GC-282  Justine
(Marquis de Sade)


1791
CHAPTER 1 

O thou my friend! The prosperity of Crime is like unto the lightning, 
whose traitorous brilliancies embellish the atmosphere but for an 
instant, in order to hurl into death's very depths the luckless one they 
have dazzled. Yes, Constance, it is to thee I address this work; at once the 
example and honor of thy sex, with a spirit of profoundest sensibility 
combining the most judicious and the most enlightened of minds, thou 
art she to whom I confide my book, which will acquaint thee with the 
sweetness of the tears Virtue sore beset doth shed and doth cause to 
flow. Detesting the sophistries of libertinage and of irreligion, in word 
and deed combating them unwearingly, I fear not that those necessitated 
by the order of personages appearing in these Memoirs will put thee in 
any peril; the cynicism remarkable in certain portraits (they were 
softened as much as ever they could be) is no more apt to frighten thee; 
for it is only Vice that trembles when Vice is found out, and cries scandal 
immediately it is attacked.
To bigots Tartuffe was indebted for his ordeal; Justine's will be the 
achievement of libertines, and little do I dread them: they'll not betray 
my intentions, these thou shalt perceive; thy opinion is sufficient to 
make my whole glory and after having pleased thee I must either please 
universally or find consolation in a general censure. The scheme of this 
novel (yet, 'tis less a novel than one might suppose) is doubtless new; the 
victory gained by Virtue over Vice, the rewarding of good, the 
punishment of evil, such is the usual scheme in every other work of this 
species: ah! the lesson cannot be too often dinned in our ears! But 
throughout to present Vice triumphant and Virtue a victim of its 
sacrifices, to exhibit a wretched creature wandering from one misery to 
the next; the toy of villainy; the target of every debauch; exposed to the 
most barbarous, the most monstrous caprices; driven witless by the most 
brazen, the most specious sophistries; prey to the most cunning 
seductions, the most irresistible subornations for defense against so 
many disappointments, so much bane and pestilence, to repulse such a 
quantity of corruption having nothing but a sensitive soul, a mind 
naturally formed, and considerable courage: briefly, to employ the 
boldest scenes, the most extraordinary situations, the most dreadful 
maxims, the most energetic brush strokes, with the sole object of 
obtaining from all this one of the sublimest parables ever penned for 
human edification; now, such were, 'twill be allowed, to seek to reach 
one's destination by a road not much traveled heretofore. Have I 
succeeded, Constance? Will a tear in thy eye determine my triumph? 
After having read Justine, wilt say: "Oh, how these renderings of crime 
make me proud of my love for Virtue!
How sublime does it appear through tears! How 'tis embellished by 
misfortunes !" Oh, Constance! may these words but escape thy lips, and 
my labors shall be crowned. The very masterpiece of philosophy would 
be to develop the means Providence employs to arrive at the ends she 
designs for man, and from this construction to deduce some rules of 
conduct acquainting this wretched two-footed individual with the 
manner wherein he must proceed along life's thorny way, forewarned of 
the strange caprices of that fatality they denominate by twenty different 
titles, and all unavailingly, for it has not yet been scanned nor defined. If, 
though full of respect for social conventions and never overstepping the 
bounds they draw round us, if, nonetheless, it should come to pass that 
we meet with nothing but brambles and briars, while the wicked tread 
upon flowers, will it not be reckoned - save by those in whom a fund of 
incoercible virtues renders deaf to these remarks-, will it not be decided 
that it is preferable to abandon oneself to the tide rather than to resist it? 
Will it not be felt that Virtue, however beautiful, becomes the worst of all 
attitudes when it is found too feeble to contend with Vice, and that, in an 
entirely corrupted age, the safest course is to follow along after the 
others? Somewhat better informed, if one wishes, and abusing the 
knowledge they have acquired, will they not say, as did the angel Jesrad 
in ‘Zadig’, that there is no evil whereof some good is not born? and will 
they not declare, that this being the case, they can give themselves over 
to evil since, indeed, it is but one of the fashions of producing good? Will 
they not add, that it makes no difference to the general plan whether 
such-and-such a one is by preference good or bad, that if misery 
persecutes virtue and prosperity accompanies crime, those things being 
as one in Nature's view, far better to join company with the wicked who 
flourish, than to be counted amongst the virtuous who founder? Hence, 
it is important to anticipate those dangerous sophistries of a false 
philosophy; it is essential to show that through examples of afflicted 
virtue presented to a depraved spirit in which, however, there remain a 
few good principles, it is essential, I say,- to show that spirit quite as 
surely restored to righteousness by these means as by portraying this 
virtuous career ornate with the most glittering honors and the most 
flattering rewards.
