, Therese: in two years I
“ undertake thy fortune; but do not fancy I lead thee
“ to its temple by the paths of virtue: we must, when
“we wish to make our way, darling child, undertake
“ more than one trade, and serve more than one in-
“trigue; make up thy mind therefore; we have no
“ safety in this hut; we must go hence within a few
“ hours. ”

— “ Oh! Madam, ” said I to my benefactress, “ I
“ am under great obligations to you, I am far from
wishing to flee from them; you have saved my life;
“ it is dreadful for me that it be through a crime!
“ ‘believe that were I obliged to commit it, I should
“ have prefered a thousand deaths to the grief of par-
“ ticipating therein; I feel all the dangers I have tra-
“ versed in order to abandon myself to the upright
“ sentiments which shall ever remain within my heart;

a
a

 

(1) A forest near Paris, which was for a long while
infested with robbers. Allusion is often made to this
particularity, when they say: It is a forest of Bondy, sig-
nifying thereby that the place mentioned is the strong-
hold of thieves. (Note of the Translator.)
6s

“

“

c

74

oe

= At

but whatever be, Madam, the thorns of virtue, I shall
unceasingly prefer them to the perilous favors that
accompany crime. ‘There are in me principles of re-
ligion, which, thanks to Heaven, shall never go from
me; if Providence renders the career of life painful
for me, it is to reward me for it in a better world. This

hope consoles me, it sweetens my sorrows, it calms my

ce

«

complaints, it fortifies me in distress, and causes me to
brave all the evils it will please God to send me. This
joy would be immediately extinguished within my soul,
should I sully it by crimes, and with the dread of chas-
tisements in this world, I should have the woeful as-

* pect of punishments in the other, which would not

leave me an instant in the tranquility I desire. —
Those are absurd systems which will soon bring thee
to the Poor-house, my girl, ” said la Dubois in frown-

ing; “ believe me, lay aside the justice of God, his chas-

“

tisements or his future rewards; all that nonsense is
good only to make us starve. O Therese! the cruelty
of the Rich legalizes the bad behaviour of the Poor;
let their purse be open to our needs, let humanity
reign within their hearts, and virtues may be estab-
lished in ours; but so long as our misfortune, our
patience in bearing it, our good faith, our servility
serve only to double our fetters, our crimes will be-
come their work, and we should be great dupes to deny
ourselves them, when they may lessen the yoke with
which their barbarity overloads us. Nature has caused
us to be born equals, Therese; if hasard takes pleasure
in putting out of order this first plan of general laws,
it involves upon us to correct its caprices and redress
by our dexterity the usurpations of the Strongest. I
like to hear them, those rich folks, those titled persons,
those Magistrates, those Priests, I like to see them
preaching virtue to us! It is exceedingly hard to free
=

‘ one’s self from theft, when one has three times more

than is needed for living; very difficult never to con-
ceive murder, when one is surrounded only by flatterers
or slaves whose laws are our wills; very painful, in-
deed, to be temperate and steady, when one is at every
hour before dainty dishes; it does them great harm to
be sincere, when no interest for telling lies is offered
them!..... But we, Therese, we whom that barbarous

’ Providence, of which thou hast the madness to make

thy idol, has condemned to crawl in humiliation like
the snake in the grass; we who are looked on disdain-

* fully, because we are poor; whom they tyrannize over,

because we are weak; we, whose thirst is quenched
only with gall, and whose feet press but briars, thou
wilt have us abstain from crime, when its hand alone
opens to us the gate of life, maintains us therein, keeps.
us together, and hinders us from losing it? Thou wilt
that evetlastingly subjected and degraded, whilst this
class which domineers over us has for it all the favors
of fortune, we reserve for ourselves only trouble, de-
jection and sorrow, only want and tears, only dis-
graces and the scaffold? No, no, Therese, no; either
that Providence that thou reverest is made only for
our contempt, or those are not its wills. Know it
better, my child, and be convinced that from the mo-
ment it places us in a situation in which evil becomes
necessary, and leaves us at the same time the possi-
bility of exercising it, it is because this evil serves its
laws as the good, and that it gains as much from
the one as from the other; the state in which it cre-
ated us, is equality; he who puts it out of order is
not guiltier than he who seeks to set it in order again;
both act according to the received impulsions, both
ought to follow and enjoy them. ”

I confess, if ever I was shaken, it was by the seduc-
— 46 —

tions of this cunning woman; but a voice stronger than
hers refuted her sophisms within my heart, I surren-
dered to it; I declared to la Dubois that I was deter-
mined never to allow myself to be corrupted. —
“ Well! ” she answered me, “ become what thou wilt,
“« I abandon thee to thy evil destiny; but if ever thou
“ gettest thyself hanged, which can not escape thee,
“ through the fatality which inevitably spares crime in
“ immolating virtue, remember at last never to speak
“ of us. ”

While we were reasoning thus, la Dubois’ four com-
plices were drinking, with the poacher, and as wine
disposes the soul of the malefactor for new crimes, and
causes him to forget former ones, our villians had no
sooner heard of my resolutions, than they decided on
making a victim of me, being unable to make a com-
plice of me; their principles, morals, the dark by-place
in which we were, the kind of security under which
they fancied themselves to be, their drunkenness, my age,
my innocence, all, all encouraged them. They rise from
table, they hold a council, they consult la Dubois, pro-
ceedings the sad mystery of which makes me tremble
with horror; and the final result is an order to lend
myself at once to satisfy the desires of every one of the
four, either willingly or forcibly: if I do so willingly,
each will give me a crown-piece to bring me whatever
I liked; if they are obliged to use violence, the thing
will be done all the same; but that the secret be better
kept, they will stab me after having satisfied themsel-
ves, and bury me at the foot of a tree .

I have no need to paint you the effect that this most
appalling proposal caused me, Madam; you easily com-
prehend it; I flung myself at la Dubois’ knees, I con-
jured her to be a second time my protectress: the dis-
honest creature only laughed at my tears. — “ Oh!
Sa Ae
“ zookers, ” said she, “ thou art very unfortunate!.....
“What! thou shudderest at the obligation of succes-
“ sively serving four fine able fellows like those? but
“ knowest thou that there are ten thousand women in
“ Paris who would bestow half their gold or their jewelry
“ to be in thy place? Listen, ” she added however after
a little reflection, “‘ I have sway enough over those queer
“ fellows to obtain thy forgiveness on the terms that thou
“ renderest thyself worthy of it. — Alas! Madam, what
“ must I do? ” I cried in tears, command me, I am quite
“ ready! — To follow us, to enroll thyself with us, and
“ commit the same acts without the slightest repugnance:
“ at this price alone I spare thee the rest. ” I did not
think I ought to waver; in accepting this hard condition,
I ran fresh dangers I grant, but they were less urgent
than the latter; perhaps I could free myself from them,
whereas nothing was able to get me out of those which
were threatening me. — “I shall go everywhere, I
“ promise you; save me from the fury of these men, and
“ T shall not leave you during my life. ”’ — “ Chil-
“ dren, ” said la Dubois to the four banditti, “ this girl
“ belongs to the troop, I receive her into it, I install her
“ in it; I do entreat you to offer her no violence; let us
“ not disgust her with the trade on the first days; you
“ see how her age and form may be useful to us; let us
“ make use of her for our interests, and not sacrifice her
“ to our pleasures. ”

But passions have a degree of energy in man, when
nothing can bring them under submission. The fellows
with whom I had to do were no longer in a state of
hearing anything, the whole four surrounding me, de-
vouring me by their fiery looks, threatening me in a still
more terrible manner; ready to seize upon me, ready
to sacrifice me. .. ‘‘ She must pass by there, ” said one of
them; “ there is no means of giving her quarter: “ would

a
—= 48 a

“ they not say that it is necessary to show proofs of
“ virtue to be in a band of robbers? and will she not be
“ of use to us as well deflowered as maiden? ” I soften
down the expressions, you understand, Madam; I shall
likewise weaken the pictures; alas! the obscenity of their
coloring is such, that your chastity would suffer from
their naked part at the very least as much as my timidity.

A meek and trembling victim, alas! I quaked; I had
barely strength to breathe; kneeling before the whole
four, sometimes my feeble arms were raised to implore
them, and sometimes to bend la Dubois..... “ One
“ moment ” cried one called Coeur-de-Fer, who appear-
ed the head of the band, a man of thirty-six, endowed
with the force of a bull and the form of a satyr; “ one
“ moment, my friends! it is possible to satisfy every-
“ body; since this little girl’s virtue is so precious to
““ her, as la Dubois so well expresses it, this quality,
“ diversely put in action, may become necessary for
“ us, leave it with her; but we must be appeased; we
“ have no longer our heads on us, Dubois, and in the
“ state in which you see us, we should perhaps kill
“yourself if you were opposed to our pleasures; let
“ Therese instantly strip herself as naked as the day
“on which she came into the world, and let her adapt
““ herself thus by turns to the various positions we may
choose to exact, while la Dubois, appeasing our pas-
sions, will make the incense burn upon the altars
the entry of which this creature refuses us. — To
strip myself naked! ” I cried, “ oh Heavens! what
do you want? When I am delivered up in this way
to your looks, who can warrant me... ” But Cceur-
de-fer, who did not appear in a mood to grant me any
more or to stay his desires, railed at me while striking
me in so brutal a manner, that I clearly saw obedience
‘was my last lot. He placed himself in la Dubois’ hands

a
a
e=sAG

arranged by himself in the same disorder as mine, and
when I was as he wished, having made me set my arms
on the ground, which caused me to resemble a beast,
la Dubois appeased his flames by positively approaching
a kind of monster to the peristyles of both altars of
Nature. in such a manner that at every drive she should
strike those parts most vigorously with her open hand,
as the battering-ram of old did knock at the gates of
besieged towns. The violence of the first attacks caused
me to go backwards; Cceur-de-Fer, being in anger,
threatened me with worse treatments, if I worked myself
out of those; la Dubois has orders to redouble, while one
of these libertines holds back my shoulders and keeps me
from staggering under the bounces: these become so rude
that they make me black and blue, and I am unable to
avoid any of them. ‘“ Indeed, ” said Cceur-de-Fer, stam-
mering out, “ in her place I would rather deliver up the
“ gates than to behold them shattered thus, but she will
“ not have it so, we do not fail in the capitulation.....
“ Vigorously..... vigorously, Dubois!... ” And the
bursts of passions from this lewd fellow, almost. as violent
as those of thunder, just spent themselves on the molested
breaches without their being but a little opened.

The second fellow made me place one of my knees be-
tween his legs, and while la Dubois was appeasing him
like the other, two proceedings entirely occupied him:
one while he smote open-handed, but in a very nervous
manner, either my cheeks or my breast; another while
his unhallowed mouth just sullied mine. My chest and

face became in an instant purple-red... Being suffering,
I begged for truce, and tears flowed in my eyes; they
irritated him, he redoubled; in this moment my tongue
was bitten, and the two strawberries of my bosom so
bruised that I threw myself back, but I was held. I was
wt ihg es

pushed again upon him, I was squeezed tighter every-
where, and his extasy decided. ..

The third made me get upon two separated chairs,
and sitting underneath, excited by la Dubois placed be-
tween his legs, he got me to incline until his mouth was
perpendicular to the temple of Nature; you do not
imagine, Madam, what this obscene mortal durst desire;
I had, willingly or not, to satisfy some slight needs...
_ Good Heavens! what man so depraved as to taste for
an instant such things?... I did as he desired, I drenched
him all over, and my entire submission obtained from this
filthy man a fit of intoxication that nothing could have
brought on without this infamy.

The fourth fastened strings to every part of me it was
possible to adapt them; he held their ends in his hand,
being seated seven or eight feet away from my person,
and greatly excited by the fondlings and kisses of la
Dubois; I was upright, and it was with hard chucking
of each of these strings by turn, that the savage ex-
cited his pleasures; I staggered, at every moment I was
losing my equilibrium: he became enthusiastic at all
my stumblings; he then finally pulled all the strings
together, with so much irregularity, that I fell upon the
ground close to him: such was his sole aim, and my
forehead, bosom and cheeks bore the proofs of a delirium
which were duly to this mania.

That is what I suffered, Madam, but my honor was
at least found respected, if my chastity was not. Being
somewhat tranquillized, these banditti spoke of setting
out, and on the same night they reached the Tremblai
in the intention of getting near the woods of Chantilly,
where they expected to make a few good hauls.

Nothing equalled the despair I was in at the obliga-
tion of following such persons, and I resolved only to
do so being thoroughly determined to abandon them
af BY

as soon as J could without risk. We slept next day on
the outlets of Louvres, under haycocks; I wanted to
harbour with la Dubois, and spend the night by her
side; but it appeared to me that she intended to make
use of it otherwise than in preserving my virtue from
the attacks I might fear; these fellows encompassed her,
and the abominable creature gave herself up to the three
at the same time under our eyes. The fourth came up
to me, he was the chief: ‘“ Lovely Therese, ” he said to
me, “ I hone you will not at least deny me the pleasure
“ of passing the night close to you! ” And as he per-
ceived my utter repugnance: “ Be not afraid, ” said he,
“ we shall gossip, and I shall undertake nothing against
“your good will. ”

“© Therese, ” continued he, while hugging me in
his arms, ‘‘ is it not a great piece of folly, this preten-
“ tion you have of conserving yourself pure with us?
“ Should we even agree to it, could this be settled with
“ the interests of the gang? It is useless to conceal from
-you what we count only on the snares of your charms
to make dupes. — Ah me! Sir, ” replied I, “ since
“ it is certain that I would prefer death to those horrors,
“ of what use can I be to you, and why are you opposed
to my going away? — Surely we are opposed to it,
my angel, ” answered Cceur- de-Fer; you must serve
either our interests or our pleasures; your misfortunes
“‘ impose this yoke upon you, it is meet you should bear
“ it; but you know, Therese, everything can be arranged
in the world. Hearken to me then, and effect yourself
your own destiny: consent to live with me, dear girl,
“ consent and belong to me alone, and I shall spare you
“ the sad role laid out for you. — I, Sir, ” I cried,
“ become the mistress of one... ! — Speak the word,
“ Therese, speak the word, of a rascal, is it not? I
“ grant it, but I can offer you no other titles, you are

c

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74

“

c

a

¢

a

“
a
a

a
a

a

a9

well aware that we do not wed; matrimony is a
sacrament, Therese, and equally contemptuous of all
sacraments, we never approach any of them. However
reason a little; in the indispensable necessity you are
of losing what is dear to you, is it not better to sacrifice
it to one man alone who will become thence your prop
and protector, than to prostitute yourself with allP —
But why is it necessary, ” I asked, “ that I have no
other party to espouse? — Because we hold unto you,
Therese, and because the reason of the strongest is
always the best; La Fontaine said so long ago. In-
deed, ” continued he rapidly, “ is it not a ridiculous
extravagance to set, as you do, so high a price on the
most trifling things? How can a girl be so simple as
to believe that virtue can depend on a little larger or a
little smaller size of one of the parts of the body?
Ah! what matter is it to men of God whether this
part be whole or withered? Nay more: the intention
of Nature being that every individual should discharge
herebelow the duties for which he was formed, and
the women existing only to serve the men for enjoy-
ment, it is visibly to outrage her by resisting thus
the intention she has over us. It is to wish to be a
worthless creature in the world, and therefore con-
temptible. This ‘chimerical wisdom, of which they
had the absurdity of making you a virtue and which,
from childhood, being far from serving Nature and
society, visibly outrages both, is therefore nothing
more than a reprehensible conceit of which a person
so witty as you ought not to wish to be guilty. Never
mind, continue listening to me, dear girl; I am going
to prove to you the desire I have of pleasing you and
of respecting your weakness. I shall not touch upon,
Therese, this phantom the possession of which causes
all your delights; a girl has more than one favor to
aye a

bestow, and Venus is hallowed with her in more than
one temple; I shall be contented with the meanest one.
You know, my darling, near the altars of Cypris, there
stands a dark cave where love goes to reside alone, in
order to seduce us the more efficaciously; such shall be
the altar upon which I shall burn the incense; there,
not the slightest inconvenience, Therese; if child-bear-
ing frightens you it cannot take place in this manner,
your pretty waist will never be deformed; those first
flowers which are so dear to you will be conserved
without blemish, and, to whatever use you may put
them you can offer them undefiled. Nothing can
betray a girl on this point, however rude and mani-

fold be the attacks; as soon as the bee has pumped

-out the juice, the chalice of the ose closes up again;

nobody would fancy it had ever blown. ‘There are
girls who enjoyed such a life ten years in this way,
and even with several men, fand are nevertheless
married, as quite fresh after. How many fathers,
brothers have thus abused their daughters or sisters,
without the latter having become less worthy of sacri-
ficing afterwards to hymen! How many confessors

has not this same route served tc satisfy, without
the parents’ knowledge! ‘This is, in a word, the
refuge of mystery: there it is linked to love by the
chains of wisdom... Need I say more to you, Therese?

If this temple is the most secret, it is at the same
time the most voluptuous; there we find only what
is requisite for happiness, and the spacious ease of
its neighbor is far from being worth the striking
features of a local which is reached but by effort,
where one is with difficulty lodged; women them-
selves win thereby, and those women who reason
forces to recognize these kind of pleasures, never
a) Ba

“ regret the others. ‘Try, Therese, try, and we shall be

“ both contented. ”

.— “ Oh! Sir, ” I answered, “ I have no experience
fe of what it is about; but that ill-conduct you cry up,
~ “ T have heard it spoken of, Sir, it outrages women

“ in a still more sensible manner... It most grievously

“ offends Nature. The hand of Heaven avenges it in

“ this world, and Sodom presents an example thereof!

“ __ What innocence, my dear, what childishness! ”

replied the libertine; ”” who taught you thus? A little

“ further attention, Therese, and I am going to set your

“ ideas right.

“ The loss of the seed destined to propogate the

“ human species, dear girl, is the sole crime that can

“ exist. In this case, if the seed is put into us on the

“ sole grounds of propogation, I grant it you, the mis-

“ placing of it is an offence. But if it is proved that

“ in placing this seed in our loins, Nature is far from

“ having had for object the employment of the whole

“ thereof in propogation, what does it matter in this

“ case, Therese, whether it be lost in one place or an-

“ other? The man who misplaces it therefore does

“ no more evil than Nature, which makes no use of it.

“ Now these losses of Nature, which it depends only

“on us to imitate, do they not take place in a great

“ many cases? First, the possibility of causing them is

“a primal proof that they do not offend her. It would

“be against all the laws of equilibrium and profound
wisdom, which we know in everything, to permit
“ that which would offend her. Secondly, these losses
“ are a hundred and a hundred million times executed
“ daily by herself; nightly pollutions, the inutility of
seed during woman’s child-bearing, are not these losses
authorized by her laws? proving to us that, but little
sensible of what may result from this liquor to which

n
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.
a

‘ rage her instead of serving her.

ee IG Ge,

we have the folly of attaching so high a price, she per-
mits us the loss with the same indifference as she pro-
ceeds thereby every day; that she tolerates the pro-
pogation, but that the propogation is far from being in
her views; that she is most “willing we should multi-
ply, but that, gaining no more from one of these acts
than from the other which is opposed to them, the
choice we make is all the same to her; that, leaving
us the masters to create or not to create or to destroy,
we shall neither contend nor offend her any more by
choosing, among either of these parties, the one which
will suit us best; and that the one we shall select
being only the result of her power and action over us,
sad position, were we in the midst of society,... were
it will be always well pleasing to her the more surely as
it will run no risk of offending her. Whatsoever be the
temple in which we sacrifice, when she permits in-
cense to be burnt therein, it is because the homage
does not offend her; the refusals of producing, the
losses of the seed which serves for production, the
extinction of this seed, when it has taken root, the
annihilation of this germ even a long while after its
formation, all these, Therese, are imaginary crimes
which nowise interest Nature, and at which she amuses
herself as at all our other institutions, which often out-

”

Cceur-de-Fer grew warm in explaining his perfidious

maxims, and I soon beheld him in the state he had so
greatly frightened me on the eve; he wanted, in order
to give more force to the lesson, to at once add the
practice to the precept; and his hand, in spite of my re-
sistance, strayed towards the altar into which the traitor
wished to penetrate... Should I confess it to you,
Madam? blinded by the seductions of this nasty man,
pleased, in somewhat yielding, to save what appeared the
= 56 —

most essential; reflecting neither on the incongruity of
his sophisms, nor on what I was about to risk myself
since this dishonest man, possessing huge proportions,
was not even in the possibility of seeing a woman in the
most permitted spot, and that led on by his natural
wickedness, he certainly had no other end than that of
maiming me; with my eyes fascinated over all that, I
say, I was going to give myself up, and through virtue to
become a criminal; my resistance was calming down;
being already master of the throne, this insolent van-
quisher no longer busied himself except to fix himself
thereon, when the jolting of a car was heard on the high-
road. Cceur-de-Fer quits on the instant his pleasures
for his duties; he assembles his men and flys to fresh
crimes. Shortly afterwads we hear cries, and these
bloody scoundrels return triumphantly loaded with spoils.
“ Let us quickly decamp, ” said Coeur-de-Fer; “ there
“ is no longer any safety for us here. ” The booty is
divided, Coeur-de-Fer wants me to have my share; it
amounted to twenty louis; I am obliged to accept them;
I quaked under the obligation of harbouring a like
money: we are however hurried on, each one loads himself
and we leave.

We found ourselves next day safely in the forest of
Chantilly; our men were counting, during supper, how
much their last operation had brought them, and not
valuing at two hundred Jowis the totality of the prize:
— “ Indeed, ” said one of them, “ it was not worth
“ while committing three murders for so small a sum! ”
— “ Not so fast, my friends, ” replied la Dubois, it is

not for the sum that I myself exhorted you to give
these travellers no quarter, it is for our mere safety;
these crimes are the fault of the laws and not ours:
so long as robbers’ lives are taken away as murderers’,

thefts will never be committed without assassinations.
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The both crimes are equally punished: why deny one’s
self the latter from the moment it may cover the
former? ‘To what do you attribute in other respects, ”

continued this horrible creature, “ that two hundred louis

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are not worth three murders? ‘You should never cal-
culate things except by the relation they have with our
interests. ‘The cessation of the existence of each of
the three sacrificed beings, is nothing in respect to us.
Surely we would not give an obole whether these indi-
viduals he alive or in the tomb; consequently, if the
slightest interest accrues to us, from one of these cases,
we ought without any remorse determine it by prefer-
ence in our own favor; for in a thing wholly indifferent,
we ought, if we are wise and masters of that thing,
undoubtedly to make it turn to the side wherein it is
profitable to us, abstraction made of all the adversary
may lose thereby; because there is no reasonable pro-
portion between that which concerns us, and that
which concerns others. We feel the one physically,
the other comes to us only morally, and moral sensa-
tions are deceitful; the only real ones are physical
sensations; thus not only two hundred louis suffice for
three murders, but even thirty sous would have done,
for thirty sous would have procured us a satisfaction
which, though a very slight one, ought nevertheless to
affect us much more keenly than the three murders
could have done, which are nothing for us, and from
the wrong of which not even a scratch overtakes us.
The weakness of our organs, the lack of reflection, the
cursed prejudices in which we have been bred, the vain
terrors of Religion or of laws, that is what stops fools
in the career of crime, that is what hinders them from
doing great things; but every individual full of
strength and vigor, endowed with an energetically
organised soul, who preferring himself, as he ought,
= 39 —

“ to others, will know how to weigh their interest in the
“ scales of his own, mock God and men, brave death and
“ despise the laws, thoroughly convinced that it is to
“ himself alone he ought to refer everything, will feel
“ that the greatest multitude of wrongs on others, of
“ which he ought to be nowise physically sensible, can
“ not be Jaid down as a compensation for the slightest
“ of enjoyments, purchased by this uncommon union of
“ forfeits. Enjoyment flatters him; it is part of him;
“ now, I ask what reasonable man will not prefer that
“ which affords him delight to that which is strange to
“ him, and who will not consent to commit this strange
“ thing from which he will experience nothing trouble-

some, in order to procure himself the one by which he

is agreeably affected? ”
— “ Oh! Madam, ” said I to la Dubois, in asking her
leave to reply to her execrable sophisms, “ do you not
“ then feel your condemnation written in that which has
just fallen from your lips? Such principles could at
most become the being powerful enough to have noth-
ing to fear from others; but we, Madam, perpetually
in dread and humiliation; we, banished from all honest
men, condemned by every law, ought we to admit
systems which can only sharpen the sword hung over
our heads? Might we not even find ourselves in this
we where we ought to be, without our misconduct or
misfortunes, do you imagine such maxims could be-
come us better? How will you have it that he who,
through a blind selfishness, wishes to struggle along
against the combined interest of others, should not
perish? Is not society authorized never to suffer with-
in its bosom him who declares himself against it? And
can the individual who isolates himself struggle against
all? Can he flatter himself with being happy and
tranquil, if, not accepting the social pact, he agrees

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not to yield a trifle of his happiness in order to secure
the rest thereof? Society is merely sustained by the
perpetual exchanges of benefits, these are the ties
which keep it together; such a one who, instead of
these benefits, will offer but crimes, much needs be
dreaded henceforth, and will necessarily be attacked
if he is the strongest, sacrificed by the former whom he
will offend, if he is the weakest; but destroyed in every
manner of the powerful reason which obliges man
to secure his rest and hurt those that wish to trouble
him; such is the cause that renders the duration of
criminal associations impossible; opposing only sharp
daggers to the interest of others, all ought to promptly
unite in order to blunt the edges thereof. Even
amongst ourselves, Madam, need I add, how can you
flatter yourself with maintaining concord, when you
counsel everyone to listen only to his sole interest?
Shall you have from this moment anything meet to
reproach any of us who is willing to stab the others,
who may do so, in order to annex to himself alone his
fellow’s portion? Ah! what finer eulogy of Virtue
than the proof of our necessity, even in a criminal
society,... than the certainty that this society could
not be kept together a moment without Virtue! ”

— “ What you reproach us with, Therese, are soph-

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isms, ” said Coeur-de-Fer, “ and not what la Dubois
had asserted. It is not Virtue that keeps our criminal
associations together; it is interest, selfishness; that
eulogy of Virtue which you have drawn from a chimer-
ical hypothesis drops therefore into the water; it is
nowise through virtue that believing myself, I suppose,
the strongest in the gang, I do not stab my comrades
to have their share, it is because, finding myself then
alone, I should deprive myself of the means which may
secure the fortune I expect from their assistance; this
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= 60 =

motive is the only one which likewise keeps back their
arms from me. Now, this motive, you see, Therese,
is but a selfish one, it has not the slightest appearance
of Virtue. He who wishes to struggle alone against the
interest of society ought, you say, expect to perish:
will he not perish far more certainly, if he has for
existing therein only his wretchedness and the re-
nouncement of others? What they style the interest
of society is merely the mass of private interests united
together, but it is never except in yielding that this
private interest can agree and be attached to general
interests; now, what will you have him yield who
has nothing? If he does so, you will confess to me
that he is so much the more mistaken, as he finds
himself bestowing then infinitely more than he re-
ceives, and in this case the inequality of the bargain
ought to prevent him from making it; caught in this
trap, the best thing such a man has to do, is not to
retire from this unjust society in order to grant rights
only to a different society, which, placed in the same
position as himself, has for interest to combat, through
the re-union of its slender powers, the more extensive
sway which wanted to force the unfortunate wretch
to give up the little he had in order to get nothing from
the others? But there will spring from this, you will
say, a state of perpetual war. Be it so! is it not that
of Nature? Is it not the only one which really suits
us? Men were all born isolated, envious, cruel and
despotic; wishing to have everything and give up
nothing, and incessantly fighting to maintain either
their ambition or rights, the legislator came and said:
Cease from fighting thus; in yielding a little on both
sides, tranquillity is about to spring up again. I do
not blame the proposition of this pact, but I hold that
two classes of individuals ought never to submit to it:
= 61

“ those who, feeling themselves the strongest, and no
“ need of parting with anything in order to be happy,
“and those who, being the weakest, found themselves
“ parting with infinitely more than was secured for them.
“ Yet, society is merely composed of weak and strong
“ beings; now, if the pact was to displease the strong
“ and the weak, it was very far therefore from becom-
“ ing society, and the state of war which existed before,
“ ought to be found infinitely preferable, since it left
“ every one of the free to exercise ‘of his forces and in-
“ dustry of which he found himself deprived by the un-
“ just pact of society, always taking too much from the
“ one and never granting enough to the other; hence the
“ truly wise being is he who, at the risk of beginning
“ again the state of war which reigned previous to the
“ pact, sets himself irrevocably up against this pact,
“ violates it as much as he can, certain that what he will
“ profit by these damages will be always superior to
“ what he may lose, if he finds himself the weakest; for
“ he was co all the same in respecting the pact, he may
“ become the strongest in violating it; and if the laws
“ bring him back to the class which he wanted to leave,
“ the worst that can happen him is to lose his life, which
“ is an infinitely less greater misfortune than that of
“ existing in opprobrium and misery. ‘These are there-
“ fore two positions for us: either crime which renders
“us happy, or the scaffold which hinders us from being
“ unhappy. I ask, is there anything to hesitate at, lovely
“« Therese, and will your mind find a reasoning which
“ can combat that one? ”

— “ Oh! Sir, ” I answered with that vehemence which
the good cause gives, “ there are a thousand; but ought
“ this life be in other respects, therefore, the sole object
“ of man? Is he in it otherwise than on a way, as it
“ were, every step of which he traverses ought, if he is
ni

“ yeasonable, but to lead him towards that eternal
“ happiness, the assured reward of Virtue? I suppose
“ with you (which is however rare, which is however
“ against the lights of reason, but never mind), I grant
“ you for an instant that crime may render the wretch
“ who gives himself up to it happy here below: do you
“ fancy the justice of God awaits not this dishonest man
“ in another world to take vengeance for this one! ...
“ Ah! believe not the contrary, Sir, believe it not, ” I
added with tears, ‘“ this is the only consolation of the un-
“ fortunate one, take it not away from us; when men
“‘ abandon us, who will avenge us if it be not God?”

— “ Who? nobody, Therese, absolutely nobody; it is
“in nowise necessary that misfortune should be
“ avenged; it flatters itself because it would have it so,
“ this idea consoles it, but it is nevertheless false: nay
“ more, it is essential that misfortune should suffer; its
“ humiliation, its pains are among the number of Na-
“ ture’s laws, and its existence is useful to the general
“* plan, as that of prosperity which crushes it; such is the
“ truth that ought to stifle remorse in the soul of the
tyrant or malefactor; let him not hold back; let him
blindly deliver himself up to all the wrongs the idea
“* of which arises within him; it is the voice alone of Na-
ture that suggests this idea to him; it is the only way
** in which she makes us the agents of her laws. When
“ her secret inspirations dispose us for evil, it is because
the evil is necessary for her, it is because she wishes
“ it, because she requires it, because the amount of
“crimes being incomplete, insufficient for the laws of
“ equilibrium, the only laws by which she is ruled, she
“ requires the former moreover for the completion of the
““ balance; let him not therefore be frightened, or stopped,
“he whose soul is carried on to evil; let him commit
it without fear, as soon as he has felt its compulsion:

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it is only by resisting it that he would outrage Nature.
But let us lay aside the moral for an instant, since you
will have theology. Learn then, young innocent girl,
that religion on which you throw yourself, being but
the relation of man with God, the worship which the
creature thought it ought to render his creator, is anni-
hilated 1s soon as the existence of this creator is itself
shown to be chimerical.

“ The first men, frightened by phenomena which
struck them, must necessarily have thought that a
sublime being and unknown to them had directed
their march and influence. It is natural to weakness
to suppose or dread force; the mind of man, still too
much in childhood to search, to find in the bosom of
Nature the laws of movement, the only spring of the
whole mechanism at which he was astonished, thought
it simpler to suppose a mover for this Nature than to
consider herself as mover, and, without reflecting how
he would have still more difficulty to invent, to define
this gigantic master, than to find in the study of Na-
ture the cause of that which surprised him, he admitted
this sovereign being, he set up worships to him. From
this moment, every Nation composed some analogous
to its morals, knowledge and climate; there were soon
over the earth as many religions as nations, as many
gods as families; under all these idols it was easy
nevertheless to recognise this absurd phantom, the
first fruit of human blindness. They dressed it up
differently, but it was always the same thing. Now,
say, Therese, must it follow from this, because idiots
talk nonsense about the erection of an unworthy
chimera and the manner of serving it, that the wise man
ought to renounce the certain and present happiness
of his life? ought he, like that dog of an Alsop, leave the
bone for the shadow, and give over real enjoyments for
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illusions? No, Therese, no, there is no God; Nature
suffices for herself; she has no earthly need of an
author, this supposed author is only a decomposition
of her own forces, is only what we call in tHe schools
petitio principii. A God supposes a creation, viz., an
instant when there was nothing, or an instant when all
was chaos. If either of these states was bad, why did
your God allow it to exist? Was it a good one, why
then change? But if everything is all-right now, your
God has nothing more to do: now, if he is useless, can
he be powerful, can he be God?? If Nature moves her-
self, of what use is the movef? And if the mover acts
upon the matter in moving it, how is it he is not matter
himself? Can you conceive the effect of the mind on
matter, and the matter receiving the movement of the
mind which has itself no movement? Examine cooly
for an instant all the ridiculous ahd contradictory
qualities, with which the fabricators of the execrable
chimera are obliged to invest it; observe how they de-
stroy one another, how they mutually absorb one an-
other, and you will acknowledge that this deistic
phantom, sprung from the dread of some and the
ignorance of all, is merely a revolting nonsense which
deserves of us neither an instant’s belief nor a minute’s
examination; a woeful extravagance which is repugnant
to the mind, revolts the heart, and which must have
issued from the darkness only to return into it again
for ever.

“ Let not the hope or fear of a future world, the
fruit of those first lies, therefore trouble you, Therese;
cease especially from trying to make us halters out of
it. We the feeble particles of a vile and raw matter,
shall, at our death, viz., at the re-union of the elements
which compose us to the elements of the general mass,
pass, annihilated forever, whatever may have been our
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conduct, an instant in the crucible of Nature, to issue
“ forth under other forms, and that without there being
further prerogatives for him who foolishly extolled
virtue, as for him who abandoned himself to the most
shameful excesses, because Nature is offended by
nothing, and because all men have sprung alike out
“ of her bosom, having acted during their lives only ac-
“cording to her impulses, will all find therein, after
“ their existence, both the same end and same destiny. ”
I was going to answer these awful blasphemies, when
the sound of a man on horseback reached us. “ To
“arms! ” cried Coeur-de-Fer, eager to put his systems
into action to consolidate their basis. They are off...
and in an instant they convey an unfortunate traveller
into the under-wood where we pitched our camp.
Questioned on the motive which caused him to travel
alone and so early, along a by-way, on his age and pro-
fession, the horseman replied that his name was Saint-
Florent, one of the first business men of Lyons; that he
was thirty-six years old, that he was returning from
Flanders about business connected with his trade, that
he had but little money about him though many papers.
He added that his footman had left him on the eve,
and that, in order to avoid the heat, he travelled by
night with the intention of reaching Paris on the same
day, where he would hire a new servant, and conclude
a part of his business; that, moreover, if he was fol-
lowing a solitary path, he must have apparently gone
astray while falling asleep on his horse. And having
said this, he sued for his life, offering himself all he
possessed. ‘They examined his pocket-book, counted his
money, the prize could not be a better one. Saint
Florent had nearly half a million payable at sight on
the Capital, a few jewels and about one hundred louis...
“ Friend, ” said Coeur-de-Fer to him, holding the barrel
= 66

of a pistol under his nose, “ you understand that after
“ such a robbery we can not leave you your life. —
“ Oh, Sir, ” I cried in throwing myself at this wretch’s
feet, “‘ I do conjure you, do not offer me, on my recep-
“ tion into your gang, the horrible spectacle of this un-
“ fortunate man’s death; spare his life, do not refuse me
“ the first favor I ask of you. ” And, having at once
thought of a pretty strange stratagem, in order to legiti-
mate the interest I appeared to take in this man: “ The
“ name which the Gentleman has just given, ” I warmly
added, “ causes me to believe that I am closely related
“to him. Do not be astonished, Sir, ” I continued in
addressing myself to the traveller, “ bé not surprised
“ at finding a relative in this situation; I shall explain to
“you all this. Under those rights, ” I began by again
imploring our Chief, “ under those rights, Sir, grant me
‘ this wretched man’s life; I shall acknowledge this
favor by the most complete devotedness to all that
can serve your interests. — You know on what con-
ditions I can grant you the favor you ask of me,
Therese, ” Cceur-de-Fer answered me; “ you know
what I request of you... — Ah! good Sir, I shall
do everything, ” I cried in casting myself between this
unhappy man and our Chief ever-ready to slay him...
Yes, I shall do everything, Sir, I shall do everything,
save him. — Let him live, ” said Coeur-de-Fer, “but
* let him become one of our number; this last clause is
indespensable, I can do nothing without it, my com-
rades would be opposed to it. ”
The merchant, being surprised at hearing nothing
about this relationship which I established, but seeing
his life saved, if he ceded to the proposals, did not think
he should waver a moment. They made him refresh
himself, and as our men did not wish to depart from that
place except in the day-time: ‘“ Therese, ” said Cceur-

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de-Fer to me, “ I claim your promise; but as I am over-
“ jaded this evening, repose quietly near la Dubois; I
‘ shall call you about day-break, and that scoundrel’s
life, should you waver, will avenge me for your
roguery. — Sleep, Sir, sleep, ” answered I, “ and
know that she whom you have loaded with gratitude,
has no other desire than of discharging it. ” That was
however very far from being my scheme, but if ever I
believed dissimulation permitted, it was indeed on this
occasion. Our knaves, filled with too great a confidence,
drink more and fall asleep, leaving me perfectly free,
near la Dubois, who, drunk like the rest, also closed her

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eyes.
Then sprightly taking advantage of the first moment’s
sleep of the profligates who are about us: — “ Sir, ”

said I to the young Lyonnese, “ the most dreadful catas-
* trophy has thrown me among these robbers; I detest
“ both of them and the fatal instant which led me into
“ their band; likely I have not the honor of being re-
“ lated to you, I have made use of this stratagem to save
“ you and escape myself, with you, should you think well,
“ out of the hands of these wretches. The moment is
“ a propitious one, ” I added, “ let us flee away; I per-
“ ceive your pocket-book, let us take it back; let us bid
“ adieu to the cash, it is in their pockets; we should not
“ take it out of them without danger. Let us depart,
Sir, let us depart; you see what I am doing for you,
“ T place myself in your hands; pity my lot; be not es-
“ pecially crueler than those fellows; deign to respect
“ my honor, I do entrust it to you, it is my sole treasure,
“ Jeave it with me, they have not ravished me of it. ”
One would but badly express the pretended gratitude
of Saint-Florent. He knew not what terms to employ
in order to paint it for me; but we had no time for
talking; the question was to fly. I cleverly steal the

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pocket-book, hand it over to him, and speedily clearing
the under-wood, leaving the horse behind for fear the
noise he would have made should waken our heroes,
we make towards, in the greatest haste, the path which
was to lead us out of the forest. We were fortunate
enough to be out of it by day-break, and without having
been pursued by anybody; before ten o’clock in the
morning we entered Luzarches, where, free from all fear,
we thought no longer except of resting ourselves.

There are moments in life when we find ourselves
very rich without having however the means of living:
such was the case of Saint-Florent. He had five hun-
dred thousand francs in his pocket, and not a single
crown-piece in his purse; this reflection stopped him be-
fore going into the inn. — “ Be not uneasy, “Sir, ”
said I to him on seeing his embarrassment, “ the robbers
“ who I am quitting did not leave me without money;
“ there are twenty louis, take them, I do entreat you,
““ make use of them, give the remainder to the poor; I
“ should not for anything in the world keep gold ob-
“ tained by murders. ”

Saint-Florent, who was showing his delicateness, but
who was very far from the one I was to suppose, did
not wish to absolutely take what I was offering him; he
enquired what were my intentions, told me he would
make himself a law to fulfil them, and that he only de-
sired he would be able to acquit himself towards me:

- “ It is from you I hold my fortune and life, The-
“ rese, ” he added, in kissing my hands, “ can I do
“ better than in offering you both? Accept them, I do
“ conjure you, and allow the God of hymen to bind
“ tighter the knots of friendship. ”

I know not, but whether foresight or indifference, I
was so far from thinking that what I had done for this
young man could attract such feelings on his part, that
=o 69

I let him read in my countenance the refusal which I
dared not express; he understood it, insisted no further,
and confined himself to ask me only what he could do
is me. = “ Sir, said I to him, “ if really my pro-

ceeding is not without value in your eyes, I ask you
for sole reward but to lead me with you to Lyons, and
place me there in some respectable house, where my
chastity may have no more to suffer. — You could
not do better, ” said Saint-Florent, “ nobody is in a
nicer position than I am to render you this service:
I have twenty relations in this town; ” and the young
Merchant then begged me to relate io him the reasons
which determined me to go away from Paris, where I
had told him I was born. — “ Oh! if it is only that, ”
said the young man, “ I can be useful to you before
“ being at Lyons; fear nothing, Therese, your trial is
“ at an end; they will not look for you again, and cer-
tainly less in the retreat I wish to place than else-
“where. I have a lady relation near Bondy; she lives
“ in a charming country-seat about here; she will con-
“ sider it a pleasure, I am sure, to have you close to
“her. I shall introduce you to her tomorrow. ” I,
filled with gratitude in my tum, accept the proposal
which suits me so nicely. We repose ourselves during
the remainder of the day at Luzarches, and proposed to
reach on the following day Bondy, which is but six
leagues from there. “ It is fine weather, ” said Saint-
Florent; “ if you take my advice, Therese, we shall go
“ on foot to my relation’s Castle; we shall there relate
“ our adventure, and this mode of travelling will, it
“ seems, attach still greater interest to us.” Being
very far from suspecting that there was to be less safety
for me with him than in the infamous company I was
leaving, I accept everything without fear or repugnance.
We take dinner and supper together; he is not at all

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opposed to my having a separate room from his for the
night; and having let the great heat pass by, being sure
of what he told me, viz., that four or five hours suffice for
us to go to his relation’s place, we set out from Luzarches
and make our way on foot towards Bondy.

It was about five o’clock in the evening when we en-
tered the forest. Saint-Florent had not as yet belied
himself for an instant: still the same honesty, still the
same desire of showing his good feelings towards me.
I should not have thought myself safer, had I been with
my father. The shades of night began to spread over
the forest that sort of religious awe, which at the same
time causes fear to spring up in timorous souls, and the
project of crime in ferocious hearts. We were following
only by-ways; I was walking ahead, I turn round to in-
quire of Saint-Florent whether those by-ways are really
those we should take, if he is not by chance going astray,
if he thought, in fine, we should soon arrive. — “ We
“ are there, harlot, ” replied this rascal, in knocking me
down with a blow of a stick on my head, which leaves
me senseless .....

Oh! Madam, I no longer know what this man said
or did; but the state I found myself in only too well
allowed me to recognise how much I had been his victim.
It was completely night when I came to my senses;
I was at the foot of a tree out of every route, benumbed,
all besmeared with blood..... dishonored, Madam.
Such had been the reward of all I had just done for
this wretched man; and carrying his infamy to the
highest pitch, the rascal, after having done with me
everything he desired, after having abused me in all
taken away my purse,..... that same money I had so
manners, even in that which outrages Nature most, had
generously offered him. He had torn my clothes, the
greater part of which lay in rags around me; I was
= 9] 2S

almost naked, and bruised in several parts of the body.
You may judge of my situation: in the midst of dark-
ness, without resource, without honor, without hope,
exposed to every danger, I wished to end my days. Had
a weapon been offered me, I would have seized it, and
with it I would have shortened this unhappy life which
afforded me only plagues..... The monster! what have
I then done against him, said I to myself, to have thus
deserved from him so cruel a treatment? I save his life
for him, I hand him over his fortune, he snatches from
me what I hold most dear! A ferocious beast would
have been less cruel! O man, there thou art then when
thou listenest only to thy passions! Tigers in the depths
of the most savage deserts would hold thy forfeits in
horror..... A few moments of discouragement succeeded
these first vents of my sorrow; my eyes filled with tears
turn mechanically towards heaven; my heart rushes to
the feet of the Master who inhabits it..... This pure
and brilliant vault..... this imposing stillness of
night..... this fright which froze my senses..... this
image of Nature in peace, beside this disorder of my
lost soul, all spread a dark horror over me, whence soon
springs the need of prayer. I cast myself at the knees
of this Almighty God, denied by the impious, the hope of
the poor and afflicted. “ Holy and majestic Being, ”
I cried in tears, “ thou who deignest in this awful
moment to fill my soul with a heavenly joy, who has
“ undoubtedly prevented me from making an attempt on
“my days; O my protector and guide, I aspire to thy
“ goodness, I implore thy clemency: do behold my
“ wretchedness and my sorrows, my resignation and my
“ vows. Almighty God! thou knowest I am innocent
“ and weak; I am betrayed and ill-used; I have wished
“ to do good after thy example, and thy will punishes
“ me for it. Let it be accomplished, O my God! all

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those sacred effects are dear to me; I respect them
and cease to complain of them. But if I am, how-
ever, to find herebelow only thorns, is it to offend
thee, O my Sovereign Master, to beseech thy power
to call me to thee, that I may bless thee without fear,
adore thee far from those perverse men who have
caused me, alas! to meet only with evils, and whose
bloody and perfidious hands drown at their pleasure
my sad days in torrents of tears and the abyss of
sorrows? ”

Prayer is the sweetest consolation of the unhappy one.
It becomes the more efficacious when he has discharged
his duties. I rise full of courage, I gather up the rags
which the rascal left me, and I penetrate into the brush-
wood to spend the night therein with less risk. The safe-
ty in which I fancied myself, the satisfaction I had
just tasted in drawing nigh God, all, all contributed to
make me repose a few hours; the sun was already high
when my eyes opened again. The moment of awakening
is terrible for the unfortunate; the imagination, refreshed
by the sweetness of slumbers, is much more quickly and
dolefully’ filled with the evils, the remembrance of which
those instants of deceitful repose have caused it to
forget.

Well, said I to myself then on examining myself, it
is therefore true that there are human creatures, whom
Nature abases down to the same lot as that of ferocious
beasts! Hid in this cover, fleeing from men after their
example, what difference is there now between them
and me? Is it then worth while to be born for so woe-
ful a destiny? ..... And my tears flowed abundantly on
making these sad reflections; I scarcely finished them,
when I heard a noise about me; gradually J distinguish
two men. I give heed: — “ Come, dear friend, ” says
one of them, “ we shall be admirably well off here; the
ae
“cruel and fatal presence of an aunt whom I detest
will not prevent me from tasting for a moment with
“you, the pleasures which are so sweet to me. ” They
draw nigh, they plant themselves in such a way before
me, that none of their propositions, none of their move-
ments, can escape me, and I see..... Good Heavens!
Madam, said Therese in interrupting herself, is it pos-
sible that destiny never placed me except in such critical
situations, that it becomes as difficult for virtue to hear
their recitals, as for chastity to paint them! This hor-
rible crime which equally outrages both Nature and the
social conventions, this forfeit, in fine, upon which the
hand of God was so often laid heavy, rendered lawful by
Cceur-de-Fer, proposed by him to the unfortunate The-
rese, involuntarily consummated on her by the butcher
who has just immolated her; finally this shocking exe-
cration, I saw it accomplished under my eyes with all the
impure researches, all the frightful episodes, that the
most reflected depravity can place in it. One of these
men, he who lent himself, was about twenty-four years
old, well enough dressed to give an idea of the elevation of
his rank; the other, of about the same age, looked like
one of his servants. ‘The act was scandalous and a long
one. Leaning on his hands at the top of a small hill in
front of the under-wood where I was, the young master
laid bare for his companion of debauchery the impure
altar of sacrifice, and the latter, fired at this spectacle,
caressed the idol thereof, quite ready to immolate it
with a far more frightful and huge dagger than that by
which I was threatened by the chief of the brigands of
Bondy; but the young master, in nowise fearful, seems
to brave with impunity the bait which is offered to him;
he teases it, he excites it, he covers it with kisses; is
seized by it, is penetrated with it himself, delights in
swallowing it up; enthusiastic with his criminal caresses,

“
a

the infamous wretch wreathes under the iron and seems
to regret it is not still more frightful; he braves the
blows, he meets them, he wards them off..... Two tender
and lawful spouses would caress each other with less
ardour..... Their mouths press together, their sighs
are confounded, their tongues entwine, and I see them
both, drunk with lust, finding in the midst of their de-
lights the completion of their perfidious horrors. The
homage is renewed, and to kindle the incense thereof,
nothing is spared by him who requires it; kisses, hand-
lings, pollutions, subtilities of the most notorious de-
bauchery, all are employed to restore the strength which
is extinguished, and all succeed in re-animating it five
consecutive times; but without either of them changing
his role. The young master was always the woman, and
although the possibility of being a man in his turn
might be discovered in him, yet he had not even the
appearance of conceiving for an instant the desire of
it. If he visited the altar similar to the one on which
one used to sacrifice with him, it was to the other idol’s
profit, and no attack ever seemed to threaten that one.
Oh! how this time appeared long to me! I dared not
stir, for fear of being perceived. At last the criminal
actors of this indecent scene, satiated no doubt, rose to
continue the way which was to lead them home, when
the master approaches the bush which conceals me; my

bonnet betrays me..... He perceives it..... — “ Jas-
“min, ” said he to his footman, “ we are discovered.....
A girl has witnessed our mysteries. .... Draw up, let

“ us make this whore come from there, and know why
“ she is there. ”

I did not give them the trouble of dragging me out
of my refuge; immediately tearing myself out of it, and
falling at their feet..... ‘““ Oh, Gentlemen! ” I cried,
on holding out my arms to them, “ deign to take com-
passion on an unfortunate girl whose lot is more to
be pitied than you think; but few reverses can equal
mine, let not the situation in which you find me give
rise to any suspicion about me: it is the consequence
of my misery, much rather than of my wrongs. Far
from increasing the evils which overwhelm me, be
pleased to lessen them by facilitating for me the means
of escaping the plagues which pursue me. ”

The Count of Bressac (this was the young man’s
name), into whose hands I fell, with a great deal of
wickedness and libertinism in his mind, was not pro-
vided with a very abundant supply of pity in his heart.
It is unfortunately only too common to see libertinism
extinguishing pity in men; its ordinary effect is to harden
the heart: whether the greater part of his errings neces-
sitates the apathy of the soul, or the violent outburst
which this passion imprints on the mass of nerves, di-
minishes the force of their action, it always holds good
that a libertine is seldom a sensible man. But to this
natural hardness of heart in the kind of men whose
character I am sketching, was still joined in Mr de
Bressac so inveterate a disgust for our sex, so implacable
a hatred for all that characterized it, that it was very
difficult for me to succeed in stiring in his soul the senti-
ments with which I wished to touch it.

— “ Wooden turtle-dove, ” said the count to me with
severity, “ if thou art looking for dupes, hit the mark
“ better; neither my friend nor 1 ever sacrifice to the
“ impure temple of thy sex; if it be alms thou askest,
“ seek the persons that are fond of good works, we
“ never do anything of this kind... But speak, wretch,
“ hast thou seen what has passed between this Gentle-
“ man and me? — I saw you talking on the grass, ”
replied I, “ nothing further, Sir, I assure you. — I will
“ believe so, ” said the young Count, “ and that for
a 7G

“ thy own sake; if I thought thou couldst have seen
“ anything else, thou wouldst never leave this thicket. . .
“Jasmin, it is early, we have time to hear this girl’s ad-
“ ventures; and we shall see afterwards what can be
“ done for her. ”

These young men sit down; they bid me place myself
near them, and then I ingeniously relate to them all the
misfortunes which overwhelm me since I came into the
world. — “ Come, Jasmin, ” said Mister de Bressac,
on rising up, when I had ended, “ let us be just once.
“ The upright Themis has condemned this creature; let
us not suffer the views of the Goddess to be so cruelly
frustrated; let us make the delinquent undergo the
sentence of death which she would have encured.
This petty murder, very far from being a crime, will
become a reparation in the moral order; since we have
the misfortune of sometimes putting it out of place,
“ let us establish it courageously at least when the oc-
“ casion presents itself...’ And the hard-hearted fel-
lows, having removed me from my place, are already
dragging me to the wood, laughing. at my tears and cries.
“ Let us bind her up by the four limbs, to four trees
“ forming a long square, ” said Bressac, on stripping me
naked. Then by means of their neckties, handkerchiefs
and garters they make cords with which I am instantly
bound, as they purpose, namely, in the cruelest and
most painful attitude that is possible to be imagined.
One can not describe what I suffered: it seems as if
they tore asunder my limbs, and that my stomach, which
miscarried, inclined by its weight towards the ground,
had to gape at every instant. The sweat streamed down
from my brow. I existed no further than by the vio-
lence of the pain; had this ceased to press my nerves to-
gether, the pangs of death would have set upon me.
The wicked wretches were amused at this posture; they

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viewed me in it while hugging each other. “ That is
“enough of it, ” said Bressac at last, “ I am willing that
“ this time she gets off for her fear. Therese, ” con-
tinued he while loosing my bonds and ordering me to
dress, “ be discreet, and follow us: if you become at-
tached to me, you shall have no reason to repent of
“it. My aunt wants a second women, I am going to
present you to her, on the faith of your recitals: I am
going to take the responsibility of your conduct; but
“ if you abuse my goodness, if you betray my confidence,
or if you do not submit to my intentions, look at those
four trees, Therese; look at the ground they encom-
“ pass, and which is to be your grave. Remember that
“ this fatal spot is only a league from the castle to which
“ IT am taking you, and for the slightest fault you will
“ be instantly conveyed hither. ”

On the instant I forget my misfortunes. I cast myself
at the Count’s knees. I swear to him in tears, an oath
for my good conduct; but, as insensible of my joy as of
my sorrow: — “ Let us go, ” said Bressac, “ it is this
“ conduct that will speak in your behalf, it alone will
“ regulate your destiny. ”

We advance. Jasmin and his master were talking
together in a whispering voice. I humbly followed them
without saying a word. In a short hour we arrive at
the Marchioness de Bressac’s castle, the magnificence
of which and the host of servants it contains, cause me
to see that, whatever post I am to fill in the house, it
will surely be more advantageous to me than that of
being Mr du Harpin’s head governess. They make me
wait in an office where Jasmin kindly offers me all that,
can serve to comfort me. The young Count goes into his
aunt; he gives her notice, and comes himself for me
half an hour afterwards to present me to the Mar-

chioness.
4 Fo

Madam de Bressac was a woman of forty-sx years
old, being still very handsome; she appeared to me to
be honest and sensible, although she mixed a little
severity in her principles and discourses. Since two
years she was left a widow by the young Count’s uncle,
who had married her without any other fortune than
the fine name which he bestowed upon her. All the
wealth that Mr de Bressac could hope for depended on
this aunt; what he had got from his father hardly
afforded him enough for his pleasures; Madam de Bressac
added thereto a considerable pension, but that did not
suffice. Nothing dear like the Count’s voluptuousnesses;
perhaps these are paid less than the others, but multiply
much more. There was a revenue of fifty thousand
crowns in the house, and Mister de Bressac was alone.
He could never be prevailed upon to enter the service;
everything that removed him from his libertinism was so
intolerable to him, that he could not adopt its bondage.
The Marchioness inhabited this land three months in the
year. She spent the remainder of her time in Paris.
And these three months which she required of her nephew
to pass with her, were a kind of punishment for a man
detesting his aunt and considering as lost every moment
he spent away from the city where his centre of pleasures
lay.

The young Count ordered me to relate to the Mar-
chioness the things of which I had informed him, and
when I had done: — “ do not permit me to doubt
“ about your being truthful. I shall seek no further
“ information about you, if it be not to find out whether
“ you really are the man’s daughter you mention to me.
“‘ Tf this is so, I knew your father, and this is a further
“ reason why I should be interested in you. As to the
“ affair at the du Harpin’s, I undertake to settle it in
“ two visits to my old friend, the Chancellor. He is the
on FQ
“most upright man in the world; the mere question is.
to prove to him your innocence in order to undo all
that has been done against you. But consider well,
Therese, that what I promise you is only at the price
of a spotless conduct; so you see that the effects of the
knowledge which I require will always turn to your
profit. ” I cast myself at the Marchioness’ feet, as-
sured her that she would be pleased with me: she kindly
lifted me up and directly put me in possession of the
second chambermaid’s place in her own service.

At the end of three days, the inquiries that Madam
de Bressac had made in Paris arrived; they were such
as I could have desired. The Marchioness praised me
for not having imposed upon her, and all the ideas of
misfortune vanished at last from my mind, to be no
longer replaced except by the hope of the sweetest con-
solations that it would be allowed me to expect. But it
was not arrangd in Heaven that poor Therese should
be happy; and if a few moments of calm haply dawned
for her, it was but to render those of horror which were
about to ensue still more bitter for her.

We were scarcely in Paris, when Madam de Bressac
hastened to work in my behalf. The first President
wished to see me; he listened with interest to the reci-
tals of my misfortunes; the calumnies of the du Harpins
were known, but people vainly sought to punish him
for them: du Harpin, having succeeded in a transaction
of false notes by which he ruined three or four families,
and by which he gained nearly two millions, had just
escaped to England. Concerning the burning of the
Palace prisons, people were convinced that, if I had
profited by this event, I had at least no hand in it; and
my process fell to the ground, I was assured, without
the magistrates, who were employed in it, thinking they
should use other formalities about it. I knew no more

<4

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about it; I contented myself with what I was told: you
shall shortly see whether I was wrong.

It is easy to imagine how much such proceedings at-
tached me to Madam de Bressac; had she not had, more-
over, all sorts of goodnesses towards me, how would not
such steps have bound me forever to so powerful a pro-
tectress? The young Count’s intention was however
very far from seeing me so closely linked to his aunt...
But now is the time to paint this monster for you.