Doubtless it is cruel to have to describe, on the one hand, a host of ills 
overwhelming a sweet-tempered and sensitive woman who, as best she is 
able, respects virtue, and, on the other, the affluence of prosperity of 
those who crush and mortify this same woman. But were there 
nevertheless some good engendered of the demonstration, would one 
have to repent of making it? Ought one be sorry for having established a 
fact whence there resulted, for the wise man who reads to some purpose, 
so useful a lesson of submission to providential decrees and the fateful 
warning that it is often to recall us to our duties that Heaven strikes 
down beside us the person who seems to us best to have fulfilled his own 
? Such are the sentiments which are going to direct our labors, and it is 
in consideration of these intentions that we ask the reader's indulgence 
for the erroneous doctrines which are to be placed in the mouths of our 
characters, and for the sometimes rather painful situations which, out of 
love for truth, we have been obliged to dress before his eyes.


CHAPTER 2 

Madame la Comtesse de Lorsange was one of those priestesses of Venus 
whose fortune is the product of a pretty face and much misconduct, and
whose titles, pompous though they are, are not to be found but in the 
archives of Cythera, forged by the impertinence that seeks, and sustained 
by the fool's credulity that bestows, them; brunette, a fine figure, eyes of 
a singular expression, that modish unbelief which, contributing one 
further spice to the passions, causes those women in whom it is 
suspected to be sought after that much more diligently; a trifle wicked, 
unfurnished with any principle, allowing evil to exist in nothing, lacking 
however that amount of depravation in the heart to have extinguished its 
sensibility; haughty, libertine; such was Madame de Lorsange. 
Nevertheless, this woman had received the best education; daughter of a 
very rich Parisian banker, she had been brought up, together with a 
sister named Justine, by three years younger than she, in one of the 
capital's most celebrated abbeys where, until the ages of twelve and 
fifteen years, the one and the other of the two sisters had been denied no 
counsels, no masters, no books, and no polite talents.
At this period crucial to the virtue of the two maidens, they were in one 
day made bereft of everything: a frightful bankruptcy precipitated their 
father into circumstances so cruel that he perished of grief. One month 
later, his wife followed him into the grave. Two distant and heartless 
relatives deliberated what should be done with the young orphans; a 
hundred crowns apiece was their share of a legacy mostly swallowed up 
by creditors. No one caring to be burdened with them, the convent's door 
was opened, their dowry was put into their hands, and they were left at 
liberty to become what they wished. Madame de Lorsange, at the time 
called Juliette, whose mind and character were to all intents and 
purposes as completely formed then as at thirty, the age she had attained 
at the opening of the tale we are about to relate, seemed nothing but 
overjoyed to be put at large; she gave not a moment's thought to the 
cruel events which had broken her chains. As for Justine, aged as we 
have remarked, twelve, hers was of a pensive and melancholy character, 
which made her far more keenly appreciate all the horrors of her 
situation.
Full of tenderness, endowed with a surprising sensibility instead of with 
her sister's art and finesse, she was ruled by an ingenuousness, a candor 
that were to cause her to tumble into not a few pitfalls. To so many 
qualities this girl joined a sweet countenance, absolutely unlike that with 
which Nature had embellished Juliette; for all the artifice, wiles, 
coquetry one noticed in the features of the one, there were proportionate 
amounts of modesty, decency, and timidity to be admired in the other; a 
virginal air, large blue eyes very soulful and appealing, a dazzling fair 
skin, a supple and resilient body, a touching voice, teeth of ivory and the 
loveliest blond hair, there you have a sketch of this charming creature 
whose naive graces and delicate traits are beyond our power to describe. 
They were given twenty-four hours to leave the convent; into their 
hands, together with their five score crowns, was thrown the 
responsibility to provide for themselves as they saw fit.
Delighted to be her own mistress, Juliette spent a minute, perhaps two, 
wiping away Justine's tears, then, observing it was in vain, she fell to 
scolding instead of comforting her; she rebuked Justine for her 
sensitiveness; she told her, with a philosophic acuity far beyond her 
years, that in this world one must not be afflicted save by what affects 
one personally; that it was possible to find in oneself physical sensations 
of a sufficiently voluptuous piquancy to extinguish all the moral 
affections whose shock could be painful; that it was all the more essential 
so to proceed, since true wisdom consists infinitely more in doubling the 
sum of one's pleasures than in increasing the sum of one's pains; that, in 
a word, there was nothing one ought not do in order to deaden in oneself 
that perfidious sensibility from which none but others profit while to us 
it brings naught but troubles.
But it is difficult to harden a gentle good heart, it resists the arguments 
of a toughened bad mind, and its solemn satisfactions console it for the 
loss of the bel-esprit's false splendors. Juliette, employing other 
resources, then said to her sister, that with the age and the figure they 
both of them had, they could not die of hunger Ä she cited the example of 
one of their neighbors' daughters who, having escaped from her father's 
house, was presently very royally maintained and far happier, doubtless, 
than if she had remained at home with her family; one must, said 
Juliette, take good care to avoid believing it is marriage that renders a 
girl happy; that, a captive under the hymeneal laws, she has, with much 
ill-humor to suffer, a very slight measure of joys to expect; instead of 
which, were she to surrender herself to libertinage, she might always be 
able to protect herself against her lovers' moods, or be comforted by their 
number. These speeches horrified Justine; she declared she preferred 
death to ignominy; whatever were her sister's reiterated urgings, she 
adamantly refused to take up lodging with her immediately she saw 
Juliette bent upon conduct that caused her to shudder.
After each had announced her very different intentions, the two girls 
separated without exchanging any promises to see each another again. 
Would Juliette, who, so she affirmed, intended to become a lady of 
consequence, would Juliette consent to receive a little girl whose 
virtuous but base inclinations might be able to bring her into dishonor? 
and, on her side, would Justine wish to jeopardize her morals in the 
society of a perverse creature who was bound to become public 
debauchery's toy and the lewd mob's victim? And so each bid an eternal 
adieu to the other, and they left the convent on the morrow. During early 
childhood caressed by her mother's dressmaker, Justine believes this 
woman will treat her kindly now in this hour of her distress; she goes in 
search of the woman, she tells the tale of her woes, she asks employment 
. . . she is scarcely recognized; and is harshly driven out the door.
"Oh Heaven I" cries the poor little creature, "must my initial steps in this 
world be so quickly stamped with ill-fortune? That woman once loved 
me; why does she cast me away today? Alas! 'tis because I am poor and 
an orphan, because I have no more means and people are not esteemed 
save in reason of the aid and benefits one imagines may be had of them." 
Wringing her hands, Justine goes to find her cure; she describes her 
circumstances with the vigorous candor proper to her years.... She was 
wearing a little white garment, her lovely hair was negligently tucked up 
under her bonnet, her breast, whose development had scarcely begun, 
was hidden beneath two or three folds of gauze, her pretty face had 
somewhat of pallor owing to the unhappiness consuming her, a few tears 
rolled from her eyes and lent to them an additional expressiveness... 
"You observe me, Monsieur," said she to the saintly ecclesiastic... "Yes, 
you observe me in what for a girl is a most dreadful position; I have lost 
my father and mother... Heaven has taken them from me at an age when 
I stand in greatest need of their assistance... They died ruined, Monsieur; 
we no longer have anything. There," she continued, "is all they left me," 
and she displayed her dozen louis, "and nowhere to rest my poor head.... 
You will have pity upon me, Monsieur, will you not? You are Religion's 
minister and Religion was always my heart's virtue; in the name of that 
God I adore and whose organ you are, tell me, as if you were a second 
father unto me, what must I do? what must become of me?"


CHAPTER 3 

The charitable priest clapped an inquisitive eye upon Justine, and made 
her answer, saying that the parish was heavily loaded; that it could not 
easily take new charges unto its bosom, but that if Justine wished to 
serve him, if she were prepared for hard toil, there would always be a 
crust of bread in his kitchen for her. And as he uttered those words, the 
gods' interpreter chuck'ed her under the chin; the kiss he gave her 
bespoke rather too much worldliness for a man of the church, and 
Justine, who had understood only too well, thrust him away. "Monsieur," 
said she, "I ask neither alms of you nor a position as your scullion; it was 
all too recently I took leave of an estate loftier than that which might 
make those two favors desirable; I am not yet reduced to imploring 
them; I am soliciting advice whereof my youth and my misfortunes put 
me in need, and you would have me purchase it at an excessively inflated 
price." Ashamed thus to have been unmasked, the pastor promptly drove 
the little creature away, and the unhappy Justine, twice rejected on the 
first day of her condemnation to isolation, now enters a house above 
whose door she spies a shingle; she rents a small chamber on the fourth 
floor, pays in advance for it, and, once established, gives herself over to 
lamentations all the more bitter because she is sensitive and because her 
little pride has just been compromised cruelly.