M. de Bressac united to the charms of youth the
most bewitching face; if his waist or features had any
defects, it was because they somewhat approached that
negligence, that slothfulness which: belong to women;
it seemed that, in lending him the attributes of this sex,
Nature had likewise inspired him with their tastes...
Yet what a soul was hid under those womanish charms!
You meet there with all the vices which characterise
that of rascals; nobody ever surpassed him in wickedness,
vengeance, cruelty, atheism, debauchery, contempt of
every duty and especially of those which Nature seems
to form our delights. In the midst of all these errings,
M. de Bressac had especially that of hating his aunt.
The Marchioness did everything in the world to bring
her nephew back to the paths of Virtue; perhaps she did
so with too much rigour; the result of it was that the
Count, inflamed the more by the very effects of this
severity, gave himself up with still greater impetuosity
to his tastes, and the poor Marchioness had by her per-
secutions only to get herself hated the more.

“ Do not imagine, ” the Count often said to me,
“ that my aunt acts of herself in all that concerns you,
“ Therese; know that, if I did not persecute her at
“ every instant, she would hardly recall the cares she
“ promised you. She lays great stress upon what she
“* does for you, whereas it is but my work. Yes, The-
By 84

rese, yes, it is to me alone that you owe gratitude,
and what I require of you, ought to appear to you so
much the more disinterested as, however pretty you
may be, you are well aware that I do not aspire to
your favors. No, Therese; the services I expect from
you are of quite another kind, and when you are
thoroughly convinced of what I have done in your
behalf, I hope I may find in your soul what I have a
right to expect. ”

This discourse appeared to me so obscure that I knew
not how to reply to it; I did so however at random, and
perhaps with too much facility. Must I confess it to
you? Alas, yes; to disguise you from my wrongs would
be to betray your confidence and badly to answer the
interest with which my misfortunes have inspired you.
Hear, then, Madame, the only voluntarily fault I have
to reproach myself with... What do I say, a fault? a
folly, an extravagance... which never had anything like
it, but it is at least no crime, it is a mere mistake, which
punished only myself, and of which it does not appear
that the just hand of heaven should have made use to
plunge me into the abyss which yawns under my steps.
Whatever had been the unworthy proceedings of the
Count de Bressac in my regard on the first day I had
become acquainted with him, it had been however im-
possible for me to look on him without feeling myself
attracted towards him by a fit of tenderness that nothing
had been able to overcome. Notwithstanding all my
reflections on his cruelty, his aversion for women, the
depravity of his tastes, the moral distances which sepa-
rated us, nothing in the world could extinguish that
rising passion; and if the Count had requested my life
from me, I would have sacrificed it for him a thousand
times. He was far from conjecturing my feelings... He
was far, the ungrateful fellow, from discovering the

”
— 82 —

cause of the tears I used to shed daily; but still it was
impossible for him not to have an inkling of the desire
I had of anticipating everything that could please him,
it could not be that he had not a glimpse of my readi-
ness to serve him. This readiness, too blind no doubt,
was carried to such a degree of serving his errors, as
decency could permit of me, and of always disguising
it from his aunt. This conduct had in some way gained
over to me his confidence, and everything that came
from him was so precious in my eyes, I grew so blind
about the trifle his heart offered to me, that I some-
times had the weakness to believe I was not indifferent
to him. But how the excess of his disorders speedily
undeceived me! these were such that even his health
was impaired by them. I sometimes took the liberty of
picturing to him the inconveniences of his conduct; he
used to listen to me without reluctance, then end by
telling me how nobody ever corrected himself of the kind
of vice which he cherished.

“ Ah! Therese, ” cried he one day enthusiastically,
if thou knewest the charms of this fantasy, if thou
couldst understand what one experiences in the sweet
illusion of being no longer but a woman! Incredible
erring of the mind! We abhor this sex and we wish
to imitate it! Ah! how sweet it is to succeed therein,
“ Therese! how delightful it is to be the wanton of all
those who desire you, and bringing to bear on this point,
to the highest pitch, delirium and prostitution; to be
successively on the same day the mistress of a Porter,
a Marquis, a Valet, a Monk; to be by turns loved,
caressed, grown jealous of, threatened, browbeaten,
now between their victorious arms, and now a victim
at their feet, soothing them by caresses, re-inflaming
“ them by fits!... Oh! no, no, Therese, thou dost not
comprehend what this pleasure is for a head organised
a=_ 83 —

like mine... But, laying aside the moral, if thou didst
represent thyself what the physical sensations of this
divine taste are! it is impossible to resist them; it is a
tickling so keen, titillations of a voluptuousness so
quick... one loses his wits... one talks nonsense; a
thousand kisses the one tenderer than the other exalt
not yet with enough of ardor the intoxication into
which the agent plunges us: rolled up in his arms,
both our mouths stuck together, we would that our
whole existence might become incorporated with his;
we should like to form with him but one sole being;

- if we dare complain, it is of being neglected. We

should like that, more robust than Hercules, he would
split us open, penetrate into us; that this precious seed,
cast burning into the depths of our bowels, might,
through its heat and force, spirt ours up into his
hands... Do not imagine, Therese, that we are made
like other men; it is quite a different construction,
and that ticklish membrane which decks in you the
temple of Venus, Heaven in creating us adorned with
it the altars whereon our Celadons (1) do sacrifice:
we are as truly women there as you are in the sanctuary
of generation. There is not a single one of your plea-
sures that is not known to us; not a single one but we
know how to enjoy, but we have, besides, our own,
and this delightful blending which turns us into the
most sensible men of voluptuousness on the earth, the
best created for feeling it. This enchanting blending
makes the correction of our tastes impossible; it

 

(1) Character of Astree, a famous Novel, by Urfe, a

celebrated French Novelist who lived from 1568 to 1625.
The name of this character has become, in French litera-
ture, a synonyme of a constant, rueful, discreet and bash-
ful lover. (Note of the Translator.)
as BA es
“ would turn us into enthusiasts and madmen, if any-
body had still the stupidity of punishing us,... it
causes us to adore at last, up to the coffin, the charming
of God that captivates us! ”

(13
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Thus the Count expressed himself, in extolling his
oddities. Did I try to speak to him about. the being t
whom he owed everything, and of the sorrows which like
disorders were causing this respectable aunt, I perceived
no more in him than vexation and bad humor, and es:
pecially impatience to see so long in such hand riches,
which, he used to say, ought to be already his. I saw
no more in him than the most inveterate hatred against
this so honest a woman, the openest revolt against the
feeling of Nature. Would it be therefore true that, where
one has succeeded in so formally transgressing in the
tastes the sacred instinct of this law, the necessary con-
sequence of this first crime would be a fearful inclination
to commit all the others afterwards?

Sometimes I made use of the means of Religion; be-
ing nearly always consoled through it, I tried to make its
sweetness pass into the pervert’s soul, almost sure of
keeping him within bounds by these ties if I succeeded
in getting him to partake of its charms. But the Count
did not allow me to apply these arms long. A declared
enemy of our most holy mysteries, a stubborn stickler
against the purity of our dogmas, an enraged antagonist
of the existence of a Supreme Being, M. de Bressac,
instead of letting himself be converted by me, sought
much rather to corrupt me.

“All Religions spring from a false principle, Therese, ”
he used to say to me; “ they also suppose the worship
“ of a Being creator as necessary; but this creator never
“ existed. Recollect on this heading the sound pre-
“ cepts of that Coeur-de-Fer who, thou toldest me, The-
“e

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“

ce

“

“

<e

a
a

“

“

a

rese, had, as I do, worked up thy mind; nothing is
juster than this man’s principles, and the abasement,
in which people have the folly of holding him, does
not deprive him of the right of reasoning well.

“ Tf all the productions of Nature are the resultative
effects of the laws which control her; if her action and
perpetual reaction suppose the necessary movement
of her essence, what becomes of the sovereign master
whom fools gratuitously lend her? ‘That is what thy
wise teacher told thee, dear girl. What are then Re-
ligions according to this, if they be not the curb by
which the tyranny of the strongest man wished to
inthral the weakest man? Full of this design, he
dared tell him over whom he pretended to domineer,
that a God forged the irons with which his cruelty sur-
rounded him; and the latter brutalized by his misery,
indistinctly believed everything the other wished. Can
Religions therefore, sprung from these impostures, de-
serve any respect? Is there a single one of them, The-
rese, but bears the emblem of imposture and stupidity?
What do I behold in them all? Mysteries which cause
reason to quake, dogmas outraging Nature, and gro-
tesque ceremonies which inspire only derision and dis-
gust. But if, out of them all, there be one which more
especially deserves our contempt and hatred, O The-
rese, is it not that barbarous law of Christianity in
which we were both born? Is there one of them more
odious? ... one at which both heart and mind so much
revolt?

“ How can reasonable men have still any belief in
the obscure words, she pretended miracles of the vile
founder of this frightful worship? Did there ever
exist a juggler better calculated to raise public indig-
nation? What is a leprous Jew who, born of a wanton
and a soldier in the meanest corner of the Universe,
a

a

s
a

s
a

“

a

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— 36 —

dares make himself pass for the mouth-piece of him
who, they say, created the world? With such lofty
pretentions, thou wilt own, Therese, a few titles were
at least wanted. What are those of this ridiculous
Ambassador? What is he going to do in order to

* prove his mission? Is the face of the earth going to

be changed? Are the plagues which afflict it going to
be done away with? Is the sun going to brighten it
day and night? Will vices no longer sully it? Are
we going in fine to behold but happinéss reigning? ...
No it is through juggler’s tricks, through puns (1)
that the messenger of ‘God announces himself to the
universe; it is in the respectable society of labourers,
artisans and merry girls, that the minister of Heaven
comes to manifest his greatness; it is in getting drunk
with the one, sleeping with the other, that the friend
of a God, a God himself, comes to submit the hardened
sinner to his laws; it is inventing for his farces only
what can satisfy either his lust or his gluttony, that
the scoundrel proves his mission. Be that as it may,
he makes his fortune; a few low satellites join in with
this rogue; a sect is formed; the dogmas of this rabble
succeed, in seducing a few Jews: being slaves under the
Roman sway, they were to joyfully embrace a reli-
gion which, freeing them from their bonds, only
trained them up to the religious curb. Their motive
is guessed, their indocility is unveiled; the seditious
are arrested; their chief perishes, but of a death un-
doubtedly much too mild for his kind of crime, and,

 

(1) Did the Marquis de Bievre ever make one which

was worth that of the Nazarean to his disciple: “Thou
art Peter (rock) and on this rock I shall build my
church” ? Let people come and tell us punning is of our
time!
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through an unpardonable fault of reflection, the dis-
ciples of this pitiful wretch are allowed to disperse
themselves about, instead of being slain with him.
Fanaticism seizes upon the minds, women bawl, fools
beat themselves, idiots believe, and lo the most de-
spicable of beings, the most awkward knave, the
weightiest imposter that had ever appeared, behold
him God, behold him the son of God, equal to his
father; behold all his raves consecrated, all his words
become dogmas, and his absurdities, mysteries!. The
bosom of his fabulous father opens to receive him,
and this Creator, single of old, behold him grown three-
fold in order to comply with this son so worthy of his
greatness. But will this holy God stop there? No,
indeed; it is to much greater favours that his heavenly
power is about to lend itself. At the will of the priest,
namely, of a droll covered with lies and crimes, this
great God, the Creator of all we behold, is about to
abase himself in descending ten or twelve million times
every morning in a bit of paste, which, having to be
digested by the faithful, is going to be immediately
changed, in the bottom of their bowels, into the vilest
excrements, and that for the satisfaction of this very
son, the odious inventor of this monstrous impiety, at
a public house supper. He said so, that must be so.
He said: This bread which you behold shall be my
flesh; you shall digest it as such; now I am God, there-
fore God will be digested by you; therefore the Cre-
ator of Heaven and earth will be changed, because Tf
have said so, into the vilest matter that can be exhaled
from man’s body, and man will eat his God, because
that God is good and almighty. Yet these fooleries
scatter abroad; their increasing is attributed to their
reality, grandour, sublimity, to the power of him who
introduced them, whilst the simplest causes double
their existence, whilst the credit acquired through error
never proved but swindlers on the one hand and idiots
on the other. This infamous religion arrives at last
upon the throne, and it is a feeble, cruel, ignorant
and fanatic Emperor that, covering it with the royal
diadem, thus sullies with it both ends of the earth.
O Therese, of what weight ought these reasons to
be over a scrutinizing and philosophical mind? Can
the wise man see, in this heap of marvellous fables,
anything else but the disgusting fruit of the imposture
of a few men and the false credulity of a greater
number? Had God wished us to have any religion,
and was he really powerful; or, still better, if there
really was a God, would it be by such absurd means
that he would have communicated his orders to us?

‘ Would it be through the mouth-piece of a despicable

bandit, that he would have shown us how it was
necessary to serve him? If this God, of whom you
speak to me, is supreme, powerful, just, good, will
it be enigmas and farces that he will teach me how
to serve and know him? Sovereign mover of the
stars and of man’s heart, can he not instruct us in
making use of the one, or convince us by engraving
himself in the other? Let him imprint one day in

‘ fiery characters, in the centre of the Sun, the law

which may please him and which he wishes to give
us; from one end of the universe to the other, all
men reading it, seeing it at the same time, will then
become guilty if they do not follow it. But not to
indicate his desires except in an ignored nook of Asia;
to choose as spectator the craftiest and most visionary
people; as substitute the vilest artisan, the most absurd
and greatest rogue; to entangle the doctrine so well,
that it is impossible to comprehend it; to absorb its
knowledge among a small number of individuals; to
leave the others in error and punish them for having
remained in it... Ah! no, Therese, no, no; all those
atrocities are not framed to guide us: I should rather
die a thousand times than believe them. When athe-
ism will have martyrs, let it designate them, and my
blood is quite ready. Let us detest those horrors,
Therese; let the worst kind of outrages cement the
contempt that is justly due to them... Scarcely were
my eyes opened than I detested those gross raves; I
framed for myself since that time a law to trample
them under foot, an oath never to return to them;
imitate me, if thou wishest to be happy; detest, ab-
jure, profane as well as I both the hateful object of
this frightful worship, and this worship itself, created
for chimeras, formed, as they, to be despised by every-
body who pretends to wisdom. ”

— “ Oh! Sir, ” replied I in weeping, “ you would
deprive an unfortunate girl of her sweetest hope, if
you mangled within her heart this religion which
consoles her. Firmly attached to what it teaches;
wholly convinced that all the blows levelled at it are
merely the effects of libertinism and of passions,
shall I go and sacrifice to blasphemies, to sophisms
which cause me horror, the dearest idea of my mind,
the sweetest food of my heart? ” To this I added a

thousand other reasonings at which the Count only
laughed, and his captious principles, nourished by a
more manly eloquence, sustained by lectures that I had
fortunately never read, used to daily attack mine, but
without shaking them. Madam de Bressac, full of virtue
and piety, did not ignore that her nephew maintained

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is errings by all the paradoxes of the day; she often

shuddered at them with me; and, she condescended to
find a little more good sense in me than in her other
women, she liked to entrust me with her chagrins.
— 90 —

There were however no further limits to her nephew’s
proceedings towards her; the Count was on the point
of no longer concealing them from her. He had not
only surrounded his aunt with all that dangerous rabble
serving his pleasures, but he had also borne the audacity
so far as to declare to her before me, that if she again
thought of thwarting his tastes, he would convince her
of what charms they were, in delivering himself up to
them under her very eyes.

I wept; this conduct caused me horror. I tried to
find therein personal motives in order to stifle in my
soul the unfortunate passion with which it was burnt,
but is love an evil which one can cure? Everything I
sought to oppose to it only stirred up its flame the more
keenly, and the perfidious Count never appeared to me
more amiable than when I had united before me all that
should prompt me to hate him.

I was four years in this house, ever persecuted by the
same chagrins, ever consoled by the same coaxing ex-
pressions, when this abominable man, thinking himself
at last sure of me, dared to unveil to me his infamous
designs. We were at the time in the country; I was
alone with the Countess: her first maid had obtained
leave to stay in Paris during the summer on account of
some business of her husband. One evening, shortly
after I had retired, respiring on the balcony of my room,
and being unable, owing to the excessive heat, to decide
on going to bed, all of a sudden the Count knocks, and
begs me to allow him to talk with me. Alas! every in-
stant this cruel author of my woes granted me seemed
to me too precious that I should refuse any of them; he
enters, carefully shuts the door, and throwing himself
into an arm-chair at my side: — “ Listen, Therese, ”
he said to me with some embarrassment,... “ I have
“ things of the greatest consequence to tell you; swear
= Of 2

“to me that you will never reveal anything about them.
— Oh! Sir, ” answered I, “ could you believe me capa-
“ ble of abusing your confidence? — Thou knowest not
what thou wouldst risk, if thou didst happen to prove
to me that I am mistaken in according it to thee! —
The most dreadful of all my sorrows would be to have
lost it, I need no greater threats... — Well, Therese,
I have condemned my aunt to death... and it is thy
“ hand which is to serve me... — My hand! ” I cried
in reeling backwards with fright... “ Oh! Sir, have you
“been able to conceive the like projects? ... No, no;
. “ dispose of my life, if you want it, but never imagine
“that you will obtain from me the horror you propose
.“ to me. — Listen, Therese, ” said the Count to me
in pulling me with tranquillity; “ I well doubted of thy
““ repugnances, but as thou hast some wit, I flattered
“ myself with vanquishing them... with proving to thee
“ that this crime, which appears to thee so enormous,
“ is after all but a very simple thing.
“ Two forfeits here present themselves, Therese, to
“ thy but scanty philosophical eyes: the destruction ot
“a creature which resembles us, and the evil with which
“ this destruction increases, when this creature is closely
“ connected with us. Concerning the crime of the de-
“ struction of one’s likeness, be assured, dear girl, it is
“ purely chimerical; the power of destroying is not
““ granted to man; he has at the most that of varying
“ the forms; but he has not that of annihilating them:
“ now every form is equal in the eyes of Nature; nothing
“ is lost in the immense crucible in which her variations
“ are executed; every portion of matter that falls therein
springs forth therefrom incessantly under other forms,
and whatever be our proceedings upon this, no doubt
“ none outrages her, none could offend her. Our de-
“ structions re-animate her power; they maintain her

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energy, but none attenuates her; she is vexed by
none... Ah! what does it matter to her ever creating
hand, whether this matter of flesh forming to-day a
two-footed individual be reproduced to-morrow under
the form of a thousand different insects? Will any-
body dare state that the construction of this two-
footed animal costs her more than that of a little worm,
and that she ought to take therein a more lively in-
terest? If therefore this degree of attachment, or
rather of indifference is the same, what is it to her,
whether by the sword of one man another be changed
into a fly or grass? When it will have been proved
to me that it is of such importance to Nature, that her
laws are necessarily irritated by this transmutation, I
shall be then able to believe that murder is a crime;
but when the most profound study will have shown
me that everything which vegetates on this globe, the
most imperfect of Nature’s works, is of an equal price
in her eyes, I shall never admit that the changing of

one of these creatures into a thousand others can in

anywise disturb her views. I will say to myself: all
men, all animals, all growing plants, nourishing them-
selves, destroying themselves, producing themselves
by the same means, never receiving a real death, but
a simple variation in that which modifies them; all,
I say, appearing to-day under one form, and in a few
years under another, may, by the will of the being
who wishes to move them, change thousands and
thousands of times in one day, without a single law
of Nature being for an instant affected thereby, what
do I say? without this transmuter’s having done any-
thing else but good, since in decomposing individuals
whose basis become again necessary for Nature, he
does but render her, through this action improperly
styled criminal, the creating energy of which he neces-
sarily deprives her, who, by a stupid indifference, dares
not to undertake any overthrowing. O Therese, it is
man’s pride alone which established murder as a crime.
This vain creature, fancying himself to be the sublim-
est on the Globe, thinking himself the most essential, set
off from this false principle in order to assure that the
action which destroyed him could be but infamous;
but his vanity, his madness, change nothing in Na-
ture’s laws; there is no being that does not experience,
in the bottom of his heart, the most ardent desire of
being rid of those who annoy him, or whose death
may bring some profit; and from this desire to the
effect, dost thou imagine, Therese, that the difference is
very great? Now if these impressions come to us
from Nature, it is presumable that they irritate her?
Would she inspire us with what would degrade her?
Ah! grow quiet dear girl, we experience nothing but
what serves her; every movement she places in us is
the mouth-piece of her laws; the passions of men are
only the means which she employs to arrive at her de-
signs. Does she need individuals? she inspires us with
love, there are creations; do destructions become neces-
sary for her? she plants in our hearts, vengeance, lust,
ambition, there are murders; she has always worked
for herself and we have become, without suspecting it,
the credulous agents of her caprices.

“ Ah! no, no, Therese, no; Nature leaves not within
our reach the possibility of crimes which could dis-
turb her economy; can it come under the senses that
the weakest man can really offend the strongest man?
What are we with relation to her? Can she have, in
creating us, placed in us what might be capable of
hurting her? Can this stupid supposition accord with
the sublime and sure manner by which we behold her
arriving at her ends? Ah! if murder was not one of
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man’s actions which best fulfills her intentions, would
she permit it to be operated? Can imitating her there-
fore hurt her? Can she be offended to see man com-
mitting on his likeness what she herself commit on him
every day? Since it is proved that she can reproduce
only by destructions, is it not to act according to her
views the incessant multiplying of them? In this case
the man, who shall deliver himself up to them with
most ardour, will therefore be incontestably he that
will serve her best, since he will be the one who will
most co-operate with the designs she manifests every
instant. The first and finest quality of Nature, is the
movement which incessantly agitates her; but this
movement is only a perpetual sequel of crimes, it is
only through crimes that she conserves it: the being.
that best resembles her, and consequently the most per-
fect being will therefore necessarily be the one whose
most active agitation will become the cause of many
crimes; whereas, I repeat, the inactive or indolent be-
ing, namely, the virtuous being, ought to be in her
eyes the least perfect no doubt, since he tends only
towards apathy, tranquillity which would instantly
plunge every thing again into chaos, if its ascendancy
became victorious. Equilibrium must be conserved;
this can be only so through crimes; crimes therefore
serve Nature; if they serve her, if she requires them,
if she desires them, can they offend her? and who can
be offended, if she is not?

“But the creature whom I destroy is my aunt....
Oh! Therese, how frivolous are those links in the
eyes of a Philosopher! Permit me not even to speak
to thee of them, they are so useless. Can these de-
spicable chains, fruits of our laws and public institu-
tions, be anything in Nature’s eyes?

“ Leave aside then thy prejudices, Therese, and serve
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me; thy fortune is made. ”

— Oh! Sir, ” replied I quite terrified to the Count de
Bressac, “ that indifference which you suppose in Na-

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ture is still here only the work of the sophisms of your
mind. Condescend rather to listen to your heart, and
you shall hear how it will condemn all those false
reasonings of libertinism; this heart, to the tribunal
of which I refer you, is it not then the sanctuary in
which that Nature you outrage wishes us to listen to,
and respect, her? If she engraves therein the greatest
horror of the crime which you are meditating, will you
grant me that it is guilty? Passions, I know, blind
you at present, but as soon as they are dead, to what
a pitch will your remorse torture you! ‘The greater
is your sensibility, the more their sting will torment
you... Oh! Sir, conserve, respect the days of this
tender and precious friend; do not sacrifice her, you
should die of despair for it! Every day, at every in-
stant, you would behold her befcre your eyes, this
darling aunt whom your blind fury would have hurled
into the tomb; you would hear her plaintive voice
pronouncing those gentle names which caused the joy
of your infancy; she would appear in your awakenings
and torment you in your dreams; she would open with
her gory fingers the wounds you made on her; not a
happy moment would ever thenceforward shine for
you on the earth; all your pleasures would be sullied,
all your ideas troubled; a heavenly hand, whose power
you forget, would avenge for the days you would have
cut away, by empoisoning all yours; and without hav-
ing enjoyed your forfeits, you would die of mortal
regret for having dared accomplish them. ” |

I was bathed in tears while uttering these words, I

was at the Count’s feet; I conjured him by everything
he could hold most sacred, to forget an infamous erring
— 96 —

which I swore to him that I would conceal all my life...
But I knew not the man with whom I had to do; I was
not aware to what degree passions had established crime
in this perverse soul. The Count rose cooly. — “ I
“ clearly see that I was mistaken, Therese, ” said he to
me; “ I am perhaps as sorry for it on your account as on
“ my own; never mind, I shall find other means, and you
“shall have lost a great deal without your mistress’
“ gaining anything by it. ”

This threat changed all my ideas: in not undertaking
the crime proposed to me, I hazarded very much, and
my mistress infallibly perished; in consenting to the
complicity, I placed myself under shelter from the Count’s
wrath, and I assuredly saved his aunt. This reflection,
which was in me the work of an instant, decided me on
accepting everything. But as so speedy a change might
have appeared suspected, I managed my defeat for some
time. I placed the Count in the necessity of repeating
his sophisms often to me. I gradually looked as if I
no longer knew what to reply to them; Bressac believed
I was overcome. I rendered my weakness lawful
through the power of his art, at last I surrendered. The
Count rushed into my arms. How this impulse would .
have filled me with joy, had it had another cause! ...
What do I say? it was no longer time: his horrible con-
duct, his barbarous designs had killed all the sentiments
that my weak heart dared conceive, and I no longer be-
held in him but a monster... — “ Thou art the first
“ woman I embraced, ” said the Count to me, “ and
“ in deed, it is with all my heart... Thou art delightful,
““ my child; a ray of wisdom has then traversed thy
mind! Is it possible this charming head has so long
remained in darkness! ” And then we agreed about
our facts. In two or three days, more or less, according
to the facility I should find for it, I was to slip a small

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package of poison, which Bressac handed me, into the
cup of chocolate which Madam was accustomed to
drink in the morning. The Count went guarantee for the
consequences, and delivered up to me a contract for a
revenue of two thousand crowns, the very day of the ex-
ecution. He signed these promises, without characteris-
ing what was to make me enjoy them, and we parted.

There happened during these transaction something
too extraordinary, too well suited to unveil for you the
atrocious soul of the monster with whom I had to deal,
that I should not interrupt for a while, in order to tell
it to you, the recital, of which you are no doubt awaiting
the discovery of the plot of the adventure in which I
had engaged myself.

Two days after our criminal pact, the Count learned
that an uncle, on whose succession he was not counting,
had just left him an income of eighty thousand livres. . .
Oh! Heavens, said I to myself, on hearing the news, is
this the way that celestial justice punishes the plot of
forfeits! ... And soon repenting on this blasphemy against
Providence, I throw myself on my knees, I ask pardon
for it, and flatter myself because this unexpected event
is at least about to change the Count’s projects... What
was my mistake! ‘ Oh! my dear Therese, ” he says to
me on running into my room the same evening, “how
“ prosperities are raining down on me! I often told
“ thee so, the idea of a crime or its execution is the
“surest means of attracting happiness; there is no
“ longer any except for the wicked. — Ah! what, Sir, ”
answered I, “ this fortune on which you were not count-
“ ing, does not decide you to await patiently the death
“ you wish to hasten? — To await? ” the Count hastily
replied; “ I would not wait two minutes, Therese; dost
“ thou bear in mind that I am twenty-eight years old,
+199}.

“ and it is hard to wait at my age?... No, let this
“ change nothing in our schemes, I pray thee, and grant
me the consolation of seeing everything done, before the
“ time of our return to Paris... To-morow, the day
after to-morrow at the latest... I already long to
count thee down a quarter of thy revenues... to put
thee in possession of the act which fixes them on
thee... ” I did my utmost in order to disguise the
fright that this violent propensity put into my head, and
I again took my resolutions of the eve, being thoroughly
convinced that if I did not execute the horrible crime
with which I was entrusted, the Count would soon find
out that I was mocking him, and that if I warned Madam
de Bressac, whatever party the revelation of this pro-
ject would make her espouse, the young Count, on seeing
himself still deceived, would speedily adopt the surest
means, which, while equally causing the aunt’s death,
would expose me to the whole vengeance of the nephew.
The way of Justice lay open to me, but nothing in the
world would have prevailed on me to take it. I there-
fore determined to warn the Marchioness; of all possible
parties, that seemed to me the best, so I yielded to it.

“ Madam, ” said I to her the day after my last in-
terview with the Count, ‘“ I have something of the ut-
“ most importance to reveal to you, but to whatever
extent it may interest you, I am decided to keep silent,
unless you first promise me your word of honor to bear
no resentment against your nephew for what he has
the impudence of projecting... You will act, Madam,
you will employ the best means; but you will not say
one word. Condescend to promise me so, or I hold my
“ tongue. ” Madam de Bressac, who fancied it was all
about some of her nephew’s usual follies, bound herself
by an oath which I exacted, and I revealed everything.
This unhappy woman burst into tears on learning this

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— 99 —

infamy... — “ The monster! ” she exclaimed, “ what
“ have I ever done except for his welfare? If I have
wished to prevent his vices, or to correct him for them,
what other motive but his happiness could force me
* to this severity? :: : And this succession which has
just fallen to him, does he not owe it to my cares?
* Ah, Therese, prove clearly to me the truth of this
Scheme... put me into the situation of being unable
to doubt of it; I need everything that may completely
extinguish in me the feelings which my blinded heart
dares still conserve for this monster... ” And then
T let her see the package of poison; it was difficult to
furnish a better proof. The Marchioness wished to make
some trails of it; we made a dog which we locked up
swalllow a slight dose of it, and it died at the end of two
hours in terrible convulsions. Madam de Bressac, no
longer doubting, made up her mind; she ordered me to
give her the remainder of the poison, and at once wrote
through a messenger to the Duke de Sonzeval, her rela-
tive, to betake himself to the Minister’s, to unfold to him
the atrocity of a nephew whose victim she was on the
eve of fallling; to provide himself with a “ lettre de
cachet ”; to hasten to her lands and deliver her as soon
as possible from the wretch who was so cruelly con-
spiring against her days.

But this abominable crime was ty be perpetuated; it
was necessary that, through an incomprehensible per-
mission from Heaven, virtue should yield to the efforts
of wickedness. The animal on which we had made our
experiment, discovered the whole thing to the Count; he
heard it howling; knowing that this dog was beloved by
his aunt, ne asked what had been done to it; those to
whom he applied, ignoring all, answered him nothing dis-
tinctly. From this moment he formed suspicions; he
said not a word, but I saw him troubled. I informed the

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— 100 —

Marchioness about this state, she grew the more uneasy
about it, without being able notwithstanding to imagine
anything else but to hasten the messenger, and to conceal
still better, if it was possible, the object of his mission.
She told her nephew that she was sending in all speed
to Paris, to beg the Duke de Sonzeval to put himself
directly at the head of the succession of the uncle from
whom they had just inherited, because, if nobody ap-
peared, there were processes to be feared. She added
that she enjoined on the Duke to come and give her an
account of everything, that she might decide to set out
herself with her nephew, should business require it. The
Count, being too good a physiognomist not to see the
embarrassment in his aunt’s face, not to observe a little
confusion in mine, feigned to believe all of it and was
only the better on the alert. He removes from the castle,
under the pretext of taking a walk; he lies in wait for the
messenger in a spot by which he was inevitably to pass.
This man, being much more attached to him than to his
aunt, made no ado about handing him the letters, and
Bressac, convinced of what he no doubt calls my treason,
gives the messenger a hundred /ouis with injunctions never
to appear again at his aunt’s. He returns to the castle,
the rage in his heart, but silent; he meets me, he fawns
upon me as usual; he asks me if it is to be the next day,
makes me observe that it is essential it should be before
the Duke’s arrival, then goes to bed with a tranquil look
and without taking notice of anything. I knew nothing
then, I was the dupe of everything. If this awful crime
was perpetrated, as the Count informed me of it after-
wards, he committed it himself no doubt, but I know not
how. I made several conjectures; of what good would
it be to mention them to you? Let us rather come to the
cruel manner in which I was punished for not having
been willing to undertake it. On the day after the mes-
— 101 —

senger’s arrest, Madam drank her chocolate as usual, she
rose, made her toilet, appeared to me agitated, and sat
down at table; we were scarcely outside, when the Count
accosts me: — “ Therese, ” he says to me with the
greatest phlegm, “ I have found a safer means than the
“one I had proposed to thee, in order to accomplish our
schemes; but this requires explanations, I dare not go
so often into thy room; be at five o’clock exactly in the
corner of the park, I shall meet thee there, and we
shall go and take a walk in the wood, during which I
shall explain everything to thee. ”

I confess to you, Madam, whether it was the permis-
sion of Providence, an excess of candor, or blindness,
nothing forboded to me the dreadful misfortune which
was awaiting me; I fancied myself so sure of the secret
and arrangements of the Marchioness, that I never
imagined the Count could have discovered them. There
was however embarrassment within me:

“
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a“

Perjury is a virtue when we promise crime,

said one of our tragical Poets; but perjury is ever hate-
ful for a delicate and sensible soul which finds itself
obliged to have recourse to it. My role was embarras-
sing me.

Whatever might come of it, I was off to the rendez-
vous; the Count was not long about putting in an ap-
pearance there, he comes to me with a free and gay
countenance, and we proceed into the forest without
there being question of anything else but laughing and
joking, as was his custom with me. When I wanted to
turn the conversation on the object which caused him to
desire our discourse, he always told me to wait, that he
was afraid we were observed, and that we were not yet
in safety. We insensibly arrived at the four trees to
which I had been so cruelly attached. I started up on
— 102 —

again seeing these places; all the horror of my destiny
then presents itself to my eyes, and judge whether my
fright redoubled, when I beheld the dispositions of this
fatal spot. Ropes were hanging from one of the trees;
three monstrous English dogs were tied to the other tree,
and appeared to be waiting only for me, to abandon
themselves at need to eating, as their frothy and wide
open mouths foreboded; one of the Count’s favorites was
guarding them.

Then the perfidious villian, no longer using with me
but low epithets: “ Wench, ” he says to me; “ dost
“ thou recognise this bush from which I dragged thee
“ like a wild beast to restore thee to the life which
thou hadst deserved to lose? ... Dost thou recognise
these trees where I threatened to replace thee, if thou
ever gavest me a reason to repent of my goodness?
“ Why didst thou accept the services which I asked of
thee against my aunt, if thou hadst the intention of
betraying, and how hast thou imagined to serve Virtue,
in risking the liberty of him to whom thou owest hap-
piness? Necessarily placed between two crimes, why
“ hast thee chosen the most abominable? — Alas! did
“ JT not chosen the least? — Thou shouldst have re-
fused, ” continued the Count, in a rage, seizing me by
one arm and violently shaking me: “ Yes, undoubtedly
“ refuse, and not accept in order to betray me. ” Then
M. de Bressac told me all he had done to take
Madam’s despatches unawares, and how the suspicion
arose which had persuaded him to intercept them.
“ What hast thou done by thy falsehood, unworthy
“ creature? ” continued he. “ Thou hast risked thy
“ days without conserving my aunt’s; the blow is dealt,
“ my return to the castle will offer me its fruits, but
“ thou must die, thou must learn, before expiring, that
the way of virtue is not always the safest, and that

«
— 103 —

“ there are circumstances in the world in which the com-
“* plicity of a crime is preferable to its formation. ” And
without giving me time to answer, without showing the
least pity for the cruel state in which I was, he drags me
towards the tree which was destined to me and where his
favorite was waiting. ‘“ There she is, ” said he to him,
“ she that wanted to poison my aunt, and that perhaps
has already perpetrated this awful crime, inspite my
cares to prevent it; I would have done better no doubt
by placing her in the hands of Justice, but she would
have lost her life on that account, and I wish to leave
it with her that she may have longer to suffer. ”

Then the two wretches seize upon me, they strip me
naked in an instant. “ The lovely buttocks! ” said the
Count in the most ironical tone and touching these ob-
jects with brutality; “ superb flesh!... an excellent
“ breakfast for my dogs! ” As soon as no robe was left
me, they biad me to the tree by a rope which goes round
my loins, leaving my arms free that I might defend my-
self as best I could, and through the freedom they al-
lowed the rope, I may go forwards or backwards about
six feet. Once there, the Count, greatly moved, has just
observed my countenance; he turns about and goes round
me; in the rough way he feels me, it seems his sanguinary
hands wanted to dispute it in rage with the dog’s sharp
teeth... “ Come, ” said he to his assistant, set these
“ animals free, it is time.” ‘They unchain them, the
Count excites them, the whole three rush upon my un-
fortunate body, you would say they divided it between
them so that none of its parts should be exempt from
their furious attacks; I vainly tried to repulse them,
they only tore me with greater fury, and during this
horrible scene, Bressac, the unworthy Bressac, as if my
sufferings had kindled his perfidious lust. . . the infamous
villian! lent himself on examining me to the criminal

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caresses of his favorite. “ That is enough of it, ” said
he, at the end of a few minutes, tie up the dogs and let
“ us abandon this unfortunate girl to her evil lot. ”

— “ Well, Therese! ” he softly says to me on break-
ing my bonds, “ virtue often costs very dear, as thou
“ seest; dost thou imagine that a pension of two thousand
“ crowns were not worth more than the bites with which
“ thou art covered? ” But in the frightful state I was,
I could hardly hear him; I drop at the foot of the tree,
and am ready to lose my senses. “I am very kind to
“ spare thy life, ” says the traitor whom my woes irri-
tate; “ take care at least of the use thou makest of that
“ favor... ”? Then he orders me to get up, regain my
clothes and quit this place as soon as possible. As my
blood is flowing from all parts, that my clothes, the only
ones I had left, may not be stained with it, I pull up
some grass to cool myself, to wipe myself, and Bressac
walks about, much more occupied with his own ideas
than with me.

The swelling of my flesh, the blood still oozing from
my wounds, excruciating pains I endure, all render the
operation of dressing myself almost impossible without
ever the dishonest man who has just reduced me to this
cruel state... he, for whose sake I would have formerly
sacrificed my life, condescended to show me the slightest
token of pity. As soon as I was ready: — “ Go where-
“ ever you like, ” he says to me, “ you must have some
“ money left; I do not deprive you of it; but take good
“ care never to appear again at any of my houses in town
“ or country; two weighty reasons are opposed to it. It
“ is well that you should know in the first place that the
“* process which you thought was ended, is not so at all.
“ You were told that it no longer existed, you were led
“ into error; the sentence has not been purged; you were
“ left in this situation to see how you would behave your-
— 105 —

self; in the second place you are going to pass as the
Marchioness’s murderer; if she still breathes, I am go-
ing to make her carry this idea to the tomb, the whole
world shall know it. There are two condemnations
against you instead of one, and in place of the vile
usurer for opponent, a rich and powerful man, de-
termined to prosecute you as far as Hell, if you abuse
the life which his pity leaves you. ”
— Oh! Sir, ” I reply, “ whatever may have been your
‘ severities towards me, fear nothing from my proceed-
ings; I thought it my duty to take some against you
when there was question of your aunt’s life. I shall
never undertake any when there will be question only
“of the unhappy Therese. Farewell, Sir, may your
crimes render you as happy as your cruelties cause me
sufferings! and whatever be the lot it may Heaven to
“ place me in, so long as it will conserve my deplorable
“ days, I shall employ them only in praying for you. ”
The Count raised his head; he could not help gazing upon
me at these words, and as he saw me staggering and
covered with tears, in the fear of being moved no doubt,
the cruel fellow went away, and I saw him no more.
Being entirely abandoned to my woe, I let myself drop
down at the foot of the tree, and there, giving it full vent,
I made the forest resound with my groans; I pressed the
ground with my unhappy body, and I bedewed the grass
with my tears.
“ O my God, ” I cried, “ you have willed it; it was
“ in your eternal decrees that the innocent one should
“ become the prey of the guilty. Dispose of me, O Lord,
“ Tam still far from the ills which you suffered for us;
“ may those that I endure in adoring you, make me
“ one day worthy of the rewards you promised to the
“ weak one, when she has you for her object in her
“ tribulations, and when she glorifies you in her pains! ”
— 106 —

The night fell: it was impossible for me to go farther;
I could barely keep myself together; I cast my eyes on
the bush where I had slept four years before, in almost as
unfortunate a situation. I dragged myself to it as best
I could, and having put myself in the same spot, an-~
noyed by my still bleeding wounds, overwhelmed by the
ills of my mind and the sorrows of my heart, I pabsed
the cruelest night it is possible to imagine.

The vigour of my age and constitution having restored
me a little strength at day-break, being too much afraid
of the neighbourhood of this cruel castle, I speedily made
away from it. I left the forest, and resolved to reach
at random the first dwelling that presented itself to me,
I entered the Borough of Saint-Marcel, about five leagues
distant from Paris. I inquired for the Surgeon’s house,
they pointed it out to me; I begged him to bind up my
wounds; I told him that, while flying on account of a
love matter from my mother’s house in Paris, I had been
met during the night by bandits in the forest who, in
order to avenge themselves for the resistances I had of-
fered their desires, and had me thus treated by their dogs.
Rodin, such was this artist’s name, examined me with the
greatest attention, he discovered nothing dangerous in
my sores; he would have, said he, undertaken to restore
me in less than fifteen days as fresh as before my ad-
venture, and I arrived at his house on the same instant;
but the night and annoyance had envenomed my wounds,
and I could be cured only in a month. Rodin gave me
lodging in his house, took all possible care of me, and on
the thirtieth day, there no longer existed on my person
any vestige of Mister de Bressac’s cruelties.

As soon as the state I was in permitted me to take the
air, my first eagerness was to try and find in the Borough
a young girl clever and intelligent enough to go to the
Marchioness’s castle and inquire of everything new that
— 107 —

had taken place there since my departure. Curiosity was
not the real motive which determined me to this step;
this likely dangerous curiosity would have certainly been
much out of place; but what I had earned at the Mar-
chioness’s had remained in my room; I had scarcely six
louis about me, and I possessed more than forty at the
Castle. I did not imagine that the Count was cruel
enough to refuse me what so lawfully belonged to me.
Being persuaded that, his first fury having passed, he
would not do me such an injustice, I wrote as moving a
letter as I could. I carefully concealed from him the
place I lived, and begged him to send him my clothes
with the trifle of money which belonged to me in my
room. A smart and witty country lass of twenty-five
took charge of my letter and promised me to make in-
quiries enough underhand, in order to satisfy me on her
return about the different objects of which I let her see
a clear explication was necessary for me. I recommended
her especially to conceal the name of the place I was in,
not to speak about me on any account, and to state that
she had the letter from a man who carried it from more
than ten leagues off. Jeannette set out and, twenty-four
hours after, she brought me back the answer; it still
exists, there it is, Madam, but deign, before reading it,
to listen to what passed at the Count’s since I was away
from him.

The Marchioness de Bressac, having fallen dangerous-
ly ill, on the very day of my going away from the castle,
had died the next day in the most awful pains and con-
vulsions; the relatives had come running, and the nephew,
who appeared in the greatest desolation, pretended that
his aunt had been poisoned by a chamber-maid who had
stolen away on the same day. Researches were made,
and the intention was to put that unfortunate wretch to
death should she be discovered: besides, the Count
— 108 —

found himself much richer by this succession than he
had fancied; the safe, pocket-book, and jewels of the
Marchioness, all objects of which nobody had any knowl-
edge, placed her nephew, independently of his revenues,
in possession of more than six hundred thousand francs
of value or ready cash. This young man had, they say,
through his affected grief, great difficulty in concealing
his joy, and the relations, convoked for the opening of
the body exacted by the Count, after having deplored the
lot of the unfortunate Marchioness and sworn to avenge
her if the guilty one fell into their hands, had left the
young man in full and peaceful possession of the fruit of
his wickedness. Mister de Bressac had spoken in person
to Jeannette, and had set her different questions, to which
the young girl had replied with so much frankness and
firmness, that he had resolved to give her his answer
without urging her further. There it is, this fatal letter,
says Therese on handing it to Madam de Lorsange, yes
there it is, Madam, it is sometimes necessary for my
heart, and I shall keep it until death; read it, if you can,
without shuddering.

Madame de Lorsange having taken the note from the
hands of our fair adventurer, read therein the following
words:

“A wicked wretch, capable of having poisoned my
aunt, is very daring to attempt to write to me after this
execrable crime; what she has best to do is to carefully
conceal her retreats she may be sure that she will be
troubled in it, if she is discovered. What dares she claim?
What does she say about money? Is what she may have
left equivalent to the thefts she made, either during
her stay in the house, or in perpetrating, her last crime?
Let her avoid a second message like this one, for it is
— 109 —

hereby declared to her that her erand-boy will be ar-
rested, until the place which conceals the guilty one be
known to the Justice.”

“ Continue, my dear child, ” says Madam de Lor-

sange on giving back the note to Therese, “ these are
“proceedings which cause horror; to float in gold and
refuse an unfortunate girl who did not wish to com-
mit a crime, what she lawfully earned, is a gratuitous
infamy which has no example. ”
Alas! Madam, continued Therese, on taking up the
sequel of her story, I wept two days over this unfortu-
nate letter; I lamented far more for the horrible pro-
ceeding it proved, than for the refusals it contained.
“ There I am therefore guilty! ” I cried, behold me then
“a second time denounced to the Justice for having too
“* well known how to respect her laws! Be it so, I do
“ not repent for it; whatever may befall me, I shall not
“ at least feel the stings of remorse so long as my soul will
“ be pure, and so long as I shall have done no other evil
“ than to have listened to the just and virtuous senti-
“ ments which will never forsake me. ”

It was still impossible for me to think that the re-
searches of which the Count spoke to me, were really
true; they had so little likelihood, it was so dangerous
for him to make me appear in Justice, that I imagined
he ought within himself be much more frightened to see
me than I had reason to tremble in his menaces. These
reflections decided me to stop where I was, and to take
service even there if it was possible, until my funds
should be somewhat increased to allow me to go farther.
I communicated my project to Rodin, who approved of
it, and even proposed to me to stay in his house; but be-
fore telling you of the party I took, it is necessary to give
you an idea of this man and his suroundings.

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“
— 110 —

Rodin, was a man of forty, dark, heavy eye-brows,
quick eye, a strong and healthy aspect, partaking
at the same time of libertinism. Very far above his
state, and possessing an income of from ten to twelve
thousand livres, Rodin exercised the surgical art only
from taste; he had a very fine house in Saint-Marcel,
which he merely occupied, having lost his wife a few
years ago, with two girls to wait on him, and his
daughter. This young person called Rosalie, had just
attained her fourteenth year; she united all the charms
best calculated to cause sensation: a nymph-like waist,
a round, fresh and extraordinary animated face, delicate
and pleasing features, the prettiest mouth possible, large
black eyes full of soul and sentiment, chestnut-color
hair falling to the bottom of the girdle, skin of a bright-
ness... of an incredible smoothness, already the loveliest
bosom in the world: besides the wit, liveliness, and one
of the fairest souls that Nature had: as yet created.
Concerning the fellow maid-servants with whom I was to
serve in this house, they were two peasants, one of whom
was the governess and the other the cook. The one that
filled the first office might be about twenty-five years
old, the other about nineteen or twenty, and the both ex-
tremely pretty; this choice gave rise to some suspicions in
me about the eagerness Rodin had in keeping me. What
need has he of a third woman, said I to myself, and why
does he want them good-looking? Surely, continued I,
there is something in all this but little conform to the
regular morals from which I never wish to deviate; let
us examine.

Consequently, I begged Mr Rodin to allow me to re-
gain my strength another week in his house, assuring him
that before the end of this time he would have my
answer on what he kindly wished to propose me.

I profited by this interval to become more closely
— lll —

bound to Rosalie, determined to settled down at her
father’s only in as much as there would be nothing in
his house that could cause me suspicion. In this intent
bringing my observations to bear on everything, I per-
ceived from the following day how this man had an ar-
rangement, which since that time caused me furious
suspions about his behaviour.

M. Rodin kept in his house a children’s -school
for both sexes; he had the privilege of it during his
wife’s lifetime, and nobody had thought of depriving him
of it when he had lost her. M. Rodin’s pupils were not
numerous, but chosen; he had in all only fourteen girls
and fourteen boys. He never took them under twelve
years old, they were always sent away at sixteen; nothing
was so handsome as the subjects whom Rodin admitted.
If he was presented with one that had any bodily defects,
or no face, he had the craft of refusing him under twenty
pretexts always tinged with sophisms to which nobody
could reply; thus, either the number of his boarders was
incomplete, or what he had was always charming. ‘These
children did not eat at his house, but they came to it
twice a day from seven o’clock until eleven in the morn-
ing, from four to eight in the evening. If up to then I
had not yet seen all this little retinue, it is because I ar-
rived at this man’s house during the holidays, and the
scholars were not coming any longer; they re-appeared
there towards my recovery.

Rodin himself kept the schools; his governess cared
that of the girls, into which he passed as soon as he had
finished the boys’ instruction; he taught these young
pupils how to write, arithmetic, a smattering of history,
drawing, music, and employed for all that no other mas-
ters than himself.

I expressed at first my astonishment to Rosalie, be-
cause her father, exercising the function of Surgeon,
— 112 —

could at the same time discharge that of school-mas-
ter; I told her that it appeared to me strange, that, being
able to live at his ease without professing either of these
states, he should give himself so much trouble to attend
to them. Rosalie, with whom I was already on good
footing, began to laugh at my reflection; the way in
which she took what I was saying to her only afforded
me the greater curiosity, and I begged her to lay herself
wholly open to me. “ Listen, ” said this charming girl
to me, with all the candour of her age and all the sim-
plicity of her amiable character; “ listen, Therese, I am
“* going to tell thee everything, I clearly see thou art an
“ honest girl... incapable of betraying the secret I am
about to confide to thee.

“ Surely, dear friend, my father could do without all
“ this, and if he exercises either of these trades which
thou seest him perform, two motives which I am
“ going to reveal to thee are the cause thereof. He ex-
“ ercises the surgery from taste, for the sole pleasure of
“* making fresh discoveries in art; he has so greatly mul-
“ tiplied them, he has given out on his part works so
“ relished, that he generally passes for the most skilful
“ man there is now in France; he worked twenty years
“ in Paris, and it is on account of his pleasure that he
“ retired into this country place. The true Surgeon of
“* Saint-Marcel is one named Rombeau, whom he has
“* taken under his protection, and whom he admits to his
experiments. Thou wishest to know now, Therese,
““ what entices him to hold a school? ... libertinism, my
“ child, mere libertinism, a passion carried to the ex-
“ treme in him. My father finds in his scholars of both
sexes, objects which dependency submits to his propen-
sities, and he profits by them... But hold... follow
me, ” says Rosalie to me, “ it is precisely to-day, Fri-
“* day, one of three days in the week that he corects those

a
a

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—H3 —

who have made mistakes; it is in this kind of correction
that my father finds his pleasures; follow me, I tell
thee, thou art going to see how he comes about it.
We can observe all from a cabinet in my room, next
to that of his expeditions; let us betake ourselves to
it without noise, and take good care especially never
to say a word, either of what I told thee, or of what
thou art going to behold. ”

It was so important of me to know the morals of the
new personage who offered me an asylum, that I should
neglect anything that could unveil them to me. I follow
in Rosalie’s steps; she places me near a partition-wall
badly enough joined to leave, between the boards which
form it, several slits sufficing to distinguish all that passed
in the next room.

We are hardly planted when Rodin enters, leading
with him a young girl of fourteen, as fair and handsome
as Venus; the poor creature, all in tears, too well ac-
quainted unfortunately with what is awaiting her, fol-
lows only in moaning her hard teacher; she throws herself
at his feet, she implores for pardon; but Rodin, inflexible,
kindles in this very severity the first sparks of his plea-
sure, they already rush from his heart, through the
ferocious looks... “ Oh, no, no, ” he cries, “ no, no,
“ that is too often this happens to you, Julie; I repent
“* of my goodnesses, they have served only to plunge you
“ into fresh faults, but can the gravity of this one even
“ allow me to use clemency, supposing I wished it? ...
A note given to a boy on coming into class? — Sir, I
“ protest to you no! — Oh! I saw it, I saw it, ’— Be-
“ lieve nothing of the sort, ” said Rosalie to me at this
stage, “ these are faults that he concocts in order to
“ strengthen his pretexts; this little creature is an Angel,
“ it is because she resists him that he is treating her
“ severely. ” And during this time, Rodin, being very
= 14 =

excited, seizes the little girl by the hands, ties them up to
a ring of a post placed in the middle of the correction-
room. Julie has no other defence... no other... except
her fair head turned wistfully towards her tormentor, her
beautiful hair all dishevelled, and her tears bathing the
handsomest face in the world. .. the sweetest... the most
interesting. Rodin gazes on this picture, he is inflamed
with it; he blind-folds those eyes which are imploring him,
his mouth closes up to them, he dares not kiss them. Julie
holds no longer anything. Rodin the more easily undoes
the veils of chastity, the chemise tucked up under the
bodice is raised as far as her loins... How much white-
ness! How many beauties! these are roses grafted on
to lilies by the very hand of the Graces. What is he
then, the being hard-hearted enough to doom charms so
delicate, so pleasing to torments? What monster can
seek pleasure in the bosom of tears and sorrow? Rodin
contemplates... his wandering eye runs over his hands
dare profane the flowers his cruelties are about to tarnish.
Being right in front, no stir can escape us; at one while
the libertine rather opens, at another while squeezes these
delicate charms which are bewitching him; he presents
them to us under every shape, but keeps to these alone.
Although the true temple of Love is within his reach,
Rodin, being steadfast to his worship, does not even cast
a glance at it, he can not bear even its very sight; if the
posture exposes it, he cloaks it; the slightest erring would
disturb his homage, he will have nothing distract him...
His fury at last has no bounds; he expresses it at first by
invectives; he loads with menaces and evil proposals this
unfortunate little girl writhing under the lashes by which
she sees herself ready to be mangled; Rodin is no longer
himself, he snatches up a fistful of rods out of a great
tub, where they acquired in the vinegar‘ which steeps
them, more verdure and suppleness... “ Come, ” said
— 115 —

he on approaching his victim, “ get ready, you must
suffer.” And the hard-hearted wretch. letting these
rods fall perpendicularly with a vigorous arm on the parts
which are exposed to him, lays on at first twenty-five
lashes which soon change the tender carnation of this so
delicate a skin into vermillion.

Julie fetched cries... shrill cries that pierced my
soul,... tears are flowing down under her bandage, and
dropping in pearls on her lovely cheeks; Rodin only be-
comes the more furious at them... He runs his hands
over the molested parts, feels, presses them, seeming to
prepare them for fresh assaults; these closely follow the
former, Rodin is in raptures; he delights in contemplat-
ing these eloquent proofs of ferocity. He is no longer
able to retain himself, the most indecent state manifests
his flame; he is not afraid to expose everything: Julie
can not see him... for an instant he presents himself at
the breach; he would feign ascend it as a vanquisher, but
dares not. Recommencing fresh tyrannies, Rodin lashes
with all the force of his arm; by dint of stripes he suc-
ceeded in somewhat opening this sanctuary of the Graces
and voluptuousness. . . He no longer knows where to stop;
his intoxication is at the pitch of depriving him of the
further use of reason; he swears, blasphemes, revels,
nothing is secure from his barbarous blows, every visible
thing is treated with the same rigour. But the wretch
stops nevertheless; he feels himself in the impossibility
of going farther, without spending the force needful for
fresh operations. ‘“ Dress yourself, ” he says to Julie,
on setting her free, and fixing himself up, “‘ and should a
“ similar thing happen you again, know that you will not
“ get over it so lightly. ” Julie enters her school-room,
Rodin goes into the boys’; he immediately brings out a
young scholar of fifteen years old, handsome as the day;
Rodin scolds him; being more at home with him, he
— 116 —

kisses him while preaching to him: “ You have deserved
“ to be punished, ” he says to him, “ and you are going
“ to be punished... ” At these words he outsteps all
the bounds of pudicity with this child; but everything
interests him now, nothing is excluded, the veils are lifted,
everything is handled without distinction. Rodin
threatens, caresses, kisses, inveighs; his impious fingers
try to cause voluptuous sentiments rise in this boy, senti-
ments which he exacts from him. “ Well! ” says the
satyr to him on seeing his success, “ there you are in the
“ state which I forbade you... I bet that with two more
“ motions, the whole thing will be over me...” Too
sure of the titillations he produces, the libertine steps
forward to receive their homage, and his mouth is the
temple offered to this sweet incense; he himself is quite
ready to let go, but he wishes to prolong it until the end.
“ Ah! I am going to punish you for this folly, ” he says
on rising. He takes the young man by both hands, mas-
ters him, presents to himself the whole altar on which his
fury wants to sacrifice. He opens it a little, his kisses
run over it, his tongue sticks into it, and loses itself there-
in. Rodin, being drunk with love and ferocity, mingles
the expressions and sentiments of both... “ Ah! thou
* little rascal,” he cries, “‘ I must be avenged of the il-
“ Jusion thou causest me! ” The rods are picked up,
Rodin lashes; being more excited no doubt than with the
vestal, his strokes become heavier and more numerous,
the child weeps, Rodin is enraptured, but fresh pleasures
call him, he frees the child and flees to other sacrifices.
A little girl of twelve years old succeeds the boy, and
succeds another boy followed by a little girl. Rodin flogs
nine of them, five boys and four girls. The last is a
little boy of fourteen, with a very handsome face. Rodin
wants to enjoy him, the scholar defends himself; being
out of his wits with lust, he flogs him, and the wretch,
— il7 —

having no longer any control over himself, pours frothy
jets of his flame over the molested parts of his young
pupil, he drenches him with it from the loins to the heels.
Our reformer, being furious for not having strength
enough to forbear at least until the end, liberates in a
surly mood the child, whom he sends back to the school-
room, assuring him that it is not all over with him yet.
These are the discourses I heard, these are the pictures
that struck me.

— “ Oh! Heavens, ” said I to Rosalie when these
frightful scenes were over, “ how can anyone abandon
* himself to such excesses? How can anyone find pleas-
“ures in the torments he causes? — Ah! thou knowest
“ not all, ” Rosalie answers me; “ listen, ” she says to
me on returning into her room with me, “ what thou
“ hast seen may have made thee understand that when
“ my father finds any facilities in these young pupils,
“he carries his horrors much farther; he seduces the
“ little girls in the same manner as the little boys. ”
Rosalie made me understand thereby that criminal man-
ner in which I myself had been near falling a victim with
the head of the bandits, into whose hands I had been
cast after my escape from Jail, and in which I had been
stained from the Merchant from Lyons. “ By this
“means, ” continued this young slip, “ the little girls
“ are not dishonored, no child-bearing is to be feared,
“ and nothing hinders them from finding husbands; there
“is hardly a year passes without his corrupting all the
“ boys, and at least one half of the other children. But
“ the fourteen girls thou hast seen, eight are already
“ stained in this way, and he has enjoyed nine boys. The
“ two women that wait on him are submitted to the
“< same horrors... O Therese, ” added Rosalie on throw-
herself into my arms, “ O my dear girl, and myself also,
“« and myself he seduced me from my earliest childhood;
— 118 —

“ I was hardly eleven years old when I was already his
“ victim... that I was, alas! without being able to defend
“ myself from him. — But, Miss, ” I interrupted ter-
rified... ‘ and Religion? you had at least this path left
“ you... Could you not consult a Director and confess
“ everything to him? — Ah! art thou not then aware
“ that accordingly as he corrupts us, he stifles with us all
“ the seeds of Religion, and that he prohibits all its
“ acts? ... and besides could I do so? He has scarcely
“ educated me. The little he taught me about these
““ matters was merely from fear lest my ignorance might
“ betray his impiety. But I have never been to confes-
“ sion, I never made my first Communion; he knows so
“ well how to turn these things into ridicule, efface even
“ the slightest ideas about them in us, that he re-
moves those whom he has seduced for ever from their
duties; or if they are obliged to discharge them on ac-
count of their families, it is with so thorough an in-
difference and lukewarmness, that he has nothing to
fear from their indiscretion. But convirice thyself,
Therese, convince thyself with thy own eyes, ” she
continues on pushing me very quickly into the closet out
of which we were going; “ come, that room where he
“ corrects his scholars is the same one as that in which
he makes use of us. Now the school time is over;
it is the hour that, heated up by the preliminaries, he
is about to come and pay himself off for the constraint
which his prudence sometimes imposes on him; place
thyself again where thou wast, dear girl, and thy eyes
are going to behold everything. ”

However slightly curious I was of these fresh horrors,
it was nevertheless better for me to thrust’ myself into
the closet, than to allow myself to be taken unawares
with Rosalie during school hours; Rodin would have in-
fallibly conceived some suspicion about it. I therefore

“

c

“

a

“
— 119 —

take my place of stand; I am barely there when Rodin
comes into his daughter’s room; he takes her into the one
already mentioned, the two women of the house repair
to it. And there, the lascivious Rodin, having no longer
to keep within limits, abandons himself at his ease and
without any veil to all the irregularities of his debauchery.
The two peasants, being stark-naked, are lashed with all
the might of his arm; while he is acting upon one, the
other pays it back to him, and during the intervals, he
loads with the filthiest, the most moderate, the most dis-
gusting caresses the same altar in Rosalie, who, raised
upon an arm-chair, presents it to him, somewhat bent
downwards. This unfortunate girl’s turn comes next:
Rodin attaches her to the post as his pupils, and while
his women, one after the other and sometimes both to-
gether, are tearing himself, he lashes his daughter, strip-
ing her from the middle of her loins to the bottom of her
thighs, on falling into raptures of pleasure. Extreme is
his excitement, he yells, blasphemes, scourges; he stamps
his rods nowhere that his lips are not at once stuck there.
Both the inside of the altar, and the victim’s mouth...
all, except the front, all is devoured by eager kisses;
soon, without varying the posture, contenting himself
with rendering it more propitious, Rodin penetrates into
the narrow sanctuary of pleasures. His governess offers
the same throne to his kisses during this time; the other
girl lashes him as long as she has strength; Rodin is in
his glory, he divides in two, he tears; a thousand kisses
the one warmer than the other express his heat, on what
is presented to his lust; the shell explodes, and the
drunken libertine dares taste of the sweetest pleasures in
the bosom of incest and infamy.

Rodin went and placed himself at table: he was in
need of repairing his forces after such exploits. There
were again class and correction in the evening; I might
— 120 —

observe fresh scenes and I desired, but I had quite enough
of them to be convinced and to prepare my answer for
the offers of this wretch. ‘The time I was to give it was
drawing nigh. Two days after these events, he came
himself into my room for it. He took me by surprise in
bed. The pretext of seeing if there remained any traces
of my wounds, gave him, without my being able to op-
pose it, the right of examining me naked; and as he did
as much twice a day for a month, without my having as
yet perceived anything in him that could offend chastity,
I did not think I should resist. But Rodin had other
schemes, this time; when he arrived at the object of his
worship, he passes one of his thighs around my loins, and
presses it so strong, that I find myself, as it were, be-
yond defence. “ Therese, ” said he to me then on pass-
ing his hands so as to leave me no further doubt, “ there
“‘ you are cured, my dear; you may now prove me the
“ gratitude with which I have seen your heart filled; the
manner is easy, all that is wanted is this, ” continued the
traitor on placing me in a position with all the force he
could muster up... ‘* Yes, merely this, that is my reward,
“T never exact more than this from women... But, ”
continued he, “ this is one of the finest I have seen in
“my life... How round! what suppleness! ... how
“smooth the skin is! ... Oh! I absolutely wish to en-
“joy it...” Rodin on saying this, being apparently
ready for the execution of his schemes, in order to succeed
in accomplishing them is obliged to let me loose a mom-
ent; I take advantage of the means he grants me, and
freeing myself from his arms; — “ Sir, ” said I to him,
“I beg you to be thoroughly convinced that there is
nothing in the whole world, that could entice me into
the horrors you seem to require. My gratitude is due
to you, I admit, but I shall not pay it off at the expense
of a crime. I am poor and very unhappy no doubt;

“

be

ee

oc
— 121 —
“never mind, there is the trifle of money I possess, ”
I continue on offering him my mean purse; “ take what
“you think fit, and let me quit this house, I beg you,
“ since I am in a way to do so. ”

Rodin, confounded by a resistance he was but little
expecting from a girl deprived of resources, and whom,
according to the usual injustices of men, he supposed
to be honest from the fact of her being in misery; Rodin,
I say, looks at me attentively. — “ Therese, ” he be-
gan again at the end of an instant, “ it is pretty wrong
““ out of season for thee to act the Vestal with me; I had,
it seems to me, some rights to complacencies from thee;
“ no matter, keep thy money, but do not leave me. T
“ am very glad to have a good girl in my house, those
“ that surround me are but so little so! ... Since thou
“ showest thyself so virtuous in this case, thou wilt be
“ so, I hope, likewise in all. My interests will be found
“ therein; my daughter loves thee, she has just now be-
“ sought me to prevail upon thee not to leave us; remain
“ therefore with us, I invite thee. — Sir, ” I replied,
“ T would not be happy here; the two women who wait
“ on you aspire to all the sentiments that it is in your
“ power to grant them; they will not behold me without
“ being jealous, and I shall be forced sooner or later to
“ leave you. — Do not apprehend it, ” replied Rodin
to me, “ fear none of the effects of these women’s jeal-
“ ousy; I shall know how to keep them in their place
“ while maintaining thine, and thou alone shalt possess
“ my confidence without the resulting therefrom of any
“ risk for thee. But in order to continue worthy of it,
“ it is well that thou shouldst know the first quality I
“ require of thee, Therese, is a discretion against every
“ proof. Many things take place here, very many which
“ will annoy thy principles of virtue; thou must see
“ everything and never say anything... Ah! stay with

‘

a
— 122 —

me, Therese, stay here, my child, I gladly keep thee;
in the midst of a lot of vices into which a fiery temper,
an unbridled mind and a very spoiled heart carry me,
I shall at least have the consolation of possessing one
virtuous being near me, and into whose lap I shall cast
myself as at the feet of God, when I am satiated with
my debaucheries... ” Oh! Heavens..., thought I
on this moment, virtue is therefore necessary, it is there-
fore indispensable for man, since the vicious man himself
is obliged to be re-assured by it, and to make use of it as
of a cover? Recalling to my mind next the prayers
Rosalie had made me not to leave her, and fancying that
I recognised some good principles in Rodin, I decidedly
hired in his service. ‘“ ‘Therese, ” Rodin said to me, at
the end of a few days, “ it is with my daughter I am
“ going to put thee; in this way, thou wilt have no
“ meddling with my two other women, and I give thee
“ three hundred livres for wages. ” Such a place was a
kind of fortune in my position; inflamed with the desire
to bring Rosalie back to the good, and perhaps her father
himself, if I gained any influence over him, I did not re-
pent for what I had just done... Rodin having made me
dress myself, led me on the very instant to his daughter,
on announcing to her that he was giving me to her;
Rosalie received me with the greatest transports of joy,
and I was speedily installed.

Eight days had not passed without my beginning to
work at the conversions I desired, but Rodin’s obduracy
spoiled all my schemes.

— “ Do not fancy, ” he used to reply to my wise
counsels, “ that the kind of homage I have rendered to
“ virtue, in thee, is a proof, that I either esteem virtue,
or have a mind to prefer it to vice. Do not imagine
“ it, Therese, thou wouldst deceive thyself; those who,
“ starting from what I have done with regard to thee,

“
“

— 123 —

would maintain, according to this proceeding, the im-

portance of the necessity of virtue, would fall into a great

“

n
a

error, and I would be very sorry that thou shouldst
believe such is my way of thinking. The hut which
serves me as a shelter in hunting, when the two scorch-
ing rays of the sun dart perpendicularly on my person,
is certainly not a useful monument, its necessity is
only of circumstance: I expose myself to a sort of
danger, I find something that saves me, I make use of
it, but is this something nevertheless useless? can it
be less despicable? In wholly vicious society, virtue
would be good for nothing: ours not being of this kind,
it is absolutely necessary either to play upon it, or to
make use of it, in order to have less to fear from
those who follow it. Let nobody adopt it, it will be-
come useless. I am not therefore wrong when I as-
sert that its necessity is only of opinion, or of circum-
stance; virtue is not a fashion of an incontestable
price, it is but a manner of conducting one’s self,
which varies according to each climate and which
consequently has nothing real: that alone proves its
uselessness. That only which is constant is really
good; that which perpetually changes could not pre-
tend to the character of goodness. That is why they
have placed immutability in the rank of the perfections

‘ of the Eternal; but virtue is wholly deprived of this

character: there are not two nations, on the face of the

* globe, which are virtuous in the same way, therefore

virtue has nothing real, nothing intrinsically good, and
nowise deserves our worship; it is necessary to use it
as a stay, to politically adopt that of the country in
which one lives, in order that those who practice it
from taste, or who ought to revere it from state, may
leave you in peace, and in order that this virtue, respect-
ed where you are, guarantee you by its preponderance
2

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= 124.

of convention, against the attemps of those who pro-
fess vice. But again: all this is of circumstances, and
nothing of all that assigns one real merit to virtue.
There is such a virtue, moreover, impossible to certain
men; now, how can you persuade me that a virtue
which combats or which annoys the passions, can be
found in Nature? And if it is not herein, how can it
be good? Surely there will be among the men of
whom there is question, the vices opposed to these
virtues, which will become preferable, since these are
only the modes, ... the only ways of being which will
arrange themselves best to their physic or their organs;
there will be then some very useful vices in this hy-
pothesis: now how will virtue be so, if you prove to me
that its contraries may be so? As to this you are
told: virtue is useful to others, and in this sense it is
good; for if it is admitted to merely do to others what
is good, I shall in my turn receive only good. This
reasoning is merely a sophism: for the little good I re-
ceive from others, by means of their practicing virtue
through the obligation of practicing it in my turn, I
make a million sacrifices which in no way repay me.
Receiving less than I bestow, I therefore make a very
bad bargain; I experience much more evil from the
privations I endure for being virtuous, than the good I
receive from those that are so; the arrangement being
unequal, I ought not therefore submit to it, and sure,
being virtuous, of not doing so much good to others as
the troubles I should gain in forcing myself to be so,
would not be therefore better for me to give over
procuring them a happiness which is to cost me so
much ill? There now remains the wrong I could do
others being vicious, and the evil I will receive in my
turn, if everybody is like me. In admitting a whole

‘ circulation of vices, I assuredly risk, I grant; but the
n

x

2
x

n~
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ns
a

— 125 —

chagrin experienced by what I risk is compensated by
the pleasure of what I make others risk; behold thence-
forward equality established, henceforth everybody is
almost equally happy: which is not nor could be in a
society in which some are good, others wicked, be-
cause there results from this mixture perpetual snares
which do not exist in the other case. In the mixed
society, all the interests are diverse: behold the source of
an infinity of woes; in the other association, all the in-
terests are equal, each individual that composes it is en-
dowed with the same tastes, the same propensities, all
march towards the same end; all are happy. But
fools tell you, evil does not render one happy. No,
when one has agreed on praising the good; but depre-
ciate, abase what you call the good, you will no longer
reverence except what you had the folly of calling the
evil; and all men will have pleasure in committing it,
not because it will be permitted (this would be some-
times a reason for diminishing its charm), but it is be-
cause they lessen, through the fear they inspire, the
pleasure which Nature has placed in crime. I sup-
pose a society in which it is understood that incest
let us admit this crime as any other), that incest, I
say, is a crime: those that abandon themselves to it
will be unhappy, because opinions, laws, worship, all
will come to freeze up their pleasures; those who will
desire to commit this evil, and who will not attempt
it, according to the curbs, will be equally unhappy;
thus the Jaw which will prescribe incest will have
only made unfortunate ones. In the next society let
incest be not a crime: those who will not desire it will
not be unhappy, and those who will desire it will be
happy. Therefore the society which will have per-
mitted this action will suit men better than that one
which will have raised this same action to a crime. It
— 126 —

* is the same with all the other actions wrongly con-
“ sidered as criminal: on examing them under this point
“ of view, you make a crowd of unhappy people; in per-
“« mitting them, nobody complains; for he who likes this
“ action whatever it be delivers himself up to it in peace,
“ and he who does not care about it, either remains in a
“ sort of indifference which is nowise painful, or pays
“ himself for the wrong he may have received, by a host
“ of other wrongs by which he aggrieves in his turn
“ those of whom he has had to complain. Therefore
“ everybody in a criminal society finds himself either
“ very unhappy, or in a state of carelessness which has
“ nothing painful; consequently, nothing good, nothing
“ respectable, nothing done to render happy in what they
“ call virtue. Let those who follow it not swell with
“ pride then at this kind of homage, that the constitution
“ of our societies forces us to render it; it is purely an
“ affair of circumstances, of convention; but in fact, this
“* worship is chimerical, and the virtue which obtains it
‘“ an instant is not any fairer on that account. ”

Such was the infernal logic of Rodin’s unfortunate
passions; but Rosalie, milder and much less corrupted,
Rosalie, detesting the horrors to which she was sub-
jected, ceded with greater docility to my advice: I
ardently longed to get her to discharge her first duties
of Religion. It would have been necessary for this to
get a priest into the confidence, and Rodin would not
have one of them in his house, he held them in horror
as well as the worship they professed: he would not for
anything in the world have suffered any of them near his
daughter. It was equally impossible to take this young
slip to a Director: Rodin never allowed Rosalie to go out
‘without her being accompanied. It was therefore neces-
sary to wait until some opportunity presented itself; and
during these delays, I used to instruct her; in giving her
— 127 —

a taste for virtues, I inspired her with that of Religion,
I unveiled to her the holy dogmas and the sublime mys-
teries, I united these two sentiments so closely in her
young heart, that I rendered them indispensable for the
happiness of her life.

“ O Miss, ” said I to her one day on reaping the tears
of her compunction, “ can man be blinded to so great
“ an extent as not to think himself destined to a better
end? Is it not enough for him to be endowed with the
power and faculty of knowing his God, to be assured
that this favor has been only granted him that he may
discharge the duties it imposes? Now, what may be the
“ pase of the worship due to the Eternal, if it is not the
“ virtue of which he himself is the example? Can the
” Creator of so many wonders have any other laws but
“the good? And can our hearts please him if the good
“ is not their element? It seems to me that with sensi-
ble souls, no other motive of love towards this Supreme
“ Being should be used except those that gratitude in-
“ spires. Is it not a favor to have made us to enjoy the
“ beauties of the Universe, and do we not owe him some
“ gratitude for such a benefit? But a stronger reason
“ still establishes, proves the universal chain of our
“* duties: why should we refuse to discharge those that
“ his law requires, since they are the same as those which
“ consolidate our happiness with men? Is it not sweet
“ to feel that we render ourselves worthy of the Supreme
“ Being, simply on exercising the virtues which ought
“ to effect our contentment on earth, and that the means
“ which make us worthy of living with our likenesses,
“ are the same as those which give us after this life the
assurance of being regenerated near the throne of God?
Ah! Rosalie, how blinded are those that would wish
“ to despoil us of this hope! Deceived, seduced by their
“ horrible passions, they prefer to deny the eternal

iT9

“

‘

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a

— 128 —

truths, than to abandon that which can render them
worthy of them. They choose to say: People deceive

us, rather than acknowledge that they deceive them-

selves; the idea of the losses they prepare for them-
selves would trouble their unworthy voluptuousnesses;
it seems less frightful to them to destroy the hope of
Heaven, than to deprive themselves of what ought to
acquire it for them! But when those tyrannical pas-
sions grow dim in them, when the veil is rent asunder,
when nothing wavers any longer in their corrupted
hearts that imperious voice of the God whom their de-
lirium disregarded, how this recoiling, O Rosalie, on
themselves must be cruel! and how the remorse which
attends it must make them pay dearly for the instant
error that blinded them! That is the state in which
man must be judged that we regulate our own conduct:
it is neither in the intoxication, nor in the transport of
a burning fever that we should believe what he states;
it is when his reason being calmed down, enjoying the
full force of his energy, seeks the truth, divines and be-
holds it. We then desire of ourselves this holy Being
formerly disregarded; we implore him, he consoles us;
we pray to him, he hears us. Ah, why then should I
deny him? Why disregard him, that object so neces-
sary for happiness? Why should I prefer to say with
the lost man: There is no God, whilst the heart of the
reasonable man offers me every instant proofs of this
Divine Being’s existence? Is it: then better to rave
with fools, than to think rightly with wise men? Never-
theless all flows from this first principle: since there
exists a God, this God deserves a worship, and the first
base of this worship is incontestably Virtue. ”

From the first truths I easily deduced others, and

Rosalie, once deist, was soon a Christian. But what
means, I repeat, of joining a little practice with the
— 129 —

morals? Rosalie, being obliged to obey her father,
could not show for it but disgust at most, and with a
man like Rodin, might this not become dangerous? He
was untractable; none of my systems held out against
him; but if I did not succeed in convincing him, he did
not at least shake my faith.

Yet, such a school, so constant dangers, so real, caused
me to quake for Rosalie, to such a degree that I did not
think myself at all guilty in persuading her to flee this
perverse house. It seemed to me there was less harm
in tearing her from her incestuous father’s bosom, than
to leave her there running the chance of all the risks that
might befall her there. I had already lightly touched
on this question, and I was not perhaps far from suc-
ceeding in it, when all of a sudden Rosalie disappeared
from the house, without its being possible to know where
she was. Did I interrogate the women at Rodin’s, or
Rodin himself, they assured me that she had gone to
pass the fine season at a relation’s place, ten miles off.
Did I inquire in the neghborhood, the people were at first
astonished at a like question set by one of the house, then
they answered me like Rodin and his servants: people
had seen her, embraced her on the eve, even on the day
of her departure; and I got the same answers everywhere.
When I asked Rodin why this departure had been con-
cealed from me, why I had not followed my mistress, he
assured me the sole reason had been to prevent a painful
scene for both of us, and that I certainly see again her
whom I loved. It was necessary to be satisfied with these
replies, but to be convinced by them was more difficult.
Was it presumable that Rosalie, Rosalie who loved me
so dearly! would have consented to leave me without
mentioning a word to me? And, according to what I
knew of Rodin’s character, was there not very much to
apprehend for the destiny of this unfortunate girl? I
— 130 —

therefore resolved to put everything into practice to find
out what had become of her, and to arrive thereat, all
means seemed good to me.

On the following day, being alone in the house, I care-
fully ran through all its nooks; I fancy I hear some
moans from the bottom of a very dark cellar... I draw
nigh, a heap of wood appeared to block up a narrow and
remote doorway; I advance on removing all obstacles. ..
fresh sounds become heard; I fancy I recognize the
voice. .. I lend an ear... I no longer doubt. “ Therese, ”
do I hear at last, ‘“ O Therese, is it you? — Yes, dear
‘“‘ and loving friend, ” I cried, on recognizing the voice
of Rosalie... “ Yes, it is Therese whom heaven sends
“ to relieve thee; ... ’’ and my flood of questions hardly
leaves this interesting girl time to answed me. I learn
at last that a few hours previous to her disappearing,
Rombeau, the friend and colleague of Rodin, had ex-
amined her naked, and that she had received the order
from her father to lend herself with this Rombeau for the
same horrors as Rodin exacted from her every day; that
she had resisted, but Rodin, being furious, had seized
and presented her himself to his colleague’s lewd at-
tempts; that the two friends had then whispered a very
long while together, leaving her still naked, and coming
occasionally to examine her again, to still enjoy her in
this same criminal manner, or to ill-use her in a hundred
different ways; that finally, after four or five hours of this
meeting, Rodin had told her that he was going to send her
to the country to one of his relative’s houses, but that
she could set out at once and without speaking to Therese,
for reasons he would explain to her himself next day in
this country seat where he would immediately go and
meet her. He had made Rosalie understand that it was
about marriage for her, and that it was owing to this
that his friend Rombeau had examined her, in order to
— 131 —

see whether she was in a state of becoming a mother.
Rosalie had really departed under the care of an old
woman; she had traversed the borough, bade farewell on
her way to several acquaintances; but as soon as night
had come on, her guide had led her back to her father’s
house, where she had entered at midnight. Rodin, who
was awaiting her, had seized her, and with his hand
stopped up her mouth, and had without saying a word
cast her into this cellar, where they had however fed and
cared for her pretty well ever since her being there.

“I fear everything, ” added this poor girl; “ my
“ father’s behaviour since then, his conversations, that
“ which had preceded Rombeau’s examination, every-
thing proves that those monsters are about to make
“ use of me for some of their experiments, and it is all
“ over with thy poor Rosalie. ” After the tears which
flowed abundantly from my eyes, I asked this poor girl
if she knew where they used to put the key of this cellar;
she did not know, but she did not think however that
they used to carry it away. I looked for it on all sides,
it was in vain; and the hour for re-appearing arrived
without my being able to afford this dear child any other
helps than consolations, some hopes and tears. She made
me swear that J would come next day; I promised her I
would, even assuring her that if I had not then discovered
anything satisfactory about what concerned her, I should
at once leave the house, I would lodge my complaints
before the Justice, and would set her free, cost what-
ever it might, from the horrible destiny which was mena-
cing her.

«

I go upstairs again; Rombeau was taking supper
that evening with Rodin. Being fully up to everything,
in order to get an insight into my mistress’s destiny, I
hide myself near the apartment where the two friends
— 132 —

were, and their topics only too well convince me of the

a

wful scheme which was occupying both of them.
“ Never, ” said Rodin, “ will anatomy be at its latest

“ degree of perfection, until the examination of the

a
c
oe
if¢

b

“

arteries is made on a child of fourteen or fifteen years
old, having died a cruel death; it is only from this con-
traction that we can obtain a complete analysis of so
interesting a party. — It is the same, ” replied Rom-

eau, “ for the membrane which guarantees virginity; we
necessarily want a little girl for this experiment. What
do we observe in the age of puberty? nothing; woman’s
monthly terms mangle hymen, and all the researches
remain inaccurate. Thy daughter is precisely what
we want; although she is fifteen, she has not had her
flowers; the way in which we have enjoyed her does
not in any manner harm this membrane, and we shall
handle her at our ease. I am delighted that thou hast
at last made up thy mind. ”

— “ Of course I have, ” replied Rodin; “ it is hateful
that absurd consideration should stop thus the pro-
gress of the sciences; have great men allowed them-
selves to be captivated by such despicable ties? “ And
when Michael Angelo wanted to paint a Christ after
nature, did he make it a case of conscience to crucify
a young man, and copy him in agonies? But when

‘ there is question of our art, of what necessity ought not
‘ these same means to be! And how much less evil is

there to be allowed them! It is one subject sacrificed
to save a million; should we waver at this price? If
the murder operated through the laws of any other
kind save that which we are going to effect, and is not
the object of these laws, which people find wise, the
sacrifice of one in order to save a thousand? — This is
the only way of instructing ourselves, ” said Rombeau;
and I have witnessed in the hospitals where I worked
— 133 —

“ during my early age, a thousand similar experiments;
“ T was afraid that, owing to the ties which endear thee
“ to that creature, I do confess, thou mightest waver. ”
— “ Why! because she is my daughter? A fine rea-
“son! ” cried Rodin; “ and what rank dost thou
“ imagine then that this title ought to have in my
“ heart? I look upon a trifle of engendered seed, with
“ the same eye (allowance made for the weight) as that
“ which it pleases me to lose in my pleasures. I never
_ made more ado about the one than about the other.
“ One is the master to take back what he has given; the
“ right of disposing of one’s children, has never been
“ disputed among any nation on the earth. The Per-
“ sians, Medes, Armenians, Greeks enjoyed it in its
“ whole extent. The laws of Lycurgus, the model of
“ Legislators, not only left to the fathers all rights over
“ their children, but also condemned to death those that
“ the parents did not wish to bring up, or those that were
'“ deformed. A great party of Savages kill their children
“as soon as they are born. Nearly all the women of
“ Asia, Africa and America cause themselves to mis-
“ carry without incurring any blame; Cook found this
“ custom throughout all the South-Sea islands. Romulus
“ permitted infanticide; the laws of the Twelve Tables
“ likewise tolerated it, and up to Constantine, the Ro-
“ mans exposed or killed their children with impunity.
“ Aristotle advises this pretended crime; the sect of
“ Stoics looked on it as praiseworthy; it is still in vigour
“* among the Chinese. Every day are to be found both
“ in the streets and canals of Pekin, more than ten thous-
“and individuals immolated or abandoned by their
“* parents, and whatever be a child’s age in this wise
“ Empire, a father needs only, in order to get rid of it,
“ to place it in the hands of the Judge. According to
“ the laws of Parthes, people used to kill their sons,

.

a

a

x

a

x

a
n
a

= 34 —

daughters or brothers, even at a marriageable age;
Caesar found this custom general among the Galls;
several passages of the Pentateuch prove that it was
permitted to kill one’s children among God’s people;
and finally God himself exacted it from Abraham. It
was for a long time thought, says a celebrated modern
author, that the prosperity of empires depended on the
servitude of children; this opinion had for basis the
principles of the soundest reason. Well! a monarch
will fancy himself authorized to sacrifice twenty or
thirty thousand of his subjects in one sole day for his
own cause, and father can not, when he thinks fit be-
come master of the life of his children! What absurd-
ity! What incongruity and what weakness in those
who are held back by such ties. The authority of the
father over his children, being the only real one, the
only one which has served as bases for all the others, is
dictated to us by the very voice of Nature, and the
profound study of her operations at every instant
offers us examples of it. The Czar Peter did not at all
doubt of this right; he made use of it, and addressed
a public declaration to all the Order of his Empire, by
which he said that, according to the divine and human
laws, a father had entire and absolute right of judging
his children to death, without appeal and without tak-

* ing the advice of whomsoever. It is only in our bar-

barous France where a false and ridiculous pity fancied
that this right should be enchained. No, ” continued

Rodin warmly, “ no, my friend, I shall never understand

cc

“

“

c

c

73

how a father, who was eager to bestow life, is not free
to bestow death. It is the ridiculous price that was
set on this life, which everlastingly causes us to talk
nonsense about the kind of action which engages one
man to rid himself of his fellow-man. ‘Thinking that
existence is the greatest of goods, we stupidly imagine
— 135 —
“that we are committing a crime on doing away with
those who are enjoying it; but the ceasing of this ex-
istence, or at least what follows it, is no more an evil
than life is a good; or rather if nothing dies, if nothing
is destroyed, if nothing is lost in Nature, if all the de-
composed parts of any body only await the dissolution
to re-appear immediately under fresh forms, what in-
difference will there not be in the action of murder,
and how will people. have the boldness of finding any
harm init? Were there therefore only question here of
my own fantasy, I should consider the thing as quite
simple, @ fortiori when it becomes necessary for an art
so useful to men... When it may supply such impor-
tant lights, it is henceforth no longer an evvil, my friend
it is no longer a forfeit; it is the best, wisest, the most
useful of all actions, and it would be only in depriving
one’s self of it that there could exist any crime. ”
— ‘“ Ah! ” said Rombeau, filled with enthusiasm for
such frightful maxims, “ I approve of thee, my dear;
“ thy wisdom enchants me, but thy indifference aston-
ishes me, I thought thou wast amorous. — I! in love
with a girl? ... Ah! Rombeau, I fancied thou knewest
me better; I make use of those creatures when I have
nothing better: the extreme proclivity I have for pleas-
“ures of the kind of which thou beholdest me taste,
“ renders all the temples, where this sort of incense may
be offered, precious to me; and, in. order to increase
them, I sometimes assimulate a little girl to a fine boy.
But when one of these female individuals has un-
fortunately fed ever so little my illusion too long, the
disgust declares itself energetically, and I never knew
“ but one means of deliciously satisfying it... Thou un-
“ derstanest me, Rombeau; Chilperic, the most voluptu-
“ ous of the Kings of France, was of the same opinion.
“ He used to boldly assert that one could, when the worst

“

“

“

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“

“

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“

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“

“

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“

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“

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ae
— 136 —

“ comes to the worst, make use of a woman, but on the
“ express condition of doing away with her as soon as one
“ had enjoyed her (1). This little play-thing has served
“ for my pleasures these five years: it is time she should
“ pay for the ceasing of my intoxication by that of her
existence. ”

The repast was drawing to a close; I clearly saw by
the gait of these two furious villains, by their talk, their
actions, their preparations, in fine by their state which
partook of delirium, that there was not a moment to be
lost, and that the time for the destruction of this unhappy
Rosalie was fixed for the same evening. I fly to the
cellar, being resolved to die or set her free. — “O dear
“ friend, ” I cried to her, ‘‘ not a moment to be lost. ..
“ the monsters! ... it is for this evening. . . they are going
“ to come... ” And on saying this, I make the most
violent efforts to burst in the door. One of my shakes
causes something to fall down, I put my hand to it, it is
the key; I pick it up, I hasten to open... I embrace
Rosalie, I urge her to fly, I answer her that I shall follow
her steps, she rushes off... Good Heavens! it was again
stated that Virtue should succumb, and that the tenderest
sentiments of compassion were about to be severely pun-
ished. .. Rodin and Rombeau, being informed by the gov-
erness, appear on a sudden; the former seizes his daugh-
ter the moment she is clearing the threshold of the door,
beyond which she had only a few more steps to take to

be free. — “ Where art thou going, unfortunate thing? ”
cried Rodin on stopping her, whilst Rombeau lays hold of
me... “ Ah! ” continues he on staring me, “ it is that

“ jade that assists her flight! Therese, that is then the
“ effect of your mighty principles of virtue... to rob a

 

(1) See a small work entitled: Les Jesuites en belle
humeur.
— 137 —

n

‘

father of his daughter! — Certainly ” I firmly replied,
and I ought to do so, when this father is barbarous
enough to plot against the life of his daughter— Ah!
ah! eavesdropper and seducer, ” continued Rodin;
all the most dangerous vices in a servant! let us go
upstairs, we must consider this business. ” Rosalie and
I being dragged by these two villains, reach the apart-
ments; the doors are shut. The unhappy girl is tied to
the bed-posts, and the whole rage of these frantic fellows
is turned on me; I am loaded with the most abusive in-
vectives, and the most dreadful sentences are pronounced;
there was question of nothing less than to dissect me all
alive, in order to examine the heart-beating, and make
on this party observations impracticable on a dead body.
During this time they undress me, and I become a prey
to the most unchaste handlings. — “ Before all, ” said
Rombeau, “ I am of opinion to boldly attack the fortress
“« which thy kind proceedings respected. .. Why, it is de-
“ lightful; admire then the mellowness, the whiteness of
“ these two half-moons which bar its entrance: never
“ was a virgin fresher. — Virgin! but she is almost
“ one, ” said Rodin... “ She was violated once alone
“in spite of her, and not the slightest thing since. Yield
“ the post to me for an instant... ” And the wretch
mingles the homage of these cruel and fierce caresses
which degrade the idol instead of honoring it. Had
there been there any rods, I would have been harshly
treated. They spoke of them, but none were to be had,
they contented themselves with what thy could do with
their hands; I was stormed... The more I defended my-
self, the faster I was held; when I saw however that they
were about to decide on more serious steps, I flung myself
at the feet of my ravishers, I offered them my life, and
begged them for honor. — “ But, since thou art not a
“ maiden, ” said Rombeau, “ what matter does it make?

‘

“

“

rs9
— 138 —

“ thou wilt be guilty of nothing; we are going to violate
“thee as thou has been already, and henceforth not the
“ slightest sin on thy conscience; it will be force which
“ shall have ravished thee of everything... ” And the in-
famous villain, while consoling me in this hard hearted
manner, was already laying me upon the sofa. — “No, ”
said Rodin on stopping the effervescence of his colleague
whose victim I was on the point of becoming, “ no, let
“us not waste our forces with that creature, remember
“ how we can not defer any longer the proposed opera-
“ tions on Rosalie, and our strength is necessary for us
“ in order to come at them: let us punish the unfortunate
“ girl in some other way. ” On saying this, Rodin puts
an iron-bar into the fire. ‘“ Yes, ” continues he, “let us
“ punish her a thousand times more than if we took
“ away her life, let us brand her, let us tatoo her; this
“ abasement, together with all the bad things she has
“ to her account, will have her hanged or starved; she
“ will suffer at least until then, and our vengeance, be-
“ ing the further prolonged, will become the more de-
“ lightful on this account,” He spoke; Rombeau
seizes me, and the abominable Rodin applies behind my
shoulder the red iron with which robbers are branded.
“ Let her dare show herself now, the jade, ” continues
this monster, “ let her dare do so, and on showing this
ignominious letter, I shall sufficiently legitimate the
“ reasons which caused me to send her away so secretly
“ and promptly. ”

They dress my wounds, they put on my clothes, they
fortify me with a few drops of liquor, and taking ad-
vantage of the darkness of the night, the two friends con-
vey me to the skirts of the forest, and cruelly abandon me
there, after having further made me see the danger of a
recrimination, if I dare undertake it in the state of abase-
ment I was in.

a
— 139 —

Any other but myself would have cared very little
about this menace; from the moment it was possible
for me to prove that the treatment I had just suffered
was the work of no tribunals, what had I to fear? But
my weakness, my natural bashfulness, the dread of my
misfortunes in Paris, and those of the Castle de Bressac,
all, all astounded me, all frightened me; I thought only
of flying away, far more affected by the grief of forsak-
ing an innocent victim in the hands of these two villains
ready to immolate her no doubt, than grieved for my own
ills. More annoyed, more afflicted than physically ill-
used, I set out on the same instant; but not considering
where I was, inquiring after nothing, I only went round
Paris, and on my fourth day’s journey, I was merely at
Lieusaint. Knowing that this route could lead me to-
wards the southern provinces, I then resolved to follow it,
and so to reach, as best I could those distant regions,
fancying that peace and rest, so cruelly denied to me in
my own land, were perhaps awaiting me at the end of
France. Fatal mistake! how many chagrins there still
remained for me to experience!

Whatever may have been my pains until then, I had
at least my innocence left me. Solely the victim of the
attempts of a few monsters, I could, nevertheless, still
consider myself as being almost in the class of honest
girls. In fact, I had only been truly stained by a rape
committed five years ago, the traces of which were closed
up again... a rape consummated in an instant when my
stunned senses had not even left me the faculty of feeling
it. What had I besides to reproach myself with? Noth-
ing, oh! undoubtedly nothing, and my heart was pure; I
was too glorious, my presumption was to be punished, and
the outrages which were awaiting me were about to be-
come such as it soon be no longer possible for me, however
bea AU ae

slightly I participated in them, to form in the bottom of
my heart the same subjects of consolation.

I had all my fortune about me this time: namely,
about one hundred crown-pieces, amount resulting from
what I had saved up at Bressac’s, and from what I had
earned with Rodin. In the excess of my misfortune, I
still found myself happy because these helps had not
been taken away from me; I was flattering my self that
with the frugality, temperance, economy to which I was
accustomed, this money would suffice for me at least until
I was in a situation of being able to procure some place.
The execration that they had caused me did not appear to
view; I fancied I could always conceal it, and that this
blemish would not hinder me from earning my bread. I
was twenty-six years old, of good health, of a shape which,
for my misfortune, people only praised too much; a few
virtues which, although they had always done me harm,
yet consoled me, as I have just told you, and caused me
to hope that at least Heaven would bestow on them if not
rewards, at least some respite from the ills which they
had drawn on me. Filled with hope and courage, I con-
tinued my way as far as Sens, where I rested myself a
couple of days. In one week I was completely recovered;
perhaps I might have found some place in this town, but.
impressed by the necessity of going away, I set out with
the intention of seeking my fortune in Dauphiny; I had
heard much about this country, I fancied happiness was
there. We are going to see how I succeeded in it.

The sentiments of Religion had, in no circumstances of
my life, abandoned me. Despising the vain sophisms of
free-thinkers, believing them all the outcome of liber-
tinism much rather than from a firm persuasion, I oppos-
ed to them my conscience and heart, and found by means
of both all that was necessary to answer them. Being
often times obliged through my misfortunes to neglect my
Sap

acts of piety, I repaired for these wrongs as soon as I had
an opportunity.

I had just departed from Auxerre on the 7th August: I
shall never forget this date; I had gone about two leagues,
and the heat beginning to trouble me, I ascended a little
height covered with a wood-grove, not far from the road,
with the intention of refreshing myself and of sleeping
a couple of hours in it, for less expense than at an inn,
and in better safety than on the highway; I pitched my
tent at the foot of an oak, and after a frugal breakfast,
I indulge in a short nap. I had enjoyed it for a long
while in peace, when opening my eyes, I take pleasure in
contemplating the landscape which presents itself to me
in the distance. From the midst of a forest, which
stretched away to the right, I thought I beheld at nearly
three or four leagues from me, a small belfry modestly
rising in the air... Lovely solitude, say I to myself how
thy abode causes me envy! thou must be the refuge of
some mild and virtuous cloistered nuns who busy them-
selves only about God... their duties; or of some holy
Hermits solely consecrated to Religion... Removed from
that pernicious Society in which crime, incessantly on the
lookout for innocence, degrades and destroys it... ah! all
the virtues must dwell there, I am sure, and when the
crimes of man banish them from off the earth, it is there,
it is within this lonely retreat they go to be buried in the
bosoms of fortunate beings who cherish and cultivate
them every day. :

I was lost in these thoughts, when a girl of my own
age, herding sheep on this woodland height, all at once
presents herself to my view; I interrogate her about this
dwelling, she tells me that what I am looking at is a
Benedictine Convent, occupied by four anchorites whose
religion, chastity and sobriety nothing equals. “ People
“ go there, ” this girl tells me, “ once a year on pil-
= 142 =

“ grimage to a miraculous Virgin, from whom pious folks
obtain everything they wish. ” Being strangely touched
by the desire of going at once and implore some as-
sistance at this Holy Mother of God, I ask this young
girl whether she wishes to come there and pray with me;
she answers me how that is impossible for her, how her
mother is waiting for her; but that the way is easy. She
points it out to me, she assures me that the Superior of
this house, being the most respectable and holy of men,
will recieve me admirably well, and will offer me all the
assistance which may be needful for me: “ They call him
Dom Severino, ” continued this girl; “ is an Italian a
“ near relation of the Pope’s, who loads him with gifts;
“he is mild, honest, serviceable, fifty-five years old, more
“ than the two-thirds of which he has spent in France...
“ You will be pleased with him, Miss, ” continued the
shepherdess; “‘ go and be edified in that saintly solitude,
“ and you will come back from it only better. ”

This recital inflaming still more my zeal, it became im-
possible for me to resist the longing desire I had to go and
visit this holy church, and repair therein by some pious
acts for the negligence of which I was guilty. Whatever
need I had myself of charity, I give a crown-piece to this
girl, and here I am on the road to Sainte-Marie-des-Bois:
such was the name of the Convent towards which I di-
tected my steps.

As soon as I had gone down into the plain, I no longer
perceived the belfry; I had but the forest to guide me,
and then I began to think that the distance, of which I
had forgotten to inquire, was quite different from the es-
timate I had taken of it; but nothing discourages me, I
arrive at the end of the forest, and seeing I have still day-
light enough left me, I resolve to enter it, still imagining
that I can reach the Convent before night. Yet no
human trace presents itself to my eyes. . Not a house, and
Se5Re

the only route a path but slightly trodden which I fol-
lowed at random. I had already made at least five
leagues, and as yet I saw nothing offering itself to view,
when the sun having wholly ceased to brighten the uni-
verse, it seemed to me I heard the sound of a bell... I
listen, I advance towards the noise, I make haste, the
path becomes somewhat larger, I behold at least a few
hedges, and shortly afterwards the Convent. Nothing
wilder looking than this solitude: no dwelling near it, the
nearest was six leagues off, and immense woods encom-
passed the mansion; it was situated in a hollow, I had to
descend a great deal to come to it, and such was the
reason of my having lost sight of the belfry, when I was
in the plain. A gardener’s cottage was adjacent to the
Convent walls; it was there people applied previous to
entering. I ask this kind of a porter whether it is per-
mitted to speak to the Superior; he inquires what I want
with him; I give him to understand that a religious duty
attracts me to this pious retreat, and that I would be
thoroughly consoled for all the hardships I had taken in
order to arrive, if I could cast myself an instant at the
feet of the miraculous Virgin and holy Clergyman in
whose house this divine image is kept. The gardner
rings and goes into the Convent; but as it was late and
the fathers were at supper, he is sometime before coming
back. He at last re-appears with one of the Monks. —
“« Miss, ” he says to me, “ there is Dom Clement, the
“ procurator of the house; he comes to see if what you
want is worth the trouble of disturbing the superior. ”
Clement, whose name did not in the least accord with
his person, was a man of forty-eight years old, of a huge
bulk, of a gigantic size, with dark and savage looks, ex-
pressing himself only in rough, sharp words through a
hoarse voice, a true figure of a satyr, the exterior of a
tyrant; he caused me to shudder... Then, without its
aa 144 ==

being possible for me to defend myself from him, the
remembrance of my former woes rushed back to my
troubled mind in gory darts... +— “‘ What do you
“ want? ” says the Monk to me, with the sourest
countenance, “ is this the time to come into a church? ...
“You look very like an adventuress. — Holy man, ”
said I on casting myself at his feet, “ I thought it was
“ always time for presenting ourselves at God’s house;
“ J ran from afar to come to it, filled with fervor and
“ devotion; I beg to be confessed if it is possible, and
“* when the interior of my conscience will be known to
you, you shall see whether I am worthy or not to throw
“ myself at the feet of the holy Image. — But this is
“ not the time to confess, ” said the Monk on softening
down, “ where shall you spend the night? We have no
‘ night refuge... it was better for you to come in the
“morning. ” To this I gave him the reasons which had
hindered me from doing so, and, without answering me
Clement went off to render an account of them to the
Superior. A gew minutes after, the church is opened;
Dom Severino comes himself, towards the Gardener’s
cottage, and invites me to enter the temple with him.
Dom Severino, of whom it is well to give you an idea
-at once, was a man of fifty-five years old, as I had been
told, but of very handsome appearance, his countenance
still fresh, shaped into a vigorous man, as strong as
Hercules, and all that without harshness; a sort of ele-
gance and grace reigned throughout all his parts, and let
one see that he must have possessed, in his youth, all the
attractions which form a fine man. He had the prettiest
eyes in the world, nobleness in his features, and the most
upright, comely, polite tone. A sort of pleasing accent,
of which not a single one of his words was corrupted,
caused one however to recognise his country, and, I
acknowledge, all the exterior charms of this monk re-
ae ee

covered me somewhat from the fright the other had

given me.

— ‘My dear girl, ” he kindly says to-me, “ although it
is an unreasonable hour, and we are not accustomed
to receive so late, I shall nevertheless hear your con-
fession, and shall advise you afterwards about the
means of getting you to pass the night decently, until
the moment when you can kneel tomorrow to the holy
Image which attracts you here. ” We are entering the

church; the doors are closed; a lamp near the confessional

box is lit. Severino bids me take my place; he sits down,
and persuades me to confess myself to him with all con-
fidence.

Being thoroughly encouraged with a man who ap-
peared to me so gentle, after having humbled myself, I
hide nothing from him. I confess him all my faults. I
inform him of all my misfortunes; I disclose to him even
to the shameful brand with which the barbarous Rodin -
stained me. Severino listens to everything with the
greatest attention, he even makes me repeat some par-
ticulars with a look of pity and interest; but a few
motions, a few words nevertheless betray him. Alas!
it was only afterwards, when I reflected better on it;
when I was cooler about this event, it was impossible
for me not to remember how the Monk had allowed
himself several times many gests on himself which proved
that his passion had much to do with the questions he
was putting to me, and that these questions not only
stopped complaisantly at the obscene details, but also
complaisantly insisted on the five following points:

1st If it was really true that I was an orphan and born
in Paris. 2nd _ If it was sure that I had no longer either
relations, friends, protection or finally anybody to whom
I might write. 3rd If I had entrusted only to the shep-
herdess who had spoken to me of the Convent the in-

<

6

<
22155 <=

tention I had of coming there, and if I had not given her
a rendezvous at my return. 4th If it was certain that I
had seen nobody since my rape, and if I was quite sure
that the man who had seduced me had done so equally
with the side which Nature condemns, as with the one
she permits. 5th If I thought I had not been followed,
and that nobody had seen me entering the Convent.
After having these questions answered, with the most
modest, sincere and natural look: ‘“‘ Well! ” says the
Monk to me on rising and taking me by the hand,
“ come, my child, I shall grant you the sweet satisfaction
of receiving the communion to-morrow at the feet of
the Image which you come to visit: let us begin by
providing for your first wants; ” and he leads me to-
wards the bottom of the church... — “ What! ” said
I to him then with a sort of uneasiness of which I did
not feel myself mistress... ‘‘ What! my father, in the
* inside? — And where then, charming pilgrim, ” re-
plied the Monk to me, on introducing me into the sa-
cristy... “‘ What! you are afraid to pass the night with
“ four holy Hermits? ... Oh! you shall see that we will
“ find the means of recreating you, dear angel: and if
“ we do not afford you very great pleasures, you will at
“ least serve ours to their most extreme extent. ” Their
words cause me to bounce; a cold sweat comes over me, I
stagger; it was night, no light guided our steps; my
frighted imagination presented to me the spectre of death
poising his sithe over my head; my knees bend... At
this time the Monk’s language suddenly changes, he props
me up, on upbraiding me: — “ Wench, ” he says to
me, “ you must walk; try here neither complaint, nor
“ resistance, it will be all useless. ” ‘These dire words
restore me my forces, I feel I am lost, if I waver; I
rise... — “ O Heavens! ” I cry to this traitor, “ must
“ TI then be still the victim of my good sentiments, and

6“

“

cc
— 147 —
“must the desire of my approaching what Religion
“ holds as the most venerable, go to be again punished
“as acrime!...” We go on walking, and we get en-
tangled in blind windings of which nothing can make
known to me either the local or outlets. I was going
before Dom Severino; his breathing was heavy, he was
uttering inconsequent words; you would have thought him
drunk; from time to time he stopped me with his left
arm round my waist, whilst his right hand, slipping be-
hind under my petticoats, impudently ran over that dis-
honest part which, while assimilating us to men, forms
the sole object of the homages of those who prefer this
sex in their shameful pleasures. This libertine’s mouth
even dares several times pass over these spots, in their
most secret recess; then we began again to walk. A
staircase presents itself; at the end of thirty or forty
steps, a door opens, glimpses of light strike our eyes,
we enter a splendid and magnificently lit up hall. There,
I see three Monks and four girls round a table served
by four women stark naked: this spectacle makes me
quake; Severino pushes me, and behold me in the hall
with him. — “ Gentlemen, ” said he on entering, “ al-
low me to introduce to you a real phenomenon: here is
a Lucretia who at the same time bears on her shoulders
the brand of bad-lived girls, and in her conscience all
the frankness, all the simplicity of a maiden... Only
one attack of rape, my friends, and that one six years
ago; she is therefore almost a Vestal... indeed I give
her to you as such... besides the loveliest... Oh! Cle-
ment, how thou art going to cheer thyself up on these
fine lumps! ... what elasticity, my friend, what car-
“ nation! — Ah! strum pet! ” said Clement, half
drunk, on rising and coming towards me; “ the meeting is
“¢ a pleasant one, and I wish to verify the facts. ”
I shall leave you the least possible time in suspense
— 148 —

about my situation, Madam, said Therese; but the neces-
sity I am in describing the new folks with whom I find
myself, obliges me to break off for an instant the thread
of my recital. You are acquainted with Dom Severino,
you guess his tastes; alas! his depravity of this kind was
such that he had never tasted any other pleasures; and
yet what inconsistency in the operations of Nature, since
with the strange fantasy of choosing only by-ways, this
monster was supplied with faculties so huge, that even the
most beaten down routes would have still appeared too
narrow for him!

As to Clement, his sketch is already known. Add to
the exterior I have described, ferocity, sordidness, the
most dangerous roguery, intemperance in every way, a
sarcastic and biting mind, a corrupted heart, the inhuman
relishes of Rodin with his scholars, no sentiments, no
delicacy, no religion, a temper so worn out that he was for
the past five years beyond the state of procuring himself
any other enjoyments but those for which his barbarity
afforded him the liking, and you shall have the most
complete image of this nasty man.

Antonin, the third actor of these detestable orgies, was
forty years of age; low, thin-spared, very vigorous, as
formidably organised as Severino and almost as bad as
Clement; an enthusiast of the pleasures of this colleague,
but delivering himself up to them at least in a less fierce
intention; for if Clement, making use of this strange
mania, had for objects only to annoy, tyrannise over
women, without being able to enjoy them otherwise, An-
tonin, in using them with pleasure in all the purity of
Nature, was wont to put the whipping episode into
practice only to give her whom he honored with his favors,
greater flame and energy.

Jerome, the oldest of those four anchorites, was also the
most debauched of them; all tastes, all passions, all the
= 149 =

most monstrous irregularities were found united in the
soul of this Monk; he joined to the whims of the others,
that of loving to receive upon himself what his colleagues
used to distribute to the girls, and if he bestowed (which
frequently happened to him), it was always on the condi-
tions of being treated likewise in his turn; all the temrles
of enus were moreover equal to him, but his strength be-
ginning to weaken, he would nevertheless prefer these few
years the one, which requiring nothing from the agent,
left to the other the care of awaking the sensations and
of producing the ecstasy. The mouth was his favor'te
temple, and while he abandoned himself to those chosen
pleasures, he employed a second woman to heat him up
by aid of rods. This man’s character was besides quite
as sullen, quite as bad as that of the others, and under
whatever form vice can be shown, it was sure of immedi-
ately finding followers and temples in this infernal house.
You will understand it more easily, Madam, by explaining
to you how it was formed. Prodigious funds had been
got up to fix for the Order this obscene retreat existing
over a hundred years, and was always inhabitated by tke
four richest Monks, the most knowing of the Order, of the
highest descent, and of a libertinism important enough
to require to be buried in this dark den, the secret of
which went no further, as you shall see by the sequel of
the explanations which remain for me to make. Let us
go back ‘to the portraits.

The eight girls who found themselves for the time at
supper were so remote by their ages, that it would be
impossible for me to sketch them for you in a block; I am
necessarily forced to a few particulars. This singularity
astonished me. Let us begin by the youngest, I shall
paint in this order.

This youngest one of the girls was scarcely ten years
old: a rumpled face, pretty features, look humbled at her
— 150 —

destiny, fearful, fretful and trembling.

The second was fourteen years of age: the same em-
barrassment in her looks, aspect of abased chastity, but
a bewitching form, a deal of interest on the whole.

The third was twenty years of age: made to be painted,
fair, the prettiest of hair, delicate features, regular and
mild; appearing more tamed.

The fourth was thirty years old: she was one of the
finest women it was possible to behold, frankness up-
rightness, decency of bearing and all the virtues of a
gentle soul.

The fifth was a girl of thirty-six years old, being these
three months in the family-way; dark, very lively, with
pretty eyes; but having as it seemed to me, lost all re-
morse, all decency, all modesty.

The sixth was of the same age: stout as a block, tall
in proportion, handsome features, a real colossus the
shape of which was spoiled by the good plight of the
belly; she was naked when I saw her, and I easily dis-
tinguished that there was not an inch of her huge body
that did not bear the stamp of the brutality of the
villians whose pleasures her evil luck caused her to serve.

The seventh and eighth were two very handsome wo-
men of about forty years old.

Let us now continue the story of my arrival in this
filthy place.

I told you how I had hardly entered, when each one
advanced towards me; Clement was the boldest, his
polluted mouth was soon stuck to mine. I turn round
with horror; but they make me understand that all these
resistances are only apish tricks which become useless,
and what I have best to do is to imitate my companions.

— “ You easily imagine, ” says Dom Severino to me,
“ that it would be of no avail to try resistances in the in-
“ accessible retreat in which you find yourself. You
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— 151 —

have, you say, experienced many misfortunes; the
greatest of all, for a virtuous girl, was however still
lacking on the list of ycur mishaps. Was it not time
that this haughty virtue should become wrecked, and
can one still be almost a maiden at twenty-two! You
behold companions who, like you, on entering, wished
to resist and who, as you are wisely going to do, finished
by yielding, when he saw that their defence could but
bring bad treatment on them. For it is well to make it
known to you, Therese, ” continued the Superior, on

showing me the disciples, rods, ferules, switches, ropes
and a thousand other kinds of tools of punishment...

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yes, it is well that you should know it: there is what
we use with rebellious girls; see if you have a mind
to be convinced of it. And besides, what would you
claim here? equity? we know it not; humanity? our
only pleasures is to violate its laws; Religion? it is
null in our eyes, our contempt of it increases in pro-

portion as we know it the more; relations, ... friends, ...

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Judges? there is nothing of all that in these quarters,
dear girl; you will find here only selfishness, cruelty,
debauchery and the best sustained impiety. The most
complete submission is therefore your only lot; cast
your eyes on the inaccessible refuge you are in; no mor-
tal ever showed his face in these places; let the Convent
be taken, plundered, burnt down, this retreat would all
the same remain undiscovered; it is an insulated, in-
terred pavilion, which six walls of an incredible thick-
ness encompass on all sides, and you are within it, my
girl, in the midst of four libertines, who certainly have
not a mind to spare you, and whom your entreaties,
tears, proposals, genuflections or your cries will but in-
flame the more. To whom then will you have recourse?
Will it be to that God whom you had just implored so
zealously, and who, in order to reward you for this
— 152 —

fervour, only precipitates you somewhat more certainly
into the trap? To that chimerical God whom we our-
selves outrage here every day by insulting his vain
laws? ... You comprehend how it is then, Therese;
there is no power, of whatever nature you may suppose
it, that can succeed in tearing you from our hands, and
there is neither in the class of possible things, nor in
that of miracles, no kind of means which can succeed
in making you conserve any longer that virtue of which
you are so proud; which can in fine prevent you from
becoming in every sense and manner, a prey to the lewd
fits to which we are all four going to abandon ourselves
with you... Undress thyself then, wench, offer thy
person to our lusts, that it may be polluted by them in
an instant, or the cruellest treatments are about to
prove to you the risks which a wretch like thee runs in
in disobeying us. ”

This discourse. .. this terrible order left me no further
recourses, I felt it; but would I not have been guilty for
not employing that which my heart indicated to me and
which my situation still left me? I then cast myself Dom
Severino’s feet, I make use of all the eloquence of a soul
in despair, to beg him not to take advantage of my state;
the most bitter tears abundantly flow over his knees, and
everything I imagine the strongest, everything I fancy the
most pathetic, I dare try it with this man... What was
the good of it all, great God! was I to ignore that tears
have an additional attraction in the libertine’s eyes? had
I to doubt that all that I was undertaking to soften these
barbarians was to succeed in simply inflaming them? ...
— “ Take this harlot, ” says Severino in a rage, “ take
“hold of her, Clement, let her be naked in a minute, and
“ let her learn that it is not with folks like us, compassion
“ stifles Nature. ” Clement frothed; my resistances had
animated him; he seizes me with a lean and brawny arm;
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— 157 —

of his senses is but tickled, not a single one which does
not concur in the perfection of his delirium; he is touch-
ing on it, but my constant horror for all these infamies
hinders me from partaking of it... He arrives at it alone,
his jerks, his cries, everything announces it, and I am
drenched, inspite of me, with the proofs of a flame which
I kindle only in a sixth part. At last I fall again on the
throne where I have been just immolated, no longer feel-
ing my existence except through my grief and tears. .. my
despair and remorse.