We will allow ourselves to leave her in this state for a short while in order 
to return to Juliette and to relate how, from the very ordinary condition 
in which she sets forth, no better furnished with resources than her 
sister, she nevertheless attains, over a period of fifteen years, the position 
of a titled woman, with an income of thirty thousand pounds, very 
handsome jewels, two or three houses in the city, as many in the country 
and, at the present moment, the heart, the fortune and the confidence of 
Monsieur de Corville, Councillor to the State, an important man much 
esteemed and about to have a minister's post. Her rise was not, there can 
be no question of it, unattended by difficulties: 'tis by way of the most 
shameful, most onerous apprenticeship that these ladies attain their 
objectives; and 'tis in all likelihood a veteran of unnumbered campaigns 
one may find today abed with a Prince: perhaps she yet carries the 
humiliating marks of the brutality of the libertines into whose hands her 
youth and inexperience flung her long ago.
Upon leaving the convent, Juliette went to find a woman whose name 
she had once heard mentioned by a youthful friend; perverted was what 
she desired to be and this woman was to pervert her; she arrived at her 
house with a small parcel under her arm, clad in a blue dressing gown 
nicely disarrayed, her hair straggling carelessly about, and showing the 
prettiest face in the world, if it is true that for certain eyes indecency may 
have its charms; she told her story to this woman and begged her to 
afford her the sanctuary she had provided her former friend. "How old 
are you?" Madame Duvergier demanded. "I will be fifteen in a few days, 
Madame," Juliette replied. "And never hath mortal . . ." the matron 
continued. "No, Madame, I swear it," answered Juliette. "But, you know, 
in those convents," said the old dame, "sometimes a confessor, a nun, a 
companion... I must have conclusive evidence." "You have but to look for 
it," Juliette replied with a blush. And, having put on her spectacles, and 
having scrupulously examined things here and there, the duenna 
declared to the girl: "Why, you've only to remain here, pay strict 
attention to what I say, give proof of unending complaisance and 
submissiveness to my practices, you need but be clean, economical, and 
frank with me, be prudent with your comrades and fraudulent when 
dealing with men, and before ten years' time I shall have you fit to 
occupy the best second-story apartment: you'll have a commode, pier
glass mirrors before you and a maid behind, and the art you will have 
acquired from me will give you what you need to procure yourself the 
rest."
These suggestions having left her lips, Duvergier lays hands on Juliette's 
little parcel; she asks her whether she does not have some money, and 
Juliette having too candidly admitted she had a hundred crowns, the 
dear mother confiscates them, giving her new boarding guest the 
assurance her little fortune will be chanced at the lottery for her, but that 
a girl must not have money. "It is," says she, "a means to doing evil, and 
in a period as corrupt as ours, a wise and well-born girl should carefully 
avoid all which might lure her into any snares. It is for your own good I 
speak, my little one," adds the duenna, "and you ought to be grateful for 
what I am doing." The sermon delivered, the newcomer is introduced to 
her colleagues; she is assigned a room in the house, and on the next day 
her maidenhead is put on sale.
Within four months the merchandise is sold successively to about one 
hundred buyers; some are content with the rose, others more fastidious 
or more depraved (for the question has not yet been decided) wish to 
bring to full flower the bud that grows adjacently. After each bout, 
Duvergier makes a few tailor's readjustments and for four months it is 
always the pristine fruits the rascal puts on the block. Finally, at the end 
of this harassing novitiate, Juliette obtains a lay sister's patents; from 
this moment onward, she is a recognized girl of the house; thereafter she 
is to share in its profits and losses. Another apprenticeship; if in the first 
school, aside from a few extravagances, Juliette served Nature, she 
altogether ignores Nature's laws in the second, where a complete 
shambles is made of what she once had of moral behavior; the triumph 
she obtains in vice totally degrades her soul; she feels that, having been 
born for crime, she must at least commit it grandly and give over 
languishing in a subaltern's role, which, although entailing the same 
misconduct, although abasing her equally, brings her a slighter, a much 
slighter profit.