Yet Dom Severino bids the women make me eat; but,
very far from giving heed to these attentions, a fit of
sorrow comes to assail my soul. I who was wont to
place all my glory, all my happiness in my virtue, I, who
used to console myself for all the ills of fortune, provided
I was always good, I can not lay hold of the horrible
idea of seeing myself so cruelly stained by those from
whom I ought to expect most help and consolation. My
tears flow in abundance, my cries make the vault ring;
I roll on the ground, I bruise my breasts, I tear my hair,
I invoke my tormentors, I beseech them to slay me...
Will you believe me, Madam, this frightful spectacle
irritates them still more. — “ Ah! ” says Severino, “ i
“ never enjoyed a finer scene: see, my friends, the state
it puts me in; it is extraordinary, what womanish
griefs obtain from me! — “Let us take her again, ”
says Clement, “ and in order to teach her how to howl
“ thus, let the rogue be more harshly treated in this
“second assault. ” This project is scarcely conceived
when it is executed; Severino comes up, but let him say
what he liked, his desires being in need of a further de-
gree of irritation, it is only after having made use of
Clement’s cruel means that he succeeds in finding the
necessary force for the accomplishment of his fresh crime.
What a fit of ferocity, great God! Could it be that these

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— 158 —

monsters carried it to the degree of choosing the moment
of a crisis of moral suffering, so violent as the one I felt,
as to make me undergo so barbarous a physical one! —
“ It would be unmeet of me not to employ in the main
“ point, with this novice, what serves you so nicely as
“ episode, ” says Clement on beginning to act, “ and
“ T go bail to you that I shall not treat her better than
you. — A moment! ” cries Antonin to the Superior
whom he saw ready to seize me again; “ while your
“ zeal is going to be exhaled in the hind parts of this
“ lovely girl, I may, it seems to me, incense the contrary
“ God; we shall lay her between us both. ” The posture
is so arranged that I can still offer my mouth to Jerome;
they require: Clement places himself in my hands; I am
obliged to excite him. All the priestesses surround this
frightful group. Each lends to the actors what she knows
ought to excite them most; yet I bear all; the whole
weight is on me alone. Severino gives the alert, the
other three follow him closely, and here I am, for the
second time, shamefully stained with the proofs of the
disgusting lust of those notorious rascals.

— “ That’s enough of it for a first day, ” says the
Superior; “ we must now let her see that her companions
“ are no better treated than she.” They set me in a
high arm-chair, whence I am forced to look on the fresh
horrors which are about to end the orgies.

The Monks are in line; all the sisters file off before
them, and receive the whip of each one; they are next
obliged to excite their butchers with their mouths while
the latter torment and inveigh them.

The youngest, she of ten years old, places herself on
the sofa, and each Monk comes to make her undergo a
torment according to his choice. Near her, is the girl of
fifteen, whom he who has just caused the pain to be en-
dured, is to forthwith enjoy as he pleases; she is the tar-
— 159 —

get. The oldest ought to follow the Monk who is acting, in
order upon him either in this operation, or in the act
which is about to terminate. Severino employs but his
hand to tease her who offers herself to him, and flies to
be absorbed in the sanctuary which enchants him and
which she whom they placed hard-by presents to him; the
old hag, being armed with a fistful of nettles, gives him
back what he had just performed. It was from the
bosom of these painful titillations that this libertine’s
intoxication springs... Consult him, will he acknow-
ledge himself cruel? He has done nothing which he does
not endure himself.

Clement slightly pinches the little girl’s flesh: the en-
joyment offered beside him becomes forbidden to him;
but they treat him as he has treated, and he lays at the
idol’s feet the incense which he has no longer the strength
of casting as far as the sanctuary.

Antonin amuses himself at vigorously kneading the
fleshy parts of his victim’s body; being fired by the
bounces she makes, he rushes into the part offered to his
chosen pleasures. He is in his turn kneaded, beaten,
and his intoxication is the fruit of the pains.

Old Jerome only uses his teeth, but every bite leaves
a trace from which the blood directly spouts out; after
a dozen, the plastron presents him her mouth; he ap-
peases his rage therein, whilst he is himself bitten as
hard as he has done.

The Monks drink and retrieve their strength.

The woman of thirty-six, being as I have said, six
months in the family-way, hoisted by them upon a
pedestal eight feet high; being able to place but one leg
on it, she is obliged to keep the other in the air; there are
about her mattresses trimmed with briars, holms, thorns
three feet thick; they give her a long flexible pole to bear
her up: it is easy to see on the one hand the interest she
— 160 —

has for not falling down, on the other the impossibility
of observing an equilibrium; this alternative diverts the
Monks. ‘The whole four ranged round her, each has one
or two women to variously excite him during this spec-
tacle; all bulky as she is, the unfortunate woman re-
mains in position nearly a quarter of an hour; her
strength fails her at last, she falls on the thorns, and
our villains, drunk with lust, are going to offer for the
last time the abominable homage of their ferocity on her
person..... They withdraw.

The Superior placed me in the hands of the one of
these girls, aged thirty, of whom I have spoken to you;
they called her Omphale. She was charged to instruct
me, to install me in my new home; but I neither saw
nor heard anything this first night; being fagged, past
hopes, I thought only of taking a little rest. I perceived,
in the room where they placed me, fresh women who were
not at supper; I postponed to the next day the examining
of all these new objects, and occupied myself but in seek-
ing a little repose. Omphale let me alone; she too went
to bed. I was scarcely in mine, when all the horror of
my lot presents itself still more vividly: I could recover
neither from the execrations I had suffered, nor from
those of which I had been made a witness. Alas! if my
imagination had sometimes wandered over these pleasures,
I believed them chaste as the God who inspired them;
being given by Nature to serve as consolation for man-
kind, I fancied they were sprung from love and delicacy.
I was far from believeing that man, after the example of
ferocious beasts, could enjoy only in causing his com-
panion to shudder..... Then, coming back to the fatal-
ity of my destiny... O good Heavens! said I to myself,
it is then quite certain that no act of virtue will proceed
from my heart, without its being directly followed by
pain! And what harm was I doing, great God! in desir-
= 161.—

ing to come and discharge in this convent a few duties of
religion? Do I offend heaven in wishing to pray to it?
Incomprehensible decrees of Providence, vouchsafe then,
TI continued, to make known your will to me, if you wish
me not to revolt against you! Bitter tears followed these
reflections, and I was still drenched with them, when day
appeared; Omphale then approached my bed.

“ Dear companion, ” she says to me, “ I come to ex-
“ hort thee to have courage; I wept like thee on the first
“ days, and now I have got accustomed to it; thou wilt
“ accustom thyself to it as I have done; beginnings are
“ awful. It is not only the necessity of glutting the
“ passions of these debauched men that causes the tor-
“ ment of our lives, it is also the loss of our freedom, it is
“ the cruel way in which we are led into this frigtful
“ house. ”

The unhappy fellows console themselves in seeing
others near them. However keen my sorrows were, I ap-
peased them an instant, in order to beg my companion
to give me a true notion of the evils I was to expect.

— “ Wait a moment, ” my instructress says to me,
“ get up, let me first run through our retreat, observe
“ thy new companions; we shall talk afterwards. ” On
consenting to Omphale’s counsels, I saw that I was in a
very large room where there were eight pretty clean little
printed calico beds; there was a closet near each bed;
but all the windows which gave light to either these
closets or room, were raised five feet from the ground and
provided with an iron-grating inside and outside. There
was in the middle of the principal room a large table fixed
in the ground, for eating or working; three iron-clad
doors closed this room in; there were no locks on our
side; enormous bolts on the other. — “ There is now
“ our prison? ” said I to Omphale.

— “ Alas! yes, my dear, ” she answered me; such is
— 162 —

“ our only dwelling; the other eight girls have a similar
“ room hard-by, and we never communicate with one
“ another. ” I went into the closet which was laid out
for me; it was about eight square feet; the daylight en-
tered it as in the other room, through a window very
high up and all set off with a grating. ‘The only furniture
were a biddy, a toilet and a broken-bottomed chair. I
return; my companions being eager to see me, surrounded
me; they were seven: I made the eighth. Omphale, liv-
ing in the other room, was in this one only to instruct
me; she would remain in it if I wished, and the one of
those whom I saw would replace her in her room; I re-
quested this arrangement, so it was granted. But before
coming to Omphale’s recital about them, it seems to me
essential to describe to you the seven new companions
whom destiny gave me; I shall proceed herein by order of
age, as I have done for the others.

The youngest was twelve years old, of a very lively and
witty physiognomy, the loveliest hair and prettiest mouth.

The second was sixteen; she was one of the hand-
somest fair girls that it was possible to behold, of truly
delightful features, and all the graces, pretty ways of her
age, mingled with a sort of interest, the fruit of her sad-
ness, which rendered her a thousand times still more
beautiful.

The third was twenty-three; very pretty, but too much
effrontery, too much impudence degraded, according to
my opinion, in her, the charms with which Nature had
adorned her.

The fourth was twenty-six; she was formed like Venus;
the outlines being however rather too pronounced; of a
dazzling whiteness, her physiognomy being mild, open
and smiling, with beautiful eyes, her mouth somewhat
large, but admirably well furnished, and superb fair-hair.

The fifth was thirty-two; she was gone four months
— 163 —

in the family way; of an oval face, of delicate health, a
tender voice, and of little bloom, naturally a libertine:
I am told she wears herself away in person.

The sixth was thirty-three; a tall woman, a well-set, the
prettiest face in the world, lovely skin.

The seventh was thirty-eight; a true model of a waist
and beauty; she was the Senior of my room. Omphale
warned me of her mischeviousness, and especially of the
liking she had for women. — “ To yield to her is the
“ true way of pleasing her, ” says my companion to me;
“resist her is to accumulate on one’s head all the evils
“ that may afflict us in this house. Thou wilt think over
cc it. ”

Omphale asked Ursule (this was the Senior’s name)
for leave to instruct me; Ursule consented to it under
the condition that I should go and kiss her. I approached
her: her polluted tongue wanted to be united with mine,
whilst her fingers were at work to bring on sensations
which she was very far from obtaining. I was obliged
in spite of me nevertheless to adapt myself to everything,
and when she thought she had triumphed, she sent me off
to my closet, where Omphale spoke to me thus:

“All the women thou sawest yesterday, my dear The-
“ rese, and those thou hast just seen, are divided into
four classes of four girls each. The first is called the
child’s class; it is composed of girls from the tenderest
age up to twelve; a white attire distinguishes them.
““ The second class, the color of which is green, is
“ called the youthful class; it is composed of girls from
“ sixteen up to twenty-one years old.

“ The third class is the rational age; it is dressed in
“ blue; they are in it from twenty-one to thirty, it is the
one we are both in.
“ The fourth class, dressed in a purple gown, is

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destined for the ripe age; it is made up of all that
passes thirty.

“ These girls either mix up indiscriminately at the
Reverend Father’s suppers, or they appear there by
class: it all depends on the whims of the Monks; but
outside of the suppers, they mix up in the two rooms,
as thou mayst judge by those who live in ours.

“ ‘The instruction I have to give thee, ” says Omphale

to me, “ ought to be embraced under four principle arti-

‘ cles: we shall treat in the first of what concerns the

* house; in the second, we shall place what relates to the

demeanour of the girls, their punishment, their diet,
etc., etc., etc.; the third article will instruct thee about
plan of those Monk’s pleasures, about the manner in
which the girls serve them; the fourth will explain for
thee the history of reforms and changes.

“ T shall not describe to thee, Therese, the accesses of
this frightful house, thou knowest them as well as I do;
I shall speak to thee only of the inside; they have shown
it to me that I may be able to give a picture of it to the
me that I may be able to give a picture of it to the
new comers, with whose education I am entrusted, and

‘ to remove from them by this description all notion of

stealing away. Severino explained a part of it for thee
yesterday, he did not deceive thee, my dear. The
church and the pavilion which is contiguous to it form
what they properly call the Convent; but thou ignorest
how the apartment in which we live is situated, how
one gets to it; here it is. At the end of the sacristy,
behind the altar, there is a door disguised in the wains-
cotting which a spring opens; this door is the entry into
a trench, as dark as long, the windings of which thy
fright on coming in hindered thee, no doubt, from per-
ceiving; at first this trench descends, because it must
pass under a moat thirty feet deep, then it ascends when
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— 165 —

the breadth of this moat is passed, and runs no more
than six feet under ground; thus it reaches the sub-
terraneous passages of our pavilion, at about a quarter
of a league distant from the other. Six thick enclos-
ures hinder its being possible to perceive this lodging,
had you even gone upon the church-belfry; the reason
of this is simple: the pavilion is very low, it is not

‘ twenty-five feet, and the enclosures composed, some of

walls, others of bushy hedges very close to one another,
are each of them more than fifty feet high: from what-
ever side you view this part, it can be then taken
only for a coppice of the forest, but never for a dwell-
ing; it is therefore, as I have just told thee, by a trap-
door leading into the subterraneous places, that the
way out from the dark corridor, of which I have given
thee an idea, is situated, and which it is impossible for
thee to remember owing to the state thou must be in on
traversing it. This pavilion, my dear, has in only sub-
terranes, one ground-floor, an under-story and a first
story; the roof is a very thick vault adorned with a
leaden cistern, full of clay, in which ever-green shrubs
are planted, which, while matching with the hedges that
surround it, gives the whole an aspect of a still truer
thicket. The subterraneous places form a large hall
in the middle and eight closets around, two of which
are used as dungeons for the girls who have deserved
this punishment, and the other six, as cellars; over
head is the supper hall, kitchens, offices, and two
closets where the Monks pass when they wish to
isolate their pleasures and taste them with us, out of
their colleague’s sight. The under-story comprises
eight rooms, four which have a closet: these are the
cells where the Monks sleep and fetch us, when their
lubricity dooms us to partake of their beds; the four
other rooms are those of the Lay-Brothers, one of
— 166 —

whom is our goaler, another the Monks’ lackey, the
third, the surgeon, having in his cell all that is neces-
sary for urgent needs, and the fourth, the cook; these
four Brothers are deaf and dumb; with great pains
one therefore expect from them, as thou seest, any con-
solations or helps; besides, they never stop with us,
and we are totally forbidden to speak to them. The
upper parts of those under-stories form therefore the
seraglios; they exactly resemble each other: it is, as
thou seest, a large room to which eight closets are con-
tiguous. Thus thou comprehendest, dear girl, that,
supposing one broke the bars of our casements, and
descended by the window, one would still be very far
from stealing away, since there would remain five
bushy hedges, a strong wall, and a large moat to be
got over; even were these obstacles surmounted, where
would one fall again, moreover? Into the yard of the
Convent which, being itself carefully closed up, would
not yet afford, from the first moment, a very secure
way-out. A less dangerous way of escape perhaps
would be, I grant, to find in our subterraneous places

‘ the mouth of the trench which leads to it; but how ar-

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rive in these excavations, perpetually locked up as we
are? even one was there, this opening would not yet be
discovered: it leads into a hidden nook, ignored by us,
and is itself barricaded by gratings of which they alone
have the key. Yet were all these drawbacks got the
better of, were one in the trench, its route would be
still no safer for us; it is secured by traps which only
themselves know, and in which the persons who should
wish to run through it without them, would be inevit-

* ably caught. It is therefore necessary to give over the

idea of escaping, such is impossible, Therese; believe
that if it was feasible, I would have fled this detestable
abode long ago, but this can not be. Those who are
— 167 —

in it leave it only at death; and hence spring that im-
pudence, cruelty, tyranny which those villains use with
us; nothing inflames them, nothing exalts their imagi-
nation like the impunity which this inaccessible re-
treat affords them; being certain of never having for
witnesses of their excesses but the victims that satisfy
them, being quite sure that their escapades will never

* be revealed, they carry them to the most odious ex-

tremes; being freed from the curb of the laws, having
violated those of religion, disregarding those of re-
morse, there is no atrocity which they do not allow
themselves, and in this criminal apathy, their abomin-
able passions find themselves so much the more volup-
tuously provoked, that nothing, they say, fires them
like solitude and silence, as weakness on the one hand
and impunity on the other. The Monks sleep regu-
larly every night in this pavilion; they come to it at

“(five o’clock in the evening and go back to the Convent

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“

“

about nine in the morning, except one who by turn
spends the day here: he is styled the Guard-Regent.
We shall shortly see his office. As to the four Brothers,
they never stir. We have in each room a bell which
communicates with the goaler’s cell; the Senior alone
has the right of ringing it, but when she does so, ac-
cording to her wants or ours, they run directly; the
Fathers themselves bring on returning, every day, the
necessary supplies, and hand them to the cook who
employs them after their orders; there is a fountain
in the subterraneous places and abundance of wines of
all kinds in the cellars. Let us pass to the second
article, which treats about the girl’s dress, diet, punish-
ment, etc.

“ Our number is always equal; steps are taken so
that we are always sixteen, eight in each room, and,
as thou seest, always in the uniform of our classes;
— 168 —

the day will not pass by without their giving thee the
habits of that into which thou enterest; we are every
day in home dress of the color which belongs to us; in
the evening, in a long frockcoat of this same color,
our hair dressed as best we can. The Senior of the
room has all power over us; to disobey her is a crime;
she is entrusted with the care of inspecting us, before

‘ we betake ourselves to the orgies, and if things are not

in the desired state, she is punished as well as we. The
faults we may commit are of several sorts. Every one
has her particular punishment, the list of which is
posted up in both rooms; the Day-Regent, he who
comes, as I shall presently explain for thee, to notify
to us the orders, name the supper girls, visit our dwell-
ings, and receive the complaints from the Senior, this
Monk, I say, is the one who distributes in the evening
the punishment that each has deserved; here is the
state of these punishments besides the crimes which
bring them on us:

“Not to be up in the morning at the prescribed hour:
thirty lashes (for it it nearly by this torture that we
are punished; it was simple enough that an episode
of these libertines’ pleasures should become their

* chosen correction.) To present either through mis-

understanding, or through whatever cause there might
be, a part of the body, in the act of pleasures, instead
of the one which is desired: fifty lashes. ‘To be badly
clad or have the hair badly dressed: twenty lashes.

* Not to have given notice when one has the monthly

terms: sixty lashes. The day on which the Surgeon
has proved your being with child: a hundred lashes.
‘Negligence, impossibility or refusal in the lustful
propositions: two hundred lashes. And how often
their hellish wickedness takes us falling short of this,
without our being the least in the wrong! How often
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— 169 —

one of them suddenly requests what he knows very
well that one has just bestowed on another, and which
can not be done again at once! The correction must
nevertheless be undergone; our advices, our com-
plaints are never listened to; we must obey or be
corrected. Want of conduct in the room, or disobed-
ience towards the Senior: sixty lashes. Tokens of
tears, sorrow, remorse, even a look of the slightest
return to religion: two hundred lashes. If a Monk
chooses you in order to taste with you the last crisis
of pleasure and that he can not arrive at it, whether it
be of his fault, which is very common, or whether it
be of yours: forthwith, three hundred lashes. The
merest look of repugnance to the Monk’s propositions,
of whatever nature these propositions may be: two
hundred lashes. An undertaking to escape, revolt:
nine days of the dungeon, stark naked, and three hun-
dred lashes with a whip daily. Cabals, evil counsels,
bad proposals with one’s self, as soon as this is dis-
covered: three hundred lashes. Schemes of suicide,
refusals to nourish one’s self as it behooves: two hun-
dred lashes. To be wanting in respect towards the
Monks: one hundred and eighty lashes. These are
our sole crimes; we can, however, do what we like,
sleep together, quarrel with one another, fight, run
into the last excesses of drunkenness and gluttony,
swear, blaspheme: that is all one, they do not say a
word to us for those faults; we are checked only for
those I have just told thee, but the Seniors can spare
us many of these troubles, if they like. Unfortunate-
ly, this protection is simply purchased by condescen-
sions oftentimes more burdensome than the pains
warranted by them; they are of the same taste in both
halls and it is only in granting them favors that one

* succeeds in captivating them. If one refuses them,
.
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— 170 —

they multiply without reason the sum of your wrong-
doings, and the Monks whom one serves, in doubling
the amount of them, very far from scolding them for

‘ their injustice, incessantly encourage them to it; they

are themselves subjected to all these rules, and besides
are very severely punished, if they are suspected of
being indulgent. It is not that these libertines need
all this, in order to misuse us, but they are exceedingly
glad to have pretexts; this aspect of nature lends
charms to their voluptuousness, it is increased by it.
We have every one of us a small supply of linen on
entering here; they give us everything by the half-
dozen, and they renew it every year, but we must give
up what we bring; we are not allowed to keep the
least thing of it; the complaints of the four Brothers,
of whom I have spoken to thee, are listened to as the
Senior’s; we are punished on their simple information,
but the former require nothing from us at least, and
there is not so much to be apprehended as with the
very exacting and dangerous Seniors, when caprice or

* vengeance directs their proceedings. Our diet is very

good and always in great abundance; if they did not
reap therefrom branches of voluptuousness, perhaps
this article would not be so good, but as their filthy
debaucheries gain thereby, they neglect nothing to
cram us with food: those who like flogging us have
us plumper, fatter, and those who, as Jerome told thee
yesterday, like to see the hen laying, are sure by means
of an abundant nourishment, of a greater quantity of

’ eggs. Consequently, we are fed four times a day; they

give us for breakfast, between nine and ten o’clock,
always a fowl with rice, raw or stewed fruits, tea, coffee
or chocolate; at one o’clock dinner is served up; each
table of eight is served the same: a very good pottage,
four courses of dishes, a dish of roast meat, and four
6

‘

— 171 —

dainty dishes; dessert in every season. At half-past
five, luncheon is served up: pastries or fruits; the

* supper is undoubtedly excellent, if it is that of the

Monks; if we do not assist at it, as we are then only
four per room, they serve us up at the same time
three dishes of roast meats and four dainty dishes; we
have each one bottle of white wine, one of claret, and
half a bottle of liquor daily; those who do not drink
so much are free to give to the others. There are
some amongst us very greedy who drink astonishing-
ly, who get drunk, and all that without being rebuked
for it; there are likewise some for whom these four
meals do not yet suffice; these have only to ring, they
are immediately brought what they request.

“ The Seniors oblige eating at meals, and should one
persist in not wishing to do so, through whatever
motive it might be, at the third time, one would be
severely punished. The Monk’s supper is composed
of three dishes of roast meats, six courses of dishes

‘ taken away in order to serve up a cold piece and eight

dainty dishes, fruit, three kinds of wine, coffee and
liquors. Sometimes we are all eight at table with
them; other times they compel four of us to wait
upon them, and these sup afterwards; it also happens,
from time to time, that they take only four girls to
supper; these are usually then of entire classes; when
we are eight at it, there are always two of each class.
It is useless to tell thee that nobody in the world never
visits us; no stranger, under any pretext whatsoever,
is introduced into this pavilion.

“ Should we fall ill, the Brother Surgeon alone cares
us, and if we die, it is without any religious assistance;
they cast us into gullies formed by the hedges, and all
is over; but by a singular cruelty, if the sickness be-
comes too serious or if they fear the contagion, they
-

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— 172 —

do not wait until we are dead in order to bury us: they
carry us away and throw us where I have told thee, still
all alive; for the eighteen years I have been here, I
have seen more than ten examples of this notorious
ferocity. To this they say that it is better to lose one,
than to risk sixteen; that, besides, a girl is so trifling
a loss, so easily recovered, one should have but little
regret for her. Let us pass to the plan of the Monks’
pleasures and everything that concerns this subject.

“ We rise here exactly at nine o’clock in the morning,
in all seasons; we lie down more or less late, owing to
the Monks’ supper. As soon as we are up, the Day-
Regent comes to pay his visit; he seats himself in a
big arm-chair, and there, each of us is obliged to go
and place herself before him, with her petticoats lifted
up on the side he likes; he handles, he kisses, he ex-
amines, and when all have discharged this duty, he
names those who are to be of the supper-party; he
prescribes for them the state in which they must be,
he takes the complaints from the Senior’s hands, and
the punishments are imposed. They seldom go out
without a scene of lust, at which we are all eight

“ commonly employed. The Senior directs these lecher-
* ous acts, and the most complete submission on our part

reigns thereat. It often happens, before breakfast,
that one of the Reverend Fathers gets one of us asked
into his bed; the Brother goaler fetches a card with
the name of her who is required. Should the Day-
Regent occupy her then, he has not even the right to
detain her: she passes, and comes back when she is
sent away. The first ceremony being over, we break-
fast: from this time until evening, we have nothing
more to do; but at seven o’clock in summer, at six in
winter, they send for those who have been named; the
Brother goaler conducts them in person, and after
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— 173 —

supper, those who are not detained for the night re-
turn to the seraglio. Often none remains; they are
fresh ones they send to take for the night; and these
are likewise warned, several hours beforehand, of the
dress in which they must go; sometimes there is only
the Guard-Girl who goes to bed. — The Guard-Girl? ”
I interrupted, “ which is then this new office?__ Here
it is, ” my historian replies to me.

“ The first of every month, each Monk adopts a girl
who is during this interval to fulfil for him both the
place of a servant and plastron in his unhallowed
desires; the Seniors alone are exempted on account of
the duty of their room. They can neither change them
in the course of the month, nor make them perform
two consecutive months; nothing is cruel, nothing is
hard like the mean jobs of this service, and I know not
how they wilt go about it. The moment it strikes five
in the evening, the Guard-Girl goes down to the Monk
she serves, and she no longer leaves him until next day,
at the time when he passes again to the Convent. She
takes him again as soon as he comes back; she em-
ployes these few hours in eating and resting herself, for
she must keep awake during the nights which she
spends with her master; I repeat to thee, this un-
fortunate girl is there to serve as plastron all the whims
which may pass through this libertine’s head: cuffs,
floggings, evil proposals, enjoyments, she must suffer
everything; she is to be on foot all the night in her
governor’s room and ever ready to offer herself to the
passions which may agitate this tyrant; but the
cruelest, the most ignominious of these bondages, is
the terrible obligation she is under of presenting her
mouth or breast to either of this monster’s needs; he
never uses any other vase; she must receive all, and
the slightest repugnance is directly punished by the
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most barbarous tortures. In all the scenes of lust,
these are the girls who favor the pleasures, who care

* them, and who clean everything that may be polluted:

is a Monk so on having just enjoyed a woman? it 1s
the business of the servant’s mouth to redress this dis-
order; does he want to be excited? this is the care of
that unhappy girl. She accompanies him everywhere,
dresses him, undresses him, in a word waits on him in
every case, is always wrong, and is always beaten; at
the suppers her place is either behind her master’s
chair, or like a dog at his feet, under the table, or on
her knees, between his thighs, exciting him with her
mouth; sometimes, she serves him as a seat or aflam-
beau; at other times, they are all four about the table
in the most lustful attitudes, but at the same time the
most annoying.

“ Tf they lose their equilibrium, they risk, either to
fall upon thorns which are placed hard-by, or to break
a limb, or even kill themselves, which is not without
example; and during this time, the villains rejoice,
perform debauchery, get drunk at leisure over dishes,
wines, lust and cruelty. — Oh Heavens! ” said I to

my companion in shuddering with horror, “ Can one

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“

bring himself to such excesses! What a hell! —
Listen, Therese, listen, my child, thou art still far from
knowing all, ” says Omphale. “ The state of child-

“bearing, revered in the world, is a certainty of repro-

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bation among these infamous wretches; it dispenses
neither with punishments, nor guards; it is on the
contrary a vehicle to pains, humiliations, sorrows.
How often is it by force of strokes that they cause
those to miscarry, whose fruit they are decided not to
receive! and if they do receive it, it is to enjoy it:
what I am telling you here should suffice for thee in
order to persuade thee to preserve thyself from this
— 175 —

state as long as possible. — But can one do so? —
Undoubtedly, there are certain spunges... But if
Antonin perceives, one escapes not from his wrath;
the safest is to stifle the impression of Nature on dis-
mounting the imagination, and with such villains, this
is not difficult.

“ Moreover, ” continued my instructress, “ there are
here relationships and kindreds which thou dost not
suspect, and which it is well to explain to thee; but
this comes into the fourth article, viz., into that of our
recruits, our reforms and changes: I am going to enter
upon it in order to include this short particular therein.
“ Thou ignorest not, Therese, that the four Monks
who compose this Convent are at the head of the
Order, are all four of illustrious families, and all four
very rich of themselves. Independent of the immense
funds formed by the Order of Benedictines for the

* keeping of this voluptuous retreat where all have the

hope of passing in their turn, those who are in it
still add to these funds a large portion of their wealth;
these two objects united amount to more than one
hundred thousand crowns a year, which are used only
in recruitings or in the expenses of the house; they
have twelve sure and confidential women, solely en-
trusted with the care of bringing them a subject every
month, between the age of twelve and thirty, neither
under, nor over. The subject must be exempt from
every defect and endowed with the most qualities
possible, but especially with an illustrious birth. These
well paid rapes, always executed very far from here,
entail no drawback; I never saw any complaints re-
sulting from them. ‘Their extreme precautions secure
them from everything; they do not absolutely confine
themselves to the first flowers: a girl already seduced
or a married woman equally pleases them; but rape
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— 176 —

must take place, it must be proved; this circumstance
inflames them; they want to be certain that their
crimes cost tears; they would send away a girl that
would willingly give herself up to them. If thou hadst
not defended thyself wonderfully, had they not recog-
nized a real fund of virtue in thee, and consequently
the certainty of a crime, they would not have kept thee
twenty-four hours. All that is here, Therese, is then
of the best breeding. Such as thou beholdest me,

‘ dear friend, I am sole daughter of the Count***, car-

ried away in Paris at twelve years old, and destined one
day to have a dowry of one hundred thousand crowns;
I was snatched from my governess’s arm’s who was

* taking me alone in a car, from a county-seat of my

father’s, to the Abbaye de Panthemount, where I was
brought up; my governess disappeared; she was likely
bought over; I was conveyed hither by mail. Such is
the case with all the others. The girl of twenty years
old belongs to one of the most distinguished families
of the Poitou. The one of sixteen is the daughter of
the Baron de***, one of the greatest Seigniors of Lor-
raine; Counts, Dukes and Marquises are the fathers
of our twenty-three, of her of twelve, of her of thirty-
two; not one, in fine, but can claim the finest titles,
and not one but is treated with the last ignominy. But
these dishonest fellows have not contented themselves
with those horrors, they have wished to dishonor the
very bosom of their own families. The young person
of twenty-six, undoubtedly one of our handsomest, is
Clement’s daughter; she of thirty-six is Jerome’s niece.
“ As soon as a fresh girl has arrived at this polluted
sink, as soon as she is in it for ever withdrawn from
the universe, they directly reform one of them, and
lo, dear girl, lo the completion of our sorrows; the
cruelest of our evils is to ignore what happens us,
oc

— 177 —

in these awful and perplexing reforms. It is wholly
impossible to say what becomes of one on leaving
these places. We have as many proofs as our solitude
permits us to acquire of it, that the girls reformed by
the Monks never appear again; themselves warn us
of it, they do not conceal from us that this retreat is
our tomb; but do they assassinate us? Good Heavens!
Would murder then, the most execrable of crimes be
for them, as for that famous Mareschal de Retz (1),
(1) See Histoire de Bretagne, by Dom Lobineau.

a sort of enjoyment, the cruelty of which, by exalting
their perfidious imagination, could plunge their senses
into a more living intoxication? Being accustomed to
enjoy only through suffering, to revel only through
tortures and torments, would it be possible for them
to lose themselves so far as to believe that, on im-
proving the first cause of the delirium, they must in-
evitably make it more perfect, and then without
principles, as without faith, without morals, as without
virtues, the rascals, misusing the misfortunes into
which their first forfeits hurled us, should satiate
themselves by other crimes which might take our life
away? I know not... If they are questioned about
it, they stammer, now answer negatively, and now af-
firmatively; what is certain, is, that none of those who
went out, whatever promises they had made us lodging
complaints againts these fellows, and of working at our
release, none, I say, has ever kept word with us. .. Nay
more, do they appease our complaints, or do they place
us out of state of making them? When we inquire of
those who arrive about those who have left us, they
never know any of them. What then becomes of those
unfortunate women? ‘That is what torments us, The-
rese, that is the fatal uncertainity which forms the mis-
fortune of our days. I am in this house these eighteen
— 178 —

years, more than two hundred girls do I see going out
of it... Where are they? Why, all having sworn to
serve us, have none kept word?

“ Nothing moreover legitimates our retreat; age,
change of faces, nothing prevails in it; whimsy is
their only rule. They will reform to-day her whom
they caressed yesterday, and they will keep for ten
years those of whom they have most glutted; such
is the history of the Senior of this hall: she is in the
house these twelve years, they will feast on her, and
I have seen, in order to conserve her, children of fifteen
reformed, whose beauty would have made the Graces

* jealous. She who left eight days ago, was not yet

sixteen years old; beautiful as Venus herself, they en-
joyed her merely for one year, but she became preg-
nant, and I have told thee, Therese, this is a great mis-
take in this house. Last month, they reformed one of
seventeen years old. A year ago, one of twenty, being
eight months with child; and lately one at the moment
when she felt the first pains in labour. Do not fancy
that conduct has any hand in it: I have seen some who
wishes to anticipate their desires, and who departed at
the end of six months; others, slovenly and whimsical,
whom they kept a great many years. It is then use-
less to prescribe any kind of conduct for our new
comers; the fantasy of these monsters infringes on all
bounds, and becomes the sole law of their actions.

“ When we are to be reformed, we are advised about
it in the morning, never sooner. The Day-Regent
puts in an appearance at nine o’clock as usual, and he
says, I suppose: “‘ Omphale, the Convent reforms you,
I shall come for you this evening.” 'Then he -con-
tinues his business. But at the examination you no
longer offer yourself to him, then he walks off; the re-
formed one embraces her fellows, she promises them a
— 179 —

thousand times over to be of service to them, to lodge
complaints, to divulge what takes place; the hour
strikes, ‘the Monk appears, the girl departs, and
nobody hears of her more. Yet the supper begins as
usual; the only remarks we made on those days, are
that the Monks seldom arrive at the last episodes of
pleasure: one would say they are taking care of them-
selves; still they drink far more, sometimes even to
intoxication; they send us off much earlier; no woman
stays behind to go to bed, and the guard-girls retire
to the seraglio. — Good, good, ” say I to my com-

panion, “ if nobody has been of service to you, it is be-

“

cause you have had to do only with weak, intimidated
creatures, or with children who have attempted nothing
for you. I am not afraid if they do kill us, at least

* I do not think so; it is impossible that reasonable

beings could carry crime to that pitch... I am well
aware that... According to what I have seen, per-
haps I ought not to justify men as I do; but it is im-
possible, my dear, that they can perform horrors the
very idea of which is not to be conceived. Oh! dear
companion, ” I warmly continued, “ wilt thou make
me this promise in which I swear I shall not fail? ...

Dost thou wish so? — Yes. — “ Well! I swear to
thee by all I hold most sacred, by the God who loves
me and whom alone I adore,... I solemnly promise

thee either to die in the performance, or do away with
those infamies; dost thou promise me as much? —
Dost thou doubt it? ” Omphale answers me; “ but
be certain of the inanity of these promises; others more
angry than thee, more resolute, better backed up, in
fine, perfect friends who would have shed their blood
for us, have failed in the same oaths; allow therefore,
dear Therese, allow my dire experience to look upon
ours as vain, and to reckon no farther on them. ”
“ce

— 180 —

“« _ And the Monks, ” said I to my companion, do
they also change? do fresh ones often come? — No, ”

she answered me, “ Antonin is here these ten years;

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Clement eighteen; Jerome is here those thirty years,
and Severino for the past twenty-five years. This
Superior, being born in Italy, is a near relative of the
Pope’s with whom he is on the best of terms; it is only
since his time that the pretended miracles of the Virgin
assure the reputation of the Convent, and keep back-
biters from too closely observing what is going on here;
but the house was got up as thou seest it, when he
came to it; for more than a hundred years it stands on
the same footing, and all the Superiors who came to it
have conserved an order so advantageous to their

‘ pleasures. Severino, the most lustful man of his time,

had himself placed in it simply to lead a life appro-
propriate to his likings. His intention is to maintain
the secret privileges of this Abbey as long as he can.
We belong to the Diocese of Auxerre, but be the
Bishop informed or not, we never see him put in an
appearance, he never sets foot in the Convent. Very
few people generally do come here, except towards the
festival time, which is that of our Lady of August.
There do no appear, as the Monks tell us, ten persons
per year in this house; yet it is likely that when any
strangers do present themselves here, the Superior
takes care to receive them kindly; he imposes on them
through the appearances of religion and austerity, they
go away contented, they make the elogium of the Mon-
astery, and the impunity of these villains is thus es-
tablished on the people’s sincerity and on the credulity
of the devout. ”

Omphale was hardly finishing her instruction, when

it struck nine; the Senior very speedily called us, the
Day-Regent in fact appeared. It was Antonin; we
— 191 —

thee the capacity of comprehending them. Two ir-
regularities have, I perceive, already stricken thee
among us: thou are astonished at the poignant sen-
sation felt by some of our fellows for things usually
known as fetid or polluted, and thou art likewise sur-
prised because our voluptuous faculties may be
shaken by actions which, according to thee, bear only
the emblem of ferocity. Let us analyse each of these
tastes, and try, if possible, to convince thee that there
is nothing simpler in the world than the pleasures
which result therefrom.

“ Tt is strange, dost thou pretend, that dirty and in-
temperate things could produce in our senses the ir-
ritation essential for the completion of their delirium;
but previous to being astonished at this, it would be
necessary to feel, dear Therese, that objects have no
value in our eyes except the one which our imagination
sets upon them; it is therefore quite possible, according
to this constant truth, that not only the oddest things,
but also the vilest and most shocking, may effect us
very sensibly. The imagination of man is a faculty of
his mind in which, through the organ of senses, objects
go to be painted, to be modified and next his thoughts -
to be formed, by reason of the first perception of these
objects. But this imagination, being itself the result
of the species of organisation with which man is en-
dowed, adopts the received objects only in such or
such a manner, and next creates thoughts simply ac-
cording to the effects produced by the shock of the
objects perceived. Let a comparison facilitate for
thy eyes what I am explaining. Hast thou not seen,

‘ Therese, mirrors of different shapes? Some which

diminish the objects, others which magnify them; the
latter make them frightful looking; the former lend
them charms? Dost thou now fancy that if each of
a
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— 192 —

these looking-glasses united the creative faculty with
the objective faculty, it would not give, of the same
man who would have viewed himself in it, quite a dif-
ferent portrait? and would not this portrait be in
consideration of the manner in which it would have
perceived the object? If to the two faculties which we
have just lent to this looking-glass, it now added that
of sensibility, would it not have for this man seen by

‘ it, in such or such a manner, the kind of sentiment

which would be possible for it to conceive in behalf of
the sort of being that it would have perceived? ‘The
looking-glass that would have seen him handsome,
would love him; the one which would have seen him
hideous looking, would hate him; and yet it would
be still the same individual.

“ Such is man’s imagination, Therese: the same object
represents itself to it under as many shapes as it has
different modes, and according to the effect received
upon the object, whatever it be, it is determined to love
or hate it. If the shock of the object perceived strikes
it agreeably, it likes it, it prefers it, although this
object has no real charm in itself; and if this object,
though of a certain value in the eyes of another, has
stricken the imagination of which there is question,
only in a disagreeable manner, it will be estranged from
it, because none of our sentiments is formed, is realised
except by reason of the produce of different objects on
the imagination. It is not at all surprising, according
to this, that what really pleases some, may displease
others, and, vice-versa, and the most extraordinary
thing finds nevertheless sectarians... The counter-

* feited man also finds mirrors to make him handsome.

“ Now if we grant that the enjoyment of the senses
is always dependent on the imagination, we should be
no longer astonished at the numerous variations which
— 193 —

the imagination will suggest in these enjoyments, at
the host of tastes and various passions that the differ-
ent wanderings of this imagination will produce. These
tastes, although lustful, ought not to strike more than

* those of a simple kind; there is no reason for finding

a table-fantasy less extraordinary than a bed-fantasy;
and in either kind, it is not more wonderful to dote
upon a thing which the common of men looks on as de-
testable, than it is to be fond of one generally recog-
nized as good. Common consent proves conformity in
the organs, but nothing in favor of the thing liked.
Three fourths of the Universe may find the smell of
a rose delicious, without its serving as a proof, either
to condemn the fourth part that might think it bad, or
to show that this smell is truly agreeable.

“ Tf there exist, therefore, in the world beings whose
tastes are opposed to the admitted prejudices, we
must not only be not astonished at them, we must not
only not find fault with them, nor punish them; but
we must render them services, content them, destroy
all the curbs which vex them, and afford them, if you

* will be just, every means of satisfying themselves with-

out risk; because it no more depended on them to have
this strange taste, than it depended on you to be witty

‘ or stupid, to be well shaped or hunchbacked. It is in

the mother’s womb that are formed the organs which
are to make us susceptible of such a fantasy; the first
objects presented, the first discourses heard, finish by
determining the spring; the tastes are formed, and
nothing in the world can henceforth destroy them. In
vain, education sets to work, it no further alters any-
thing, and he is to become a villain becomes one, how-
ever sound be the education he has received, quite as
certainly, as he whose organs are fitted out for the
good assuredly hastens towards virtue, although he
“

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— 194 —

lacked the teacher. Both have acted according to
their organization, according to the impressions they
had received from Nature, and the one is not more
deserving of punishment, than the other of reward.

“ What is very strange, is, that, so long as there is
simple question of trivial things, we are not astonished
at the difference of tastes; but the moment it treats
about lust, behold all in uproar! the women, ever

‘ watching after their rights, the women, whom their

weakness and worthlessness persuade to lose nothing,
are at every instant fretting lest anything be taken
away from them, and if anybody unfortunately makes
use of, in enjoyment, any proceedings contrary to
their worship, behold crimes deserving the gallows!
And yet what injustice! Is the pleasure of the senses
therefore to render a man better than the other pleas-

‘ ures of life? In fine, is the temple of generation to

fix our propensities better, awaken our desires more
surely, than the part of the body, the most contrary
to, or the farthest away from it, than the most fetid
or disgusting emanation of this body? It ought not,
it seems to me, to appear more wonderful to behold a
man carrying singularity into the pleasures of libertin-
ism, than in seeing him using it in the other functions
of life! Again, his singularity is, in each case, the
outcome of his organs: is it his fault, if what effects
you is null for him, or if he is moved only by that
which is repugnant to you? Who is the man that
would not instantly reform his tastes, affections, pro-
pensities according to the general plan, and would not
rather be as everybody else, than to be singular, were
he master of them? To which to punish such a man
is the silliest and most barbarous intolerance; he is no
guiltier with respect to society, whatever be his errings,
than he who, as I have just stated, would have come
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— 195 —

into the world one eyed or lame. And it is as unjust
to punish or mock the latter, as it would be to afflict
or ridicule the former. ‘The man endowed with strange
tastes is a sickly man; he is, if you will, a hysterical-
vapoured woman. Has it ever occurred to our minds
to punish or vex either of these? Let us be equally

‘just towards the man whose whims are astonishing;

being not at all unlike the sick man or the vaporous
woman, he is to be pitied as they are and not blamed.
Such in the moral is the plea of persons about whom

‘ there is question; it would undoubtedly be found, with

the same facility, in the physical, and when anatomy
is brought to perfection, the relation of man’s organi-
zation with the tastes which will have affected him,
will be easily shown through it. Pendants, Tormen-
tors, Turn-keys, Legislators, Tonsured rascality, what
shall ye do, when this is proved? What will become of
your laws, ethics, religion, gibbets, paradise, Gods,
hell, when it shall be proven that such or such a course
of liquors, such a sort of fibres, such a degree of sour-
ness in the blood or in the animal spirits suffices to
make a man the object of your pains or recompenses?
Let us continue. Cruel tastes amaze thee!

““ What is the object of the man who enjoys? Is it
not to afford his senses all the irritation of which they
are susceptible, in order the better and more speedily
to arrive, by means of this, at the last crisis... the
precious crisis which characterizes the good or bad en-
joyment, by reason of the greater or less activity in
which this crisis happens to be? Now is it not an un-
warrantable sophism to dare state that it is necessary,
in order to improve it, that it be shared by the woman?
Is it not therefore evident that the woman can par-
take of nothing with us if it be not to take away from
us, and that all she robs ought necessarily to be at our
— 196 —

expense? And of what necessity is it then, I ask,
that a woman should enjoy when we are enjoying? Is
there any other sentiment to be flattered in this pro-
ceeding, than pride? And shall you not find far more
pleasantly the sensation of this proud sentiment, by

‘ firmly forcing, on the contrary, that woman to cease

enjoying to allow your enjoying alone, in order that
nothing may hinder her from being occupied with your
enjoyment? Does not tyranny flatter pride far more
keenly than benevolence? Finally, is not he who im-
poses much more certainly master than he who shares?
But how can it come into a reasonable man’s head

“ that delicacy should be of any value in enjoyment?

It is absurd to try and hold that it is necessary for it;
never does it add anything to the pleasures of the
senses, I state further, it is noxious to it; it is quite a
different thing that of loving or that of enjoying; the
proof of it is, people love every day without enjoying,
and people enjoy without loving. Everything that is
combined with delicacy in the pleasures of which there
is question, can be granted to the woman’s enjoyment
only at the expense of the man’s, and so long as the
latter is occupied with getting enjoyed, he certainly
does not enjoy, or his enjoyment is merely intellectual,
namely, chimerical and far below that of the senses.
No, Therese, no, I shall not give over repeating it, it
is utterly useless that an enjoyment should be shared
in order to be vivid, and render this sort of pleasure
as agreeable as it is susceptible of being; on the con-
trary, it is most essential that man should merely en-
joy at the woman’s expense, taking from her (what-
ever sensation she feels by it) all that may afford any
increase of the voluptuousness which he wishes to en-
joy, without the slightest respect for the effects which
may result from it for the woman because these
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— 197 —

respects will trouble him: he will either have the
woman to partake, then he no longer enjoys; or he will
fear lest she should suffer, and there he is disturbed. If
selfishness is the first law of Nature, it is most certainly
more in the pleasures of lubricity than elsewhere, that
this heavenly Mother desires it should be our sole
mover. It is a very slight misfortune that, on account
of the increase of the man’s voluptuousness, he must
either neglect, or trouble that of the woman; for if this
trouble causes him to gain anything, what the object
which serves him loses, nowise concerns him; it ought
to be indifferent to him whether this object is happy
or unhappy, provided he himself is delighted; indeed,
there is no kind of relation between this object and him.
He would be therefore mad to occupy himself about
the sensation of this object at the expense of his own;
a thorough simpleton if, in order to modify these alien
sensations, he renounces the improvement of his own.
This being taken for granted, if the individual of whom
there is question, is unfortunately so organized as to
be moved only by producing, in the object which serves
him, painful sensations, you will admit he ought to
abandon himself to it without remorse, since he is up
to enjoy, abstraction made of all that may accrue
therefrom for this object... We shall return to it: let
us continue proceeding by order.

“ Tsolated enjoyments possess therefore charms, they
may have more of them than any others; ah! if it
was not so, how would so many old men, so many
counterfeited or defective folks enjoy? They are per-
fectly sure they are not loved; thoroughly certain that
it is impossible for anyone to partake of what they

‘ feel: have they less voluptuousness on this account?

Do they merely desire the illusion? Being entirely
selfish in their pleasures, you see them occupied only
— 198 —

with taking some of them, sacrificing everything in
order to receive some, and never suspecting, in the ob-
ject which serves them, any other properties, except
passive ones. It is therefore nowise necessary to be-
stow pleasures in order to receive some of them; the
happy or the unhappy situation of the victim of our
debauchery is then absolutely the same to the satis-
faction of our senses; there is by no means question of
the state in which its heart or spirit may be; this
object may indiscriminately be pleased or suffer ac-
cording to what you are doing to it, love or detest you:

‘ all these considerations are null from the moment it

treats of the senses. The women, I grant, may es-
tablish contrary maxims; but the women, who are
simply the engines of voluptuousness, who ought to be
only its targets, are suspected every time it is necessary
to establish a real system upon this sort of pleasure.
Is there a single reasonable man who is envious of
having his enjoyment shared by fast girls? And yet
are there not millions of men who take great pleasures
with these creatures? There are then so many in-
dividuals persuaded of what I establish, who put it
into practice, without suspecting it, and who ridicu-
lously blame those who legitimate their actions by
sound principles, and that, because the Universe is
full of organized statues which go, come, act, eat,
digest, without ever rendering an account of anything.
“ Isolated pleasures, being proved as delightful as the
others, and certainly much more so, it therefore be-
comes quite simple then that this enjoyment, taken
independently of the object which serves us, is not only
very far from what may please it, but is also found con-
trary to its pleasures: I go further, it may become an
imposed pain, a vexation, a torture, without there
being anything extraordinary, without anything else
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— 199 —

resulting from it but the increase of a much surer
pleasure for the despot who torments or vexes. Let
us try and prove it.

“ The emotion of voluptuousness is no other upon
our soul than a kind of vibration, produced by means
of the shakes which the imagination, inflamed by the
remembrance of a wanton object, causes our senses
to experience, or by means of the presence of this

‘ object, or still better by the irritation which this

object feels in the kind which moves us the most

* strongly. Thus our voluptuousness, this inexpressible
* tickling which misleads us, which transports us to

the highest pinnacle of happiness to which man can
go, will never be kindled except by two causes: either

“in perceiving truly or falsely, in the object which

serves us, the kind of beauty which flatters us most,
or in seeing this object feeling the greatest possible
sensation. Now there is no sort of sensation more
quickening than that of suffering; its impressions are
certain, they do not deceive as those of pleasure,
everlastingly played out by the women and hardly
ever felt by them; besides, what a deal of self-love,
youth, strength, health must there not be in order to
be sure of producing in a woman this doubtful and
slightly satisfactory impression of pleasure! That -of
pain, on the contrary, does not require the least thing:
the more defects a man has, the older he is, the least
amiable he is, the better he will succeed. . As to the
end, it will be more surely attained, since we establish
that one never reaches it, I mean that one never irri-
tates his senses better than when one has produced in
the object which serves us the greatest possible im-
pression, no matter by what way. ‘Therefore, he who
will cause the most tumultuous impression to spring
up in a woman, he who will best turn the whole or-
— 200 —

“ ganization of this woman up-side down, will: have de-
“ cidedly succeeded in procuring himself the greatest
“‘ possible dose of voluptuousness, because the shock
“ resulting from the impressions of others upon us, to be
“in proportion to the produced impression, will be
“ necessarily activer, if the impression of others has
“ been painful, than if it has been only mild or pithy;
“ and according to this, the voluptuous egotist who is
“* persuaded that his pleasures will be keen only in as
“ much as they will be whole, will therefore impose,
“ when he is master of it, the strongest possible dose of
“* pain upon the object which serves him, being thorough-
“ certain that what he will reap from voluptuousness
“ will be but in proportion to the most violent impres-

“sion he will have produced. — These are horrible
“ systems, my father, ” said I to Clement, they lead
“ to cruel tastes, to terrible tastes. — And what does it

‘matter? ” replied the barbarian; “ again, are we
“ masters of our tastes? Ought we not to yield to the
“sway of those we have received from Nature, as the
“ proud head of the oak bends beneath the storm which
“buffets it about? If Nature was offended by these
“tastes, she would inspire us with them; it is im-
possible that we could receive from her a sentiment
formed to outrage her, and, in this extreme certainty,
we may give ourselves up to our passions, of whatever
kind, of whatever violence they may be, quite certain
“ that all the drawbacks which their shock entails are
“ merely designs of Nature whose unwilling organs we
are. And what are the consequences of these passions
to us? When anyone wishes to delight himself by any
action, there is no question about consequences.— I
am not speaking to you of consequences, ” I hastily
interrupted, “ the question is about the thing itself;
“ surely if you are not the stronger, and that by atrocious
— 201 —

principles of cruelty you liked only to enjoy through
pain, in view of increasing your sensations, you will
insensibly succeed in producing them upon the object
which serves you, to the degree of violence capable
of snatching away its life. — Be it so; that is to say,
that by the tastes bestowed by Nature, I shall have
served the designs of Nature who, working out her
creations only through destructions, never inspires me
with the idea of the latter but when she needs the
former; that is to say, out of an oblong portion of
matter I shall have formed three or four thousand
round of square ones. Oh! Therese, are those crimes?
Can one so name that which serves Nature? Has man
the power of committing crimes? And when, pre-
ferring his own happiness to that of others, he over-
throws or destroys all he finds in his way, has he done
anything else but serve Nature whose first and surest
inspirations prompt him to make himself happy, no
matter at whose expense? ‘The system of the neigh-
bor’s love is a chimera we owe to Christianity and not
to Nature; the follower of the Nazarean, plagued,
unhappy and consequently in the state of weakness
which was to have toleration, humanity cried out, was
necessarily to establish this fabulous relation of one
being with another; he preserved his life in getting it
to succeed. But the philosopher does not admit these
huge relations; beholding, considering but himself
alone in the universe, it is to himself alone that he
reports everything. If for an instant he coaxes or
caresses others, it is never except relatively to the
profit he thinks he will get out of them. Has he no
further need of them, does he prevail by his strength,
he then everlastingly abjures all those fine systems
of humanity and beneficence to which he simply sub-
mitted for policy-sake; he no longer fears to give
‘“

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— 202 —

back all to himself, to bring back to himself every-

* thing that surrounds him, and whatever thing his en-

joyments may cost others, he satisfies them without
examination, as without remorse.

“ _. But the man of whom you are speaking is a
monster! — The man of whom I am speaking is that
one of Nature. — He is a ferocious beast! — Well,
the tiger, the leopard, of which this man is, if thou
wilt, the image, is it not as he created by Nature
and created to fulfill the intentions of Nature? The
wolf which devours the lamb accomplishes the views
of this common mother, as the malefactor who de-
stroys the object of his vengeance of lubricity. — Oh!
you may talk ever so much, my father, I shall never
admit of this destructive lubricity. — Because thou
art afraid of becoming the object of it, there is selfish-
ness; let us change roles and thou wilt understand it;
interrogate the lamb, it will not understand either that
the wolf can devour it; ask the wolf what is the good
of the lamb: To feed me, he will answer. Wolves
which eat lambs, lambs devoured by wolves, the
strong one which sacrifices the weak one, the weak one
victim of the strong one, that is Nature, those are her
views, those are her plans; perpetual action and re-
action, a host of vices and virtues, a perfect equilib-
rium, in fine, resulting from the equality of the good
and evil over the earth; an equilibrium essential for the
maintenance of the planets, vegetation and without
which everything would be instantly destroyed. O
Therese! this Nature would be greatly astonished, if
she could for a moment reason with us, and we told
her that those crimes which serve her, that those
forfeits which she requires and with which she inspires
us, are punished by laws we are assured that they are
the image of hers. Dunce, she would answer us,
— 203 —

sleep, drink, at and fearlessly commit such crimes
when it will seem good to thee: all these pretended in-
famies please me, and I desire them since I inspire
thee with them. It becomes thee indeed to regulate
what irritates me, or what delights me! learn that thou
hast nothing in thee but belongs to me, nothing but
what I have placed there for reasons which it does not
fit thee to know; that the most abominable of thy
actions is, as the most virtuous of another, simply one
of the ways of serving me. Hold not thyself back
therefore, scorn thy laws, thy social conventions and
thy Gods; only listen to me alone, and know that if
there exists a crime in my eyes, it is the opposition
thou placest to what I inspire thee, by the resistance
or sophisms. — Oh good heavens! ” I cried, “ you
make me shudder. If there were no crimes against
Nature, whence, therefore, comes to us that invin-
cible repugnance which we feel for certain offences?
— This repugnance is not dictated by Nature, ” this

rascal hastily replied; “ it has its source only in the

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want of habit; is it not the same with certain dishes?
Although excellent, are we not opposed to them simply
for want of custom? Should one dare state according
to this that these dishes are not good? Let us try
and overcome ourselves, and we shall soon agree about
their savour. We are loath to take medicines, al-
though they are however wholesome for us; let us in
like manner accustom ourselves to the evil, we shall
soon no longer meet in it but charms; this momentary
repugnance is much rather a craftiness, a coquetry
of Nature, than a warning that the thing outrages her:

* she thus prepares for us the pleasures of triumph; she

increases thereby those of action itself. Nay more:
it is because, the more the action seems dreadful to us,
the more it thwarts our customs and morals, the more
= 24 =

“ bonds it severs, the more it clashes with our social con-
ventions, the more it hurts what we believe to be laws
“ of Nature, so much the more, on the contrary, is it
“ useful to this same Nature. It is never except
“ through crimes that she enters into the rights which
“ Virtue incessantly robs her of. If the crime is slight
“in differing less from Virtue, it will establish more
“ slowly the equilibrium requisite for Nature; but the
“ more capital it is, the more it equalizes the weights,
“so much the more does it counterpoise the empire
“ of Virtue, which, without this, would destroy every-
thing. Let him who meditates a forfeit, or him who
“ has just committed it, cease therefore from being
frightened: the more extent his crime will have, the
“ better he will have served Nature. ”

These horrible systems soon brought back my ideas
to the sentiments of Omphale about the manner in
which we left this frightful house. It was therefore from
that time I adopted the projects which you shall see me
executing afterwards. Nevertheless, in order to finish
my enlightenment, I could not forbear asking Father
Clement a few questions. “ At least. ” said I to him,
“you do not keep forever the unhappy victims of your
“ passions? You send them away, no doubt, when you
“ are tired of them? — Of course, Therese, ” the Monk
answered me, “ thou hast entered this only to go out of
“it, when we four have agreed to grant thee thy re-
treat. Thou shalt have it most certainly. — But are
you not afraid, ” I continued, that younger and less
discreet girls do not go sometimes and reveal what
takes place with you? — It is impossible. — Im-
‘possible? — Utterly. — Could you explain for
“ me?..... — No, that is our secret; but all that I
can assure you, is, that discreet or not, it will be
wholly impossible for thee ever to tell, when thou

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— 205 —
“art out of here, one word of what passes in it. So
“ thou seest, Therese, I impose no discretion upon thee;
“a restrained policy in nowise bridles my desires... ”
And the Monk fell asleep at these words. From this
moment it was no longer possible for me not to see that
the most violent measures were being taken against the
unfortunate reformed girls, and that this terrible security
of which one boasted was simply the fruit of death. I
persisted only the more in my resolution; we shall shortly
see the effect of it.
As soon as Clement was asleep, Armande came to me:
He is going to waken up directly as a madman, ”
“ she said to me; “ Nature lulls his senses to sleep
merely to lend them, after a brief repose, a much
“ greater energy; one more scene, and we shall be quiet
until tomorrow. —But thou, ” said I to my companion,
“ why dost thou not sleep a few moments? — Can I
“ do so? ” Armande answered me; “ if I did not watch
“ on foot about his bed, and my neglect was discovered,
“ he would be the man to stab me. — Oh! Heavens! ”
said I, “ what! even while sleeping, this rascal wishes
“ that what encompasses him be in a state of suffering?
— “ Yes, ” my companion answered me, “ it is the
“‘ barbarity of this idea which procures him that furious
awaking which thou art about to see in him; he is
“ thereupon as those perverse writers, whose corruption
“ is so dangerous, so active, that they have for end in
“ printing their frightful systems, but to extend beyond
“ their lives the amount of their crimes; they can per-
“ petrate no more of them, but their cursed writings will
“ cause them to be committed, and this sweet idea which
“ they carry to the tomb consoles them for the obliga-
“ tion in which death puts them on renouncing evil.
“ __ The monsters! ” I cried..... Armande, who was
a very gentle creature, kissed me in shedding tears,

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— 206 —

then began again to tramp round the bed of this wicked
man.

At the end of a few hours, the Monk really did wake
up, in a prodigious agitation, and seized me with such
force that I thought he was going to choke me; his
respiration was quick and hurried; his eyes sparkled, he
uttered broken sentences, which were nothing else but
blasphemies or wanton words. He calls Armande, he
requests her for rods, and begins to whip us both, but
more vigorously than he had done previous to falling
asleep. It is by me he appears that he wishes to end,
I scream; in order to shorten my pains, Armande vio-
lently excites him, he is bewildered, and the monster, at
last determined by the most violent sensations, loses with
the burning floods of his seed his ardour and desires.

All was still the rest of the night. The Monk on
rising contented himself with handling and examining
us both; and as he was going to say his Mass, we
entered the seraglio. The Senior could not keep from
lusting after me in the state of inflammation she pre-
tended I must be; being ruined as I was, could I defend
myself? She did as she liked, sufficiently to convince
me that even a woman, at such a school, soon losing all
the delicacy and bearing of her sex, could, after the ex-
ample of her tyrants, become only smutty or cruel.

Two nights afterwards, I slept with Jerome; I shall
not describe his horrors to you, they were still more
“ frightful. What a school, great God! In short, at the
end of a week all my rounds were taken. Then Omphale
asked me if it was not true that of them all, Clement
was the one of whom I had: most to complain? —
“ Alas ” I answered, “ in the midst of a host of horrors
“and filth which now disgust and now shock, it is very
“hard for me to pass my judgment on the most odious
“ of the villains; I am abused by them all, and I should
— 207 —

“like to see myself already outside, whatever be the
“ destiny that awaits me. — It might be possible for
““ thee to be shortly satisfied, ” my companion answered
me; ” we are drawing nigh the festival; this circumstance
“seldom takes place without fetching them victims; or
“ they seduce young girls by means of confession, or
“ they filch them, if they can: so many fresh recruits
“ that suppose reforms. ”

This famous festival arrived..... Can you believe,
Madam, into what monstrous impiety the Monks ran
on this event? They imagined that a visible miracle
would double the lustre of their reputation. Conse-
quently they dressed up Florette, the youngest of the
girls, with all the Virgin’s attire; they bound her to a
niche in the wall by chords which were not seen, and
ordered her to raise all of a sudden her arms with com-
punction towards Heaven, when the host would be
elevated to it. As this little creature was threatened
with the cruelest chastisements, should she attempt to
utter a single word, or fail in her role, she got through
it admirably well, and the fraud had all the success
one could expect from it. The people cried miracle, left
rich offerings to the Virgin, and returned hence more
convinced than ever of the efficacity of this heavenly
mother’s graces. Our libertines wished, in order to
double their impieties, that Florette should appear at
the evening orgies in the same robes which had at-
tracted her so much homage, and each of them inflamed
his odious desires by subjecting her, under this costume;
to the irregularity of his whims. Being provoked by this
first crime, the sacrilegious men do not stop at that:
they get this child stripped naked, they stretch her flat
upon a large table, they light wax candles, they place
the image of our Saviour in the middle of the loins of the
young girl and dare consummate on her buttocks the
— 208 —

most awful of our mysteries. I fainted at this horrible
sight, it was impossible for me to bear it. Severino,
seeing me in this state, said that in order to familiarize
me to it I should serve as altar in my turn. They seize
me; they put me in the same place as Florette; the
sacrifice is consummated, and the host..... this sacred
symbol of our august Religion. .... Severino lays hold of
it, he thrusts it into the obscene local of his Sodomite
enjoyments..... stamps upon it upbraidingly.....
crushes it ignominiously beneath the redoubled sallies of
his huge dart, and dashes, in blaspheming, over the body
of his Saviour, the polluted floods of the torrent of his
lubricity! .....

I was taken motionless out of their hands; I had two
‘days over the horrible crime for which I had served in
spite of me. This remembrance still breaks my soul,
I do not think of it without horror..... Religion is in me
the effect of sentiment: everything that offends or out-
rages it causes the blood of my heart to spirt up.

The time for the month’s repetition was going to
arrive, when Severino enters our room one morning, about
nine o’clock. He appeared greatly inflamed; a sort of
bewilderment was painted in his eyes. He examines us,
sets us one after another in his beloved posture, and
‘stops especially at Omphale; he remains several minutes
to contemplate her in this attitude, he excites himself
privately, he kisses what is presented to him, pretends
he is in course of consummating, and consummates noth-
“ing. Getting her next lifted up, he casts upon her
glances in which rage and wickedness are depicted; then
giving her with all the force of his loins a strong kick in
the bottom of the belly, sends her reeling twenty paces
off. — “ The Society reforms thee, wench ” he says to
her, “ it is tired of thee; be ready by night fall, I myself
“ shall come for thee. ” And he walks away.
— 209 —

When he had gone away, Omphale rises. She throws
herself weeping into my arms: — “ Well! ” she says
to me, “ at the infamy, the cruelty of the preliminaries,
‘“ canst thou be still blind about the consequences? What
“is going to become of me, great God! — Grow
““ quiet, ” said I to this unhappy girl, I am now bent on
“ everything; I am waiting only the opportunity; per-
“haps it may present itself sooner than thou thinkest;
“JT shall divulge these horrors; if it is true that their
“ proceedings are as cruel as we have reason to believe,
“ try and obtain some delay, and I shall tear thee out
“ of their hands. ” In case Omphale would be released,
she swore likewise to be of service to me, and we both
wept. The day passed without incident. About five
o’clock, Severino himself came up. — “ Come, ” he
hastily said to Omphale, “ art thou ready? — Yes, my
“ Father, ” she replied in sobbing; “ allow me to em-
““ brace my companions. — That is needless, ” said the
Monk; “ we have no time to perform a weeping scene;
“ they are waiting for us, let us depart. ” ‘Then she
asked whether she should take away her goods. —
“ No, ” said the Superior, “ does it not all belong to the
“house? You have no further need of it.” Then
correcting himself, as one who has said too much about
it: “ Those goods become useless to thee; you will get
“ some made to measure, which will fit you better;
“content yourself therefore with carrying away only
“‘ what you have on. ” I inquired of the Monk whether
he would be willing to allow me to accompany Omphale
only as far as the house-door..... He answered me by
a look which caused me to recoil with fright..... Om-
phale leaves, she casts wistful glances at us full of trouble
and tears, and as soon as she is outside, I toss myself
upon the bed in despair.

My companions, being accustomed to these events or
— 210 —

blinded of their consequences, took less share in it than
I, and the Superior stepped in at the end of an hour; he
came for those of the supper-party. I was of the
number; there were to be but four women at it, the girl
of twelve, the one of sixteen, the one of twenty-three and
I. Everything passed off nearly as the other days; I
simply remarked that the guard-girls were not there, that
the Monks often whispered, that they drunk very much,
that they contented themselves with violently exciting
their desires, without ever allowing themselves to con~
summate them, and that they sent us away much earlier,
without keeping back any to go to bed... What con-
clusions to be drawn from these remarks? I drew them,
because one pays attention to everything in similar cir-
cumstances, but what to conjecture therefrom? Ah!
such was perplexity, that no idea presented itself to my
mind, but it was directly combatted by another. On
recollecting the conversations of Clement, I had un-
doubtedly everything to fear; and then, the hope. .. this
deceitful hope which consoles us, which blinds us and
thus does us almost as much good as evil, in fine, hope
came to re-assue me... So many horrors were so far
from me, that it was impossible for me to suppose them!
I lay down in this terrible state; now and then persuaded
that Omphale would not fail in the oath; convinced im-
mediately after that the cruel means they would take
with her would deprive her of all power to be of use to
us. And such was my last opinion, when I saw the
third day closing without having as yet heard anything
spoken of.

On the fourth I was again at the supper-party; it was
numerous and select. On that day, the finest eight
women assisted at it; they had done me the favor of
taking me to it; the guard-girls were there also. From
the moment we were entering we saw our new companion.
— 211 —

— “ There she is whom the society destines to replace
“ Omphale, Ladies, ” Severino says to us. And so
saying, he tore from the girl’s bust the mantlets, the
gauzes with which she was covered, and we beheld a
young person of fifteen, of the most pleasing and delicate
form. She gracefully raised her lovely eyes towards
each of us; they were still wet with tears, but of the
liveliest interest; her waist was nimble and small, her
skin of dazzling whiteness, the prettiest hair in the
world, and something so bewitching on the whole that
it was impossible to see without feeling one’s self in-
voluntarily attracted towards her. They called her
Octavie. We soon learned that she was a girl of the
first quality, born in Paris and coming out of a Convent
to wed the Count of***: She had been carried away
by force in her carriage with two governesses and three
lackeys; she ignored what had become of her retinue;
she was taken alone about nightfall, and her eyes having
been blindfolded, she was conveyed to where we saw her,
without its becoming possible for her to know more about
it. :

Nobody had as yet spoken a word to her. Our four
libertines, a moment in ecstasy before so many charms,
had only strength to admire them. The empire of beauty
forces respect; the most corrupted rascal renders it,
in spite of his heart, a kind of worship which he never
infringés without remorse: but monsters such as those
we had to do with, languish but little under like curbs.
— “ Come, fair child, ” says the superior in impudently
pulling her towards the arm-chair in which he was seated,
“ come, let us see if the rest of your charms correspond
“ to those which Nature has placed with so much con-
“ fusion over your face. ” And as this lovely girl was
getting confused, as she was blushing, and was trying to
get away, Severino, hastily seizing her across the body:
— 212 —

— “ Understand, ” he says to her, “ little Agnes, un-
“ derstand that what one wishes to tell you is to strip
“ yourself instantly stark naked. ” And the libertine,
at these words, slips one hand under her petticoats while
holding her with the other; Clement steps up, he raises
Octavie’s clothes above her groins, and by means of this
manoeuvre exposes the sweetest, the most enticing at-
tractions that it is possible to behold; Severino, who
handles, but who does not perceive, stoops to look, and
there they are all four agreeing that they have never seen
anything so beautiful. Yet the modest Octavie, but
little formed for such outrages, replies by tears and de-
fends herself — ‘‘ Let us undress, let us undress, ” says
Antonin; “ nothing can be seen in this way.” He
helps Severino, and on the instant the little girl’s at-
tractions appear unveiled to our eyes. There never was
undoubtedly a whiter skin, never happier proportions. . .
God, what a crime! ... Were so much beauty, freshness,
innocence and delicacy to become prey of these barbar-
jans! Octavie, ashamed, knows not where to flee in order
to conceal her charms, everywhere she meets only with
eyes which devour them, with brutal hands which rum-
mage them; the ring is formed round her, and, as I had
done, she runs through it in every direction. The brutal
Antonin has not the force of resisting; a cruel attempt
brings on the homage, and the incense smokes at the
feet of the God. Jerome compares her to our young
comrade of sixteen, undoubtedly the handsomest in the
seraglio; he places the two altars of his worship near
each other. + * Ah! what a lot of whiteness and
“ graces! ” he cried in feeling Octavie; “ but what a
“deal of gentility and bloom is likewise in this one!
“ Indeed, ” continued the Monk on fire, “ I am un-
“ decided. ” Then imprinting his mouth upon the at-
tractions which his eyes confront: “ Octavie, ” he cried,
— 213 —
“ thou shalt have the apple, it solely depends on thee,
give me the precious fruit of this beloved tree of my
heart... Oh! yes, yes, let either of you give it to me,
and I everlastingly assure the prize of beauty to who-
ever will have served me sooner. ” Severino sees it is
time to think of more serious things: wholly’ out of
patience, he lays hold of this unfortunate girl, he places
her according to his desires; not yet replying sufficiently
on his own cares, he calls Clement to his aid. Octavie
weeps and is not heard; the fire shines in the lecherous
Monk’s looks; being master of the place, one would say
he is considering the avenues thereof only to attack it the
more securely; no crafts, no preparations are employed;
would he gather the roses with so many charms, if he
removed their thorns? However enormous the inequality
is between the conquest and the assailant, the latter
nevertheless undertakes the combat; a shrill cry an-
nounces victory, but nothing affects the enemy; the more
the captive implores quarter, the more she is vigorously
squeezed, and the unhappy girl vainly struggles, she is
soon sacrificed. — “‘ Never was laurel harder, ” said
Severino on withdrawing; “ I fancied that, for the first
“time in my life, I would miscarry near harbour...
“ Ah! how much narrowness and heat! She is the
“ Ganymede of the Gods. ”

— “TI must restore her to the sex which thou hast
“ just sullied, ’ said Antonin, seizing her thence, and
without wishing to let her get up; “ there is more than
“one breach in the rampart, ” said he. And proudly
approaching, he is in an instant at the sanctuary. Fresh
cries are heard: “ God be praised! ” said the dishonest
man; “ I should have doubted of my success without
“ the victim’s groans, but my triumph is assured, for
“ there are blood and tears. ”

— “ Indeed, ” said Clement closing up, rods in hand,

“
a
“e

ce
— 94 =<

“ TI shall not disturb this sweet attitude either, it is too
“ favorable for my desires. ” Jerome’s guard-girl and
the one of thirty were holding Octavie; Clement ex-
amines, handles; the little girl, frightened, implores him
but does not affect him.

— “ Oh! my friends, ” said the exalted Monk, “ why
“ not flog the novice who shows us so beautiful an
“ arse? ” The air directly resounds with the whizzing
of the rods and the deaf sound of their blows upon this
lovely flesh; Octavie’s cries are mingled with them,
the blasphemies of the Monk reply to them: what a
scene for those libertines given up, in the midst of us
all, to a thousand obscenities! They applaud it, they
encourage it; yet Octavie’s skin changes color, the tints
of the liveliest carnation are blended with the glow of
lilies; but that which would perhaps amuse Love an in-
stant, if moderation directed the sacrifice, becomes by
dint of rigor a frightful crime against its laws; nothing
stops the perfidious Monk; the more the young pupil
complains, the more the Regent’s severity breaks out;
from the middle of the loins to the bottom of the thighs,
all is treated in the same way, and it is at last upon the
gory vestiges of his barbarous pleasures, that the base
wretch appeases his flames. — “ I shall be less fierce
“ than all that, ” said Jerome in taking the beautiful
one and applying himself to her coral lips; “ this is the
“ temple in which I am going to sacrifice... and within
this bewitching mouth... ” I hold my tongue... It is
the polluted reptile tarnishing a rose, my comparison
tells you all.

The remainder of the evening became similar to all
you know: if it is only the beauty, the touching age of
this youthful girl, inflaming still more those rascals, all
their infamies redoubled, and satiety rather than pity,
in sending away this unhappy girl into her room, re-
— 217 —

of twenty years. Octavie was not four months with us,
when Jerome came to announce to her, her departure;
although it was he who had most enjoyed her during
her stay in the Convent, who moreover appeared to love
and seek her, the poor child left, making us the same
promises as Omphale; she kept them quite as little.

I no longer occupied myself, from that time, but
with the project I had conceived since Omphale’s de-
parture; up to everything in order to flee this savage
den, nothing frightened me from succeeding in it. What
could I apprehend in executing this design? Death.
Of what was I sure in remaining? Of death. And in
succeeding, I saved myself. I had not therefore to
waver; but it beloved, previous to this enterprise, that the
fatal examples of rewarded vice should be again repro-
duced under my eyes; it was written in the great book
of the Fates, in this dark book of which no mortal has
knowledge, it was engraved therein, I say that all those
who had tormented, humbled me, bound in irons, should
unceasingly receive before my eyes the price of their for-
feits, as if Providence had made it a duty to show me
the uselessness of virtue... Fatal lessons which did not
however correct me, and which, should I escape again
from the sword hung over my head, will not prevent me
from being ever the slave of this Divinity of my heart.

One morning, without expecting it, Antonin put in an
appearance in our room and announced to us that the
Reverend Father Severino, a relative and protege of the
Pope, had been just nominatd by His holiness, General
of the Benedictine Order. On the next day, this Monk
really did set out without seeing us; there was expected,
we were told, another far superior for debauchery to all
those who remained: fresh motives for hastening my
steps.

The day after Severino’s departure, the Monks had
— 218 —

decided on reforming another of our companions. I
chose, for my escape, the very day they came to an-
nounce this wretche’s judgment, that the Monks being
busier might pay less attention to me.

We were at the beginning of Spring; the length of the
nights still somewhat favored my steps. I was pre-
paring them for two months without anybody’s suspect-
ing them; I used to gradually saw, with an old pair of
scissors I had found, the gratings of my cabinet; already
my head easily passed through it, and, with the linen
which used to serve me, I had formed a rope more than
sufficient to get over the twenty or twenty-five feet of
which Omphale had told me the building was. When
they had taken away my clothes, I was careful, as I have
told you, to retire from them my little fortune amounting
to nearly six louis, I had always diligently hid it; in de-
parting I put it back in my hair, and almost the whole of
our room being of the supper-party that evening, alone
with one of my companions who went to bed as soon as
the others had gone down, I passed into my cabinet;
there, freeing the hole I had taken care to stop up every
day, I fastened my rope to one of the bars which was
not damaged, then, letting myself slide down by this
means, I had soon touched the ground. This is not
what had puzzled me the most: the six enclosures of walls
or thick fir hedges, of which my companion had spoken
to me, puzzled me quite otherwise.

Once there, I recognized that every space or circular
alley left from one hedge to the other was not more
than eight feet wide, and it is this nearness which caused
the view to imagine, that all within this place was simply
an under-wood. The night was pitchy dark; while going
round this circular alley to reconnoitre whether I should
not discover an opening in the hedge, I passed under the
supper-room. There was no longer anybody in it; my
— 219 —

uneasiness redoubled on this account; I nevertheless con-
tinued my researches, I thus reached to the height of the
window of the great subterraneous hall which is beneath
that of the usual orgies. I perceived much light in it,
I was bold enough to approach it; owing to my position
I peeped into it. My unhappy companion was stretched
upon a rack, her hair in disorder, and destined no doubt
to some frightful torture in which she was going to find,
for liberty the eternal end of her woes... I quaked, but
what my looks had just surprised soon astonished one
more: Omphale, either had not known all, or she had noi
told me all; I beheld four naked girls in this underground
place, who appear to me very handsome and young,
and who were certainly none of ours; there were in this
frightful refuge other victims of these monsters’ lubri-
city... other unfortunate girls unknown to us... I
hastened to flee, and went on turning until I was at the
side opposed to the underground-room: not having as
yet discovered any breach,-I resolved to make one; I
had, without anyone’s perceiving, supplied myself with
a long knife; I worked; in spite of my gloves, my hands
were soon torn. Nothing stopped me; the hedge was
more than two feet thick, I opened it a little, and behold
me in the second alley; there, I was surprisd at feeling
under my feet but soft, boggy clay into which I was sink-
ing to the ankle: the further J advanced into this thick
brush-wood, the darker it grew. Being curious to know
whence came the change of ground. I grope with my
hands... O good Heavens! I seize the head of a corpse!
Great God! thought I terrified, such is here undoubtedly,
I was indeed told so, the grave-yard where those butchers
throw their victims; scarcely do they take the trouble
of covering them with clay!... This skull is perhaps
that of my dear Omphale, or that of unhappy Octavie,
so handsome, so mild, so kind, and who appeared on
— 220 —

earth but as the roses of which her charms were the
image! Myself, alas! this had been my place, why not
undergo my lot?what shall I gain in going to seek fresh
reverses? Have I not committed enough of evil in it?
Have I not become in it the motive of a pretty large
number of crimes? Ah! let us fill up my destiny! O
earth, open to swallow me up! It is well worth while.
when one is so forsaken, so poor, so abandoned as I am,
to give one’s self so many pains to vegetate a few instant’s
longer, among monsters! ... But, no, I ought to avenge
Virtue in irons... She expects it from my courage...
Let us not suffer ourselves to be cast down... let us
advance: it is essential for the universe to be rid of
villains so dangerous as these. Ought I fear losing
three or four men in order to save million of individuals
whom their policy or ferocity sacrifices.

I therefore pierce the hedge where I am; this one
was thicker than the other: the farther I advanced, the
stronger I found it. The hole is nevertheless effected,
but a solid ground beyond... nothing further announced
me the same horrors as I had just met. So arrive at
the brink of the ditch, without having found the wall
of which Omphale had told me; there certainly was
none, and it is likely the Monks said so merely to
frighten us the more. Being less enclosed beyond this
six-fold surrounding, I distinguished objects better; the
church and the building which was adjacent to it forth-
with presented themselves to my eyes; the ditch hemmed
in both; I took good care from trying to climb over it
at this side; I walked along the sides, and seeing myself
at last in front of one of the routes of the forest, I re-
solved to cross it there and throw myself in this route
when I should have got upon the other side. ‘This ditch
was very deep, but dry, for my good luck; as the lining
was of brick, there was no means of slipping on it, I
— 221 —

therefore precipitated myself: somewhat stunned by my
fall, I was a few moments before getting up... I went on,
I reached the other bank without obstacle; but how
climb it? By force of looking for a convenient spot, I
find one at last where a few demolished bricks afforded me
at the same time both the facility of serving me with
others as stiles, and that of sticking, in order to bear me
up, the tip of my foot in the ground; I was already nearly
upon the top, when all giving way under my weight, I
fell back into the ditch beneath the rubbish I had
dragged; I thought I was dead; this fall, involuntarily
made, had been ruder than the other; I was besides all
covered over with the materials which had followed me;
a few having knocked me on the head, I was quite
bruised... O God! said I to myself in despair, let us
go no farther; let us stay there; it is a warning from
Heaven; it does not wish me to go on: my ideas are no
doubt deceiving me; evil is perhaps useful on earth, and
when the hand of God desires it, perhaps it is wrong to be
opposed to it! But being soon stirred up against a sys-
tem, the too unlucky a fruit of the corruption which had
surrounded me, I free myself from the rubbish with which
I am covered, and finding greater ease in re-ascending by
the breach I have just formed, owing to the fresh holes
effected therein, I try again, I stir myself up, in an in-
stant I find myself on the top. All this had removed me
from the path I had perceived, but having taken particu-
lar notice of it, I come across it again, and set to flee at
a good rate. Before the day was over, I found myself
outside the forest, and shortly upon that hill from which
I had six months ago, for my misfortune, spied this
frightful Convent. I rest myself a few minutes, I was
all in a sweat; my first care is to cast myself on my
knees and beg God for fresh pardons for the involuntary
faults I had committed in that odious receptacle of crime
— 222 —

and pollutions; tears of sorrow soon flowed from my
eyes. Alas! said I to myself, I was much less criminal,
when I left last year this same path, guided by a principle
of devotion so fatally deceived! O God! In what a
state can I now look upon myself! These fatal re-
flections somewhat calmed down by the pleasure of seeing
myself free, I pursued my way towards Dijon, imagining
that it could be only in this Capital my complaints were
to be lawfully received.....

Here Madam de Lorsange wished to oblige Therese
to take breath, at least for a few minutes; she was in
need of it; the heat she threw into her narration, the
sores these fatal recitals opened anew in her soul, in short,
everything invited her to a few moments rest. Mr de
Corville had refreshments brought, and after a brief
repose, our Heroine continued, as you are going to see,
the particulars of her deplorable adventures.

END OF PART FIRST.
ANN
JUSTINE

OR

THE MISFORTUNES OF VIRTUE

PART SECOND

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JUSTINE

OR

THE MISFORTUNES OF VIRTUE

PART SECOND

was on my second day’s journey, per-
fectly calm about the fears I had had
at first of being pursued; it was ex-
tremely warm, and according to my
economical custom, I had wandered
from the road to find shelter where
I might make a slight repast which would put me in a
way of waiting for the evening. A small grove on the
right of the road, through the midst of which a limpid
stream meandered, appeared to me suitable for re-
freshing me. My thirst being quenched with this pure
and fresh water, nourished with a little bread, my back
propped against a tree, I allowed a wholesome and serene

 
— 228 —

breeze to circulate in my veins; it refreshed me, it tran-
quillized my senses. ‘There I reflected on that almost
unexampled fatality which, notwithstanding the thorns
with which I was surrounded in the career of virtue, al-
ways brought me back, whatever might become of it, to
the worship of that Divinity, and to acts of love and
resignation towards the Supreme Being from whom it
proceeds, and whose likeness it is. A sort of enthusiasm
had just set upon me: Alas! said I to myself, he does
not abandon me, this good God whom I adore, since I
have just found on this very instant the means of re-
pairing my strength. It is not to him I owe this favor?
And are there not on earth beings to whom it is refused?
I am not therefore wholly unhappy, since there are still
others more to be pitied than I am... Ah! am I not
less so than the unfortunate girls whom I am leaving in
this den of vice, out of which God’s goodness has caused
me to go as by a kind of miracle? ... And full of grati-
tude, I threw myself upon my knees; fixing the sun as the
finest work of the Divinity, as the one which best mani-
fests his grandeur, I drew from the sublimity of this
planet fresh motives for prayer and thanks-giving, when
all of a sudden I feel myself seized by two men who,
having enveloped my head to prevent me from seeing and
crying, hand-cuff me as a criminal, and drag me without
uttering a word.

We march thus almost two hours without its being
possible for me to see what route we are taking, when
one of my conductors, hearing me breathe with diffi-
culty, proposes to his comrade to rid me of the veil
which is incommoding my head; he agrees to it, I
breathe and perceive at last that we are in the midst of
a forest following a pretty large route, although but
— 229 —

little frequented. A thousand fatal ideas present them-
selves then to my mind, I fear I am taken again by the
agents of those shameful Monks... I fear I am being
brought back to their hateful convent. “ Ah! ” said I
to one of my guides, “ Sir, may I not beseech you to
“ tell me where I am led to? May I not ask you what
“ they pretend to do with me? — Soothe yourself, my
“ child, ” this man said to me, “ and let not the pre-
“ cautions that we are obliged to take cause you any
“ fear: we are bringing you to a good master’s; weighty
“ reasons force him to take a chamber-maid for his
“ spouse, only with this glow of mystery; but you will
“ be all-right there. — Alas! Gentlemen, ” I replied,
if it is my happiness you are causing, it is needless to
“ oblige me by force: I am a poor orphan, greatly to
“ be pitied no doubt; I ask only a place: as soon as you
give it to me, why are you afraid of my running away?
“« __ She is right, ” said one of the guides, “ let us set
“ her more at ease, let us merely hold but her hands. ”
They do so, and our march is continued. Seeing me
tranquil, they even reply to my inquiries; I at last learn
from them, that the master to whom I am destined is
called the Count de Gernande, born in Paris, but possess-
ing great wealth in this country, and rich in all with over
five hundred thousand livres a year, which he spends
alone, said one of my guides to me. — “ Alone? — Yes,
“ he is a solitary man, a philosopher: he never sees any-
“ body; in return, he is one of the greatest gluttons in
“ Europe; there is not an eater in the world fit to cope
“ with him. I say nothing to you about him, you shall
“ see him. — But what do these precautions signify,
“ Sir? — Here it is. Our master has the misfortune
“ of having a wife whose head became deranged; she must

.

a

‘

a
— 230 —
“ be kept within sight, she does not go out of her room,
nobody wishes to wait upon her; we should have vainly
proposed it to you: had you been warned, you would
never have accepted. We are obliged to carry away
girls by force, to fulfill this fatal service. — What!
I shall be a captive near this Lady? — Yes, indeed,
that is why we hold you thus. You will be well off
there... soothe yourself, perfectly well off; save this
“ inconvenience, you shall want for nothing. —- Ah!
“ good Heavens! what a constraint! — Come, come,
“ my child, courage, you will get out of it one day, and
“ your fortune will be made. "My guide had not
achieved these words, when we beheld the castle. It was
a superb and vast isolated building in the midst of the
forest, but this great edifice was far from being se
peopled as it appeared built to be so. I saw merely a
little movement, a scanty resort of people towards the
kitchens situated in the cellars under the middle of the
house. All the rest was as solitary as the site of the
castle. Nobody took notice of us when we entered; one of
my guides went into the kitchen, the other introduced
me to the Count. He was at the end of a vast and superb
apartment, he was rolled up in a morning-gown of Indian
satin, stretched on an ottoman, and near him two young
men so indecently, or rather so ridiculously dressed,
coifed with so much elegance and skill, that I took them
at first for girls; a little further examination finally made
me recognize them for boys, one of whom might be
fifteen years old, and the other sixteen. ‘They appeared
to me to be of very pretty faces, but in such a state of
effeminacy and prostration that I at first thought they
were ill.

“ Here is a girl, Monseigneur, ” said my guide; “ she

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— 231 —
“appears to us to be what suits you: she is mild, she
is honest, and asks but a place; we hope you will be
“ pleased with her. — All-right, ” said the Count, while
scarcely looking at me; “ you will shut the doors after
“ you, Saint-Louis, and you shall see that nobody is
“ to come in until I ring. ” Next the Count rose, and
came to examine me. While he is scrutinizing me, I can
depict him for you: the singularity of the portrait de-
serves your attention for an instant. Mister de Ger-
nande was then a man of fifty years old, being almost six
feet high, and of a huge size. Nothing is so frightful
as his face: the length of his nose, the thick obscurity
of his eyebrows, his black and wicked eyes, his big
mouth badly supplied, his tenebrous and bald brow, the
sound of his voice terrible and hoarse, his enormous
arms and hands, all contribute to form a gigantic fellow
of him, whose access inspires much greater fear than as-
surance. We shall shortly see whether the moral and
the actions of this kind of Centaur were in conformity
with his frightful caricature. After a most rapid and
blunt examination, the Count asked me my age.
— “ Twenty-three years, Sir, ’ I replied; and he added
to this first inquiry a few questions about my personal
self. I acquainted him with everything that concerned
me. I do not even forget the stain I had received from
Rodin; and when I had described to him my misery,
when I had proved to him that misfortune had constantly
pursued me: — “ So much the better! ” the nasty man
cruelly said to me, “‘ so much the better! you will be only
“ the more docile for it in my house; it is a very slight
“ drawback that bad luck pursues this abject race of
“ people whom Nature dooms to crawl near us on the
“ same soil: it is the more active and the less insolent

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— 232 —

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for it, discharges on this account its duty much better
towards us. — But, Sir, I have told you of my birth,
it is not abject. — Yes, yes, I am aware of all that;
“ people always make themselves pass off as being mighty
“ when they are nothing, or in misery. The illusions of
pride must indeed come to console the wrongs of
“ fortune; it next involves upon us to believe what we
“ please about those births broken down by mere destiny.
“ Besides, it is all the same to me; I find you looking
“ like, and in the attire of a servant; I shall therefore
“take you on this footing, if you think fit. Yet, ”
continued this stern man, “ it depends but on yourself
“ to be happy: some patience, discretion, and in a few
“* years I shall discharge you from here, in a way of
“* your being able to live on your own account. ”

Then he took my arms one after the other, and tuckin?
up my sleeves to the elbow, he attentively examined
them in asking me how often I had been bled? —
“ Twice, Sir, ” I said to him, pretty much surprised at
this inquiry, and I mentioned the occasions on informing
him of the circumstances of my life when it had taken
place. He pressed his fingers upon the veins as when
one wishes to swell them in order to proceed to this
operation, and when they are at the degree he requires,
he puts his mouth to them while sucking them. From
that moment, I no further doubted that libertinism was
still mixed up with this nasty man’s proceedings, and the
stings of uneasiness awoke in my heart. — “I must know
“ how you are formed, ” continued the Count, in staring
me with a look which caused me to tremble; “ there
‘“ must be no bodily defect for the place you have to fill;
“ show therefore all you bear. ” I defended myself;
but the Count, angerly working up all the muscles of his
frightful face, rudely tells me that he does not advise

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— 233 —

me to act the prude with him, because he has sure
means of getting the upper hand of women. “ What
“ you have related to me, ” he says to me, “ does not
“ forebode a very lofty virtue; thus your resistances
“ would be as much out of place as ridiculous. ”

At these words, he beckons to his young waiters, who,
directly approaching me, set to undress me. With such
worn-out, such decayed fellows as those that surround
me, defence is certainly not hard; but of what use
would it be? The Cannibal who set them at me, would
have, had he wished, reduced me to powder with a blow
of his fist. I therefore understood it was necessary to
give in: I was undressed in an instant; this is hardly
performed, than I perceive I am exciting still more the
merriment of these two Ganymedes. “ My friend, ”
said the younger to the other, “‘ what a beautiful thing a
“ girl is! ... But what a pity that it is empty there.
— Oh! ” said the other, “ there is nothing more in-
‘““ famous than this void; I should not have to do with a
“ woman when there would be question of my fortune. ”
And while my forepart was so ridiculously the subject of
their sarcasms, the Count, close partisan of the back-side
(unfortunately, alas! like all libertines), was a scrutiniz-
ing mine, he handled it roughly, kneaded it forcibly; and
taking pinches of flesh between his five fingers, he
soften it even to bruise it. He next made me take a few
steps forward, and return backwards towards him, in
order not to lose sight of the perspective he had offered to
himself. When I got back to him, he made me bend
down, keep erect, squeeze, separate. He often went on
his knees before that place which alone busied him. He
imprinted kisses in several different spots, even several
on the most sacred orifice; but all these kisses were the
image of sucking, he gave not one which had not this
— 234 —.

action for end. He appeared to suck every one of the
places where his lips were carried. It was during this
examination that he asked me many particulars about
what had been done to me at the convent of Sainte-
Marie-des-Bois; and without taking heed that I was
doubly stirring up his passions by these recitals, I had the
frankness of making them all to him with simplicity. He
got one of his young men to draw up, and setting beside
me, he loosed the running knot of a great flood of pink
ribbon, which was holding the white gauze breeches, and
laid bare to view the whole attractions veiled by this
garb. After a few slight caresses upon the same altar
as the Count sacrificed with me, he changed the object
all of a sudden, and began sucking this child at the
place which marks his sex. He went on feeling me:
whether it was the young man’s custom, or dexterity on
the part of this Satyr, in a very few minutes, vanquished
Nature caused what she shot out of the member of the
one to flow into the other’s mouth. That is how this
libertine wore out the unfortunate children he had in his
house, the number of whom we shall shortly see; this is
the way he enervated them, and hence the state of langor
in which I had found them. Let us now see how he went
about putting the women in the same state, and what was
the true reason of the retreat in which he kept his wife.

The homage the Count had paid me was long; but
not the merest infidelity to the temple he had selected:
neither his hands, looks, kisses, nor desires wandered
from it an instant. After having likewise sucked the
other young man, gathered, devoured in like manner his
seed: “ Come, ” he said to me, on pulling me into a
neighboring closet, without permitting me to regain my
clothes; “‘ come, I am going to let you see what it is
“ about. ” I could not dissemble my confusion, it was
— 235 —

awful; but there was no means of causing my destiny
to wear another appearance, it was necessary to swallow
to the dregs the chalice which was presented to me.

Two other young boys of sixteen, quite as handsome,
quite as debilitated as the two former ones we had left
behind in the drawing-room, were working at tapestry
in the closet. They rose when we entered. “ Narcisse, ”
said the count to one of them, “ here is the Countess’s
“ new chamber-maid, I must try her; hand me my
“lancets. ” Narcisse opens a press, and forthwith
takes out of it all that is needed for bleeding. I leave it
to you to think what I became; my butcher saw my em-
barrassment, he simply laughed at it. ‘“ Place her,
“ Zephire, ” said M. de Gernande to the other young
man; and this child, coming up to me, said to me in
smiling: — “ Be not afraid, Miss, this can only do you
“ the greatest good. Place yourself so.” The ques-
tion was to be slightly propped upon the knees, at the
side of stool laid in the middle of the room, the arms sus-

‘tained by two black ribbons attached to the ceiling.

I am hardly in position, when the Count approaches
me, lancet in hand: he scarcely breathed, his eyes were
sparkling, his figure caused fear; he ties both my arms,
and in less than the twinkling of an eye he pricks the
both. He heaves a yell escorted by two or three blas-
phemes, as soon as he beholds the blood; he goes and sits
down six feet away, opposite tome. ‘The light gown with
which he is covered is soon spread out; Zephire goes on
his knees between his legs, he sucks him; and Narcisse,
with both his feet upon his master’s arm-chair, presents
to him the same object for sucking as he himself offers
to the other to be pumped. Gernande grasps Zephire’s
groins, he squeezes him, he presses him against himself,
but left him nevertheless to cast his burning eyes upon
— 236 —

me. Still my blood escaped in floods, and fell again into
two white bowls placed under my arms. I soon felt my-
self growing weak: — “ Sir! Sir! ” I shouted; “ have
“ pity on me, I am fainting. ” And I staggered; being
stopped by the ribbons, I could not fall; but my arms
faltering, and my head floating upon my shoulders, my
face was besmeared with blood. The Count was in
drunkenness... I did not however see the end of his
operation, I swooned before he got to the end; perhaps
he was only to attain it cn beholding me in this state,
perhaps his supreme ecstasy depended on this image of
death? Be that as it may, when I recovered my senses,
I found myself in an excellent bed, and a pair of old
women near me. As soon as they saw my eyes open,
they presented me broth, and every three hours exquisite
pottages until the third day. By this time, M. de Ger-
nande had me told to get up, and come and speak with
him in the same drawing-room where he had received
me on my arrival. I was led into it: I was still some-
what weak, but, however, pretty well; I arrived.

“ ‘Therese, ” says the Count to me, on making me sit
down, “ I shall seldom renew such experiments on you,
“ your person is useful to me for other objects; but it
was essential that I should make you acquainted with
my tastes, and the way in which you shall one day
end in my house, should you betray me, should you
unfortunately let yourself be suborned by the woman
near whom you are going to be placed.

“ This woman is mine, Therese, and this title is un-
doubtedly the most fatal she can have, since it obliges
her to lend herself to the whimsical passion of which
you have just been the victim. Do not fancy I treat
her thus through vengeance, contempt, through any
feeling of hatred; it is the mere history of the passions.

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— 237 —

Nothing equals the pleasure I feel in shedding her
blood... I am intoxicated when it is flowing; I have
never enjoyed this woman in any other way. It is
three years ago since I espoused her, and since she ex-
actly undergoes every four days th treatment which
you have experienced. Her blooming youth (she is
not twenty), the particular cares taken of her, all this
sustains her; and as reparations are being made in her
by reason of what she is forced to lose, she has been
pretty well ever since. With a similar subjection you
are perfectly aware that I can neither let her out, nor
allow her to see anybody. I therefore pass her off as
mad, and her mother, the only relation she has left,
living in her castle six leagues from here, is so con-
vinced of it, that she dares not even come to see her.
The Countess very often craves her forgivness, there is
nothing she would not do to soften me; but she will
never succeed in it. My lust has dictated her sentence,
it is immutable, she will go on in this way as long as
she can: she shall want for nothing during her life-
time, and as I like to waste her away, I shall sustain
her as long as possible; when she can hold out no
longer, God speed her! She is my fourth; I shall
shortly have a fifth, nothing troubles me less than a
woman’s lot; there are so many of them in the world,
and it is so sweet to change them!

“ Be this as it may, Therese, your office is to care
for her: she loses regularly two porringers of blood
every four days, she no longer swoons now; habit lenc

‘ her force, her faintness lasts twenty-four hours, she is

all-right the other three days. But you easily under-
stand this life displeasés her; there is nothing she
would not do to be released from it, nothing she would
not undertake to make known her true state to her
— 238 —

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mother. She has already corrupted two of her women,
whose manoeuvres were discovered time enough to put
“ an end to their success; she has been the cause of those
two unfortunate women’s deaths, she repents of it
today, and recognizing the constancy of her fate, she
“ accepts her lot, and promises to no further try to
‘ seduce the persons with whom I shall surround her.
But this secret, what becomes of one if I am betrayed,
all this, Therese, obliges me to place near her only
‘ persons taken away by force as you have been, in
order to avoid thereby lawsuits. Not having taken
you at anybody’s house, not having to render an ac-
count of you to whomsoever, I am moreover in a
position to punish you, should you deserve it, in a
manner which, although it should take away your life,
could not however bring on me either researches, or
any troublesome affairs. Henceforth, you are there-
fore no longer of this world, since you may disappear
from it at the slightest act of my will: such is your lot,
my child, you see; happy if you conduct yourself well,
dead if you sought to betray me. In any other case,
I should ask you for your answer: I have no need of
it in the situation you are; I hold you, you must
obey me, Therese... Let us go in to my wife. ”

Having nothing to object to so distinct a conversation,
I followed my master. We passed through a long gallery,
as dark, as lonely as the rest of this castle; a door opens,
we enter an ante-chamber where I behold the two old
women who had waited upon me during my swoon. They
rose and introduced us into a superb apartment, where we
found the unhappy Countess embroidering at the frame
upon a long chair; she stood up when she beheld her
husband: — “ Be seated, ” the Count says to her, “ I
“ allow you to listen to me so. There is at last a

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— 239 —
“ chamber-maid I have found for you, Madam, ” he
continued; “ I hope you will remember the fate which
““ you have caused the others to experience, and that you
“ will not try to hurl this one into the same misfortunes.
‘“‘ — That would be needless, ” said I then, full of
eagerness to wait upon this unfortunate lady, and want-
ing to cloak my intentions; “ yes, Madam, I dare certify
“ in your presence, this would be needless, you shall not
say a word to me that I do not directly relate to your
spouse, and indeed I shall not risk my life in order to
serve you. — I shall undertake nothing that may
“ place you in this exigency, Miss, ” said this poor
woman, who did not yet comprehend the motives which
caused me to speak thus; “ be not uneasy: I require
“only your cares. — They will be wholly yours.
“ Madam, ” I replied, “ but nothing further. ” And
the Count, delighted with me, shook my hand in whisper-
ing in my ear: — “ Good, Therese, thy fortune is made,
“ if thou behavest as thou sayest. ” ‘Then the Count
showed me my room adjacent to that of the Countess,
and he made me observe that the whole of this apartment,
closed in by excellent doors, and encompassed by double
gratings at all its openings, left no hope of escape.
“ There is a terrace-walk, ” continued M. de Gernande,
on leading me into a little garden which was on a level
with this apartment, “ but its height does not give you,
“ T think, a mind to measure its walls; the Countess may
“ come here and breathe the fresh air as much as she
“ likes, you will keep her company..... farewell. ”

I returned to my mistress, and as we examined each
other at first without speaking, I understood her well
enough on this first moment to be able to describe her
to you.

Madam de Gernande, nineteen and a half years old,

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was of the finest, the noblest, the most majestic size it
was possible to behold; not one of her gests, not one
of her movements but was a grace, not one of her looks
but was a sentiment. Her eyes were of the prettiest
jet, although she was fair; nothing equalled their ex-
pression, but a sort of langor, the sequel of her mis-
fortunes, in tempering their brightness rendered them
a thousand times more engaging; her skin was very
white, and the loveliest hair, a very small mouth, too
much so perhaps, I should have been little surprised that
one would have found this defect in her. It was a
pretty rose not sufficiently blown: but the teeth of a
freshness..... the lips of a carnation! ..... one would
have said that Love had colored her with tints borrow-
ed from the Goddess of flowers. Her nose was aquiline,
narrow, close at the bridge, and crowned by a pair of
ebony eye-brows; the chin truly handsome; in a word,
a face of the most beautiful oval, over the whole of which
there reigned a kind of charm, simplicity, frankness,
which would have much rather caused this bewitching
figure to be taken for an Angel, than for the physiognomy
of a mortal. Her arms, breast, buttocks were of a
‘glow..... of a roundness formed to serve artists as a
model; a light and black moss covered the temple of
Venus, sustained by two moulded thighs; and what
astonished me, in spite of the slenderness of the
Countess’s waist, in spite of her misfortunes, nothing
altered her stoutness: her round and plump buttocks
were as fleshy, fat, solid, as if her waist had been stouter
and she always lived in the bosom of happiness. ‘There
were however on all this frightful marks of her spouse’s
libertinism, but, I repeat, nothing altered..... the image
of a beautiful lily in which the bee has made some stains.
To so many gifts, Madam de Gernande joined a mild
=I =

character, a romantic and tender mind, a heart of sensi-
bility! ..... instructed talents..... a natural art for
seduction against which there could only be her infamous
spouse who was able to resist, a charming accent and
very much piety: such was the unhappy wife of the
Count de Gernande, she was the angelical creature against
whom he had plotted; it seemed the more things she in-
spired, the more she inflamed his ferocity, and the abund-
ance of the gifts she had received from Nature, merely
became further motives for this rascal’s cruelties.

“On what day were you bled, Madam? ” I asked her,
in order to let her see that I was acquainted with every-

thing.

— “ Three days ago, ” she says to me, “ and it is to-
“ morrow..... ” then, with a sigh, “‘ yes tomorrow.....
“ Miss, tomorrow. .... you shall be witness of this fine

scene. —- And you do not grow weak? — Oh! good
“ Heavens! I am not twenty, and I am sure one is not
“ weaker at seventy. But that will end, I flatter myself;
“ it is wholly impossible that I live long thus; I shall
“ go and find my father, I shall go and seek in the arms
“ of the Supreme Being a repose which men have so
“ cruelly rdfused me in ithe world.” ‘These words
burst my heart; wishing to uphold my character, I con-
cealed my pain, but I clearly promised myself inwardly,
from that moment, to rather lose a thousand times my
life, if it was necessary, than not to tear from misfortune
this unhappy victim of a monster’s debauchery.

It was the time of the Countess’s dinner. The two
old women came to advise me to get her into her cabinet:
I told her about it; she was used to all that. She walked
out immediately, and the two old women informed me
that they would not stir from the antechamber in order
to be within reach of receiving Madam’s orders about
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everything she might desire. I told the Countess, she
seated herself, and invited me to do the same with a look
of friendship, kindness, which achieved the gaining over
of my soul. ‘There were at least twenty dishes upon the
table.

“ With respect to this portion, you see they take care

“ of me, Miss, ” she says to me. — “ Yes, Madam, ”
I answer, “ and I know that the Count’s good will is
“ that you may want for nothing. — Oh! yes, but as
the motives of these attentions are only cruelties, they
little concern me.
Madam de Gernande, exhausted, and sharply urged
by Nature to perpetual reparations, ate very much. She
desired partridges and a young duck from Rouen, which
were at once brought to her. After meal, she went to
take an airing on the terrace, but in tending me her hand:
it would have been possible for her to go ten paces with-
out this help. It was during this time she let me see all
the parts of her body which I have just described to you;
she showed me her arms, they were covered with scars. —
““ Ah! he does not stop there, ” she says to me; “ there
“ is not a spot of my unhappy person from which he is
“ not pleased to see the blood flow. “ And she let me
see her feet, neck, the pit of her stomach and several
other fleshy places likewise covered with scars. I confined
myself the first day to a few slight complaints, and we
retired to bed.

The following day was the Countess’s fatal day. Mis-
ter de Gernande, who set about this operation only on
coming out from dinner, always taken before his wife’s,
had told me to come and sit down at the table with him;
and it was there, Madam, that I witnessed this ogre
operating in so frightful a manner, that I had, in spite
of my eyes, difficulty in conceiving it. Four valets,

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among whom were the two who had led me to the castle,
were serving up this wonderful repast. It is worth giving
an account of: I am going to do so without exaggeration;
they had certainly put nothing extra for me. What I
therefore saw was every day’s story.

Two pottages were served up, the one of paste and
saffron, the other a bisk with ham-dripping; in the middle
a short rib of beef in the English fashion, eight side-dishes,
five courses of coarse meats, five mock and lighter coarses,
a wild boar’s head in the middle of eight dishes of roast
meats, which they took away in order to serve up two
courses of dainty dishes, and sixteen dishes of fruit; ices,
six kinds of wine, four sorts of liquor and coffee. Mister
de Gernande began with all the dishes, hé left some of
them wholly bare; he drank twelve bottles of wine, four
of Burgondy on commencing, four of Champagne at the
roast meats; the Tokai, Mulseau, Hermitage and Madera
were swallowed down at the fruit. He finished by two
of liquor from the Islands and ten cups of coffee.

As fresh on stepping out from the table as if he had
just woke up, Mister de Gernande says to me: — “ Let
“us go and bleed thy mistress; thou wilt tell me, I pray
“ thee, whether I am going about it as well with her as
“ with thee. ‘‘ Two young boys whom I had not yet seen,
of the same age as the former ones, were waiting for us
at the door of the Countess’s apartment; it was there the
Count informed me he had twelve of them whom they
changed for him every year. ‘These appeared to me still
handsomer than any of those I had previously seen: they
were less extenuated than the others. We entered.....
All the ceremonies of which I am going to give you an
account here, Madam, were those required by the Count:
they were regularly observed every day, nothing was
changed in them at most except the bleeding places.
a 944 2

The Countess, simply surrounded by a floating muslin
gown, went upon her knees as soon as the Count came in.
— “ Are you ready? ” her spouse asked her. — “ For
“ everything, Sir, ” she humbly answered; “ you know
“ very well I am your victim, and it depends but on
“ yourself to command. ” ‘Then M. de Gernande bade
me undress his wife and lead her to him. Whatever re-
luctancy I felt at all these horrors, you know, Madam, I
had no other side than the most entire resignation.

Never look upon me, I do not conjure you, except as
a bondswoman in all I have related, and all that remains
for me to tell you: I only lent myself when I could not
do otherwise, but I acted not of my own free will in
anything whatsoever.

I therefore lifted up the simar to my mistress, and led
her naked to her husband, already seated in a large arm-
chair. Fully acquainted with the ceremony, she stood
upon this arm-chair, and went of her own accord to
present him that favorite spot to be kissed, which he had
so much feasted on with me, and which appeared to me
to equally affect him with all beings and_ sexes.
— “Spread out then, Madam, ” the Count brutally
says to her... and he feasted a long while on what he
desired. to see, causing different positions to be succes-
sively taken. He opened a little, he squeezed; with the
end of his finger, or the tip of his tongue, he tickled the
narrow orifice; and soon, carried away by the ferocity
of his passions, he took a piece of flesh, pressed and
scratched it. Accordingly as the slight wound was made,
his mouth was at once brought to bear upon it. During
these: cruel preliminaries, I was holding his unhappy
victim, and the two young boys stark naked relieved
each other near him;- on their knees, each in his turn be-
tween his legs, they made use of their mouths in order to
=i PAY 2

excite him. It was then I saw, not without strange sur-
prise, that this giant, these species of monster, whose
aspect alone frightened, was, however, hardly a man;
the slenderest, the feeblest fleshy excrescence, or, that
the comparison may be more correct, what one would be-
hold with a three-years old child, was at most what one
noticed with this fellow so huge and corpulent every
place else; but his sensations were not less quick on this
account, and every vibration of pleasure was a spasmodic
attack in him. After this first performance, he stretched
himself upon the sofa and desired that his wife, astraddle
on him, should continue to have her backside laid upon
his face, while with her mouth she should render him, by
means of sucking, the same services as he had just re-
ceived from the young Ganymedes, whom he excited
right and left with his hands; during the while mine were
at work upon his backside‘ I was tickling him, I polluted
him in all directions. This posture, being kept for more
than a quarter of an hour, produced nothing as yet, it
had to be changed: I stretched the Countess, by order
of her husband, upon a long chair, couched on her back,
her thighs as far asunder as possible. The sight of what
she then opened a little set the Count into a sort of
madness; he gazes upon... his looks flash fire, he blas-
phemes; he casts himself like a fury upon his wife,
pricks her with his lancet in five or six parts of her body;
but all these sores were light, one or two drops of blood
hardly issued from them. These first cruelties at last
ceased to make room for others. The Count sat down
again, he lets his wife breathe an instant; and busying
himself with his two minions, he obliged them to suck
each other mutually, or else he arranged them in such
a way that while he was sucking one of them, the other
was sucking him, and that the one he was sucking went
== 246 —

from his mouth to render the same service to him by
whom he was sucked: the Count received a great deal,
but gave nothing. His satiety, impotency were such,
that the greatest efforts did not succeed in drawing him
out of his numbness: he appeared to feel very violent
titillations, but nothing showed itself; he sometimes
ordered me to suck myself his Wantons; and come directly
to give back into his mouth the incense I should gather.
At last he sets them one after the other towards the un-
lucky Countess. ‘These young men approach her, they
insult her; and the more they molest her, so much the
more are they praised, encouraged by the Count.
Gernande then busied himself with me; I was before
him, my groins on a level with his face, and he rendered
homage to his God; but he did not touch me; I know not
why he did not annoy his Ganymedes, either, he had
simply a design upon the Countess alone. Perhaps the
honor of being his became a title for being ill-used by him;
perhaps he was only really moved by cruelty on account
of the ties which lent force to outrages. One may sup-
pose everything in such heads, nearly always bet that
what will look most a crime, will be what will inflame
them the more. He places us at last, his young men and
me, at the sides of his wife, mixed up all together: here a
man, there a woman, and all four present the backside to
him; he examines at first in front somewhat in the dis-
tance, then he closes up, he feels, he compares, he
caresses; the young men and I had nothing to suffer, but
every time he came to his wife, he used to plague, vex
her in one way or another. The scene changes again: he
gets the Countess put on her belly upon a sofa, and
taking each of the young men one after the other, he
introduces them himself into the narrow route offered by
Madam de Gernande’s posture: he allows them to warm
SS gape

themselves in it, but it is only within his mouth that the
sacrifice is to be consummated; he sucks them likewise
accordingly as they come out. While the one is acting,
he gets himself sucked by the other, and his tongue
wanders to the throne of voluptuousness which the agent
presents to him. This act is a long one, the Count is
annoyed at it, he stands up and wants me to replace the
Countess; I beseech him not to request it, there is no
speaking to him. He places his wife upon her back along
the sofa, gets me stuck upon her, my loins turned towards
him, and there, he orders his minions to sound me
through the forbidden route: he presents them to me,
they are introduced merely guided by his hands; I must
then excite the Countess with my fingers, and kiss her on
the mouth. For him, his offering is the same; as each
of his minions can only act in showing one of the sweetest
objects of his worship, he profits by it as best he can,
and as with the Countess, it is necessary that he who is
boring me, after a few going backwards and forwards,
proceed to make the incense kindled for me flow into his
mouth. When the young men have done, he sticks him-
self upon my loins, and seemingly wishes to make amends
for them. — ‘* Superfluous efforts! ” he cries... “ that
“ is not what I want! ... to the business! ... however
“ pitiful my state appears... I can’t resist any longer...
“ Come, Countess, your arms, ” He then seizes her
with ferocity, he places her as he had done with me, her
arms supported with two black ribbons from the ceiling.
I am entrusted with the care of laying on the bands; he
inspects the bindings: not finding them tight enough, he
squeezes them, in order, said he, that the blood may
rush more forcibly out: he feels the veins, and pricks
them both almost at the same time. The blood juts
very far: he falls into an ecstasy; and, returning to
B94

place himself in front, while these two fountains are
flowing, he makes me go on my knees between his legs,
to suck him; he gets each of his Wantons to do as much,
by turns, without ceasing to carry his eyes upon these two
spouts of blood which are inflaming him. As for me,
being sure that the moment the crisis he is expecting will
take place, will be the time of the ceasing of the
Countess’s tortures, I exert all my cares to bring on this
crisis, and I become, as you see, Madam, a _ harlot
through beneficence, and a libertine through virtue. This
so expected an issue comes on at last; I knew neither its
dangers nor violence: the last time it had taken place, I
was in a swoon... Oh! Madam, what erring! Ger-
nande was nearly ten minutes in the delirium, in strug-
gling with himself, like a man who falls from epilepsy,
and heaving cries which would have been heard a league
away; his oaths were awful, and, striking all that sur-
rounded him, he made frightful efforts. The two min-
ions are upset; he wants to rush upon his wife, I hold
him back; I finish pumping him, the need he has of me
causes him to respect me; I at last bring him back to his
senses, by freeing him of that burning fluid of which the
heat, thickness and especially the abundance put him in
such a state of madness, that I thought he was going to
die, seven or eight spoons would have scarcely held the
dose, and the thickest pap would badly represent its con-
sistence; with that no erection, the very look of ex-
haustion: these are some of those contrarieties which per-
sons of the art will explain better than I. The Count
used to eat excessively, and wasted thus only every time
he was wont to bleed his wife, viz., every fourth day.
Was that the cause of this phenomenon? I know not,
and not venturing to give a reason for what I do under-
stand, I shall content myself with telling what I have
seen.
= 109 =

However I fly to the Countess, I stop her blood, I un-
tie her and place her upon a sofa in a very weak state;
but the Count, without troubling himself, without vouch-
safing to cast even a glance on this unhappy victim of his
rage, walks out hastily with his minions, leaving me to
put everything in order as I please. Such is the fatal in-
difference which marks, better than anything else, the soul
of a true libertine: is he simply carried off by the heat
of his passions? remorse will be depicted upon his face,
when he calmly sees the direful effects of delirium; is his
soul wholly corrupted? such consequences will not frighten
him; he will consider them without pain as without regret,
nay more with emotions of the infamous voluptuousness
which produced them.

I made Madam de Gernande lie down. She had, ac-
cording to what she told me, lost a good deal more this
time than usual; but so much care, so many restoratives
were lavished upon her, that nothing further appeared
next day. On the same evening, as soon as I had noth-
ing more to do with the Countess, Gernande sent me word
to come and speak to him. He was at supper; at this
meal, taken by him with still far greater intemperance
than the dinner, I had to wait upon him; four of his
minions sat down at the table with him, and there, the
libertine drank, regularly every evening, even to intoxi-
cation; but twenty bottles of the most excellent wines
barely sufficed to succeed in it, and I often saw him emp-
ty thirty of them. Supported by his minions, the de-
bauched rascal was wont to go afterwards to bed every
evening with two of them. But he used to put nothing
of his own in, and all this was no more than vehicles
which prepared him for the great scene.