She is found agreeable by an elderly gentleman, much debauched, who at 
first has her come merely to attend to the affairs of the moment; she has 
the skill to cause herself magnificently to be kept; it is not long before 
she is appearing at the theater, at promenades, amongst the elite, the 
very cordon bleu of the Cytherean order; she is beheld, mentioned, 
desired, and the clever creature knows so well how to manage her affairs 
that in less than four years she ruins six men, the poorest of whom had 
an annuity of one hundred thousand crowns. Nothing more is needed to 
make her reputation; the blindness of fashionable people is such that the 
more one of these creatures has demonstrated her dishonesty, the more 
eager they are to get upon her list; it seems that the degree of her 
degradation and her corruption becomes the measure of the sentiments 
they dare display for her. Juliette had just attained her twentieth year 
when a certain Comte de Lorsange, a gentleman out of Anjou, about forty 
years of age, became so captivated by her he resolved to bestow his name 
upon her; he awarded her an income of twelve thousand pounds and 
assured her of the rest of his fortune were he to be the first to die; he 
gave her, as well, a house, servants, lackeys, and the sort of mundane 
consideration which, in the space of two or three years, succeeded in 
causing her beginnings to be forgot. It was at this point the fell Juliette, 
oblivious of all the fine feelings that had been hers by birthright and 
good education, warped by bad counsel and dangerous books, spurred by 
the desire to enjoy herself, but alone, and to have a name but not a single 
chain, bent her attentions to the culpable idea of abridging her husband's 
days. The odious project once conceived, she consolidated her scheme 
during those dangerous moments when the physical aspect is fired by 
ethical error, instants when one refuses oneself much less, for then 
nothing is opposed to the irregularity of vows or to the impetuosity of 
desires, and the voluptuousness one experiences is sharp and lively only 
by reason of the number of the restraints whence one bursts free, or their 
sanctity. The dream dissipated, were one to recover one's common-sense 
mood the thing would be of but mediocre import, 'tis the story of mental 
wrong-doing; everyone knows very well it offends no one; but, alas! one 
sometimes carries the thing a little farther.
What, one ventures to wonder, what would not be the idea's realization, 
if its mere abstract shape has just exalted, has just so profoundly moved 
one? The accursed reverie is vivified, and its existence is a crime. 
Fortunately for herself, Madame de Lorsange executed it in such secrecy 
that she was sheltered from all pursuit and with her husband she buried 
all traces of the frightful deed which precipitated him into the tomb. 
Once again become free, and a countess, Madame de Lorsange returned 
to her former habits; but, believing herself to have some figure in the 
world, she put somewhat less of the indecent in her deportment. 'Twas 
no longer a kept girl, 'twas a rich widow who gave pretty suppers at 
which the Court and the City were only too happy to be included; in a 
word, we have here a correct woman who, all the same, would to bed for 
two hundred louis, and who gave herself for five hundred a month.


CHAPTER 4 

Until she reached the age of twenty-six, Madame de Lorsange made 
further brilliant conquests: she wrought the financial downfall of three 
foreign ambassadors, four Farmersgeneral, two bishops, a cardinal, and 
three knights of the King's Order; but as it is rarely one stops after the 
first offense, especially when it has turned out very happily, the unhappy 
Juliette blackened herself with two additional crimes similar to the first: 
one in order to plunder a lover who had entrusted a considerable sum to 
her, of which the man's family had no intelligence; the other in order to 
capture a legacy of one hundred thousand crowns another one of her 
lovers granted her in the name of a third, who was charged to pay her 
that amount after his death. To these horrors Madame de Lorsange 
added three or four infanticides. The fear of spoiling her pretty figure, 
the desire to conceal a double intrigue, all combined to make her resolve 
to stifle the proof of her debauches in her womb; and these mis-deeds, 
like the others, unknown, did not prevent our adroit and ambitious 
woman from finding new dupes every day. It is hence true that 
prosperity may attend conduct of the very worst, and that in the very 
thick of disorder and corruption, all of what mankind calls happiness 
may shed itself bountifully upon life; but let this cruel and fatal truth 
cause no alarm; let honest folk be no more seriously tormented by the 
example we are going to present of disaster everywhere dogging the heels 
of Virtue; this criminal felicity is deceiving, it is seeming only; 
independently of the punishment most certainly reserved by Providence 
for those whom success in crime has seduced, do they not nourish in the 
depths of their soul a worm which unceasingly gnaws, prevents them 
from finding joy in these fictive gleams of meretricious well-being, and, 
instead of delights, leaves naught in their soul but the rending memory 
of the crimes which have led them to where they are?