Yet I had discovered the secret of getting myself, as
much as possible, in this man’s favor: he of course ac-
— 250 —

knowledged that few women had pleased him so much.
Hence I acquired rights to his trust, of which I took ad-
vantage only to serve my mistress.

One morning, as Gernande had called me into his
closet to inform me about some fresh schemes of liber-
tinism, after having listened very attentively to him,
loudly applauded, I wished, seeing him pretty calm, to
try and soften him on his unlucky wife’s fate: “ Is it
“ possible, Sir, said I to him, that one could treat a
““ woman in this manner, independent of all her ties with
“you? Vouchsafe therefore to reflect on the moving
‘* charms of her sex. ”

— “Oh! Therese! with judgment, ” the Count
answered me, “ is it possible to cite to me for reasons
“of quietness, those which positively annoy me best?
“« Listen to me, dear girl, ” he went on while placing me
near him, “ and whatever be the invectives which thou
“ art about to hear me uttering against thy sex, no
anger; reasons, I shall give in to them, if they are
good.

“ By what right, I pray thee, dost thou pretend,
Therese, that a husband is obliged to form the hap-
piness of his wife? and what titles dares this wife quote
in order to exact it from her husband? The necessity
of rendering themselves mutually such, can only law-
fully exist between two beings alike provided with the
faculty of hurting each other, and consequently between
two beings of one and the same force: such an associa-
tion could not take place, unless a pact be
at once formed between these two being to
perform, each in respect to the other, only
“the sort of use of their strength as may
injure neither of the two; but this ridiculous conven-
tion could not certainly exist between the strong one

ce

¢
— 251 —

and the weak one. By what right will this latter exact
that the former should spare him? and by what stu-
pidity would the former bind himself to it? I may
agree not to make use of my forces with him who may
cause himself to be feared by his own; but through
what motive should I lessen their effects with the
being that Nature renders subservient to me? You
will answer me: for pity-sake? This feeling is only
compatible with the being who resembles me, and as
it is a selfish one, its effect but takes place on the tacit
conditions that the individual who will inspire me with
compassion, will have of it likewise concerning me; but
if I constantly prevail over him by my superiority, his
commiseration becoming needless to me, I ought never,
in order to have it, consent to any sacrifice. Should I
not be a ninny to take pity on the chicken which is
slaughtered for my dinner? ‘That individual too far
below me, deprived of no relation with me, can never
inspire me with any feeling; now, the relations of the
wife with the husband are not of a consequence differ-
ent from that of the chicken with me; both are house-
hold beasts of which we must make use, which must
be employed to the purpose indicated by Nature, with-
out distinguishing them in whatsoever. But, I ask,
if the intention of Nature was that your sex should be
created for the happiness of ours, and vice versa, would
this blind Nature have made so many silly things in
the construction of both of these sexes? Would she
have lent them mutually such serious wrongs, that es-
trangement and mutual antipathy must infallibly re-

‘ sult therefrom? Without going farther to seek ex-

amples, with the organization which thou knowest I
have, tell me, I pray thee Therese, what woman is there
I could make happy, and vice versa what man can find
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— 252 —

the enjoyment of a woman sweet, when he is not sup-
plied with huge proportions necessary for satisfying
her? Will these be, in thy opinion, the moral qualities
which will make amends for physical defects? And
what rational being, on thoroughly knowing a woman,
will not cry out with Euripides: He who of the Gods
has placed woman in the world, may boast of having,
produced the worst of all creatures, and the most
troublesome for man? If it is therefore proved that
two sexes do not at all mutually suit each other, and
that there is not a grounded complaint, made by the
one, but directly suits the other, it is therefore false,
henceforth, that Nature created them for their recipro-
cal happiness. She may have permitted them the de-
sire of drawing nearer each other to concur in the aim
of propagation, but nowise that of purposely binding
themselves to find their happiness in each other. ‘The
weaker, having therefore no title to claim in order to
obtain pity from the stronger, being no longer able to
object to him that he can find his happiness in him,
has no other side but submission; and as, notwith-
standing the difficulty of this natural happiness, it is
in the individuals of both sexes to work only to pro-
cure it for themselves, the weakest one ought to unite
in himself, through this submission, the sole dose of
felicity possible for him to reap, and the strongest one
ought to work at his own, by such a way of oppression

‘ as he chooses to adopt, since it is proved that the very

happiness of force is in the exercise of the faculties of
the strong, viz., in the most complete oppression. Thus,
this happiness which the two sexes can not find with
one another, they will find it, the one by his blind obed-
ience, the other by the most thorough energy of his
sway. Ah! if it was not the intention of Nature that
— 253 —

one of these sexes should tyrannize over the other,
would she not have created them of an equal force?
In making the one inferior to the other in every respect,
has she not sufficiently indicated that her will was the
strongest one should use the rights she gave him? The
more the latter extends his authority, the more un-
happy he renders, thereby, the woman, bound to his
destiny and the better he discharges the vows of Na-
ture; it is not on the complaints of the feeble being
the process must be judged; such judgements could
only be vicious, since you would borrow, while forming
them, merely ideas from the feeble: the action must be
judged on the power of the strong, on the extent he has

* given to his power, and when the effects of this force

are extended to a woman, then examine what a woman
is, the way in which this despicable sex has been
viewed be it in antiquity, be it nowadays, by three
fourths of the Nations upon the Earth.

““ Now, what do I behold in proceeding coolly to this
examination? A mean creature, ever inferior to man,
infinitely less than he, less ingenious, less wise, consti-
tuted in a disgusting manner, wholly opposed to what
can please man, to what can delight him... a sickly
being three fourth of her lifetime, unable to satisfy
her husband every time that Nature forces her to child-
bearing, of a sour, peevish, haughty mood; a tyrant,
if she is entrusted with rights, low and crouching if she
is captivated; but ever false, ever wicked, ever danger-
ous; finally, so perverse a creature, that it was very
seriously controverted in the Council of Macon, during
several sittings, whether this strange individual, as
distinct from man as is the monkey of the woods,
could pretend to the title of human creature, and

‘ whether it could be reasonably accorded to her. But
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would this be an error of the century, and is woman
better viewed in preceding ones? Used the Persians,
* Medes, Babylonians, Greeks, Romans honor this hate-
ful sex of which we form our ideal nowadays? Alas!
I see it crushed everywhere, everywhere rigorously re-
moved from affairs, everywhere despised, scorned,
locked up; in short, women everywhere treated like
beasts of which people make use in the hour of need,
and which are directly put back in the fold. Stop I
a moment in Rome, I hear the Sage Cato crying out
to me from the midst of the ancient Capital of the
world: If men were without women, they would still
converse with the Gods. I hear a Roman Censor be-
ginning his harangue by these words: Gentlemen, if it
were possible for us to live without women, we should
henceforth know true happiness. I hear the poets
singing in the theatres of Greece: O Jupiter! what
reason could oblige thee to create women? Couldst
thou not bestow being on men by better, wiser ways, in
fine, by means which would have spared us the plague
of women? I behold these same Nations, the Greeks,
holding this sex in such contempt, that laws are neces-
sary to compel a Spartiate to propagation, and that
one of the punishments of those wise Republics is to
force a felon to dress in woman’s attire, namely, to
dress himself like the vilest and most contemptible be-
ing that they know.

“ But without going to look for examples in centuries
so far back from us, with what an eye is this unlucky
sex viewed even still over the surface of the globe?
How is it dealt with here? TI see it, shut in through-
out the whole of Asia, serving there in slavery the bar-
barous whims of despot who teases, torments it, and
who makes himself a play of its sufferings. In Amer-
— 255 —

ica, I see nations naturally humane, the Eskimaux, us-
ing among men all possible acts of benevolence, and
treating the women with all imaginable roughness; I
behold them humilitated, prostituted to foreigners in
one port of the Universe, serving as money in another.
In Africa, being undoubtedly far more abased, I behold
them performing the office of beasts of burden, plough-
ing the earth, sowing it, and waiting on their husbands
only upon their knees. Shall I follow Captain Cook
throughout his fresh discoveries? Will the charming
Isle of Otaiti, where pregnancy is a crime which some-
times costs the mother’s death, and nearly always the
child’s offer me happier women? In other Islands dis-

* covered by this same seaman,, I behold them beaten,

tormented by their own children, and the husband him-
self joining in with his family to torture them more
rigorously.

“ Qh! Therese! be not amazed at all this, be not sur-

‘ prised either at the general right which husbands had,
* in all times, over their wives: the nearer Nations are to

Nature, the better they observe her laws; the wife can
have no other relations with her husband than that of
the slave with his master; she decidedly has no right
to pretend to dearer titles. You must not confound
with rights, ridiculous abuses, which while debasing
our sex, raised yours for an instant: it is necessary to
seek the cause of those abuses, to name it, and return
from it only the more steadfastly after, to the wise
counsels of reason. Now here it is, Therese, that
cause of momentary respect which your sex obtained
formerly, and which still abuses nowadays, without
their suspecting it, those who prolong this respect.

“ Among the Galls of old, namely, in this sole part of
the world which did not wholly treat the women as
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“

— 256 —

slaves, they were in the habit of prophesying, telling
fortunes. ‘The people imagined that they succeeded in
this craft simply by reason of the close traffic they un-
doubtedly had with the Gods; hence they were so to
say affiliated to the priesthood, had enjoyed a part of
the consideration attached to priests. Knighthood was
established in France upon these prejudices, and, find-
ing them favorable to its spirit, it adopted them; but

it was with this as with everything: the causes died

out and the effects were handed down; Knighthood
disappeared, and the prejudices it had fondly in-
creased. ‘This ancient respect granted to airy titles,
could not be even done away with, when that which
founded these titles vanished: witches were no longer
respected, but whores were venerated; and what was
worse, people continued to slaughter one another for
them. Let such nonsence cease to have an influence
over the mind of philosophers, and putting the women
back in their true place, let them behold in them, as
Nature indicates, as the wisest Nations admit, mere
individuals created for their pleasures, subjected to
their caprices, whose weakness and wickedness should
deserve from them only contempt!

But, Therese, not only all the Nations of the earth
enjoyed the most expansive rights over their women,
there were even some which doomed them to death
as soon as they came into the world, absolutely con-
serving merely the small number requisite for the
reproduction of the species. ‘The Arabs, known under
the name of Koreihs, used to bury their daughters from
the seventh year, upon a mountain near Mecca, be-
cause so vile a sex appeared to them, they were wont
to say, unworthy of beholding the light of day. In the
seraglio of the King of Achem, for the mere suspicion
— 257 —

of infidelity, for the slightest disobedience in the ser-
vice of the Prince’s voluptuousnesses, or as soon as ever
they inspire disgust, the most frightful tortures in-
stantly await them as punishment. On the banks of
the Ganges, they are compelled to immolate themselves
over the ashes of their spouss, as being use-

‘less in the world, since their masters can no

longer enjoy them. Elsewhere they are hunted
like wild beasts, it is an honor to simply
kill a great many of them; in Egypt they are
immolated to the Gods; at Formosa they are trampled
under foot, if they become pregnant. The German
laws used to condemn only to a fine of ten crown-
pieces the one who killed a strange woman, nothing if
she was his wife, or a courtesan. Everywhere in fine,
I repeat, everywhere I behold the women humiliated,
molested, everywhere sacrificed to priest’s superstition,
to husbands’ barbarity, or to the caprices of libertines.
And because I have the bad luck to live among a
people still clownish enough as not to dare abolish
the most ridiculous of prejudices, I would deprive my-
self of the rights which Nature grants me over this sex!

“ I would resign all the pleasures which spring from

these rights! ... No, no, Therese, that is not fair: I
shall hide my behaviour since it is necessary, but I
shall make amends in silence, in the retreat I exile my-
self in, for the absurd chains to which the law con-
demns me, and there, I shall treat my wife as I think
fit, as I find the right thereof in all the codes of the
Universe, in my heart and in Nature. ”

— “Oh! Sir, ” I said to him, “ your conversion is

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impossible. — Indeed I advise thee not to undertake
it, Therese, ”’ Gernande answered me; “the tree is too
old to be bent; one may take at my age a few paces
— 258 —

more in the career of evil, but not a single one in that
of good. My principles and tastes formed my hap-
piness since my childhood, they were always thé sole
basis of my conduct and actions: perhaps I shall go
farther, I feel it is possible, but to return, no; I have
too much horror for men’s prejudices, I hate their civil-
isation, their virtues and their Gods too sincerely, to
ever sacrifice my proclivities for them. ”

For this moment I clearly saw I had no other side
to espouse, whether to get myself out of this house or
to free the Countess, except to use craft, and concert
with her.

For the year that I was in her house, I had let her read
too well in my heart not to be convinced of the desire I
had of serving her, and not to guess what had caused me
consented. We agreed upon our plans: the question was
at first to act differently. I let her into the secret, she
to instruct her mother, to open her eyes concerning the
infamies of the Count. Madam de Gernande doubted
not but this unfortunate Lady would at once run to
break her daughter’s chains; but how come about it?
We were so well locked in, so well kept within sight!
Accustomed to clear forts, I surveyed those of the ter-
race: they were hardly thirty feet; no enclosure ap-
peared to my eyes, I thought that once at the bottom of
these walls I would be on the way to the wood; but the
Countess, having come by night to this apartment, and
having never gone out of it, could not test my ideas. I
consented to try scaling. Madam de Gernande wrote
to her mother the best calculated letter in the world to
affect and determine her to come to the help of so un-
happy a daughter; I put the letter into my bosom, I em-
braced this dear and interesting woman; then, aided by
our sheets, as soon as it was night, I let myself slip down
— 259 —

to the foot of this fortress. What became of me, O
Heavens! when I recognized that very much was wanted
before I could be outside the enclosure! I was only in
the park, and in a park surrounded by walls the sight of
which had been hidden from me by the density and quan-
tity of the trees: these walls were more than forty feet
high, all protectd by glass on the top, and of wonderful
breadth. .... What was going to become of me? The
day was ready to dawn: what would people think of me
in seeing me in this place where I could only be with the
certain scheme of escape? Could I free myself from the
Count’s fury? What appearance was there that this
ogre would not drink my blood plentifully in order to
punish me for such a fault? To return was impossible,
the Countess had drawn in the sheets; to knock at the
doors was to betray myself still more securely. A little
more then and my head had been totally deranged, and
I had violently yielded to the effects of my despair. Had
I known any pity in the Count’s soul, hope perhaps would
have for an instant deceived me; but a tyrant, a barbar-
ian, a man who detested women, and who, he said, was on
the lookout this long while for an opportunity of im-
molating one, by causing her to lose her blood drop by
drop, in order to see how many hours she could live
thus! ..... I was going most certainly to serve as a
proof. Not knowing therefore what was to become of
me, meeting with perils everywhere, I cast myself at the
foot of a tree, bent on awaiting my fate, and resigning
myself in silence to the will of the Eternal..... The
day dawned at last; good Heavens! the first object that
presents itself to me..... is the Count in person: it was
excessively warm during the night; he had gone out for
an airing. H thinks he is mistaken, he believes he be-
holds a ghost, he draws back: courage is seldom the
— 260 —

virtue of traitors. I rise trembling, I throw myself at
his knees. “ What are you doing there, Therese? ”
he says to me. — “ Oh! Sir, punish me, ” I replied, “ I
“ am guilty, and have nothing to answer. ” Unluckily
I had forgotten in my fright to tear the letter of the
Countess: he conjectures it, he requests it of me, I am
willing to deny; but Gernande, beholding this fatal letter
peering under the kerchief upon my breast, snatches it,
reads it over hastily and greedily, and bids me follow
him.

We go back into the castle by a hidden stairs land-
ing under the vaults: dead silence still reigned there.
After a few windings, the Count opens a dungeon, and
throws me into it. — “ Unwise girl, ” he then says to
me, “ I had advised you that the crime you have just
“committed was here punished by death: get ready
“ therefore to undergo the chastisement which you have
“been pleased to incur. On coming out from the table
tomorrow, I will be here to dispatch you. ” I rushed
anew to his knees, but seizing me by the hair, he drags
me along the ground, makes me take thus two or three
rounds of my prison, and ends by dashing me against the
walls so as to crush me thereby — “ Thou wouldst de-
“ serve thy four veins to be instantly opened, ” he says
on shutting the door, “ and if I delay thy torture, be
“ thoroughly certain that it is only to make it the more
“ horrible. ”

He is without, and I in the most violent agitation. I
do not describe the night I passed: the torments of the
imagination, joined to the physical ills which this mon-
sters first cruelties had just caused me to feel, rendered
it one of the most dreadful in my life. One does not
imagine the anguishes of an ill-fated being who at every
hour is awaiting his execution, whose hope is removed,
— 261 —

and who knows not whether the minute he breathes will
not be the last of his days. Uncertain of his torture, he
represents it to himself under a thousand forms the one
more ghastly than the other; the slightest noise he hears
seems to him to be that of his executioners; his blood
curdles, his heart dies within him, and the sword which is
about to end his days is less cruel than those direful
moments when death is menacing him.

It is very likely the Count began by avenging himself
on his wife; the event which saved is about to convince
you of it as me. I was thirty-six hours in the crisis I
have just told you of, without anyone’s bringing me
relief, when the door opened and the Count put in an
appearance. He was alone, wrath sparkled in his eyes.
— “ You ought to have a clear inkling, ” he says to
me, “ of the kind of death you are going to suffer: this
“ perverse blood must flow in all parts; you shall be
“ bled three times a day, I want to see how long you can
“ live in this way. It was an experiment I was longing
“ to make, you know; I thank you for having afforded
me the means. ” And the monster, without busying him-
self for the time being about any other passions than his
vengeance, gets me to stretch out my arm, pricks me, and
binds up the wound after two porringers of blood. He
had barely finished, when screams were heard.
STP ene Sir! ” said one of the old women who
used to wait on us, while running. .... “ come as speedy
“as possible, Madam is dying, she wishes to speak to
you before giving up the ghost.’ And the old one flies
back to her mistress.

However accustomed one be to crime, it is rare that
the tidings of its fulfillment do not frighten the one
who has just perpetrated it. This awe avenges Virtue:
such is the moment that her rights are retrieved. Ger-
— 262 —

nande goes out bewildered, he forgets to shut the doors.
I take advantage of the occasion, however spent I am by
a fast of more than forty hours, and by a bleeding; I
rush out of my dungeon. All is open, I traverse the
yards, and behold me in the forest without my being
noticed. Let us march, said I to myself, let us march
courageously; if the strong one despises the weak, there
is an Almighty God wno protects the latter, and who
never forsakes him. Big with these ideas, I boldly ad-
vance, and before nightfall, I find, myself in a hut
four leagues from the castle. I had some money left:
I get myself cared as best I can; a few hours set me
right. I start at day-break, and having the way pointed
out to me, giving over all projects of complaint, whether
former or recent, I get directed towards Lyons, where I
arrived on the eighth day, exceedingly fagged, suffering a
great deal, but luckily without being pursued. There,
I thought only of recovering myself previous to reaching
Grenoble, where I had always fostered in my idea that
good luck was awaiting me.

One day as I chanced to glance over a foreign gazette,
what was my surprise to behold in it again crime re-
warded, and one of the principal outhors of my ills in
the highest position! Rodin, that surgeon of Saint-
Marcel, that infamous man who had so cruelly punished
me for having been willing to spare him his daughter’s
murder, had just been, said the newspaper, named Head
Surgeon to the Empress of Russia, with immense salaries.
Let him be fortunate, the wretch, said I to myself, let
him be so, since Providence will have it so! and thou,
suffer, unlucky creature, suffer without complaining,
since it is stated that tribulations and pains are to be the
frightful share of Virtue; never mind, I shall never grow
weary of her.

»
-— 263 —

I was not at the end of these striking instances of
the triumph of vices, instances so discouraging to Virtue,
and the prosperity of the fellow I was about to find
again should vex and surprise me more than any other,
no doubt, since it was that of one of the men from whom
I had received the most bloody outrages. I occupied
myself only with my departure, when one evening I got
a note which was handed me by a lackey dressed in gray,
wholly unknown to me; on giving it to me, he told me he
was entrusted by his master to obtain without fail an
answer from me. ‘The following were the terms of this
note:

“ A man who did you some wrongs, who thinks he
recognized you in Bellecour-place, is longing to see you,
and to make amends for his conduct; make haste and
come to him: he has tidings to impart to you, which will
perhaps clear him of all he owes you. ”

This note was not signed, and the lackey did not ex-
plain himelf. Having informed him that I was decided not
to answer till I knew who his master was: — “ He is
“ Mister de Saint-Florent, Miss, ” he tells me; he has
had the honor of being acquainted with you formerly
in the environs of Paris; he pretends you did him ser-
vices which he is patiently longing to discharge. Being
now at the head of the commerce in this town, he
enjoys here at once a consideration and wealth which
enable him to prove to you his gratitude. He is wait-
ing for you. ”

My reflections were soon made. If this man had not
good intentions towards me, I said to myself, would it
be likely he would write to me, that he would have me
addressed to in this way? He has remorse for his past

“
a

infamies, he recollects with fright having snatched from
me what I held most dear, and having reduced me, by
the concatenation of his horrors, to the most grisly state
a woman can be in..... Yes, yes, let us not doubt about
it, these are remorses; I should be guilty towards the
Supreme Being if I did not consent to appease them. Am
I in a position besides to reject the help which presents
itself? Ought I not rather too eagerly to seize every
thing that is afforded to relieve me? It is in his hotel
that this man wants to see me: his fortune must surround
him with folks in whose presence he will respect himself
too much to dare do amiss again, and in the state I am
in, Great God! can I inspire anything else but pity? I
therefore assured the lackey of Saint-Florent that next
day, about eleven o’clock, I would have the honor of
going to pay my respects to his master; that I congratu-
lated him on the favors he had received from Fortune,
and that she was very far from dealing with me as with
him.

I went into my room, but so taken up with what this
man wanted to say to me, that I did not close an eye the
whole night. I finally arrived at the address mentioned;
a superb palace, a crowd of valets, the scornful looks of
this rich rabble on the misfortune it despises, all imposes
upon me, and I am ready to retire, when the same lackey
as had spoken to me on the eve, accosts me and leads me,
on encouraging me, into a sumptuous cabinet where I
quite readily recognized my butcher, although then forty-
five years old, and it being nearly nine since I saw him.
He does not rise, but he orders us to be left alone, and
beckons to me to come and place myself on a chair be-
side the huge arm-chair which contains him.

— “ TI wished to see you, my child, ” said he with the
mortifying tone of superiority, “ not that I fancy I am
“
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— 265 —

greatly in the wrong with respect to you, not that a
troublesome remembrance forces me to reparations
beyond which I believe myself; but I remember that
during the little while we knew each other, you let me
see some genius: it is necessary for what I have to
propose to you, and if you accept it, the need I shall
then have you, will cause you to find in my fortune

the resources which you require, and upon which you
would vainly rely otherwise. ” I wanted to reply by a

«ce

few rebukes to the levity of this debut; Saint-Florent

imposed silence upon me. — “ Let us lay aside what is

“

a
a

passed, ” he says to me; “ it is the history of the

‘ passions, and my principles incline me to think that

no curb ought to stop their impetuosity; when they
speak, they must be waited upon: it is my law. When
I was captured by the robbers with whom you were,
did you see the complain of my lot? To console one’s
self and act by one’s wits, if one is the weakest; to en-
joy all one’s rights, if the strongest, such is my system.

‘ You were young and pretty, Therese; we were in the

depths of a forest; there is no voluptuousness in the
world which kindles my senses as the rape of a maiden:
you were such, I ravished you; perhaps I would have
done worse with you, if what I ventured had not had
success, and should you have offered me any resistance.
But I robbed you. I left you without resources in the
middle of the night, a dangerous route; two motives
caused this fresh offence: I wanted money, I had none;
as to the other reason which was able to induce me to
this proceeding, I should vainly explain it for you,
Therese, you would not understand it. The beings
alone who know man’s heart, who have studied its

* recesses, who have disentangled the most impenetrable

nooks of this dark maze, might expound to you this
oe

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— 266 —

sort of error. — “ What! Sir, money which I had
offered you..... the service I had just done you.....
to be paid for what I had wrought in your behalf by
base treachery..... that may, you ‘say, be compre-

hended, that may be legalized? — Ay! Therese, ay;
the proof that this may be explained is that in having
just plundered, just molested you..... (for I beat
you, Therese), well! at twenty paces from there, think-
of the state I was leaving you in, I directly found in
these ideas strength for fresh outrages, which I should
perhaps have never committed on you otherwise. You
had lost only one of your first fruits..... I was go-
ing away, I retraced my steps, and I made you lose
the other..... It is therefore true that in certain
souls voluptuousness may spring up in the heart of
crime! What am I saying? it is therefore true that
crime alone rouses and decides it, and that there is not
a single voluptuousness in the world but it inflames
and improves..... — Oh! Sir, what a_ horror!
— Could I not commit a greater one?..... I was
very near it, I confess to you, but I strongly suspected
that you were about being reduced to the last ex-
tremeties: this idea satisfied me, I left you. Let us
pass over that, Therese, and come to the point which
made me wish to see you.

“ That incredible taste I have for either maidenhead
of a little girl, has not forsaken me, Therese, ” con-

tinued Saint-Florent; “ it is with this as with all the

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other errors of libertinism: the older one grows, the
more sway they obtain; former offences spring from
fresh desires, and new crimes from these desires. All
this would be nothing, my dear, if what one employs
to succeed was not itself very guilty. But as the want
of evil is the first mover of our caprices, the more that
— 267 —

“ which guides us is criminal, the better we are excited.
“ Once at this point, one no longer complains except of
“the mediocrity of the means: the more their atrocity
“extends itself, the more pleasing our voluptuousness
“becomes, and one thus sinks in the mire without the
‘ least mind to get out of it.

‘ It is my history, Therese; two young children are
“every day necessary for my sacrifices. Have I en-
““ joyed? not only I see again no more the objects there-
“ of, but it even becomes essential for the entire satis-
“ faction of my fantasies, that these objects do at once
“ go forth from the town: I should badly relish the next
“* day’s pleasures, if I thought the victims still breathed
“ the same air as I. The means of ridding myself of
“ thém is easy. Wouldst thou believe it, Therese?
“ ‘Those are my debaucheries that people Languedoc
“ and Provence with the host of objects of libertinism
““ which their bosom enclose (1): one hour after these
“ little girls have served me, trusty emissaries ship and
“ sell them to bawds at Nimes, Montpellier, Toulouse,
“ Aix and Marseilles. This trade, of which I have two
“ thirds of the benefit, largely indemnifies me for what
“ the subjects cost me, and I thus satisfy two of my
““ dearest passions, both my lust and cupidity; but the
“ discoveries, seductions give me pain. Moreover, the

 

(1) Let not this be taken for a fable: this unhappy
person has existed in Lyons itself. What is here said of
his doings is correct; he cost fifteen or twenty thousand
little unfortunate girls their honor; his operation per-
formed, they were shipped on the Rhone, and the towns
of which there is question have been for thirty years
peopled with objects of debauchery, only by the victims
of this wretch. In this episode, the name only is
romantic.
— 268 —

species of subjects infinitely concerns my lubricity: I
wish them all to be taken in those abodes of misery,
where the lack of food and the impossibility of thriving
in them absorb courage, pride, delicacy, in short, en-
ervating the soul, decide, in the hope of an indis-
pensable sustenance, upon all that appears needful to
assure it. I get all those nooks unmercifully searched:
one does not imagine what they yield me. I go far-
ther, Therese: activity, industry, a little ease, in strug-
gling against my subordinations, would rob me of a
great part of subjects: I oppose to these stumbling
blocks the influence I enjoy in this town, I excite
oscillations in trade, or dearth of provisions, which, by
multiplying the classes of the poor, removing from
them on the one hand the means of work, and on the
other rendering those of life hard for them, increase
in equal ratio the sum of the subjects that misery de-

‘ livers up to me. The trick is well known, Therese:

this scarcity of wood, corn and other provisions, from
which Paris suffered so many years, had no other aims
than those which animate me; avarice, libertinism,
such are passions which, from the midst of gilt ceilings,

‘ stretch out host of nets up to the humble roof of the

poor man. But whatever dexterity I employ to press
on one side, if skilful hands do not quickly heave up
on the other, I gain only my pains, and the machine
quite as badly as if I did not tire out my imagination
in resources, and my influence in operations. I there-
fore want an intelligent spruce young woman who,
having herself passed through the thorny paths of
misery, should know better than anyone else the
means of ‘debauching those who are in it; a woman
whose penetrating eyes divine adversity in its most
obscure garrets, and whose corrupting mind determines
— 269 —

the victims thereof to retire from oppression through
the means I offer; in fine, a witty woman, without
scruple as without pity, who neglects nothing in order
to succeed, even to the cutting away of the slender
resources which, by still keeping up the hope of those
unfortunate people, prevent them from being resolved.
I had an excellent and trusty one: she has just died.
One does not imagine how far that intelligent creature
* was wont to carry effrontery; she not only isolated
these wretches to such a degree as to force them to
come and implore her on their knees, but if those means
“ did not succeed soon enough to hasten their downfall,
“ the strumpet used to go even to rob them. She was

“a treasure; I merely want two subjects a day: she
‘* would have given me six of them, had I wished for
“ them. Hence it resulted that I could make better
“ choices, and the superabundance of the first matter
“ of my operations indemnified me for the workmanship.
“ It is necessary to replace these women, my dear; thou
“ shalt have four of them at your orders, and two thous-
“and crowns salary. I have spoken; answer, Therese,
“ and especially let not chimeras hinder thee from ac-
“ cepting thy good luck, when hasard and my hand
“ offer it to thee. ”

— “ Oh! Sir, ” said I to this dishonest man, on quak-
ing with horror at his discourse, “ is’it possible that you
“ could conceive such voluptuousnesses, and that you
“ dare propose me to serve them! What a lot of
“ horrors you have just let me hear! Cruel man, if you
“ were unfortunate for two days only, you would see
“ how these systems of inhumanity would be soon de-
“ stroyed within your heart: prosperity blinds and
“ hardens you; you are surfeited with the view of ills
“ from which you fancy yourself in security, and be-
— 270 —

cause you hope never to feel them, you suppose your-

‘ self justified to inflict them; may good luck never

come near me, from the moment it can corrupt to such

* a degree! O good Heavens! not to content one’s self

with abusing misfortune! to urge audacity and fero-
city even to increase it, even to prolong it for the sole

‘ satisfaction of one’s desires! What cruelty, Sir! the

most ferocious beasts sét us no examples of a like bar-
barity. —- Thou are mistaken, Therese, there is no
roguery the wolf does not contrive to attract the lamb
into his snares: these wiles are in Nature, and benev-
olence is not in her; it is simply a mark of weakness,
cried up by the slave in order to affect his master and
incline him to greater leniency; it never declares itself
in man except in two cases: if he is either the weakest,
or if he is afraid of becoming so. The proof that this
pretended virtue is not in Nature, is because it is
ignored by the man nearest to her. The Savage, in
despising it, unmercifully kills his equal, either through
vengeance or covetousness..... would he not respect
this virtue, if it was written his heart? But it never
appeared therein, it will never be found every place
where men will be equal. Civilization, in refining in-
dividuals, in distinguishing ranks, in offering a poor
man to the eyes of the rich man, in causing the latter
to dread a change of state which might hurl him into
the other’s nothingness, forthwith placed in his mind
the desire of relieving the unfortunate one to be re-
lieved in his turn, should he lose his riches. Then
sprang up benevolence, fruit of civilization and fear:
it is therefore only a virtue of circumstances, but no-
wise a sentiment of Nature, which never placed in us
any other desire than that of satisfying ourselves, at
what price soever. It is in confounding thus all senti-
ce

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— 271 —

ments, in never analyzing anything, that people are
blinded about everything, and that they deprive them-
selves of all enjoyments. — “ Ah! Sir, ” I warmly

interrupted, “ can there be a sweeter one than that of

“

“

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relieving misfortune? Let us lay aside the fear of
suffering one’s self, is there a truer satisfaction than
that of obliging? ... To enjoy the tears of gratitude,
to partake of the well-being one has just spread among
the unhappy who, although your fellow-creatures,
stood in need of the things of which you form your
first wants, to hear them sing your praises and call
you their father, to replace serenity on brows darkened
through failure, neglect and despair; no, Sir, no
voluptuousness in the world can equal this: it is that
of the Divinity himself, and the happiness it promises
to those who will have served it on Earth, will be
merely the possibility of seeing or making happy be-
ings in Heaven. All virtues spring from it, Sir; one
is a better father, better son, better spouse, when one
knows the charm of soothing misfortune. As the rays
of the sun, one would say the presence of the chari-
table man scatters over all that surrounds him fertil-
ity, sweetness and joy, and the miracle of Nature,
after this hearth of celestial light, is the honest, tender
and sensible soul whose supreme felicity is to work
at that of others. ”

— “ That’s all bosh, Therese! the enjoyments of man

are in ratio to the sort of organs he has received from
Nature; those of the weak individual, and consequent-
ly of all women, ought to convey, for such beings, to
moral voluptuousnesses, sharper ones than those which
would only have influence over a physic wholly desti-
tute of energy: the contrary is the history of strong
souls, who, being much more delighted with the vigor-
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says to me,

— 272 —

ous shocks imprinted on that which surrounds them,
than they would be with the delicate impressions felt
by these same beings existing near them, inevitably
prefer, according to this constitution, what affects the
others in painful senses, to what would only touch in
a milder manner. Such is the sole difference between
cruel people and kind people: both are endowed with
sensibility, but they are each so in his own way. I do
not deny of there being enjoyments in both classes,
but I hold with many philosophers, no doubt, that
those of the individual organized in the most vigorous
manner, will be unquestionably keener than all those of
his adversary; and these systems being granted, there
can be and there ought to be a kind of men who find
as much pleasure in all that cruelty inspires, as the
others taste of it in benevolence. But the latter will

* be mild pleasures, and the former very keen pleasures:

some will be undoubtedly surer, realer, since they
characterize the propensities of all men still in the
cradle of Nature, and even children, previous to their
knowing the sway of civilization; others will be only
the effect of civilization, and, consequently of deceit-
ful voluptuousness and without any salt. And _ be-
sides, my child, as we are here less for philosophizing
than for consolidating a determination, kindly let me

know your final answer..... Do you accept, or not the
offer I make you? — I certainly do refuse it, Sir, ”
answered in standing up..... I am very poor.....

oh! yes, exceedingly poor, Sir, but richer in the senti-
ments of my heart than in the gifts of fortune, never
shall I sacrifice the former to possess the latter: I
shall know how to die in penury, but I will not be-
tray virtue. — Be off, ” this detestable man cooly
“ and let me especially not have to fear any
— 273 —
“ indiscretions from you: you would be soon put in a
“ place whence I should have no longer to dread them. ”
Nothing encourages virtue like the apprehensions of vice:
much less fearful than I would have thought, I dared,
while promising him he would have nothing to dread
from me, remind him of the robbery he had committed
on me in the forest of Bondy, and make him feel that,
in the circumstance I was, this money became necessary
for me. The monster then harshly answered me that it
depended upon myself to earn some, and that I refused
to do so. — “ No, Sir, ” I replied firmly, “ no I re-
“ peat to you, I should die a thousand times rather than
“save my days at this price. — And I, ” said Saint-
Folrent, “ there is in like manner nothing that I should
“ not prefer to the grief of giving my money without its
“ being earned; notwithstanding the refusal you have
“* the insolence of making me, I am quite willing to still
“ spend a quarter of an hour with you; come therefore
“ into this study, and a few moments of obedience will
“ set your funds right. — I have no greater mind to
“* serve your debaucheries in one sense than in another,
“ Sir, ” I resolutely replied; “‘ I do not ask for alms,
“ cruel man; no, I do not procure you that enjoyment;
“ T claim only what is due to me: what you stole from
“* me in the most shameful manner..... Keep it, hard-
“ heart, keep it, if you think fit; behold, without pity,
“ my tears; hear if thou canst, without being moved, the
“ sad notes of need, but remember if thou perpetratest
“ this fresh infamy, I shall have at the price of what it

costs me, purchased the right of despising thee for
”?

*

** ever.

Saint-Florent, being furious, bade me go out, and I
could read in his frightful countenance that, without the
secrets he had entrusted to me, and the publishing of
ds PA

which he feared I should have perhaps paid by some
brutality from him the boldness of having spoken too
truly to him..... I do walk out. At the same instant,
one of these unlucky victims of his sordid debauchery
was brought to him. One of the women, whose horrible
state he proposed me to share, was leading to his house a
poor little girl of about nine years old, in all the at-
tributes of misfortune and weakness: she appeared to
have scarcely strength to stand upon her legs..... Oh
Heavens! thought I on seeing this, can it be that such
objects inspire any other sentiments but those of pity!
Woe to the depraved being who can suspect pleasures in
a breast which want is wasting away; who will wish to
gather kisses upon a mouth which famine withers, and
which opens only to curse him!

My tears flowed down: I should have liked to rob this
victim from the tiger that was awaiting it, I dared not.
Could I have done so? I speedily betook myself to my
inn, as mortified by a misfortune which brought upon me
such proposals, as revolted against the opulence which
ventured to make them.

I departed from Lyons next day to take the route for
-Dauphiny, ever big with the foolish hope that some
good luck was awaiting me in this province. I was
hardly two leagues from Lyons, on foot, as usual, with
a couple of chemises and a few handkerchiefs in my
pocket, when I met an old women who accosted me with
a look of suffering, and who besought me to give her
alms. Far from the hard heartedness of which I had
just received such cruel examples, knowing no happiness
in the world but that of obliging an unfortunate person,
I instantly pulled out my purse on purpose to take out
of it a crown, and give it to this woman; but the base
creature, being much smarter than I, although I had at
— 275 —

first deemed her old and broken down, nicely jumps at
my purse, snatches it, lays me low with a strong box of
her fist in the stomach, and appears again to view only a
hundred paces away, surrounded by four scoundrels who
threaten me if I dare advance.

Great God! I bitterly cried, it is therefore impossible
for my soul to open itself to any virtuous motion with-
out my instantly being punished by the severest chastise-
ments! In this fatal moment all my courage forsook
me; I most sincerely crave pardon for it to-day from
Heaven, but I was blinded by despair. I felt ready to
quit the career in which so many thorns presented them-
selves; two choices presented themselves, that of going
and joining in with the knaves who had just robbed me,
or that of returning to Lyons to there accept Saint-
Florent’s proposal. God spared me from yielding, and
although the hope he kindled anew in me was deceitful,
since so many adversities were still in store for me, I
thank him nevertheless for having sustained me: the ill-
fated star which leads me, though innocent, to the scaf-
fold, will never procure me but death; other choices
would have procured me infamy; and the latter is much
less cruel than the rest.

IT go on directing my steps towards the town of Vienne,
decided on selling there what I had left, in order to
reach Grenoble. I was marching along sadly, when at
a quarter of a league from that town, I perceive in the
plain, on the right side of the road, two cavaliers who
were trampling a man under their horses’ feet, and who,
after having left him for dead, galloped off at full speed;
this dreadful spectacle affected me to tears. Alas! said
I to myeslf, there is a man more to be pitied than I am;
my health and strength at least still remain, I can earn
— 276 —

my bread, and if this unhappy man is not rich, what is
going to become of him?

To whatever degree I should have been on my guard
against the motions of compassion, however unlucky it
was for me to yield to them, I could not overcome the
extreme desire I felt of going up to this man, and of
lavishing my cares on him. I flee to him; he breathes
in through my solicitude a little spirituous water I kept
about me; he at last opens: his eyes, and his first accents
are those of gratitude. Being still more eager to be use-
ful to him, I tear up one of my chemises to bind his
wounds, to stanch his blood; one of the only effects I
have left, I sacrifice for this unhappy man. Having ful-
filled these first cares, I give him a little wine to drink.
This unfortunate man quite recovered his senses; I ob-
serve and distinguish him more clearly. Although on
foot, and in pretty nice attire, he did not however ap-
pear in mediocrity; he had some valuable effects, rings,
a watch, boxes, but all this greatly damaged by his
adventure. He asks me, as soon as he is able to speak,
who is the kind of angel that brings him assistance, and
what can he do to show his gratitude to her for it. Hav-
ing still the foolishness to believe that a soul linked
through acknowledgment should be mine everlastingly,
I fancy I can safely enjoy the sweet pleasure of getting
him, who has just shed them within my arms, to partake
of my tears: I inform him of my reverses, he listens to
them with interest, and when I have ended by the last
catastrophy which has befallen me, the recital of which
shows him the wretched state I am in: — “How happy
“ Tam, ” he cries “ to be at least able to acknowledge
“all that you have just done for me! My name is
“ Roland, ” continues this adventurer; “ I possess a
“* very fine castle in the mountains, fifteen leagues hence,
— 277 —

“ T invite you to follow me there; and that this proposal
“ may not alarm your delicacy, I am going to explain for
you at once of what use you will be to me. I ama
bachelor, but I have a sister whom I passionately love,
who is devoted to my solitude, and who shares it with
me: I want a subject to wait on her; we have just lost
her who used to discharge this duty, I offer you her
place. ” I thanked my protector, and took the liberty
of asking him by what hazard a man like him exposed
himself to travel without attendance, and as it had just
happened to him, to be molested by rogues? — “ Some-
“ what burly, young and strong, I am these several
“ years, ” Roland says to me, “ in the habit of coming
“ from my place to Vienne in this way. My health
“and purse gain by it: not indeed that I am in need
“ of paying attention to the expense, for I am rich: you
** shall shortly see the proof of it, if you do me the kind-
“ness of coming to my house; but parsimony never
““ spoils anything. As to the men who have just in-
“ me, they are two shabby gents of the district, from
“ whom I won one hundred louis last week, in a house
““ at Vienne; I contented myself with their word of
“ honor, I meet them today, I request my rights from
“ them, and that is how they serve me. ”

I was deploring with this man the two-fold misfortune
of which he was the victim, when he proposed to me to
set out. “ I feel rather better, thanks to your cares, ”
Roland says to me; “ night is coming on, let us reach a
“* house which must be two leagues from here; by means
“ of the horses we shall take there to-morrow, we can
“ arrive at my home on the samé evening. ”

Wholly bent on profiting by the helps which Heaven
seemed to send me, I aid Roland to set out, I bear him
up on the way, and we really do find at two leagues off,

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— 278 —

the inn he had mentioned. We take supper in it honest-
ly together. After meal, Roland recommends me to the
mistress of the house, and next day, on two hired mules
which the valet of the inn escorted, we reach the borders
of Dauphiny, still steering our course towards the moun-
tains. The journey being to long to make in one day,
we pulled up at Virieu, where I experienced the same
cares, the same consideration from my master, and the
following day, we continued our way, still in the same
direction. About four in the evening, we arrived at the
foot of the mountains: there the road becoming almost
unpassable, Roland charges the muleteer not to leave me
for fear of accident, and we penetrated into the narrow
passages. We did but simply wind, ascend and descend
for more than four leagues, and we had then so forsaken
every dwelling and every beaten way, that I fancied I
was at the end of the Universe. A little uneasiness came
upon me in spite of me; Roland could not help seeing it,
but he said nothing, and his silence frightened me still
more. At last we beheld a castle perched upon the top
of a mountain at the brink of a frightful precipice, into
which it seemed ready to sink: no route appeared to lead
to it; the one we were following, only made by goats,
filled with stones from all sides, arrived at this horrible
resembling much rather a refuge of robbers than the
abode of virtuous people.

“ There is my house, ” said Roland to me, as soon
as he thought the castle had met my looks. And upon
my expressing to him my surprise to see him inhabit-
‘ing such a wild: — “ ft is what suits me, ” he hastily
replies to me. This reply redoubled my fears: nothing
escapes in misfortune; a word, a modulation more or
less accentuated in those on whom we depend, stifles or
re-animates hope; but being no longer in a Position to
— 279 —

take a different course, I kept silent. By dint of wind-
ing, this antique ruin stood all of a sudden before us: a
quarter of a league at most still separated from it.
Roland alighted from his mule, and having told me to do
the same, he gave the both to the valet, paid him and
ordered him to return with them. The fresh procedure
again displeased me; Roland noticed it. — ‘“ What ails
“ you, Therese? ” he says to me, while making our way
towards his dwelling; “ you are not out of France; this
“ castle is upon the borders of Dauphiny, and dependent
“ upon Grenoble. — Be it so, Sir. ” I replied; “ but
“ how has it come into your mind to settle down in such
“a dangerous place? — It is because those who in-
“ habit it are not very honest folks, ” said Roland; “ it
“ might be quite possible that thou wouldst not be
“ edified at their conduct. — Ah! Sir, ” said I to him
in trembling, “ you cause me to quake, where are you
“ leading me to, then? — I am fetching thee to wait
“ upon false-coiners whose chief I am, ” says Roland
to me, on seizing me by the arm and making me cross
“ by force a little bridge which was lowered at our ar-
rival, and raised immediately after. ‘“ Dost thou see
“ this well? ” he continued, as soon as we had entered,
on showing me a great, deep grotto at the bottom of the
yard, where four naked and chained women were making
a wheel turn; “ there are thy fellows, and this is thy
“ work; providest thou workest ten hours daily in turn-
“ ing this wheel, and that thou satifiest as those women
“ all the caprices to which it may please me to submit
“ thee, six ounces of black bread and a plate of beans
“ a day will be allowed thee; as to thy freedom, give it
“‘ over: thou shalt never have it. When thou art dead
“ at the toil, thou wilt be thrown into this hole which
thou beholdest beside the well, with sixty or eighty

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— 230 —

other wenches of thy kind who are awaiting thee in it,
and thou shalt be replaced by a fresh one. ”

— “ Oh! Great God! ” I cried on throwing myself at
Roland’s feet, “‘ vouchsafe to recollect, Sir, how I have

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saved your life; how for an instant, moved by ac-
knowledgement, you seemed to offer me happiness,
and how it is in casting me into an eternal abyss of
ills that you require my services! Is what you are
doing meet, and is not remorse already coming to
avenge me in the depths of your heart? — What dost
thou understand, I pray thee, by that sentiment of
acknowledgement with which thou imaginest thou hast
captivated me? ” said Roland. “ Reason better,
thou mean creature; what wast thou doing, when
thou camest to my relief? Between the possibility
of continuing thy way and that of coming to me, didst
thou not choose the latter as a movement inspired by
thy heart? ‘Thou gavest thyself therefore up to an
enjoyment? How the dickens dost thou pretend that
I am obliged to reward thee for the pleasures thou
bestowest upon thyself? And how did it ever occur
to thy mind that a man who, as I am, is floating in
gold and wealth, deigns to stoop to be anything in-
debted to a wretch of thy kind? Hadst thou restored.
me life, I would owe thee nothing, since thou didst
act only in thy behalf. To work, slave, to work! learn
that civilization, in overthrowing the principles of Na-
ture does not however remove from her her rights:
she created in the origin strong and weak beings, with
the intention that the latter should be always sub-
ordinate to the former; the dexterity, the intelligence
of man diversified the position of individuals; it was
no longer physical force that determined ranks, it was
that of gold; the richest man became the strongest
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— 281 —

man, the poorest became the weakest; save the motives
which founded the power, the priority of the strong
man was always within the laws of Nature, to which
it became all one whether the chain which captivated
the weak man was held by the richest or by the
strongest man, and whether it should crush the weakest
or else the poorest. But those fits of acknowledg-
ment of which thou wishest to compose links for me,
she disregards them, Therese; it was never within her
laws that the pleasure to which one yielded in oblig-
ing should become a motive, for him who received, to
forego his rights over the other. Dost thou see, among
the animals which serve us as examples, those senti-
ments thou claimest? When I bear sway over thee
by my riches of force, is it natural for me to yield
thee up my rights, either because thou hast enjoyed
in obliging me, or because being misfortunate, thou
didst imagine that thou wouldst gain something by
thy action? Even were the service rendered from an

* equal to an equal, the pride of an elevated soul will

never allowed itself to be bowed down through acknow-
ledgment; is not he who receives always humiliated?
And does not this humiliation which he feels sufficient-
ly pay the benefactor who, by that alone, finds him-
self above the other? It is not an enjoyment for
pride to raise one’s self above the equal? Does he
who obliges need any other? And if the obligation,
in humbling him who receives, becomes a burden to
him, by what right force him to keep it? What must
I consent to let myself be humiliated every time the

* looks of him who has obliged me strike me? Ingrati-

tude, instead of being a vice, is therefore the virtue of
proud souls, as truly as acknowledgment is that of
weak souls: let people oblige me as much as they like,
but let them require nothing for having enjoyed! ”
— 282 —

At these words, to which Roland did not give me time
to reply, two valets seize upon me by his orders, strip
me, and chain me with my companions, whom I am
obliged to help at once, without its being simply per-
mitted me to rest myself after the tiresome journey I
have just made. Roland approaches me then; he
brutally handles me on all the places which chastity
forbids me to name, loads me with sarcasms and im-
pertinences about the scandalous and but little deserved
brand that Rodin had laid on me; then, arming himself
with a bull’s pizzle ever at hand, he saluted me with
twenty stripes on the backside. — “ This is how thou
“ shalt be dealt with, wench, ” he says to me, when
“ thou art wanting in thy duty; I do not do this for
“ any fault already committed by thee, but merely to
“ show thee how I act with those who do make them. ”
I scream loudly in struggling under my irons; my writh-
ings, yells, tears, the cruelest expressions of my suffer-
ing serve only as amusement for my butcher...— “ Ah!
“ T shall let thee see more of them, harlot, ” said Rol-
and; “thou art not at the end of thy pains, and I wish
“ thee to know even to the most barbarous refine-
“ ments of misfortune. ” He leaves me.

Six obscure nooks, situated under a grotto round this
vast well, and which were locked up like dungeons,
served us as a retreat by night. As it arrived shortly
after my being at this unlucky chain, they came to untie
me as well as my companions, and they locked us in
after having given us the portion of water, beans and
bread of which Roland had spoken to me.

I was hardly alone when I quite freely gave way
to the horror of my situation. Is it possible, said I to
myself, there are men hard hearted enough to stifle in
themselves the sentiment of gratitude? ... This virtue
— 283 —

to which I should give myself up with so many charms,
if ever an honest soul put me in the way of feeling it, can
it therefore be disregarded by certain beings, and must
those who stifle it with so much inhumanity be any-
thing else than monsters?

I was lost in these reflections, when all of a sudden I
hear the door of my dungeon opening: it is Roland. The
rascal comes to finish outraging me on making me
serve for his detestable freaks: you easily suppose,
Madan, they were to be as ferocious as his proceedings,
and that the pleasures of love, in such a man, neces-
sarily bore the hues of his hateful character. But why
weary your patience by relating these fresh horrors to
you? Have I not already defiled your imagination too
much by infamous recitals? Ought I to risk fresh ones?

-— “ Yes, Therese, ” said M. de Corville, “ yes, we
“request of you these particulars; you take the harm
“out of them with a becomingness which damps all
“ their horror, there only remains of them what is in-
“ structive to whatever person that wishes to know man;
““ one does not imagine how useful these paintings are
“ for the development of his soul; perhaps we are still
“ most ignorant in this science, owing to the stupid dis-
“ cretion of those who wished to write on these questions.
“ Enslaved by silly fears, they speak to us only of those
“ puerilities, known to every booby, and dare not, while
“ laying a bold hand upon the human heart, expose to
“ our eyes its mighty errors. — Well! Sir, I am going
“ to obey you, ” resumed Therese moved, “ and be-
“ having as I have already done, I shall try and offer
“ my sketches under the least shocking shades. ”

Roland, whom I must first describe for you, was a
short, stout man, aged thirty-five, of inconceivable vigor,
hairy like a bear, of gloomy mien, fierce look, very
= 234

dark, manly features, a long nose, bearded to the eyes,
black, thick eyebrows, and that part which distinguishes
the men from our sex, of such length and of such huge
a size, that not only nothing like it was ever offered to
my sight, but it was also wholly certain that Nature had
never made anything so prodigious: both my hands
hardly went round it, and it was as long as from my
elbow to my wrist. To these physics, Roland added all
tbe vices which can be the outcome of a fiery temper, a
deal of imagination, and a fortune always too consider-
able as not to have cast him into great irregularities.
Roland got through his fortune; his father, who had
begun it, had left him exceedingly rich, by means of
which this young man had already spent very much:
satiated with ordinary pleasures, he had no longer re-
course except to horrors; these alone succeeded in re-
storing to him desires consumed by too many enjoy-
ments; the women who used to wait upon him were all
employed in his secret debaucheries; and in order to
satisfy some less dishonest pleasures in which this liber-
tine could nevertheless procure the savour of the crime
which delighted him better than all else, Roland had his
own sister as mistress, and it was with her he finished
extinguishing the passions he came to kindle with us.
He was almost naked when he entered; his face,
greatly inflamed, bore at once proofs of gluttony, to
which he had just given himself up, and of the abomi-
nable lust which was eating him away. He gazes on me
an instant with eyes that cause me to shudder: “ Re-
“ move these robes, ” he says to me, in tearing away
himself those I had taken back to cover me during the
night... “ yes, remove all that and follow me; I made
“ thee feel a little while ago what thou wouldst risk
“in giving way to sloth; but if thou gettest it into thy
— 285 —

“ head to betray us, as the crime would be much greater,
“the punishment would necessarily be proportioned to
“it; come therefore and see what it would be like. ” I
was in a state hard to be described, but Roland, not al-
lowing my soul time to break out, directly seizes me by
the arm and pulls me along; he led me with his right
hand: with his left, he held a small lantern which dimly
lighted us. After several windings, we find ourselves at
the door of a cave; he opens it, and making me go in
first, he bade me descend while he is shutting this first
enclosure; I obey. At a hundred steps, we meet a
second one, which is opened and shut in the same way;
but after the latter, there was no other stairs, it was a
small road hewn in the rock, full of windings, and the
declivity of which was extremely straight. Roland spoke
not a word, this silence frightened me still more; he
lighted us on with his lantern; we travelled thus nearly
a quarter of an hour. The state I was in caused me to
feel still more keenly the frightful dampness of those
subterraneous passages. We had finally gone down so
far, that it is no exaggeration to say the spot at which
we arrived must be more than eight hundred feet in the
bowels of the earth. On the right and left sides of the
path we traversed, were several niches where I saw
chests containing these malefactors’ riches. In fine a
last bronze gate presents itself; Roland opens it, and I
was on the point of reeling over, in perceiving the dis-
mal place to which this dishonest man was leading me;
seeing me bend, he roughly pushes me, and so I find
myself, without wishing for it, in the middle of this
frightful sepulchre. Fancy, Madam, a round vault, of
twenty-five feet in diameter, the walls of which, being
furnished with black hangings, were only decorated by
the most dismal objects; skeletons of every size, bones
— 286 —

formed cross-wise, heads of dead persons, bundles of
rods and whips scimitars, daggers, pistols; such were the
horrors one saw upon the walls, which a three-wicked
lamp, suspended from one of the corners of the vault,
lighted. From the arch went a long rope which fell at
eight or ten feet from the ground in the middle of this
dungeon, and which, as you are shortly to see, was
simply there in order to serve for dreadful expeditions;
there was on the right a coffin which the spectre of Death,
armed with a menacing scythe, was somewhat opening;
alongside was a kneeling desk; one saw a crucifix above,
placed between two black wax candles; on the left, the
wax effigy of a naked woman, so natural that I was for
a long while deceived by it: it was fastened to a cross,
it was placed to it breastwise, so that all its hind parts
were clearly seen, but horribly molested; the blood
seemed to ooze from several sores, and flow along its
thighs; it had the finest hair in the world, its lovely head
was turned towards us, and appeared to implore forgive-
ness: all the writhings of suffering were distinguished,
stamped upon its handsome face, and even to the tears
which bathed it. At the sight of this terrible image, I
had like to lose my strength a second time. The end
of the vault was taken up by a vast black sofa, from
which all the atrocities of this dismal place unfolded
themselves to view.

— “ There is where you shall die, Therese, ” Roland
says to me, “ if ever you conceive the unlucky idea of
“ leaving my house; yes, I shall come here in person
“ to take away your life, I shall here make you feel the
“* agonies by all that will be possible for me to invent
“the hardest. ” In uttering this menace, Roland got
inflamed; his nervousness, his disorder made him like
a tiger ready to devour its prey: it was then he displayed
— 291 —

is firmly fastened to it, he ties to the stool upon which I
was standing and which had raised me up to it, a string
of which he holds the end, and goes and places himself
in an arm-chair opposite to me; I have in my hands a
sharp bill which I am to use in cutting the rope at the
moment when, by means of the string he is holding, he
will cause the stool to tumble under my feet. —- “ Thou
“ seest, Therese, ” he says to me then, “ if thou missest
thy aim, I shall not miss mine; I am not therefore wrong
“ in telling thee thy days depend on thyself. ” He ex-
cites himself; it is at the moment of his intoxication he
is to pull away the stool, the removal of which leaves me
hanged from the ceiling; he does his utmost to counter-
feit this moment; he would be in his glory, were I to
lack dexterity. But he might try ever so much, I fore-
see it; the violence of his ecstasy betrays him, I behold
him making the fatal movement, the stool slips away, I
cut the rope, and fall upon the ground; completely freed,
there, at more than twelve feet from him, would you be-
lieve it, Madam, I feel my whole person inundated with
the proofs of his delirium and madness.

Any other but myself, profiting by the weapon in
hands, would have undoubtedly rushed upon this
monster; but of what use would this act of courage have
been to me? Without the keys of these subterraneous
places, being ignorant of the windings, I should be dead
before I could get out of them; besides, Roland was
armed. I therefore got up again, leaving the weapon
slightest suspicion of me; he had none; he had relished
upon the ground that he might not even conceive the
in its whole extent, and pleased with my mildness, my
resignation far more perhaps than with my dexterity,
he beckoned to me to go out, and we went up stairs
again.
— 292 —

Next day I examined my companions better. These
four girls were from twenty-five to thirty years old; al-
though stupified by misery and deformed by the excess
of labor, they still retained some relics of beauty; they
had fine waists, and the youngest, called Suzanne, to-
gether with lovely eyes, and still very pretty hair; Rol-
and taken her at Lyons, he had had her first flowers,
and after having carried her away from her family, under
solemn promises of marrying her, he had led her off to
this frightful castle; she was there these three years, and
was besides, more especially than her companions, the
object of this monster’s ferocities: by dint of lash with
the bull’s pizzle, her buttocks had become callous and
hard like a cow’s hide dried in the sun; she had a cancer
on her right breast, and an abcess in her womb, which
used to cause her unheard of sufferings. All this was
the work of perfidious Roland; every one of these horrors
was the fruit of his lubricities.

It was she who informed me that Roland was on the
eve of setting out for Venice, if the large sums he lately
had got passed in Spain returned him the bills of ex-
change he was awaiting for Italy, because he did not like
to carry his gold beyond the mountains. He never sent
any there: it was a different country from the one he
intended to inhabit, that he was wont to get his forged
moneys passed; by this means, being rich in the place
he wished to settle down, only in bills of another king-
dom, his roguery could never be found out. But all
might fail in an instant, and the retreat he was thinking
over wholly depended on this last transaction, in which
the principal amount of his treasures was at stake. If
Cadiz accepted his piasters, zechins, forged louis, and
send him accordingly bills of Venice, Roland was happy
for the remainder of his life; if the fraud was discovered,
— 293 —

one day alone sufficed to overthrow the frail edifice of
his fortune.

— “ Alas! ” said I on learning these particulars,
“ Providence will be upright for once, it will not coun-
“tenance the success of such a monster, and we shall
“be avenged... ” Great God! After the experience
I had acquired, was it meet for me to reason thus!

About twelve o’clock, we were allowed two hours’ rest,
of which we profited to generally go singly to breathe
and dine in our rooms; at two o’clock we were tied up
again and made work until night, without its being ever
permitted to us to enter the castle. If we were naked,
it was not only because of the heat, but much rather
to be in a better way of receiving the stripes of the
bull’s pizzle which our savage master came to lay on
us occasionally. In winter, we were supplied with a
pair of trowsers and a waistcoat so tight to the skin,
that our bodies were nevertheless exposed to the blows
of a villain whose sole pleasure was to thrash us.

Eight days passed without my seeing Roland. On the
ninth, he. appeared at our work, and while Suzanne
and I were turning the wheel with too much faint-heart-
edness, he dealt us out thirty lashes each of the bull’s
pizzle, from the middle of the loins to the calves of the
legs.

At midnight of the same day, the nasty man came
for me in my dungeon, and falling into a passion at
the sight of his cruelties, he again introduced his awful’
club into the gloomy cavern which I was turning towards
him, by the posture he was keeping me in while viewing
the traces of his madness. When his passions were as-
suaged, I wanted to take advantage of the moment’s
calm in order to entreat him to mitigate my lot. Alas!
I was not aware that if in such souls the moment of
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delirium renders the propensity they have for cruelty
activer, nor does calmness either on that account recall
them therefrom to the easy virtues of the good man; it
is a fire more or less kindled by the fuel by which it is
kept up, but which burns nevertheless though under the
ashes.
~~ “ And by what right, ” Roland answers me, “ dost
thou pretend I should eace thy chains? Is it on
account of the caprices I am willing to pass with thee?
But I am going to thy feet to crave thy favors, for
the granting of which thou mayst request amends?
I ask nothing from thee, I take, and I do not see why,
because I use a right over thee, it would result there-
from that I must abstain from exacting a second one.
There is no love in my case: love is a chivalrous senti-
ment thoroughly despised by me, and my heart has
never felt its approaches; I make use of a woman
from necessity, as one makes use of a round hollow
vase in a different need; but I never bestow either es-
teem or tenderness upon that individual, whom my
money and authority submit to my desires; indebted
only to myself for what I rob, and never requiring
of him but submission, I can not be bound accordingly
to show him any gratitude. I ask those who would
wish to force me to it, whether a robber who snatches
away a man’s purse in a wood, because he finds him-
self stronger than he, owes any thankfulness to that
man for the wrong he has*just caused him? It is the
same with the outrage committed on a woman: it
may be right for him to commit a second one, but
never a sufficient reason for him to make amends.
— Oh! Sir, ” I said to him, “ to what height you
carry wickedness! — To the highest point, ’ Roland
answers me; “ there is not a single peevishness in the
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— 295 —

world to which I have not given way, not a crime I
have not perpetrated, and not one my principles do not
excuse or legitimate; I have incessantly felt in evil
a sort of attraction which always turned to the profit
of my voluptuousness. Crime kindles my lust; the
more frightful it is, the more it excites me; I enjoy, in
committing it, the same kind of pleasure as ordinary
people but taste in lubricity; and I have found myself
on a hundred occasions, thinking of crime, giving
myself up to it, or having just committed it, absolutely
in the same state as one beside a lovely naked woman;
it stirred up my senses in the same way, and I per-
petrated it in order to be inflamed, as one approaches
a fine object with the intention of lewdness. — Oh!
Sir, what you say is awful, but I have seen examples

of it. — There are a thousand of them, Therese.

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“ ‘You must not imagine that it is a woman’s beauty
which best stirs up the spirit of a libertine: it is
much rather the species of crime the laws have at-
tributed to its possession. The proof whereof is, the
more criminal this possession is, so much the more in-
flamed one is; the man who enjoys a woman he steals
from her husband, a girl he takes away from her
parents, is undoubtedly far more delighted than the
husband who merely enjoys his wife; and the more
worthy of respect the bonds which are severed appear,
so much the more voluptuousness increases. If she
is his mother, his sister, his daughter, fresh attractions
for the pleasures felt; has one tasted all this? one
should like the obstacles were still increased in order
to give greater pains and charms in surmounting them.
Now, if crime seasons an enjoyment, separate from
this enjoyment, it can be therefore one itself; conse-
quently, there will be then a certain enjoyment in
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— 296 —

crime alone. Because it is impossible, for that which
lends savour, not to be itself well supplied with it.
Thus, I suppose, the rape of a girl in her own behalf
will afford a very lively pleasure, but the rape in
behalf of another will give all the pleasure by which
this girl’s enjoyment was improved by the rape; the
rape of a watch, a purse will likewise afford it, and if
I have accustomed my senses to be affected with any
voluptuousness at a girl’s rape, considered as rape, this
same pleasure, this same voluptuousness will be found
in the rape of the watch, in that of the purse, etc.
And this is what explains the caprice of so many hon-
est people, who were wont to steal without being in
need of doing so. Nothing plainer, henceforth,
whether one tastes the greatest pleasures in all that
will be criminal, or whether one renders, by everything
imaginable, simple enjoyments as criminal as it will be
possible to make them; in acting thus, one does not
more than impart to this enjoyment the dose of savour

* which it lacked and which became requisite for the
‘ perfection of happiness. These systems lead far, I

know, perhaps I shall even prove so to thee before
long, Therese; but what matter, provided one enjoys?
Was there, for instance, my dear child, anything
simpler and more natural than to see me enjoy thee?
But thou art opposed to it, thou requestest of me
that this may not be; it would seem from the obliga-
tions J am under to thee, that I should grant thee what
thou requirest. Yet I surrender to nothing, I break
all the ties which ensnare fools, I subject thee to my
desires, and out of the simplest, the most monotonous
enjoyment, I form a truly delightful one. Yield there-
fore, Therese, yield; and if thou returnest to the
world under the character of the strongest, misuse
— 297 —

“ likewise thy rights, and thou shalt discern the liveliest
“and most acute of every pleasure. ”

Roland walked out on uttering these words, and left
me absorbed in reflections which, as you easily imagine,
were not to his advantage.

I was in this house six months, occasionally serving
this rascal’s notorious debaucheries, when I saw him
entering my prison one evening with Suzanne.
— “ Come, ” Therese, ” he says to me; “ it is a long
“ time, it seems to me, since I made thee descend into
that vault, which frightened thee so much. Follow
me there both of you, but do cnt expect to come up
again in the same way, I must by all means leave one;
““ we shall see to whose lot it will fall. ” I stand up,
I cast bewildered looks at my companion, I saw the tears
rolling in her eyes, ... we march.

As soon as we were shut up in the underground
place, Roland gloated at both of us with wild eyes.
He delighted in repeating her doom, and in thoroughly
convincing each of us tht one of us two would most
certainly stay behind. — “ Come, ” he says on seating
himself, and making us stand straight up before him,
“ work each in her turn at the disenchantment of this
“ spell-bound one, and woe to her who will restore it
“ its energy! —- It is wrong, ” said Suzanne; “ she
“ who will excite you best ought to be the one to obtain
“ her forgiveness. — Not at all, ” said Roland; “ from
“ the moment it will be proved that she inflames me best,
“ it becomes certain that it is her death which will
“ afford me most pleasure. Besides, in granting pardon
“ to the one who is about to inflame me the sooner, you
“ would each go at it with such ardor, that you would
“ perhaps cast my senses into the ecstasy before the
“ consummation of the sacrifice, and this is precisely

“

(74

“
— 298 —

“ what is not wanted. — It is to will evil for evil, Sir, ”
said I to Roland, “ the completion of your ecstasy ought
“ to be the only thing you should desire, and if you at-
“ tain it without crime, why will you commit it? — Be-
“ cause IJ shall only thus attain to it deliciously, and be-
“ cause I come down to this vault but to commit one.
“ T know perfectly well I should succeed in it without
“ that, but I do wish this in order to succeed in it. ”
And during this dialogue, having selected me to begin,
I excite him with one hand before, with the other behind,
while he is leisurely feeling all the parts of my body,
which are exposed to him owing to my nakedness.
— ‘“ That lovely skin, Therese, ” he says to me
while fingering my buttocks, “ is still very far from
“ being in the state of hardness, mortification that
“ Suzanne’s is in; one might burn that dear girl’s, as
“ she would not feel it; but thou, Therese, but thou...
“ it is still as roses intermingled with lilies: we shall
“ return to it, we shall return to it. ”

You do not imagine, Madam, how much this threat
tranquillized me: Roland undoubtedly did not suspect,
while uttering it, the calm he was infusing into me:
for, was it not obvious that since he intended to subject
me to fresh cruelties, he had not yet a mind to immo-
late me? I have already told you, Madam, everything
strikes in misfortune, and, from that moment, I took
courage again. Other additional good luck! I did noth-
ing, and that huge mass, softly under itself, resisted all
my shocks. Suzanne, in the same posture, was handled
in the same places; but, as her skin was hardened quite
another way, Roland fingered a good deal less; Suzanne
was however the younger. — “ I am persuaded, ” said
our persecutor, “ that the most frightful lashes would
“ not succeed now in drawing a drop of blood from that
— 299 —

“ backside. ” He made both of us stoop, and present-
ing to himself, by our inclination, the four routes of
pleasure, his tongue frisked about in the two narrowest
ones; the nasty man spat into the others. He took us
again before him, made us kneel between his thighs,
so that our two breasts were on a level with what we were
exciting in him. — “ Oh! as to the breast, ” said
Roland, “ thou must yield it to Suzanne; thou never
“-hadst such beautiful nipples; look, see how full it
“is! ” He squeezed, while speaking thus, this un-
fortunate girl’s breast even to the bruising of it between
his fingers. At this time, it was no longer I who was
exciting him, Suzanne had replaced me; the dart was
scarcely in her hands, when rushing from the quiver, it
was already vigorously menacing everything around it.
—‘ Suzanne, ” says Roland, “ that is a dreadful suc-
“ cess... It is thy judgment, Suzanne; I fear so, ”
continued this savage man, in pinching, in scratching her
paps. As to mine he sucked and gnawed them only.
He finally placed Suzanne on her knees upon the edge
of the sofa, he makes her bow her head, and enjoys her
in this posture according to the frightful manner natural
to him. Being roused by fresh sufferings, Suzanne
struggles, and Roland, who wants only to skirmish, con-
tent with a few incursions, comes to take refuge in me
in the very temple where he sacrificed with my com-
panion, whom he ceases not to annoy, molest during
the while. — ‘ There is a wench that is fiercely excit-
“ ing me, ” he says to me, “ I know not what I should
“ like to do to her. — Oh! Sir, ” said I, “ have pity
“ on her; it is impossible for her pains to be keener.
“ __ Qh! yes! ” said the rascal... ‘ One could...
“ Ah! if I had here that famous Emperor Kie, one of
“ the great villains whom China has witnessed upon the
— 300 —

“ throne (1), we should indeed do quite a different thing.
“ Between his wife and him, both of them, immolating
“ daily victims, we are told used to prolong their lives
“ twenty-four hours, in the cruelest agonies of death,
“ and in such a state of suffering that they were ever
“ ready to give up the ghost without being able to
“ succeed in it, by the inhuman cares of those mons-
“ ters who, causing them to fluctuate from reliefs to
“ tortures, restored them this moment to life only to
“ offer them death the next... I am too mild, Therese,
“ JT am quite a stranger to all that, I am but a mere
“ school-boy. ” Roland withdraws before finishing the
sacrifice, and does me almost as much harm by this
sudden retreat, as he had done me in introducing him-
self. He throws himself into Suzanne’s arms and adding
sarcasm to outrage: — “ Lovely creature, ” he says
to her, “ how I recollect with delight the first moment
“ of our union! never did woman afford me livelier
“* pleasures; never did I love any as thee!... Let us
“ embrace, Suzanne, we are about to part from each

 

(1) The Chinese Emperor Kie had a wife as cruel and
debauched as himself; the shedding of blood cost them
nothing, and, for their pleasure alone, they daily shed
floods of it; they had, inside their palace, a secret closet
where the victims were. immolated under their eyes,
while they were enjoying. Theo, one of the Prnce’s suc-
cessors, had, as he, a very cruel wife; they had invented
a brazen column they used to redden, and upon which
unfortunate people were bound under their eyes: “ The
Princess, ” says the historian from whom we borrow
these extracts, “ used to be amused immensely at the
writhings and screeches of these sad victims; she was
not pleased unless her husband frequently afforded her
this spectacle. ” Hist. des Conj., page 43, tome VII.
— 301 —
“other, perhaps for a long while. — Monster, ” said
my companion to him on pushing him back with horror,
“ be off; add not to the tortures thou inflictest upon
“me the despair of hearing thy horrible words; tiger,
“ glut thy rage, but respect at least my misfortunes. ”
Roland seized her, stretched her upon the sofa with her
legs wide open, and the workshop of generation wholly
in his reach. — “ Temple of my former pleasures, ”
cried this infamous fellow, “ ye who procured me such
“ pleasing ones when I gathered your first roses, I must
“ indeed bid ye farewell...” ‘The wretch! he drove
his fingers into it, and poking therewith, during several
minutes, in the inside, while Suzanne screamed, he took
them out only besmeared with blood. Satiated by these
horrors, and clearly seeing it was no longer possible for
him to contain himself: — “ Come, Therese, ” he says
to me, “ come, dear girl, let us unravel all this by a
“ short scene of the game of rope-cutting (1) ” (such

 

(1) This game, which has been described further back,
was greatly in vogue among the Celts from whom we
descend (See Histoire des Celts by monsieur) ; nearly all
these errors of debaucheries, these strange passions of
libertinism, some of which are described in this book,
and which today ridiculously rouse the attention of the
laws, were formerly either pastimes of our forefathers
who were better men than we are, or legal customs, or
religious ceremonies: nowadays we make crimes of them.
In how many pious ceremonies of the Pagans ‘used flog-
ging be employed! Several nations were wont to use
these same tortures, or passions, for the installing of
their warriors; this was called Huscanaver (See the Cere=
monies religieuses de tous les peuples de la terre).
Those drolleries, the only drawback of which may be at
most a harlot’s death, are at present deadly crimes! more
— 302 —

was the name of this fatal fun, of which I gave you a
description, the first time I spoke to you about Roland’s
vault). I get upon the tripod, the nasty man attaches
the rope to my neck, he sets himself before me; Suzanne,
although in a frightful state, excites him with her hands;
at a moment’s end, he pulls the stool upon which I am
standing; but, armed with the bill, the rope is directly
cut, and I fall upon the ground without any harm.
-— “ All-right, ” said Roland; “ thy turn, Suzanne: it
“ igs all over, and I pardon thee if thou gettest out of it
“ with as much skill. ”
Suzanne is put into my place. Oh! Madam, allow
me to conceal from you the particulars of this awful
scene..... The unfortunate girl did not return from it.
— “Let us go out, Therese, ” Roland says to me;
“ thou shalt not come back again to these places except
“ it be thy turn. — When you will, Sir, when you
“ will I replied; “ I prefer death to the awful life you
“ cause me tolead. Are there unhappy women as we are
to whom life may be still dear?..... ” And Roland
locked me up in my dungeon. My companions inquired
of me next day what had become of Suzanne; I informed
them of it; they were not astonished at; they were all
awaiting the same lot, and they all, after my example,
seeing therein the end of their evils, eagerly desired it.
Two years passed thus, Roland in his usual debau-
cheries, I in the horrible perspective of a cruel death,
when tidings were at last spread through the castle that
our master’s desires were not only satisfied, that he not

 

power to the progress of civilization! How they co-
operate with man’s happiness, how we are far more for-
tunate than our forefathers!
— 303 —

only received the immense quantity of bills he had re-
quested for Venice, but that he was also asked again
for another six million of forged moneys, the funds of
which were to be transmitted to him according to his
good pleasure, for Italy; he set out with an income of
over two millions, without the hopes he could conceive:
such was the fresh example Providence was preparing
for me. Such was the fresh manner in which it wanted
to convince me that prosperity was only for Crime, and
misfortune for Virtue.

Such was the state of things, when Roland came for
me to take me a third time down to the vault. I
quaked on recollecting the threats he had made me the

last time we went there. — “ Cheer up, ” he says to
me, “ thou hast nothing to fear, it is about a thing which
“ concerns only myself..... a strange voluptuousness

“ IT wish to enjoy and which will cause thee to run no
“ risks. ” I follow him. As soon as all the doors are
shut: — “ Therese, ” Roland says to me, thou are the
“ only one in the house upon whom I dare rely for what
“ is in hand; I wanted a very honest woman..... I
‘““ have seen but thee, I confess, I even prefer thee to
“my sister..... ” Filled with surprise, I begged him
“ to explain himself. — “‘ Hear me, ” he says to me;
“ my fortune is made, but whatever favors I may have
“ received from Destiny, it may forsake me at any
“ moment; I may be watched, I may be seized upon
‘“‘ during the conveyance I am going to make of my
“ riches, and, if this mishap befalls me, that which
“ awaits me, Therese, is the rope; it is the same pleasure
“as I delight in causing the women to taste, that will
“ serve me for punishment. I am convinced, as much
“as it is possible to be, that this death is infinitely
“ milder than it is cruel; but, as the women whom I
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have made feel its first pangs never wished to be
truthful with me, it is upon my own person I want to
find out its sensation. I wish to know, from my own
experience, whether it be not quite certain that this
squeezing determines, in the one who feels it, the
erector-nerve at the ejaculation; being once persuaded

‘ that this death is but a passtime, I shall face it far

“

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more undauntedly, for it is not the ceasing of my ex-
istence that frightens me: my principles are formed
thereon, and being thoroughly persuaded that matter
can never become but matter, I no more fear Hell than

‘ I expect Paradise; but I dread the torments of a

cruel death; I should not like to suffer while dying:
let us therefore make a trila. Thou wilt do to me
everything I have done to thee; I am going to strip
naked; I shall go upon the stool, thou wilt fasten the
rope; I shall excite myself a moment: then, as soon
as thou seest things settling down in a sort of steadi-
ness, thou wilt pull away the stool, and I shall remain
hanged; thou wilt leave me there until thou beholdest
either the erection of my seed or symptoms of suffer-
ings; in the second case, thou wilt loose me at once;
in the first case, thou wilt let Nature act and wilt
loose me only afterwards. Thou seest, Therese, I am
going to place my life in thy hands; thy freedom,
fortune, such will be the price of thy good conduct.
— Ah! Sir, ” I replied, “ there is extravagance in

this proposal. }— No, Therese, I require it, ” he

answered on undressing; “ but behave well; see what

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a proof I am giving thee of my confidence and es-
teem! ” What would have been the good of my

wavering? Was he not master of me? Besides, it ap-
peared to me that the evil I was about to do would be
immediately repaired by the extreme care I would take
— 305 —

to conserve his life; I was going to be mistress of that
life, but whatever may have been his intentions towards
me, it would certainly be only to restore it to him.

We make ourselves ready; Roland over-heats himself
by a few of his usual caresses; he gets upon the stool, I
hang him up; he wants me to rail at him all the while,
to reproach him with all the horrors of his life, I do so;
his dart soon menaces Heaven, he himself beckons to
me to pull away the stool, I obey. Would you believe
it, Madam? there is nothing so true as what Roland had
fancied: only symptoms of pleasure were depicted on his
face, and almost at the same instant rapid jets of seed
were shot to the ceiling. When all was spent, without
my having aided him in any way whatsoever, fly to set
him free; he swoons away, but by dint of attentions I
soon recalled him to his senses. — ‘“‘ Oh! Therese, ”
he says to me on opening his eyes, “ one has no idea
“of those sensations; they surpass all that one can
“relate: let people do as they will with me now, I defy
“ the sword of Themis. Thou art going to find me again
““ very deficient in acknowledgment, Therese, ” Roland
says to me on tying my hands behind my back, “ but
“ how wilt thou have it, my dear? people do not correct
“ themselves at my age..... Dear creature, thou hast
“just restored me to life, and I never conspired so
“ strongly against thine; thou hast complained of Su-
“* zanne’s fate: well! I am about to re-unite thee with
“ her; I am going to thrust thee alive into the vault
“ where she expired. ” I shall not describe my state
to you, Madam, you understand it; I might cry, lament
ever so much, I was not listened to. Roland opens the
unlucky vault, he lowers a lamp into it that I may the
better distinguish the host of dead bodies with which it
is filled; he next slips a rope under my arms bound, as
— 306 —

I have stated, behind my back, and by means of this
rope, he lets me down twenty feet from the bottom of
this * vault and about thirty feet from where he was
standing: I suffered awfully in this position, it seemed
my arms were being torn asunder. With what fright
must I not be seized, and what perspective presented
itself to me! Heaps of dead bodies in the midst
of which I was about to end my days and the loathsome
smell of which was already stifling me! Roland stays
the rope to a staff fixed across the hole; then, armed with
a knife, I hear him exciting himself. — “ Come, The-
“ rese, ” he says to me, “ recommend thy soul to God;
“ the moment of my delirium will be that on which I
“ shall cast thee into this burial place, on which I shall
‘* hurl thee into the everlasting abyss which is awaiting
“ thee; ah!..... ah! ..... Therese, ah!..... ” And
I felt my head covered with proofs of his ecstasy, with-
out his having luckily cut the rope. He draws me up
again. — “ Well, ” he says to me, “ hast thou been
“ afraid? — Ah, Sir! — Thou shalt die thus, The-
“ rese, be convinced of it, and I was very glad to ac-
custom thee to it.’ We went upstairs again.....
Should I complain, should I praise myself? What a re-
ward for that which I had just done again for him! But
could not the monster have done more for it? Could
he not make me lose my life? Ob what a man!

Roland was at last ready to depart. He came on the
eve to see me at midnight; I throw myself at his feet,
I most earnestly entreat him to set me free, and to give
me whatever trifle of money he liked to bring me to
Grenoble. — “ To Grenoble? Certainly not, Therese,
“ thou wouldst inform upon us there. — Well! Sir, ”
said I to him, on bathing his knees with my tears, “ I
“ swear to you never to go there, and in order to con-

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“

— 307 —

vince you of it, be pleased to bring me with you to
Venice; perhaps I shall not find there hearts as hard
as in my country, and once you are willing to bring me
to that town, I swear that by all that is most holy,
never to trouble you there. ”

— “ J shall not give thee a single assistance, a single

half-penny, ” this notorious rascal harshly replied;
all that relates to pity, to commiseration, to acknowl-
edgement, is far from my heart, that were I three
times as rich as I am, I should not be seen bestowing
a crown piece upon a poor man; the sight of mis-
fortune excites me, it amuses me, and when I can not

‘ myself do evil, I rejoice with delight at the one which

the hand of Destiny causes. I have thereupon prin-
ciples from which I shall not deviate, Therese. Poverty
is within the order of Nature: in creating men of un-
equal forces, she has convinced us of the desire she
had that this inequality should be maintained in the

‘ changes which our civilization would effect in her

laws; to relieve the needy man is to destroy the es-
tablished order; it is to be opposed to that of Nature,
it is to overthrow the equilibrium which is the basis
of her most sublime arrangements; it is to work at
indolence and slothfulness, it is to teach the poor
an equality dangerous for Society; it is to encourage
man to rob the rich man, when it may please the
latter to refuse his assistance, and that by the habit
in which these assistances will have placed the por
man of-obtaining them without labour. — Oh! Sir,
these are hard principles! Would you speak thus,
if you had not been always rich? — That may be,
Therese; every one has his own way of seeing, such is
mine, and I shall not change it. People complain of
the beggars in France: if people wished, there would
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— 308 —

be soon none of them; seven or eight thousand of
them would be no sooner hanged, than this infamous
brood would disappear. The political Body ought
to have thereupon the same laws as the physical Body.
Would a man devoured by vermin allow them to
live upon him through pity? Do we not root up in
our gardens the parasitic plant which injures the use-
ful vegetable? Why then try to act differently in
this case? — But religion, ” I cried, “ Sir, bene-
volence, humanity..... — Are the stumbling-blocks
of everything that pretends to happiness, ” said Rol-

and; “ if I have consolidated mine, it.is merely on the

“

46

ruins of all those infamous prejudices of man; it is in
mocking divine and human laws; in always sacrificing
the weak man when I found him in my way; in
cheating the public credulity, in ruining the poor
man and robbing the rich man, that I have arrived at
the steep temple of the divinity I was adoring; why
didst thou not imitate me? The narrow route to this
temple was offered to thy eyes as to mine; have the
chimerical virtues which thou hast preferred to them
consoled thee for thy sacrifices? There is no longer
time, unfortunate one, there is no longer time; weep
over thy faults, suffer and try to find, if thou canst,
in the bosom of the phantoms thou reverest, what
the worship thou hast rendered to them has made
thee lose. ”’ Cruel Roland rushes upon me at these

words, and I am again obliged to serve the filthy volup-
tuousnesses of a monster whom I so justly detested; I
thought he would strangle me this time. When his
passion was allayed, he took out the bull’s pizzle and
gave me more than a hundred lashes of it on the body,
assuring me that I was very happy because he had no
time to administer me more of them.
— 309 —

Next day, before setting out, this wicked fellow af-
forded us a fresh scene of cruelty and barbarity, of which
the annals of Andronicus, Ners, Tiberius, Venceslas
furnish no example. Everybody at the Castle thought
that Roland’s sister would leave with him, he had got
here therefore dressed; at the moment of mounting
horse, he led her to us: “ There is thy post, worthless
“creature ” he said to her, while commanding her to
strip naked; “ I wish my comrades to remember me,
“on leaving them as a pledge the woman by whom
they fancy I am most smitten; but as only a certain
number is wanted here, as I am going to make a
“ dangerous journey during which my weapons may
“ perhaps be useful to me, I must try my pistols on one
“ of these jades. ’ On saying this, he loads one of
them, presents it to the breast of every one of us, and
returning at last to his sister: — “ Away, ” he says
to her, “ wench, ” on blowing out her brains, “ go and
“ tell the Devil that Roland, the richest of imps on the
“earth, is he who most insolently defies both the hand
“ of heaven and his! ” This unfortunate girl, who did
not expire immediately, struggled for a long while under
her chains: a horrible spectacle which this infamous
scoundrel looks upon in cold blood, and from which he
at length tears himself away only on going away from
us forever.

Everything changed on the day after Roland’s depar-
ture. His successor, a mild and perfectly reasonable
man, had us instantly released. — “ That is no work
“ for a weak and delicate sex, ” he kindly said to us;
“ it is the business of animals to work that machine;
“ the trade we exercise is criminal enough, without
“ still offending the Supreme Being by free atrocities. ”
He established us in the castle, and put me, without

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— 310 —

exacting anything from me, in possession of the charges
which Roland’s sitser used to fulfill; the other women
were engaged in proportioning coins, an occupation un-
doubtedly far less tiresome and for which they were
nevertheless requited, as well as I was, by good rooms
and excellent food.

At the end of two months, Dalville, Roland’s suc-
cessor, informed us of the safe arrival of his colleague,
at Venice; he was enjoying there all the rest, happiness
he could have hoped for. ‘The destiny of him who was
replacing him was very far from being the same. Un-
fortunate Dalville was honest in his profession: it was
more than was needed in order to be speedily undone.

One day as all was still at the Castle, as under this
kind master’s laws, the work, although criminal, was
being carried on merrily, the doors are broken in, the
fences scaled, and the house, before our men had time
to think of their defence, is filled with more than sixty
Marechaussean cavaliers. It was necessary to surrender
there was no means of doing otherwise. We were
chained like beasts; we were tied upon horses and con-
veyed away to Grenoble. O Heavens! said I to my-
self on entering it, the scaffold is about to do for me
in this town where I was so foolish as to think that
good luck was to begin for me... O forebodings of
man, how deceitful ye are!

The forgers’ case was soon tried; all were sentenced
to be hanged. When the brand I bore was seen, they
almost saved themselves the trouble of questioning me,
and I was just going to be treated as the others, when
I endeavoured to obtain at length some pity from the
famous Magistrate, the honor of this tribunal, an up-
right judge, a loved citizen, an enlightened philosopher,
whose celebrated name wisdom and benevolence will en-
— 311 —

grave for ever, in golden characters, in the temple of
Themis. He listened to me; convinced of my good faith
and the truth of my misfortunes, he condescended to
pay more attention to my trial than his colleagues...
O great man, I owe you my homage; the gratitude of an
unfortunate girl will not be burdensome to thee, and the
tribute she offers thee in making thy heart known, will
be ever the sweetest enjoyment of her own.

M. S*** himself became my attorney; my declarations
were heard and his manly eloquence enlightened their
minds. The general depositions of the forgers, who
were on the point of being executed, came to support
the zeal of him who so kindly interested himself in me:
I was found misled, innocent, entirely acquitted of the
impeachment, with full liberty of becoming whatever I
liked. My protector added to these services, that of
making a collection for me, which yielded me more than
fifty louis; my forebodings seemed at last realized, and
I fancied I was at the end of my woes, when it pleased
Providence to convince me that I was as yet very far
from it.

At the time of getting out of prison, I had taken
lodging in an inn facing the river Isere, on the side of
the Suburbs, where I was assured I would be honestly.
My intention was, according to M. S’s*** advice, to
stay there for some time in order to try and get a place
in the town, or return to Lyons, should I not succeed,
with letters of recommendation which M. S*** had the
goodness to offer me. In this inn, I used to eat at
what they call the table d’hote, when I perceived on
the second day that I was closely watched by a stout,
well dressed Lady, who got herself styled Baroness:
by forcing of examining her in my turn, I thought I re-
— 312 —

cognized her; we proceeded as two persons who had
known each other, but could not remember where.

At length, the Baroness drawing me aside: — “ The-
“ rese, ” she says to me, “ am I mistaken? are you
“ not she whom I saved ten years ago from Jail, and
“ do you not recollect La Dubois? ” Being but little
flattered with this discovery, I however answer her po-
litely, but I had to deal with the craftiest and most
cunning woman there was in France: there was no
means of getting out of it. La Dubois loaded me with
politeness; she told me that she was concerned about my
destiny with the whole town, but that if she had known
this had interested me, there was no kind of steps she
would not have taken with the Magistrates, many
among whom were, she pretended, her friends. Feeble
as usual, I allowed myself to be led into this woman’s
room, and related to her my misfortunes. — “ My dear
“ friend, ” she says to me on embracing me again, if
“ TI have desired to see thee more intimately, it is to
“ inform thee that my fortune is made, and that all I
“ have is at thy service; look, ” she says to me on
opening boxes full of gold and diamonds, “ those are
“ the fruits of my profession; had I extolled virtue like
“ thee, I would be today locked in or hanged. — Oh!
“* Madam, ” said I to her, “ if you owe all that but to
“crimes, Providence, which always finishes by being
righteous, will not let you enjoy it long. — Error! ”
la Dubois says to me, “ do not imagine that Providence
“always befriends Virtue; let not a short instant’s
prosperity blinden thee to this degree. It is all
one to the maintenance of the laws of Providence
“ whether Paul indulges in evil, while Peter is doing
“good; Nature requires an equal sum of both, and
the practicing of crime rather than virtue is the

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— 313 —
“ most indifferent thing in the world to her. Listen,
“ Therese, pay a little attention to me, ” continued
this corrupter on seating herself and making me place
myself beside her; “ thou art intelligent, my child, and
“ T should like to finally convince thee.
“ It is not the choice man makes of Virtue, which
causes him to find happiness, dear gitl; for virtue is
as vice, only one of the ways of conducting one’s self
in the world; there is no question therefore of’ follow-
ing the one rather than the other; it simply treats
of walking within the general route; he who deviates
from it is always wrong. In a wholly virtuous world,
I would recommend thee virtue, because the rewards
“ being attached to it, happiness would infallibly
depend thereon: in a totally corrupted world, I shall
“ never recommend thee but vice. He who does not
follow the route of others, inevitably perishes; every-
body he meets with runs against him, and as he is
the weakest, he must necessarily be crushed. “ The
laws vainly try to establish order and bring men
back to virtue; being too biased for the undertaking
of it, too unfit to succeed therein, they will remove
an instant from the trodden way, but they will never
cause it to be forsaken. When the general interest
of men will incline them to corruption, he who will
not be corrupted with them, will therefore struggle
“ against the general interest; now, what happiness can
“ he expect who continually thwarts the interest of
“ others? Wilt thou tell me that it is vice which is
“ opposed to men’s interest? I should grant it to
“ thee in a world composed of an equal share of good
“ and bad people, because then the interest of the one
“ evidently clashes with that of the other; but tha< is
“ no longer the case in a wholy corrupted society: my

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vices then, while wronging only the wicked man, de-
termine in him other vices which indemnify him, and
we both find ourselves happy. The vibration be-
comes general; it is a host of shocks and mutual
damages by which everyone, on retrieving immediately
what he has just lost, is incessantly in a happy state.
Vice is dangerous only to Virtue which, being weak
and fearful, never attempts any undertaking; but
when she shall no longer exist on the earth, when
her fastidious reign is over, then vice, no longer

* wronging except the wicked man, shall make known

other vices, but will alter no more virtues. Why
shouldst thou not have failed a thousand times in
thy life, Therese, by constantly taking contrary-wise
the route which everybody was following? Hadst
thou abandoned thyself to the torrent, thou wouldst
have found the heaven as I have. Will he who wants
to go up a river run over as much ground in one and

‘the same day as he who comes down it? Thou

speakest to me always of Providence: ah! who proves
for thee that this Providence loves order, and conse-
quently virtue? Does it not incessantly set thee ex-
amples of its injustices and irregularities? Is it in
sending men war, the pest and famine, is it by having
formed a Universe vicious in all its parts, that it
manifests to thy eyes its extreme love for the good?
Why wilt thou have it that vicious individuals dis-
please it, since it acts itself only through vices, since
all is vice and corruption in its works, since all is
crime and disorder in its wills? But from whom,
moreover, have we those movements which hurry
us on to evil? is it not its hand which bestows them
upon us? is there a single one of our sensations but
comes from it? a single one of our desires whcih is
— 315 —

not its work? Is it therefore reasonable to say that
it would allow us, or give us inclinations for a thing
which would be obnoxious to, or of no use to it? If
then vices are subservient to it, why should we resist
them? by what right should we labour to destroy
them? and whence is it we should smother their voice?
A little more philosophy in the world would soon set
everything right, and let Magistrates, Legislators see
that the crimes they blame and punish with so much
rigor, have sometimes a far greater degree of utility
than those virtues they preach, without practicing
them in person and without ever rewarding them. ”
— “ But when I should be faint-hearted enough,

“Madam, ” I replied, “ to embrace your frightful

systems, how would you arrive at stifling the remorse
they would cause every instant to rise in my heart?
— Remorse is a chimera, ” la Dubois tells me; “ it
is, my dear Therese, but the faint murmuring of the
soul too cowardly to dare annihilate it. — Annihilate
it can it be done? — Nothing easier; people repent
only of what they are not in the habit of doing; renew
often that which causes you remorse, and you shall
soon extinguish it; oppose to it the fire-brand of the
passions, the powerful laws of interest, you shall
have it shortly consumed. Remorse does not prove
crime, it simply denotes an easily subdued soul; let
an absurd order be just issued to hinder thee from
instantly going out of this room, thou wilt not leave
it without remorse, however certain it be that thou dost

‘ no evil, nevertheless, by going out of it. Therefore,

it is not true that only crime gives remorse. By con-
vincing one’s self of the nothingness of crimes, of the
necessity they are , with respect to the general plan
of Nature, it would be therefore possible to overcome
— 316 —

“ the remorse which would feel after having committed
“ them, as easily as it would become thee to stifle the
“ one which would spring from thy going out of this
“ room after the illegal order thou shouldst have re-
“ ceived to remain in it. It is necessary to commence
by an accurate analysis of all that men call crime;
“ by convincing one’s self that it is merely the infraction
“ of their laws and national morals, which they so
“ characterize; that what is styled crime in France,
“* ceases to be so at two hundred leagues on the other
“ side; that there is no action really considered as uni-
“ versally criminal upon the earth; none which, being
“ vicious or criminal here, is not praiseworthy and vir-
“ tuous twelve miles off; that it is all a matter of opinion,
“ of geography, and that it is therefore absurd to try
“ and force ourselves to practice virtues which are but
“ vices elsewhere, and to flee crimes which are excellent
“ actions in another country. Now I ask thee whether
“ T can, according to these reflections, have still remorse,
“ for having through pleasure or interest committed, in
“ France, a crime which is simply a virtue in China;
“« whether I ought to make myself exceedingly unhappy,
“ constrain myself wonderfully in order to practice, in
“ France, acts which would cause me to be burnt at
“ Siam? Now, if remorse is only on account of the
“ prohibition, if it merely springs from the violation
“ of the curb and nowise from the act committed, it is
a very wise movement so as to be allowed to exist
“ in one’s self? Is it not silly not to stifle it at once?
“ Let us accustom ourselves to consider the action
“ which has just caused remorse, as indifferent; let us
“ judge it as such from the profound study of the morals
“and customs of all Nations on the Earth; in conse-
“ quence of this work, let us renew this action, such as
— 317 —

it is, as often as possible; or still better, let us per-
form more violent ones than those we are combining,
the better to accustom ourselves to the former one,
and in a short time, habit and reason will defeat re-
morse; they will soon do away with this gloomy move-
ment, the sole fruit of ignorance and education. We

* shall henceforth see that, since there is no rcal evil

in anything, it is stupid to repent, and cowardly not
to attempt doing what may be useful or agreeable to
us, whatever may be the obstacles that must be over-
turned to arrive at it. I am forty-five years old,
Therese; I committed my first crime at fourteen.
This one freed me from all the bonds that were con-
straining me: I have not ceased since from running
the hazard in a carecr bestrewed with them; there
is not a single one of them I have not committed

‘ myself, or caused to be committed... and I have

never known remorse. Be that as it may, I am draw-
ing near the end; two or three more lucky times, and
I shall pass from the state of mediocrity, in which
I was to finish my days, to an income of more than
fifty thousand livres. I repeat it to thee, my dear,
never during this way safely ran over, did remorse
make me feel its stings; were a frightful reverse to
hurl me instantly from the pinnacle into the abyss,
I should not feel it either; I should complain of men
or my own awkwardness, but I should be ever at
peace with my conscience. — I grant it,” I replied,
Madam, but let us reason a while according to your
very principles; by what right do you pretend to
require that my conscience should be as firm as yours,
since it has not been accustomed from its infancy
to overcome the same prejudices? With what right
do you require that my mind, which is not organized
a

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— 318 —

‘ like yours, should be able to adopt the same systems?
- You grant there is a total of good and bad in Nature,

and consequently there must be a certain quantity of
beings to do the good, and another to give themselves

‘ up to the bad; the side which I take is therefore in
“ Nature, and wherefore would you have it accordingly

that I should wander from the rules she lays down
for me? You find, you say good luck in the career
you are skipping over: good! Madam, whence is it
I should not find it likewise in the one I am following?
Do not fancy, moreover, that the vigilance of the
laws leaves him who infringes them a long while at

* rest; you have just seen a striking example of it: out

of the fifteen knaves among whom I dwelt, one es-
capes, fourteen perish ignominiously... ”

— “ And that is then what thou callest a misfor-

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tune? ” la Dubois replied. “‘ But what does this ig-
nominy matter to him who has no longer any prin-
ciples? When one has outstripped everything, when
honor is no more than a prejudice to our eyes, repu-
tation an indifferent thing, religion a chimera, death a
total annihilation; therefore, is it not the same thing,
then, to die on the scaifold or in one’s bed? There are
two species of rascals in the world, Therese; the one
whom a powerful fortune, a wonderful renown shelter
from this tragical end, and the one who shall not
escape it if he is taken. The latter, being born with-
out wealth, should have but one desire if he is intel-
ligent: to become rich at no matter what rate; if he
succeeds, he has what he wanted, he ought to be satis-
fied; if he is stretched on the rack, what shall he
regret, since he has nothing to lose? The laws are
therefore null with respect to all villains, from the

* moment they do not reach him who is powerful, and
— 319 —
“ since it is impossible for the unfortunate man to be
in dread of them, because their sword is his only re-
source. — Ah! do you believe, ” replied I, “ that
heavenly Justice is not awaiting in another world
him whom crime has not frightened in this? — I be-
lieve, ” retorted this dangerous woman, “ that if there
were a God, there would be much less evil on the
earth; I believe that, if this evil exists on it, either
these disorders are ordained by this God, and then he
is a barbarous being; or he is unable to prevent them:
from this moment, he is a weak God, and in every
case, an abominable being, a being whose thunder I
ought to defy and whose laws I ought to despise. Ah!
Therese, is not atheism better than either of these
extremes? Such is my system, dear girl, it is in me
since my infancy, and certainly I shall not renounce it
“ during my lifetime. — You cause me to quake,
“ Madam, ” said I on rising; “ permit me for being
“ unable to listen further both to your sophisms and
“ blasphemies. — A moment, Therese, ” said la Dubois
on holding me back, “ if I can not get the better of
“ thy reason, let me at least captivate thy heart. I want
“ thee, do not refuse me thy help; there are a thousand
“ louis, they are thine as soon as the deed is done. ”
Heeding here only my eagerness to do good, I at once
inquired of la Dubois what it was about, in order to
prevent, if I could, the crime she was preparing to
commit. — “ Here it is, ” she says to me; “ hast thou
“ remarked that young Merchant from Lyons, who eats.
“ here those four or five days? — Who? Dubreuil?
“ __ Precisely. — Well? — He is in love with thee,
“ he has trusted me with the secret; thy modest and
“ gentle look pleases him exceedingly, he likes thy can-
“ dor, and thy virtue delights him. This romantic

”

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— 320 —

“ lover has eight hundred thousand francs in gold or
‘ notes in a little box near his bed; allow me to make this
“ man believe that thou consentest to give ear to him:
“ let it be so or not, what is it to thee? I shall persuade
“ him to propose a walk to thee outside town; I shall
“ prevail upon him to make thee his advances during
“ this walk; thou wilt amuse him, thou wilt keep him
“ out as long as possible; I shall rob him in the mean-

“ while, but I shall not run away; his goods will be
“ already at Turin, while I shall be still in Grenoble.
“ We shall use all possible skill to dissuade him from
“suspecting us, we shall appear to be helping him in
“ his researches; yet my departure shall be announced,
“ it will not cause surprise; thou wilt follow me, and
“ the thousand louis shall be counted down to thee on
“ reaching the Piedmontese territory. ”

— “T accept, Madam, ” said I to la Dubois, fully
bent on acquainting Dubreuil of the theft they wanted
sto commit on him; “ but reflect, ’ I added the better
to deceive this wretch, “ that if Dubreuil is in love with
“ me, I can, on warning him, or in yielding to him, get
“ much more from him than you are offering me to
“betray him? — Bravo! ” la Dubois says to me,
“ that is what I call a good pupil; I begin to think that
“* Heaven has given thee more craft than me for crime.
“Well! ” she continued while writing, “ there is my
“ twenty-thousand crown note: dare refuse me now.
“ — T shall take good care not to do it, Madam, ”
said I on laying hold of the note, “ but attribute at
“least only to my unhappy state, both my feebleness
“and the wrong I am in by giving way to your se-
* ductions. — I wished thy wit to have the merit
“ of it, ” la Dubois says to me; “ thou choosest rather
“ that I should accuse thy misfortune for it, it will be
— 321 —

“as thou wilt have it; do my business in the mean-
“ while, and thou shalt be contented. ” Everything
was arranged; on the same evening J began to put Du-
breuil more at his ease, and I realiy saw he had a liking
for me.

Nothing could be more perplexing than my situation:
I was no doubt very far from consenting to the pro-
posed crime, should there have been question of ten
times more gold; but to inform on this woman was
another grief for me; I disliked very much to bring a
creature into danger, to whom I was indebted for my
liberty ten years before. I should have been willing to
find the means of preventing the crime without getting
it punished, and with anybody else but a consummate
rogue as la Dubois, I would have succeeded in it. This
is then what I resolved on doing, ignoring that this
horrible woman’s secret manoeuvres would not only de-
range the whole plot of my honest schemes, but would
also punish me for having conceived them.

On the day appointed for the intended walk, la
Dubois invites both of us to dine in her room. We
accept, and the meal being finished, Dubreuil and I go
down stairs to hurry the car which they were getting
ready for us, I was a while alone with Dubreuil before
setting out. — “ Sir, ” said I to him very quickly,
“ listen to me attentively; no noise, and carefully ob-
“ serve especially what I am going to prescribe; have
“you a trusty friend in this inn? — Yes, I have a
“ young partner on whom I may rely as on myself.
“ __ Good! Sir, go at once and bid him not to leave
“ your room a minute all the while we shall be out
“ walking. — But I have the key of that room; what
“ means this over precaution? — It is more essential
“ than you think, Sir: make use of it, I do beseech you,
— 322 —

or I shall not go out with you; the woman with whom
we have dined is a rogue: she is arranging the walk
we are going to take together, simply to rob you more
“ easily during that time; make haste, Sir, she is
“ watching us, she is dangerous; hand your key quickly
to your friend; let him go and set himself in your
room and not stir out of it until we are back. I shall
explain the rest to you as soon as we are in the
carriage. ” Dubreuil understands me, he shakes my
hand to thank me, flies to give orders concerning the
advice he receives, and returns. We start; I unfold the
whole adventure to him along the way, I relate my
own to him, and inform him of the unhappy circum-
stances of my life, which brought me into acquaintance
with such a woman. This honest and sensible young
man expresses his warmest gratitude to me for the service
I am so kindly doing him; he interests himself in my
misfortunes, and proposes to soften them down by the
offer of his hand: — “I am too happy to be able to
“ repair the wrongs which fortune does you, Miss, ”
he says to me; “ I am my own master, I depend on
nobody; I am passing over to Geneva for an exten-
sive letting out of the sums which your kind advice are
preserving for me, you shall follow me thither; on
reaching there I shall become your husband, and you
shall appear in Lyons only under this title. Or if you
prefer it, Miss, if you have any mistrust, it shall be
but in my own country that I will give you my name. ”
Such an offer flattered me too much that I should
dare to refuse it; but it did not suit me either to accept
it without making Dubreuil see that all might cause
him to repent for it; he was pleased with me for my de-
licacy, and only pressed me the more eagerly... Un-
happy creature that I was! should good luck be only
— 323 —

offered to me in order to penetrate me more keenly with
the grief of being never able to lav hold of it! should no
virtue therefore be able to spring up in my heart without
preparing torments for me!

Our conversation had already brought us two leagues
from the town, and we were just going to alight in
order to enjoy the cool in a wood on the bank of the
Isere, where we intended to walk, when all of a sudden’
Dubreuil told me he was ill... He alights, frightful
vomitings come upon him unawares; I get him at once
put back into the carriage, and we speedily drive back
to town. Dubreuil is so ill, that he must be carried into
his room; his state surprises his partner whom we find
in it, and who, according to his orders, had not gone out
of it; a physician arrives, good Heavens! Dubreuil is
poisoned! I scarcely learn this unlucky news, than I run
to la Dubois’s apartment; the wretch! she was gone
I go to my room, my press is broken open, the trifle of
money and the little clothing I have are taken away:
la Dubois, I am told, is running these three hours in the
Turin direction. It was not doubtful but that she was
the author of this host of crimes; she had come to Du-
breuil’s room; being nettled at finding people in it, she
had avenged herself upon me, and she had poisoned Du-
breuil, at dinner, in order that on returning, had she
succeeded on robbing him, this unfortunate young man,
more occupied with his life than with pursuing her who
stole his fortune, might allow her to fly safely away,
and in order that the accident of kis death occurring, so
to say, in my arms, I might be more likely suspected
than she; nothing informed us of her combinations; but
was it possible they should be otherwise?

I fled back to Dubreuil’s room: I am not allowed to
come near him again; I complain of these refusals, I
=

am told the reason of them. The unfortunate man is
dying, and busies himself no longer except about God.
Yet, he exculpated me; I am innocent, he assures; he
expressly forbids my being prosecuted; he departs. He
has barely closed his eyes, when his partner hastens to
come and give this news, on earnestly entreating me to
be quiet. Alas! was it in my power not to weep bitterly
the loss of a man who had so generously offered himself
to take me out of misfortune! was it in my power not to
deplore a theft which threw me back into misery, from
which I was merely issuing! Thou frightful creature!
I screamed; if it is to this thy principles lead, must we
honest folks should punish them! But I was reasoning
as an injured party, and la Dubois, who saw only her
happiness, her interest in what she had undertaken, un-
doubtedly concluded quite otherwise.

I confided the whole thing to Dubreuil’s partner, who
was named Valbois, and what had been combined against
him whom he lost, and what had happened to myself.
He pitied me, regretted Dubreuil most sincerely and
blamed the over tenderness which had hindered me from
lodging a complaint as soon as I had been informed of
la Dubois’s schemes. We conjectured that this monster,
who wanted only four hours to get into a land of safety,
would be there sooner than we should have given notice
of having her pursued; that it would cost a deal of
expense; that the master of the inn, seriously compro-
mised in the plaint we should lodge, and in clamorously
defending himself, would perhaps end by undoing me
myself, me... who appeared to breathe at Grenoble only
as a gibbet-runaway. ‘These reasons convinced me and
even frightened me so much, that I resolved to quit this
town without taking leave of my protector M. S***,
Dubreuil’s friend approved of this course; he did not
— 325 —

conceal from me that if the whole of this adventure was
set on foot again, the depositions he would be obliged
to make, would compromise me, whatever his precautions
might be, both on account of my intimacy with la Du-
bois, and owing to my last walk with his friend; that he
advised me therefore for this reason to set out at once
without seeing anybody, thoroughly certain that for his
part he would never act against me whom he believed
innocent, and whom he could accuse but of feebleness,
in all that had just occurred.

While thinking over Valbois’ counsels, I found them
the better because it appeared as certain I looked guilty,
as it was sure I was not so; because the only thing that
spoke in my behalf, the recommendation given to Du-
breuil at the moment of the walk, being, I was told,
badly explained by him on the point of death, would
not become so triumphant a proof that I should rely
upon it; owing to which I speedily made up my mind.
I informed Valbois about it. — “ I should like, ” he
says to me, “ my friend had entrusted me with a few
“ bequests favorable to you, I should discharge them
“‘ with the greatest pleasure; I should even wish he had
“ told me that he owed you the counsel of watching
“ his room; but he did nothing of all this; I am there-
“ fore forced to confine myself to the bare execution of
“ his orders. The misfortunes you have experienced for
“ him, would incline me to do something on my own
“« account, if I could, Miss; but I am beginning business,
“ I am young, my fortune is limited, I am obliged to
“ instantly remit Dubreuil’s accounts to his family; per-
“ mit therefore to confine myself to the sole trifling
“ service which I entreat you to accept: here are five
“ louis, and there is an honest trading woman of Chalon-
“ sur-Saone, my native place; she returns there after
— 326 —

“ having stopped twenty-four hours in Lyons, where
“ business calls her; I give you into her hands. Madam
Bertrand, ” continued Valbois, on bringing me to this
woman, “ this is the young person of whom I have
“ spoken to you; I recommend her to you, she desires a
situation. I beg you with the same earnestness as if
there was question of my own sister, to be on the look-
out as much as possible to find for her something in
this town to suit her person, birth and education; let
“ it cost her nothing for it until then, I shall settle with
you for all at first sight. Farewell, Miss, ” continued
Valbois on asking me leave to kiss me; “ Madam Ber-
“ trand is starting tomorrow at day-break: follow her,
and may somewhat more good luck accompany you
in a town where I shall perhaps have the satisfaction
of seeing you soon again. ”

The uprightness of this young man, who at the bottom
owed me nothing, caused me to shed tears. Kind pro-
ceedings are very sweet, when one experiences for a long
while hateful ones. I accepted his gifts, on swearing to
him that I was just going to work only to put myself in
a state of being able to give them back to him one day.
Alas! thought I on retiring, if the exercise of a fresh
virtue has just cast me into misfortune, at least for the
first time in my life does the hope of consolation offer
itself in this awful chasm of woes, into which virtue
hurls me again.

It was early the need of breathing caused me to go
down to the quay of the Isere, on purpose to walk about
there for a few minutes, and, as it mostly always happens
in a like case, my reflections carried me very far. Find-
ing myself in an isolated spot, I sat down there to think
more leisurely. However, night came on without my
thinking of going, when all of a sudden I felt myself

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— 327 —

seized on by three men. One puts his hand upon my
mouth, and the other two throw me headlong into a car,
get into it with me, and we cleave the air during three
long hours, without any of these brigands condescending
either to say a word to me, or answer any of my ques-
tions. The coach arrives near a house, gates are opened
to let it in, and are immediately shut. My guides carry
me, make me traverse several very dark apartments in
this way, and at last leave me in one, near which there
is a room where I perceive light. — “ Stay there, ”
said one of my ravishers to me, on withdrawing with his
comrades, “ thou art soon going to see acquaintances. ”
And they disappeared, carefully shutting all the doors.
Almost at the same time, that of the room where I saw
the light opens, and I behold ccming out of it, with
candle in hand... oh! Madam, guess who it could be...
la Dubois! ... la Dubois in persen, this awful monster
corroded no doubt by the most ardent desires of ven-
geance. — “ Come, charming maid, ” she says to me
haughtily, “ come and receive the reward of the virtues
“ to which you devoted yourself at my expense... ”
And shaking my hand wrathfully: “ Ah! wicked crea-
“ ture, I shall teach thee how to betray me! — No, no,
Madam, ” said I to her hastily, “ no, I have not be-
trayed you: inquire, I have not made the slightest
complaint that could cause you uneasiness, I have not
uttered the least word that could compromise you. —
But didst thou not oppose the crime I was meditating?
“ didst thou not prevent it, unworthy creature? Thou
“ must be punished for it...” And as we were enter-
ing, she had no time to say any more about it. The
apartment into which I was made pass was as sumptu-
ous as (it was) magnificently lighted up; there was, at
the end of it, on an ottoman, a man of about forty years

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— 328 —

old, in a loose taffeta morning gown, I shall shortly des-
cribe him to you. — “ Monseigneur; ” said la Dubois
on introducing me to him, “ here is the little girl you
“ wanted, the one in whom all Grenoble is interested. . .
“in a word, the celebrated Therese, sentenced to be
“ hanged with false coiners, and since freed because of
“her innocence and virtue. Acknowledge my clever-
“ness to be of service to you, Monseigneur; you ex-
“ pressed to me, a few days ago, the extreme desire you
“ had of sacrificing her to your passions; and today I
“ deliver her to you; perhaps you may prefer her to
“ that pretty boarder of the Benedictines’ Convent, at
‘““ Lyons, whom you likewise desixed, and who is just
“ going to arrive: the latter has ner physical and moral
“ virtue, this one has only that of sentiments; but it
“ forms a part of her existence, and you will find no-
“ where a more candid and upright creature. They are
“both yours, Monseigneur: you will either despatch
“both of them this evening, or one today, the other to-
morrow. As for me, I leave you: your goodness to
“ me obliges me to make known te you my adventure at
“ Grenoble. A man dead, Monseigneur, a man dead!
‘“ I make my escape. — Ah! no, no, darling woman, ”
cried the master of the place, “ no, do stay, and fear
“ nothing while I am protecting thee: thou art the soul
“ of my pleasures; thou alone hast the knack of exciting
“ and satisfying them; and the more thou redoublest
“ thy crimes, so much the more is my head inflamed for
“ thee... But this Therese is pretty...” And ad-

a

dressing himself to me: — “ How old are you, my
“ child? — Twenty-six, Monseigneur, ” I replied,
“and many sorrows. — Yes, sorrows, misfortunes; I

“am aware of all that, it is what amuses me, it is what
“ I wanted; we are just goint to put it into order, we
— 329 —
“are just going to end all your reverses; I warrant you
“that in twenty-four hours you shall be no longer un-
“happy...” And with frightful roars of laughter:
— “Is it no true, Dubois, that I have a sure means
“ to end a little girl’s misfortunes? —- Of course, ” said
this hateful creature; “ and had not Therese been a
“ friend of mine, I should not have brought her to you;
“ put it is right I should reward her for what she has
done for me. You would never imagine, Monseigneur,
how useful this darling creature was to me in my last
enterprise at Grenoble; you have kindly undertaken
my gratitude, and I do entreat vou to fully discharge
it for me. ”
The obscurity of these discourses, those which la
Dubois had made me on entering, the kind of man I
had to deal with, again that little girl who was pro-
mised, all filled my imagination at once with a confusion
which it would be hard to describe for you. A cold
sweat oozes from my pores, and I am near falling into
a swoon: such is the moment when this man’s proceed-
ings finally finish by enlightening me. He calls me, he
begins by two or three kisses where our mouths are com-
pelled to unite; he attracts my tongue, he sucks it, and
his at the bottom of my throat seems to pump out of it
even my very breath. He makes me lean my head upon
his breast, and lifting up my hair, he attentively ob-
serves the nape of my neck. — “ Oh! it is delightful, ”
he cries on vigorously pressing this part; “ I have never
“ seen anything fastened so well; it will be excellent to
“ be dislodged. ” This last discourse confirmed all my
doubts; I saw clearly I was again with one of those cruel-
passioned libertines, whose dearest voluptuousness consist
in the enjoyment of the suffering or the death of the un-
happy victims procured for them by plenty of money, and
— 330 —

that I was running the risk of losing my life with him.

In this instant somebody knocks at the door; laDu-
bois goes out, and forthwith brings in the young Lyon-
nese of whom she had just spoken.

Let us now endeavor to sketch for you the two new
personages with whom you are about to see me. The
Monseigneur, whose name or state I have never known,
was, as I have told you, a thin, lean but vigorously con-
stituted man of forty; constantly swollen muscles, rising
upon his arms coated cver with black shaggy hair, fore-
shadowed health and strength in him: his countenance
was full of fire, small, black, mischevious eyes, fine
teeth, and wit throughout all his features; his well
shaped waist was about the middle size, and the goad
of love, which I had only too many opportunities of
seeing and feeling, was over eight inches in circumfer-
ence by a foot long. This lean, sinewy, ever foaming
tool, upon which were to be seen big veins making it still
more formidable, stood up during the five or six hours
that the performance lasted, without lowering a minute.
I had never before lit on so hairy « man: he resembled
those Fawns which Mythology depicts for us. His bony,
hard hands were set off with fingers endowed with the
force of a vice; as to his character, it appeared to me
rough, hasty, cruel, his wit converted into a kind of sar-
casm, niggardliness suited to increase the ills which one
clearly saw were necessarily to be expected from such
a man.

Eulalie was the name of the young Lyonnese. It
sufficed to see her in order to judge of her birth and
virtue: she was the daughter of one of the best families
in the town where la Dubois’ villainies had carried her
away, under the pretext of uniting her with a lover whom
she adored; she enjoyed, besides a bewitching candor
— 331 —

and simplicity, one of the most delightful physiognomies
that it is possible to imagine. Eulalie, being scarcely
sixteen years old, had a real maiden’s countenance; her
innocence and chastity vied in embellishing her features:
she had but little color and was the more engaging on
this account; the sparkling of her lovely black eyes im-
parted to her pretty mien all the liveliness of which this
paleness seemed at first to deprive it; her rather large
mouth was supplied with the finest teeth, her already
formed breast looked still whiter than her complexion:
she was extraordinary handsome, and nothing was at the
cost of her good ease; her shape was round and full, ali
her flesh compact, soft and plump. La Dubois pretend-
ed that it was impossible to see a finer backside: being
but a poor judge in this matter, you will allow me not to
decide. -A light moss shaded the fore part; superb fair
hair, while floating over these charms, made them still
more pleasing; and, in order to complete her master-
piece, Nature, who seemed to form her at pleasure, had
gifted her with the mildest and most amiable character.
Tender and delicate flower, were you then to embellish
the earth for an instant, but to be forthwith decayed!

“ Oh! Madam, ” she says to la Dubois on recognizing
me! ... Good Heavens! where have you led me? —
“ You are just going to see my child, ” the master of
the house says to her in pulling her roughly to him,
and already beginning his kissings, while one of my
hands is by his order exciting him. Eulalie wanted to
defend herself; {but la Dubois, while squeezing her
unto this libertine, removes from her all possibility of
getting away. The performance was long; the fresher
the flower, the more this foul wasp loved to pump it.
The examining of the neck succeeded his repeated suck-
ing; and I felt that on touching it, the member I was ex-

“
— 332 —

citing received still greater energy.— “Come,” says
Monseigneur, “ here are two victims that are going to
“ fill me with joy: thou shalt be paid well, Dubois, for I
“ am thoroughly supplied. Let us go into my boudoir;
“ follow me, darling woman, follow us, ” he continues
while leading us away; “ thou shalt leave tonight, but
“ T want thee for the evening. ” La Dubois submits,
and we go into this lewd fellow’s cabinet, where we are
made strip naked.

Oh! Madam, I shall not undertake to represent to
you the infamies of which I was at the same time both
witness and victim. This monster’s pleasures were those
of a savage. His sole voluptuousness consisted in cut-
ting off heads. My unlucky companion..... Oh! no,
Madam..... Oh! no, do not ask me to finish.....
I was on the point of sharing the same destiny; incited
by la Dubois, this monster was making up his mind
to render my torture still more horrible, when a necessity
for both of them to recover their strength invites them
to sit down at a table..... What revelling! But am
I to complain of it, since it spared me my life? Over-
come by wine and food, they both fell blind-drunk with
the leavings of their supper. I hardly see them in this
state, than I spring upon a petticoat and mantle which
la Dubogis had just taken off in order to be still more
immodest in her protector’s eyes; I take a candle, I rush
towards the stairs: this house being supplied with valets,
nothing is opposed to my escape; I meet with one, I tell
him with a look of dread to fly to his master who is dy-
ing, and I reach the gate without encountering further
resistance. I did not know the ways, I was not allowed
to see them; I take the first I meet. It is the one to
Grenoble; everything assists us, when fortune is pleased
to smile a moment on us; they were still in bed at the inn,
— 333 —

I get into it secretly and fly in haste to Valbois’ room.
I knock, Valbois wakes up and barely recognizes me in
the state I am; he asks me what happens me, I relate
to him the horrors of which I have just been at once
‘both the victim and witness. “ You can have la Du-
“ bois arrested, ” said I to him, she is not far from here,
“ perhaps it may be possible for me to show the
“ way..... The wretch! besides all her crimes, she has
“ taken again from me both my clothes and the five
louis you gave me. — O Therese, ” Valbois says to
me, “ you are certainly the most unfortunate girl in the
“ world, but you see however, upright creature, in the
midst of the evils which overwhelm you, a heavenly
hand defending you; let it be another motive for
your being always virtuous, good deeds are never
without reward. We shall not persecute la Dubois,
my reasons for letting her alone are the same as those
I explained to you yesterday; let us simply repair the
ills she has done you; first of all, here is the money
she took from you. ” An hour after, a seamtress
brought me two whole dresses and linen..... — “ But
“ you must start, Therese, ” Valbois says to me; “ you
“ must set out this very day, la Bertrand is relying
“ thereon, I have persuaded her to wait a few hours for
“ you, go and meet her..... — O virtuous young
“ man! ” I cried in falling into my benefactor’s arms,
“ may Heaven restore you one day all the favors you

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“

“do me! — Go, Therese, ” Valbois answered me while
embracing me, “ the happiness you wish me..... I al-
“ ready enjoy it, since your own is my work..... Fare-
“ well. ”

This is how I left Grenoble, Madam, and if I did not
find in that town the felicity I had fancied, at least I
ae i

encountered in none, as in it, so many upright people
united to pity or alleviate my woes.

My conductress and I were in a small covered chariot
drawn by one horse which we drove from the bottom
of this car; where Madam Bertrand’s goods were to-
gether with a little girl of fifteen months old, whom she
was still suckling, and whom to my bad luck I was not
long before making as much friendship with as she who
had given her life could do.

This Bertrand was moreover a pretty nasty, suspi-
cious, prattling, gossiping, troublesome, shallow brained
woman. We used to bring down all her goods every
evening into the inn, and sleep in the same room. Things
got on all-right up to Lyons; but during the three days
which this woman required for her transactions, I had
in that town an encounter I was far from expecting.

I was walking in the afternoon along the Rhone-
wharf with one of the daughters of the inn, whom I had
begged to accompany me, when all of a sudden I per-
ceived the Reverend Father Antonin of Sainte-Marie-
des-Bois, now Superior of the house of his Order situated
in this town. This Monk accosts me, and after having
severely upbraided me in a very low tone for my flight,
and having brought me to understand that I was run-
ning great risks of being taken again, should he send
word about me to the Convent in Burgundy, he said to
me moreover, on softening down, that he would speak of
nothing if I wished on the very instant to come and see
him in his new abode with the girl who was accompany-
ing me, and who appeared to him a good prize; then
making aloud the same proposition to this creature:
“ We shall pay both of you well, ” said the monster;
we are ten in our house, “ and I promise you at least
“ a louis from each, if your compliance is unlimited. ”
— 335 —

I blushed exceedingly at these proposals; one moment,
I try to make the Monk believe he is mistaken; not suc-
ceeding in it, I employ signs in order to keep him with-
in bounds, but nothing cozens this insolent fellow, his
importunities become only more violent. At length,
upon our repeated refusals to follow him, he confined
himself to asking our address immediately; in order to
get rid of him, I gave him a wrong one: he wrote it
down in his pocket-book, and leaves us while assuring
us he shall soon see us again. While returning to the
inn, I explained, as well as I could, the history of this.
unlucky acquaintance to the girl who was accompanying
me; but whether what I told her did not suffice for her,
or whether she had been vexed perhaps with an act of
virtue from me, which deprived her of an adventure by
which she would have gained so much, she tattled; I
had only too much ground to perceive it from la Ber-
trand’s discourses, at the time of the unlucky catas-
trophe I am going to relate to you directly. However,
the Monk did not put in an appearance, and we set out.

It being late when we left Lyons, we could sleep this
first day’s journey only at Villefranche, and it was there,
Madam, that the frightful misfortune, which causes me
to appear before you today as a criminal, befell me,
without my being more so in this fatal circumstance of
my life, than in any of those you have seen me so un-
justly overwhelmed by mere chance, without anything
having led me into the abyss, except the goodness of my
own heart and the villainy of men.

Having arrived at Villefranche about six o’clock in
the evening, we were in a hurry to take supper and go
to bed, in order to begin a longer march next day.
We were not reposing two hours, when we were roused
up by a dreadful smoke; being persuaded that the fire
— 336 —

is not far off, we rise in haste. Good Heavens! the
progress of the conflagration was only too frightful al-
ready. We, half naked, open our door, and hear about
us but the loud crash of falling walls, the cracking of
the timber works while breaking, and the awful roars
of those falling into the flames. Surrounded by those
devouring flames, we no longer know where to flee; in
order to escape their violence, we rush into their focus,
and we find ourselves soon mixed up with the crowd of
unhappy beings who are seeking, as we are, their safety
in flight. I then remember that my conductress, more
taken up with herself than her child, did not think of
securing it from death; without advising her of it, I fly
to our room through the flames which compass and burn
me in several places; I snatch up the poor little creature;
I rush to carry it to its mother, leaning upon a half burnt
plank: my foot misses, my first move is to put my hands
before me; this impulsion of Nature forces me to let go
the precious burden I am holding..... It slips from
me, and the ill-fated child falls into the fire under its
mother’s eyes. On this instant I am seized myself.....
I am dragged; too affected to distinguish anything, I know
not whether it is relief or peril that is surrounding me;
but I am, for my misfortune, only too soon enlightened,
when thrown into a mail coach, I find myself there be-
side la Dubois who, placing a pistol on my brow, menaces
me with blowing out my brains if I utter a word.....
— “ Ah! wretch, ” she says to me, “ I have thee now,
“ and this time thou shalt not get away from me again.
“ _. Oh! Madam, here you are! ” I cried. — “ All
‘“ that has just taken place is my doing, ” this monster
answered me; “ it is by conflagration I saved thy life,
* it is through conflagration thou art just going to lose
“* it; I would have pursued thee even to Hell, had it
&

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— 337 —

been necessary, in order to have thee again. Mon-
seigneur became furious when he learned of thy
escape; I have two hundred louis for every girl I pro-
cure for him, and he not only wished not to pay me
for Eulalie, but he threatened me with all his wrath
if I did not bring thee back. I found thee out, I was
within two hours of having thee at Lyons; I arrived at
Villefranche yesterday an hour after thee; I set fire to
the inn by means of satellites I have always at my
wages, I wished to burn thee or recover thee; I have
thee, I am reconducting thee to a house which thy
flight threw into trouble and uneasiness, I am bringing
thee back to it, Therese, to be there treated in a cruel
manner. Monseigneur has sworn that he would not
have tortures sufficiently frightful for thee, and we do
not alight from off the car until we are at his house.
Well! Therese, what dost thou think now of Virtue?
— Oh! Madam, that she is very often the prey of
crime; that she is happy when she triumphs; but that
she ought to be the sole object of God’s rewards in
Heaven, if man’s forfeits succeed in crushing her upon
the earth. -— Thou shalt not be long, Therese, with-
out knowing whether there is a God who punishes or
who rewards men’s actions. .... Ah! if, in the eternal
nothingness into which thou art about to return pres-
ently, it was permitted thee to think, how thou wouldst
regret the fruitless sacrifices which thy obstinacy has
forced thee to make to phantoms which have never
repaid thee but with misfortunes! ..... Therese,
there is still time, wilt thou be my accomplice? I do
save thee, I cannot bear to see thee always failing in the
dangerous paths of Virtue. What! thou art not yet
punished enough for thy wisdom and erroneous prin-
ciples? What misfortunes wilt thou then have in
— 338 —

order to correct thee? What examples are needed
for thee in order to convince thee that the side thou
espousest is the worst of all, and, as I told thee a
hundred times, only mishaps are to be expected when,
going contrary to the great mass of people, you wish to
be alone virtuous in a wholly corrupted Society? Thou
reliest upon a revengeful God: undeceive thyself, The-
rese, undeceive thyself, the God thou contrivest for
thyself is merely a chimera, the existence of which is
never met with except in fools’ heads; it is a phantom,
invented by men’s villainies, having in aim to simply
deceive them, or to set them in arms against one an-
other. The most weighty service that could have been
done them, would have been to slay on the spot the
first imposter who thought of speaking to them of God.
What a deal of blood one sole murder would have spar-
ed throughout the Universe! Come, come, Therese, the
ever busy, ever active Nature has no need of any mas-
ter at all to direct it. And if this master truly existed,
would he deserve of us, after all the defects with
which he filled his works, anything else but contemp
and outrages? Ah! if thy God does exist, how I hate
him! Therese, how I loathe him! Yes, if this exist-
ence was true, I grant, the mere pleasure of perpetual-
ly exasperating him who would be invested with it,
would become the most precious amends for the neces-
sity, I should be then in, of giving any credit to
him..... Once more, Therese, wilt thou become my

* accomplice? A superb blow presents itself, we shall

execute it boldly; I do spare thy life if thou dost at-
tempt it. The Seignior, to whose place we are going,
and with whom thou art acquainted, encloses himself
up in the country seat where he carries on his games;
thou knowest the class they are of requires it; only
— 339 —

one valet lives with him there, when he goes there on
pleasure: the man who is runing before this post-
chaise, thou and I, dear girl, here we are three against
two; when this libertine will be in the heat of his
voluptuousnesses, I shall snatch the sword with which
he takes away his victim’s lives, thou wilt hold it, we
shall kill him, and my trusty fellow will in the mean-
while lay his valet low. He has money hidden in this
house, Therese, upwards of eight hundred thousand
francs, I am sure; the blow is worth the trouble.....
Choose, wise creature, choose: death, or my service;
if thou betrayest me, if thou informest him of my
scheme, I shall charge thyself alone with the crime,
and doubt not of my carrying it through the trust he
always placed in me..... Think well before thou
answerest me; this man is a villain: therefore in as-
sassinating him we do no more than help the rigor of
which he has merited. There is not a day, Therese,
but this rascal assassinates a girl; is the punishing of
Crime, therefore, the outraging of Virtue? And will
the reasonable proposal I am making thee alarm

* again thy austere principles? — Do not doubt it,

Madam, ” I replied, “ it is not in view of correcting
crime that you propose me this action, it is in the sole
motive of committing one yourself: there can be then
but a very great evil in the doing of what you say,
and no showing of legitimacy. Nay more: had you
even for design to merely avenge: Humanity for this

’ man’s horrors, you would be still wrong to go about

it, this concern is none of your business: laws are
enacted in order to punish the guilty, let them take
their course; it is not to our feeble hands the Supreme
Being has entrusted the power of their sword (1);

 

(1) The power of life and death. (Note of the Trans-

lator).
= 340 —

““ we should not make use of it without marring them.
“ —_ Good! thou shalt die, unworthy creature! ” re-
torted la Dubois in a fury, “ thou shalt die, hope no
“* more to escape thy destiny. ”

— ‘“ What’s that to me? ” I quietly re-
plied; ‘‘ I shall be freed from all my ills,
“ death has nothing to frighten me, it is
“ life’s last sleep, it is the unfortunate one’s
“ rest...” And at these words that fero-
cious beast rushed upon me, I thought she
“ was going to strangle me; she gave me
several blows in the chest, but let go how-
ever as soon as I shouted, for fear the pos-
tilion might hear me.

Yet we are advancing very quickly; the
man who was running ahead used to pre-
pare our horses, and we stopped at no sta-
tion. At the very moment of the relays,
la Dubois used to take up her fire-arm, and
set it against my heart... What to at-
tempt?... Indeed my weakness and situa-
tion disheartened one to the degree of pre-
ferring death to the pains of defending my-
self from it.

We were near entering into Dauphiny,
when six horsemen, galloping at full speed
after our car, overtook it and, sabre in
hand, compelled our postilion to pull up.
At thirty paces from off the road there was
a Beis

a thatched house where these troopers,
whom we soon recognized as being of the
Marechaussee, ordered our postilion to
bring the car: when it is there, they make
us alight, and we all go into the country-
man’s house. La Dubois, with an unimag-
inable effrontery in a woman loaded with
crimes, and being arrested, asks these
troopers haughtily whether she was known
to them, and what right were they thus
using with a woman of her rank? — ‘“ We
“have not the honor of knowing you,
“Madam, ” said the Exempt; ‘“‘ but we are
“certain you have in your car an unlucky
“ girl who set fire yesterday to the principal
“inn of Villefranche. ” Then staring at
me: “ Here is her description, Madam, we
“are not mistaken; kindly hand her over
to us, and inform us how so respectable
a person as you appear to be, could take
charge of such a woman? — There is
nothing extraordinary in this event, ” re-
plied la Dubois still more insolent, “ and I
“ pretend neither to conceal it from you,
nor to take this girl’s part, if it be certain
she is guilty of the frightful crime of
which you speak. I was, as she, lodging
yesterday at the inn at Villefranche, I left
it in the midst of that confusion, and as I

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= 342 es

“ was getting into the car, this girl rushed
“ to me imploring my compassion, telling
“me that she had just lost everything in
“ that conflagration, and that she begged me
to take her with me as far as Lyons, where
“she hoped to find a place. Yielding to
my reason much less than to my heart,
I complied with her requests; once in my
chaise, she offered me her services; I
again consented to everything imprud-
ently, and I was bringing her into Dau-
phiny where my wealth and family are.
It is certainly a lesson, I clearly see now
all the inconveniences of pity; I shall pro-
“ fit by it. Here she is, Gentlemen, here
“ she is; God forbid I should be interested
in such a monster! I give her over to
the rigor of the laws, and beg you to care-
fully conceal the misfortune I have had
to believe her an instant. ”

I endeavoured to defend myself, I
endeavoured to inform on the real culprit;
my words were looked on as slanderous re-
criminations, which la Dubois simply denied
with a-contemptible grin. O fatal effects
of misery and prevention, of riches and in-
solence! Was it possible that a woman who
had herself styled the Baroness de Fulconis,
who made a display of luxury, who bestow-

“
= $45

ed upon herself lands, a family; could it be
that such a woman could be guilty of a
crime in which she appeared not to have
the slightest interest? On the contrary, was
not everything against me? I was without
protection, I was poor: it was quite certain
I was in the wrong.

The Exempt read la Bertrand’s com-
plaints forme. It was she who had accused
me; I had set fire to the inn to rob her more
at my ease: she had been robbed to the last
sou; I had thrown her child into the fire, in
order that the despair into which this event
was going to cast her, while blinding her
about the rest, might not permit her to see
my manoeuvres; I was moreover, la Ber-
trand had added, a fast girl escaped from
the gibbet at Grenoble, and of whom she
had foolishly taken charge through compla-
cence for a young man from her place, my
sweetheart no doubt. I had publicly and
in broad daylight accosted Monks at Lyons;
in fine, there was nothing ‘of which this
nasty creature had not taken advantage in
order to ruin me, nothing which calumny
sharpened by despair had not invented to
degrade me. At this woman's entreaties,
there was a juridical examination made on
the very place. The fire had broken out in
— 344 —

a hay-loft where several persons had sworn
I had entered on the evening of this unlucky
day, and that was true. Looking for a
water-closet badly pointed out by the ser-
vant-maid to whom I applied, I had gone
into this garret, not finding the place I was
seeking, and I remained there long enough
to cause what I was being accused of to,be
suspected, or at least to furnish probabili-
ties; and we know they are proofs in this
age. I might then defend myself ever so
much, the Exempt replied to me only in
preparing manacles for me: — “ But,
“ Sir, ” said I again before letting myself
be bound, “ if I had robbed my fellow trav-
“ eller at Villefranche, the money must be
about me: let me be searched.’ This
frank defence but excited mirth; they as-
sured me that I was not alone, that they were
sure I had accomplices to whom I handed
the stolen money, while making away. Then
scurvy Dubois, who was aware of the brand
I had had the misfortune to receive formerly
at Rodin’s, feigned for an instant to have
pity. — “ Sir, ” said she to the Exempt,
“ there are so many errors committed daily
“ about all those matters, that you will ex-
cuse me for the idea that occurs to me: if
“ this girl is guilty of the deed she is ac-

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= BAS

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cused of, it certainly is not her first forfeit;
people do not arrive in one day at crimes
of this nature: I beg you, Sir, to inspect
this girl... If you happen to find on her
unfortunate body... but if nothing ac-
cuses her, allow me to defend and protect

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“

“her.” The Exempt consented to the
verification... it was going to be per-
formed... — “ A moment, Sir, ” said I on

opposing it, “ this search is needless;
“Madam knows well that I bear that fright-
ful mark; she also knows well what mis-
fortune is the cause of it: this shift on her
part is an increase of horrors which shall
-be unmasked, as well as the rest, in the
very temple of Themis, Lead me to it,
Gentlemen, here are my hands, load them
with chains; Crime alone blushes to bear
them, unhappy Virtue groans under them,
but it is not frightened at them. — In-
‘“ deed, I should not have thought, ” said
la Dubois, “ that my idea would have such
“success; but as this creature requires me
for my goodness in her behalf by artful
inculpations, I offer to go back with her,
if necessary. — This step is wholly use-
“less, my Baroness, ” said the Exempt;
“this girl is the sole object of our re-

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searches: her avowals, the brand with which
“ she is marked, all condemns her; we want
“ but her, and we apologize most humbly
for having disturbed you so long. ” I was
at once chained, thrown behind one of these
troopers, and la Dubois departed while
achieving her insults by the gift of a few
crown-pieces, left with my guards through
pity in order to relieve my situation in the
sad abode I was just going to inhabit in
awaiting my trial.

O Virtue! I cried, when I beheld myself
in this frightful humiliation, couldst thou re-
ceive a more sensible outrage! What is pos-
sible that Crime should dare affront and pre-
vail over thee with so much insolence and
impunity!

We were soon at Lyons; on arriving I was
‘thrown into the criminals’ dungeon, and
there I was entered into the jailer’s book as
an incendiary, a fast girl, an infanticide and
a thief.

There had been seven persons burnt in
the inn; I thought I would have been burnt
myself; I wanted to save a child; I was go-
ing to perish, but she who was the cause of
that horror was escaping from the vigilance
of laws, the justice of Heaven: she was tri-
gap

umphing, she was returning to fresh crimes,
whilst I, innocent and unhappy, had before
me but dishonor, disgrace and death.

Being for a long while accustomed to cal-
umny, injustice and misfortune; formed
from earliest childhood to give way to senti-
ment of virtue, only on the assurance of find-
ing thorns therein, my grief was more silly
than heart breaking, and I wept less than I
should have fancied. Yet, as it is natural
to the suffering creature to seek all possible
means of getting out of the abyss into which
its misfortune has cast it, Father Antonin
came into my mind; however slight assist-
ance I expected from him, I did not refuse
my self the desire of seeing him: I asked for
him, he came. He was not told who wanted
him; he pretended he did not recognize me:
then I told the keeper that it was indeed pos-
sible that he did not remember me, having
guided my conscience only when I was very
young, but that I sought on this footing a
private conversation with him. This was
agreed upon by both sides. As soon as I
was alone with this Monk, I rushed to his
knees, I sprinkled them with my tears, con-
juring him to save me from the cruel posi-
tion I was in; I proved my innocence to him;
I did not hide from him how the evil pro-
==

posals he had made me a few days before
had turned against me the person to whom
I had been recommended, and who was now
my accuser. The Monk heard me very at-
tentively. — “ Therese, ” he says to me
then, “ do not fall into a passion as usual,

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as soon as one infringes on thy cursed pre-
judices; thou seest where they have led
thee, and thou mayst easily persuade thy-
self now that it is a hundred times better
to be a base woman, than wise and in mis-
fortune; thy case is as bad as it can be,
dear girl, it is needless to conceal it from
thee: this Dubois thou speakest to me
about, having the greatest interest in thy
ruin, will certainly work at it underhand;
la Bertrand will prosecute; all appear-
ances are against thee, and only appear-
ances are needed nowadays to incur the
sentence of death. Thou art therefore a
lost girl, that is clear. Only one exped-
ient can save thee; I am on good terms
with the Intendant, he can influence the
judges of this town very much; I am go-
ing to tell him thou art my niece, and
claim thee under this title: he will bring
the whole process to nought; I shall re-
quest thee to be sent away to my family;
I shall get thee carried off, but it will be
me G40

to shut thee up in our convent out of
which thou shalt never go during life...
and there, I do not conceal it from thee,
Therese, the servile slave of my oddities,
thou shalt appease them all without re-
flection; thou shalt likewise give thyself
up to those of my confriers: in fine, thou
shalt be mine as the most submissive of
victims... Thou understandest me: the
business is rude; thou knowest what the
passions of libertines of our class are:
“make up thy mind then, and delay not
“ thy answer, — “ Away, father, ” I re-
plied with horror, ‘“ you are a monster to
“ endeavour to take advantage of my situ-
“ation so cruelly, in order to place me be-
“ tween death and infamy; I can die, if
“ necessary, but it shall be at least without
“remorse. — What you will! ” this cruel
man says to me on retiring; “ I could never
“ force people to be happy. Virtue has suc-
“ ceeded so well up to the present with you,
“ Therese, that you are right to cense her
“altars... Adieu: above all do not think
“of requiring me again.” He was walk-
ing out; a stronger emotion than myself
dragged me back to his knees. — “ Tiger,”
I cried in tears, “ open thy stony heart to
“ my woeful misfortunes, and do not im-
— 350 —

““ pose upon me, in order to end them, con-
“ditions more frightful for me than
“ death...” The violence of my emotions
had caused the veils, which were covering
my bosom to disappear; it was bare, my dis-
hevelled hair floated over it, it was bedewed
with tears: I excite desires in this lewd
man... desires which he wishes to satisfy
at once; he dares let me see what degree my
state is inflaming them; he dares conceive
pleasures in the midst of the chains which
are encompassing me, beneath the sword
ready to smite me... I was upon my
knees... He knocks me over, he throws
himself headlong with me upon the shabby
straw which serves me for a bed; I try to
cry, he madly plunges a handkerchief into
my mouth; he ties my arms: being master
of me, the infamous rascal scrutinizes me
everywhere... all becomes the prey of his
eyes, his handlings, and his base fondlings;
at last he gluts his desires.

— “ Listen, ” he says to me while untying
me and setting himself to rights again, “ you
“ do not wish me to be of service to you, I
“am glad of it! I leave you; I shall do
“you neither good nor harm, but should
“ you go about mentioning a single word of
“what has just taken place, while loading
— 351 —

“ you with the most enormous enemies, |
“ shall instantly remove from you every
means of being able to defend: yourself;
reflect well before you speak. I am sup-
posed to be the depository of your con-
fession... you understand me: we are al-
lowed to reveal everything when there is
question of a culprit; therefore, compre-
“ hend thoroughly the sense of what I am
“ going to tell the keeper, or I shall at once
“ruin thee completely. ” He knocks, the
jailer appears: — “ Sir, ” this traitor says
to him, “ that merry girl is mistaken, she
“ meant to speak of a Father Antonin who
“is at Bordeau; I don’t know her at all, I
“ have never even seen her: she begged me
“ to hear her confession, I have done so; I
“wish you both good day, and shall be al-
“ ways ready to make my appearance when-
“ ever my ministry will be deemed service-
* able, ”

Antonin walks out in uttering these words,
and leaves me as perplexed with his roguery,
as shocked at his insolence and libertinism.

Whatever might become of it, my state
was too horrible not to make use of every
means; I bethought me of M. de Saint-Flor-
ent. It was impossible for me to believe
that this man could slight me with respect

“
— 352 —

to the behaviour I had observed towards
him; I had done him a service signal enough,
he had treated me pretty cruelly, to imagine
he would not refuse to redress his wrongs
in my regard in so essential a circumstance,
and to acknowledge, as far as it was in his
power, at least what I had done so uprightly
for him; the heat of passions might have
blinded him on the two occasions I had
known him; his horrors were somewhat ex-
cusable, but in this case no sentiment ought,
according to my mind, to hinder him from
assisting me... Would he begin afresh his
last proposals to me? Would he set the
frightful services he had explained to me at
the rate of the help I was going to crave
from him? Well! I would accept, and once
free, I would easily find means to shake off
the yoke of the abominable style of living’
in which he might have the meanness to en-
gage me. Big with these reflections, I write
to him, I describe my misfortunes to him, I
humbly beg him to come and see me; but I
had not sufficiently considered this man’s -
soul, when I had thought beneficence capa-
ble of entering into it; I had not sufficiently
remembered his horrible maxims, or, my ill-
fated feebleness ever obliging me to judge
others after my own heart, I had improperly
— 353 —

supposed that this man should behave to-
wards me as I should have certainly done
towards him.

He arrives; and as I asked to see him
alone, he was left at large in my room. It
had been easy for me to see by the marks of
respect lavished upon him, what his pre-
ponderance in Lyons was like. — “ What!
“itis youP ” he says to me casting disdain-
ful looks at me, “‘ I was mistaken about the
“letter, I fancied it from a more honest
“woman than you are, and whom I should
“ have obliged with all my heart; but what
“ will you have me do for an idiot like you?
“ Why, you are guilty of a hundred crimes,
“ the one more frightful than the other, and
“when means of earning your bread hon-
“ estly are proposed to you, you refuse them
“ obstinately? Folly was never carried
“ farther. — Oh! Sir, ” I cried, “ I am not
“ guilty. — What must be done to be sop ”
this hard-hearted man hastily retorted.
“ The first time in my life I see you is in the
“ midst of a band of robbers who want to
“ assassinate me; now it is in the prisons of
“ this town, charged with three or four
“ fresh crimes, and bearing, I am told, upon
“ your shoulders the assured mark of form-
er ones. If you call that honesty, teach
“

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me therefore what is necessary not to be
so? — Good Heavens! Sir, ” I replied,
can you reproach me with the time of life
when I knew you, and would it not be
much rather my turn to make you blush
at it? I was against my will, you know,
Sir, among the bandits who arrested you;
they wished to take your life away, I
saved you, by favouring your flight, by
both of us escaping; what did you do,
cruel man, in order to return thanks for
this service? Can you possibly remem-
ber it without horror? You wanted to as-
sassinate me, you stunned me by fright-
ful blows, and then taking advantage of
the state you had put me in, you snatched
from me what I held most dear; through
an excess of unexampled cruelty, you
robbed me of the little money I had, as if
you wished that humiliation and misery
should come to achieve your victim! You
succeeded thoroughly, barbarous man;
your success is complete indeed; it is you
who plunged me into misfortune; it is you
who set the abyss yawning into which I
have not ceased from falling since that un-
lucky moment.

“ T nevertheless forget all, Sir, yes, all is
effaced from my memory, I even beg your
— 355 —

pardon for venturing to reproach you
with it; but could you dissemble that some
amends, some acknowledgement are due
from you tome? Ah! deign not to close
up your heart, when the path of death is
spreading over my sad days; this is not
what I fear, it is ignominy; spare me the
horror of dying as a culprit; all I crave
from you is confined to this sole favor, do
not refuse it to me, Sir, do not refuse it t~
me, both Heaven and my heart will re-
ward you for it one day. ”

I was in tears, I was upon my knees before
this savage man, and far from reading in his
countenance the effect of the emotions with
which I hoped to shake his soul, I distin-
guished therein only a change of muscles
startled by that kind of lust, which springs
from cruelty. Saint-Florent was seated be-
fore me; his black, cunning eyes scrutinized
me dreadfully, and I noticed him handling
his person, which proved that the state I put
him in, was very far from pity; he neverthe-
less wore a false face, and rising: —
“ Look, ” he says to me, “ your whole case
“is now in the hands of M. de Cardoville;
“ T need not tell you the post he fulfills: suf-
“ fice for you to know that your destiny de-
“ pends wholly on him. He is an intimate

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— 356 —

“ friend of mine ever since earliest boyhood,
“ Tam just going to speak with him; if he
agrees to any measures, you will be sent
“ for about nightfall, that he may see you
“either at my place or his own; in the
“ secrecy of a like inquiry, it will be much
“ easier for him to turn everything to your
“ favor, which he could not do here. If this
“ grace is obtained, clear yourself when you
see him, make good your innocence to
him so as to persuade him; that is all I can
“do for you. Good-bye, Therese, be ready
at all events, and especially do not put me
to useless steps.’ Saint-Florent walked
out.

Nothing equalled my perplexity; this
man’s conversations, the character I knew
he was of, and his present behaviour were of
so little conformity, that I feared some more
snares. But be pleased to judge of me,
Madam: did it become me to waver in the
cruel position I was in? and should I not
eagerly lay hold of everything that looked
like assistance? I resolved therefore to
follow those that would come for me: should
it be to make a prostitute of me? I would
defend myself as best I could; would I be
led to death? be it so! it will not be ignomin-
ious at least, and I shall be rid of all my
woes. It is striking nine o’clock, the jailer

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“ss
— 357 —

appears; I tremble. — “ Follow me, ” this
Cerberus says to me; “ it is on the part of
“ Messrs. Saint-Florent and de Cardoville:
“mind and profit, as you ought, by the
“ favor which Heaven is offering you; we
“have many here who should jike such
“ grace, but who will never obtain it. ”
Decked out as best I can, I follow the
keeper who delivers me into the hands of
two exceedingly queer looking fellows
whose wild aspect increases my fears; they
do not speak a word to me: the hackney-
coach advances, and we alight at a spacious
mansion which I soon recognize as Saint-
Florent’s. The stillness everything appears
to be in, serves only to increase my dread.
In the meanwhile my conductors take me
by the arm and we go upstairs to the fourth
floor, into small apartments which appeared
to me as tasty as mysterious. Accordingly
as we were penetrating all the doors were
shut upon us, and so on till we came to a
back drawing-room where I saw no win-
dows: there were here, Saint-Florent and
the man who I was told was M. de Cardo-.
ville, on whom my case depended; this big,
fat personage with a gloomy and savag~
countenance, might be about fifty years of
age; although he was in home dress, it was
— 358 —

easy to see he was a lawyer. A great air of
severity was shadowed throughout his
whole person; it deceived me. Cruel in-
justice of Providence, it is therefore possible
for Crime to frighten Virtue! The two men
who had brought me, and whom I distin-
guished better by means of the glimmering
of the twenty wax candles with which this
room was lighted, were not more than from
twenty-five to thirty years old. The one
who appeared to me the elder, whom they
called La Rose, was a handsome brown man,
shaped like a Hercules; the younger man’s
features were more effeminate, his hair was
of the prettiest chesnut-color, and he had
large black eyes; he was at least five feet
ten inches tall, extraordinarily handsome,
and of the finest skin in the world; his name
was Julien. As to Saint-Florent, you are
acquainted with him: as much roughness in
his features as in his character, and withal
some comeliness. — “ Is every place
“closed? ” said Saint-Florent to Julien.
“ — Yes, Sir, ” replied the young man;
“your men are revelling by your orders,
“and the door-keeper, who is alone on
“ guard, will take care to let nobody enter. ”
These few words enligthened me, I quaked,
but what could I have done with four men
— 359 —

before me? — “ Sit down there, friends, ”
said Cardoville while kissing these two
young men, “ we shall make use of you
“when we want you. — Therese, ” said
Saint-Florent then on pointing me out to
Cardoville, “ there is your judge, there is
“ the man on whom you depend; we have
“ talked over your case; but it seems to me
“ that your crimes are of such a nature that
“reconciliation is very hard. — She has
“ forty-two witnesses against her, ” said
Cardoville seated on Julien’s knees, kissing
him on the mouth, and allowing his fingers
most immodest fondlings upon this young
man’s person; “ we have condemned no-
“ body to death this long time, whose crimes
“ were proven clearer! — I, proven crimes?
““— Proven or not, ” said Cardoville stand-
ing up and coming impudently to tell me
under my nose, “ thou shalt be burnt, wench,
“ if through an entire resignation, through
a blind obedience, thou dost not instantly
consent to whatever we are just going to
require of thee. — More horrors! ” I cried;
what! it will be therefore only by yielding
to infamies, that innocence may triumph
over snares which the wicked set for it! —
“ That is within the order, ” retorted Saint-
Florent; “ the weakest one must yield to

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— 360 —

“ the desires of the strongest one, or be the
“ victim of his villainy: it is your case, The-
“ rese; obey then.” And at the same time
this libertine quickly tucked up my petti-
coats. I drew back, I pushed them off with
horror; but having fallen through my mo-
tion, into Cardoville’s arms, the latter grasp-
ing my hands, exposed me henceforth with-
out defence to his colleague’s outrages...
The strings of my petticoats were cut, my
bodice, neckerchief, chemise were torn, and
I was at once under the eyes of those mon-
sters as naked as when I was coming into the
world. — “ Resistance? ” said both of
them when coming to strip me... “ resist-
“anceP... this wench fancies she is able
“ to resist usP?... And nota single garment
was pulled off, but was followed by a few
blows.

When I was in the state they wanted, both
of them seated in arched arm-chairs, and,
sticking unto each other, were squeezing,
between their empty space, the unfortunate
fellow who was placed there, they examined
me leisurely: while one was viewing the fore-
side, the other was viewing the backside,
then they changed and changed again. I
was ogled, handled, kissed in this way up-
wards of half an hour, without neglecting
— 373 —

ent, less vigorous or more enervated, are con-
tented with sacrifice to those of my lovers.
It is the last, it was time: I was near fainting.
— “ My comrade has done you a deal of
“ harm, Therese, ” Julien says to me, “ and
“Tam going to repair all.” Being sup-
plied with a flask of essence, he rubbed me
over with it at several times. The traces of
my tormentors’ atrocities are effaced, but
nothing assuages my pains; I never felt any
so keen. — “ With our skill in making the
“marks of our cruelties disappear, those
who would like to complain of us would
have a hard game at play, would they not,
“ Therese? ” Cardoville says to me. “ What
proofs for their accusations would they
“ offerP — Oh! ” says Saint-Florent,
“ charming Therese is not in the case of
“complaints; at the eve of being herself
“ immolated, we should expect prayers
“ from her, and not accusations. — Let her
“ attempt neither, ” replied Cardoville;
“ she would charge us without being heard;
“ the consideration, the preponderance. we
“ have in this town, would not suffer any-
“ body to pay attention to complaints which
“ would still become all the same to us, and
“ of which we would be the master on every
“ occasion. Her torture would be only the
= Bie

crueler and the longer on that ae
Therese ought to know that we have
amused ourselves with her person, for the
natural and simple reason which per-
suades force to ill-use feebleness: she
ought to know that she can not escape her
sentence: that it must be undergone; that
she shall undergo it; that it would be to
(no purpose to divulge her going out of

- prison tonight; she would not be believed;

the jailer, wholly of our party, would belie
her at once. It is therefore necessary
that this lovely and gentle girl, so imbued
with the grandeur of Providence, offer it
in piece all she has just suffered and all
that is still awaiting her; they will be so
many expiations for the frightful crimes
which are delivering her up to the laws.
Take up your garments again, Therese, it
is not yet day; the two men who brought
you are going to lead you back to your
prison. ” I wanted to say a word, I want-

ed to cast myself at' the knees of these ogres,
either to soften them down, or to crave death
at their hands. But lam dragged away and
thrown into a hackney-coach where my two
conductors lock themselves in with me; we
were scarcely in it, when infamous desires
inflame them anew. — “ Hold her for me, ”
— 375 —

says Julien to La Rose, “ I must sodomize
“her; I never saw any backside I was more
voluptuously squeezed in; I shall do thee the
“same service. ” The scheme is executed,
I may defend myself ever so much, Julien
triumphs, and it is not without fearful pains,
that I undergo this fresh attack: the exces-
sive size of the agressor, the tearing of these
places, the fires with which that cursed ball
devoured my bowels, all contributes to make
me feel torments, renewed by La Rose as
soon as his comrade has finished. Before
arriving, I was therefore a victim once more
of these base valets’ criminal libertinism. We
entered at last. The jailer received us; he
was alone, it was still night, nobody saw me
going in. — “ Go to bed, ” he says to me,
“ Therese, ” while putting me back in my
room; “ and should you be ever willing to
“ tell whomsoever that you went out of
“ prison tonight, remember I should give
“ you the lie, and this useless accusation
“ would not get you out of the difficulty...”
And I should regret to quit this world! said
I to myself as soon as I was alone. I should
fear to abandon a Universe composed of
such monsters! Ah! may the hand of God
tear me from it on the very instant in what-
ever manner it may seem fit to it, I shall not
— 376 —

complain of it; the only consolation that can
remain with the unhappy one born among so
many ferocious beasts, is the hope of leaving
them soon.

Next day I heard nothing spoken of, and,
resolved to give myself up to Providence,
I got on without wishing to take any food.
The day after, Cardoville came to question
‘me; I could not forbear shuddering on seeing
with what coolness this rascal came to ex-
ercise justice, he, the wickedest of men, he
who, against all the rights of this justice
with which he invested himself, came to
cheat so cruelly my innocence and misfor-

tune. It was useless for me to plead my
cause, this dishonest man’s craft invented
crimes for me out of all my justifications.
When all the charges of my process were
clearly established according to this iniqui-
tous judge, he had the sauciness to ask me
whether I knew in Lyons a rich private man
named M. de Saint-Florent; I replied that
I knew him. — “ Good, ” said Cardoville,
“ I want no more about it: this M. de Saint-
Florent, whom you admit you know, is well
“ acquainted with you too; he has deposed
“ that he has seen you among a band of
“ thieves wherein you were the first to rob
“ him of his money and pocket-book. Your
— 377 —

comrades to spare him his life, you ad-
vised it to be taken away from him; he
succeeded notwithstanding to fly. This
same M. de Saint-Florent adds that, a few
years afterwards, having recognized you
in Lyons, he had allowed you to come and
pay your respects to him at his house upon
your entreaties, upon your promise of
good conduct at present, and that there,
while he was preaching to you, while he
was persuading you to continue in the safe
way, you had carried insolence and crime
even to choose those moments of his bene-
ficence for the robbing him of his watch
“and a hundred louis which he had laid
on his mantle-piece....”’ And Cardo-
ville, taking advantage of the indignation
and anger such atrocious calumnies put me
in, ordered the Register to write down that
I owned these accusations by my silence and
the impressions on my face.

I throw myself upon the ground, I make
the vault resound with cries, I strike my
head against the pavement on purpose to
find thereby a more speedy death, and meet-
ing no utterance for my rage: “ You rascal,”
I cried, “ I leave it to the good God who will
“ avenge me for thy crimes; he will disin-
“ tricate innocence, he will make thee repent
— 378 —

“ the shameful abuse thou makest of thy
“ authority! ” Cardoville rings; he bids
the jailer to get me in, seeing that, troubled
by my despair and remorse, I am not ina
state to follow out the interrogation; but,
that furthermore, it is complete, since I have
owned all my crimes. And the rascal goes
out in peace!..... And the thunder-bolt
does not strike him down!

The case went at a great rate, carried on
by hatred, vengeance and lust. I was speed-
ily condemned and conveyed to Paris for the
confirming of my sentence. It is during this
unlucky journey, and treated, although in-
nocent, as the greatest of felons, that the
bitterest and most painful reflections came
to rend my heart asunder! Under what iil-
fated star must I have been born, said I to
myself, that it should be impossible for me
to conceive a single upright sentiment which
does not plunge me forthwith into an ocean
of misfortunes! And how is it that this en-
lightened Providence, while justice I de-
light in adoring, while punishing me for my
virtues, offers me at the same time, in the
highest position, those who overwhelmed
me with their crimes!

An usurer wishes to persuade me, in my
childhood, to commit a theft; I refuse him:
— 379 —

he enriches himself. I fall into a band of
robbers, I escape from them with a man
whose life I save: for my recompense he vio-
lates me. I arrive at a debauched Seig-
neur’s who gets me devoured by his dogs,
for not having been willing to poison his
aunt. I go thence to an incestuous and
sanguinary Surgeon’s, whom I endeavour to
spare a horrible deed; the butcher brands
me as a culprit; his forfeits are undoubtedly
consummated: he makes his fortune, and I
am obliged to beg my bread. I wish to im-
plore the Supreme Being fervently from
whom I receive nevertheless so many evils:
the august tribunal where I hope to purify
myself in one of our most holy mysteries,
becomes the bloody theatre of my ignominy;
the monster who misuses and stains me rises
to the greatest honors in his Order, and I
fall into the frightful abyss of misery. I try
to save a woman from her husband’s fury:
the hard-hearted fellow wants to make me
die by loosing my blood drop by drop. I
wish to relieve a poor man: he robs me. I
give asisstance to a man in a swoon: he
hangs me for his delight; the favors of chance
surround him, and I am near dying upon the
scaffold for having worked against my will
with him. A base woman wants to corrupt
— 380 —

me for a fresh forfeit: I lose for a second
time the little wealth I have, in order to save
her victim’s treasures. A sensible man
wishes to make me amends for all my woes
by the offer of his hand in wedlock: he ex-
pires in my arms, before being able to do so.
I expose myself in a conflagration to snatch
from the flames a child that does not belong
to me: the child’s mother accuses me and
brings a criminal case against me. I fall in-
to the hands of my most deadly enemy, who
wants to bring me against my will to the
house of a man whose passion is to lop off
heads: if I escape this rascal’s sword, it is
to fall again under that of Themis. I im-
plore the protection of a man whose fortune
and life I saved; I am so bold as to expect
acknowledgement from him, he lures me
into his house, he subjects me to horrors, he
gets the unrighteous judge, on whom my
case depends, to be found there, both of
them ill-use me, both of them injure me,
both of them hasten my downfall: fortune
loads them with favors, and I run on to
death.

That is what men have made me exper-
ience, that is what their dangerous inter-
course has taught me; is it strange that my
soul imbittered by misfortune, revolted at
— 381 —

Outrages and injustices, no longer aspires
but to sever its ties?

A thousand apologies, Madam, said this
unfortunate girl while ending here her ad-
ventures; a thousand pardons for having
sullied your mind with so many obscenities,
in fine, for having imposed so long upon
your patience. Perhaps I have offended
Heaven by filthy recitals, I have opened my
wounds anew, I have disturbed your rest.
Farewell, Madam, farewell; the sun is rising,
my guards are calling me, let me run to my
fate, I no longer dread it, it will shorten my
torments. This last instant of man is ter-
rible only to the fortunate being whose days
have sped without clouds; but the unhappy
creature who has breathed but adder’s
venom, whose trembling steps have pressed
but briars, who has beheld day’s flambeau
only as the lost traveller beholds in quaking
flashes of lightning; she whose cruel e-
verses have snatched away parents, friends,
fortune, protection and help; she who has
no longer in the world but tears to quench
her thirst, and tribulations for food, that one,
I say, beholds death advancing without fear-
ing it, she even wishes for it as a safe haven
wherein tranquility will spring up again, for
her, in the bosom of a God too good to per-
— 382 —

mit that innocence, abased on Earth, should
not find in another world the compensation
of so many woes.

Honest M. de Corville had not heard this
story without being deeply affected; as for
Madam de Lorsange in whom, as we have
stated, the monstrous errors of her youth
had not extinguished sensibility, she was
near fainting at it.
— “ Miss, ” she says to Justine, “ it is
hard to listen to you without taking the
liveliest interest in you; but must I con-
fess it? an inexplicable sentiment, far
more tender than I am describing it to you,
drags me invincibly towards you, and
makes your woes my own. You have
concealed your name from me, you have
hidden your birth from me; I do conjure
you to confess your secret; do not fancy
that it is a vain curiosity which attracts
me to speak to you thus... Great God!
“* would what I conjecture be?... O The-
“ rese! if you were Justine? ... if you were
my sisterP — Justine! Madam! what a
name! — She would be today of your
“age... — Juliette! is it thee I hear? ”
said the unhappy prisoner throwing herself
into Madam de Lorsange’s arms... “ thou,
“ my sister! ...ah! I shall die much less un-

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— 383 —

“ happy, since I have been able to embrace
“ thee once more!... ’”’ And the two sis-
ters, closely pressed in each others arms,
heard each other no longer save by their
sobbings, no longer expressed themselves
except by their tears.

M. de Corville could not retain his; seeing
that it becomes impossible for him not to
take the greatest interest in this affair, he
goes into another room, he writes to the
Lord Chancellor, he depicts in fiery strokes
the horror of poor Justine’s destiny, whom
we shall continue to call Therese. He goes
bail for her innocence, he demands that, un-
til the clearing up of the case, the pretended
culprit may have no other prison than his
castle, and engages himself to represent her
at the first order from the sovereign Chief-
Justice; he makes himself known to The-
rese’s two conductors, entrusts them with
his letters, warrants them for the prisoner;
he is obeyed, Therese is handed over to his
charge; a carriage advances. — “ Draw
“ nigh, too unfortunate a creature, ” said
M. de Corville then to the engaging sister of
Madam de Lorsange, “ draw nigh, every-
“ thing is going to change in your behalf;
“ it will not be said that your virtues shall
“ always remain without reward, and that
= 884 =

“ the good soul you have received from Na-
“ ture shall never encounter but chains:
“ follow us, it is no longer but on me that
“you depend...” And M. de Corville
briefly explains what he has just done.
— “ Respectable and beloved man,
said Madam de Lorsange throwing herself at
her lover's knees, “ this is the finest act you
“ have done in your life; it is his duty who
“ really knows man’s heart and is skilled in
the law, to avenge oppressed innocence.
There she is, sir, there is your prisoner:
go, Therese, go, run, fly at once and cast
thyself at the feet of this upright protect-
or who will not desert thee as the others.
Oh! sir, if the ties of love were dear to me
with you, how are they going to become
more so to me, straitened by the tenderest
esteem! ... ”’ And these two women em-
braced by turn the knees of so generous a
friend, and watered them with their tears.
They reached the castle in a few hours;
there, M. de Corville and Madam de Lor-
sange were busy in emulation of each other
to make Therese pass from the excess of
misfortune to the climax of ease. They fed
her with delight 'on the most nourishing
viands; they put her to sleep in the best beds,
they wished her to command in their house,

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— 385 —

in fine, they used for her all the tenderness
that it was possible to expect from two sen-
sible souls. They got cures prepared for
her during several days, she was bathed,
fitted out, embellished; she was the idol of
both lovers, it was a strife between the two
to see which could cause her to forget her
misfortunes the sooner. An excellent Sur-
geon undertook, with some close study, to
efface that foul brand, the direful fruit of
Rodin’s villainy. Everything correspond-
ed to the cares of Therese’s benefactors: the
traces of misfortune were already removed
from the brow of this lovely girl; the Graces
already reinstated their empire thereon. To
the livid hues of her alabaster cheeks suc-
ceeded the rosy tints of her age, faded by so
many vexations. The smile, for so many
years banished from her lips, at length ap-
peared on them again under the protection
of the Pleasures. The best of good news
had just arrived from Court; M. de Corville
had set the whole of France on foot, he had
stirred up the zeal of M. S***, who had
joined in with him in order to depict The-
rese’s misfortunes, and restore her a tran-
quility so richly due to her. In fine, there
arrived letters from the King, purging The-
rese from all the trials unfairly carried on
— 386 —

against her, renewing on her the title of
honest citizen, imposing silence for ever up-
on all the tribunals in the kingdom wherein
people had sought to defame her, and grant-
ing her a pension of one thousand crown-
pieces out of the gold seized in the false
coiners’ mint in Dauphiny. They would
fain arrest Cardoville and Saint-Florent; but,
according to the fatality of the star attached
to all of Therese’s persecutors, Cardoville,
one of them, had just been, before his crimes
were found out, nominated for the Inten-
dance of..., the other, manager for the gen-
eral Colonial trade; each was already at his
post, the orders met only with powerful
families that soon procured means to allay
the storm, and quiet in the bosom of fortune,
these monsters’ forfeits were forgotten in a
little while (1).

(1) As to the Monks of Sainte-Marie-des-Bois, the
suppression of Religious Orders will make known the
atrocious crimes of that horrible brood.

As to Therese, as soon as she learned of so
many agreeable things for her, she was very
near dying of joy; she shed for them, during
several consecutive days, exceedingly sweet
tears, in the midst of her protectors, when
all at once her mood changed, without its
being possible to guess its cause. She grew
melancholy, uneasy, pensive; she some-
— 387 —

times wept in the midst of her friends, being
herself unable to explain the reason of her
pains. “ I was not born for so many felici-
ties, ” she was wont to say to Madam de
Lorsange; ” ... Oh! my dear sister, it is im-
“ possible for them to be long.” They
might assure her ever so much that all her
trials were at an end, she was no longer to
have any uneasiness: nothing succeeded in
soothing her; one would have said that this
sad creature, solely doomed to woe, and feel-
ing the hand of misfortune ever hanging
over her head, already foresaw the last
strokes with which she was about to be de-
stroyed.

M. de Corville was still living in the coun-
try; it was about the close of summer, they
were intending to take a walk which the
coming on of a dreadful storm appeared to
break off; the excessive heat had forced all
to be left open. The lightning flashes, the
hail falls, the winds blow, the thunder breaks
through the clouds, it shakes them horribly;
it seemed that Nature, weary of her works,
was ready to blend up all the elements in
order to force them into fresh forms. Madam
de Lorsange, frighted, entreats her sister to
shut every place, as speedily as possible.
M. de Corville was coming in at this mo-
— 388 —

ment; Therese, eager to tranquillize her sis-
ter, flies to the windows which are already
breaking; she tries to struggle a minute
against the wind which drives her back; all
at once a burst of thunder lays her low in the
middle of the drawing room.

Madam de Lorsange screams dreadfully
and faints; M. de Corville calls for help, cares
are divided, Madam de Lorsange is restored
to life, but unhappy Therese is stricken in
such a way that even hope may no longer
exist for her; the thunder-bolt had passed
through her right breast: after having con-
sumed her chest, face, it had gone out
through thé middle of her belly. This
wretched creature was a fright to behold;
M. de Corville orders her to be taken
away... — “ No, ” says Madam de Lor-
sange rising most cooly; “ no, leave her un-
“ der my eyes, Sir; I want to contemplate
“ her in order to strengthen myself in the
resolutions I have just taken. Hear me,
“ Corville, and above all oppose not the
“ course I adopt, the designs which nothing
in the world could make me now forsake.
“ The strange woes this ill-fated girl has
gone through, although she has always
reverenced her duties, contain some-
thing too extraordinary, as not to cause

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— 389 —

me to think of myself; do not fancy I am
dazzled by those false glimpses of happi-
ness which we have seen the villains, who
have disgraced Therese, enjoy in the
course of her adventures. Those vicissi-
tudes from Heaven are enigmas which it
becomes us not to unveil, but which must
never mislead us. O my friend! the pros-
perity of crime is merely the test to which
Providence puts Virtue; it is as the thund-
er, the deceitful fires of which embellish
the atmasphere for an instant, only to
hurl into the abyss of death the unfortun-
ate one they have dazzled. Behold an
example thereof under your eyes! the in-
credible calamities, the frightful and un-

interrupted misfortunes of this bewitch-

ing girl are a warning the Eternal gives
me to listen to the voice of my remorse
and to throw myself at last into his arms.
What a punishment am I to dread from
him, I, whose libertinism, irreligion, and
the forsaking of every principle have
marked every instant of my life? What
must I expect, since she is treated thus,
she, who during her lifetime had not to
reproach herself with a single real error?
Let us separate, Corville, it is time; no link
binds us, forget me, and deem meet of my
— 390 —

going by an eternal repentance to abjure,
at the feet of the Supreme Being, the in-
famies with which I have sullied myself.
This frightful blow was necessary for my
conversion in this life, it was so, too, for
the happiness I dare hope in the next.
Farewell, Sir; the last mark of your friend-
ship I expect is to make no inquiries, to
know what has become of me. O Cor-
ville! I await you in a better world, your
virtues must bring you to it; may the
mortifications where I am going, in order
to expiate my crimes, to spend the un-
happy years that remain to me, permit
me to see you there again one day! ”

Madam de Lorsange leaves the house at
once: she takes a trifle of money with her,
rushes into a carriage, gives M. de Corville
the rest of her wealth while intimating to
him pious donations, and flies to Paris, where
she enters among the Carmelites, for whom,
at the end of a very few years, she becomes
an example and an edification, as much by
her lofty piety, as by the wisdom of her
mind and the regularity of her morals.

M. de Covrille worthy of obtaining the
highest offices in the country, attained to
them, and was honored thereby only to
cause at once the happiness of the People,
— 391 —

the glory of his Master, whom he diligently
served, though minister, and the fortune of
his friends.
O ye, that shed tears over the misfortunes,
of Virtue; ye, who pitied unhappy Justine;
while pardoning the sketches, perhaps rather
hard, which we were forced to draw, may ye
at least reap from this story the same fruit
as Madam de Lorsange! May ye be con-
vinced with her, that true happiness is only
in the bosom of Virtue, and that if in the in-
tentions it becomes us not to sound, God per-
mits her to be persecuted upon Earth, it is
to recompense for it by the most flattering
rewards!

THE END
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