With what regards the luckless one fate persecutes, he has his heart for 
his comfort, and the interior ecstasies virtues procure bring him speedy 
restitution for the injustice of men. Such was the state of affairs with 
Madame de Lorsange when Monsieur de Corville, fifty, a notable 
wielding the influence and possessing the privileges described further 
above, resolved entirely to sacrifice himself for this woman and to attach 
her to himself forever. Whether thanks to diligent attention, whether to 
maneuver, whether to policy on the part of Madame de Lorsange, he 
succeeded, and there had passed four years during which he dwelt with 
her, entirely as if with a legitimate wife, when the acquisition of a very 
handsome property not far from Montargis obliged both of them to go 
and spend some time in the Bourbonnais. One evening, when the 
excellence of the weather had induced them to prolong their stroll 
beyond the bounds of their estate and toward Montargis, too fatigued, 
both, to attempt to return home as they had left, they halted at the inn 
where the coach from Lyon stops, with the intention of sending a man by 
horse to fetch them a carriage. In a cool, low-ceilinged room in this 
house, looking out upon a courtyard, they took their ease and were 
resting when the coach we just mentioned drew up at the hostelry. It is a 
commonplace amusement to watch the arrival of a coach and the 
passengers' descent: one wagers on the sort of persons who are in it, and 
if one has gambled upon a whore, an officer, a few abbots and a monk, 
one is almost certain to win. Madame de Lorsange rises, Monsieur de 
Corville follows her; from the window they see the well-jolted company 
reel into the inn. There seemed to be no one left in the carriage when an 
officer of the mounted constabulary, stepping to the ground, received in 
his arms, from one of his comrades poised high on top of the coach, a girl 
of twenty-six or twenty-seven, dressed in a worn calico jacket and 
swathed to the eyes in a great black taffeta mantle.
She was bound hand and foot like a criminal, and in such a weakened 
state, she would surely have fallen had her guards not given her support. 
A cry of surprise and horror escaped from Madame de Lorsange: the girl 
turned and revealed, together with the loveliest figure imaginable, the 
most noble, the most agreeable, the most interesting visage, in brief, 
there were there all the charms of a sort to please, and they were 
rendered yet a thousand times more piquant by that tender and touching 
air innocence contributes to the traits of beauty. Monsieur de Corville 
and his mistress could not suppress their interest in the miserable girl. 
They approached, they demanded of one of the troopers what the 
unhappy creature had done. "She is accused of three crimes," replied the 
constable, "'tis a question of murder, theft and arson; but I wish to tell 
your lordship that my comrade and I have never been so reluctant to 
take a criminal into custody; she's the most gentle thing, d'ye know, and 
seems to be the most honest too." "Oh, la," said Monsieur de Corville, "it 
might easily be one of those blunders so frequent in the lower courts... 
and where were these crimes committed?"
"At an inn several leagues from Lyon, it's at Lyon she was tried; in 
accordance with custom she's going to Paris for confirmation of the 
sentence and then will be returned to Lyon to be executed." Madame de 
Lorsange, having heard these words, said in lowered voice to Monsieur 
de Corville, that she fain would have from the girl's own lips the story of 
her troubles, and Monsieur de Corville, who was possessed of the same 
desire, expressed it to the pair of guards and identified himself. The 
officers saw no reason not to oblige, everyone decided to stay the night at 
Montargis; comfortable accomodations were called for; Monsieur de 
Corville declared he would be responsible for the prisoner, she was 
unbound, and when she had been given something to eat, Madame de 
Lorsange, unable to control her very great curiosity, and doubtless saying 
to herself, "This creature, perhaps innocent, is, however, treated like a 
criminal, whilst about me all is prosperity...
I who am soiled with crimes and horrors"; Madame de Lorsange I say, as 
soon as she observed the poor girl to be somewhat restored, to some 
measure reassured by the caresses they hastened to bestow upon her, 
besought her to tell how it had fallen out that she, with so very sweet a 
face, found herself in such a dreadful plight. "To recount you the story of 
my life, Madame," this lovely one in distress said to the Countess, "is to
offer you the most striking example of innocence oppressed, is to accuse 
the hand of Heaven, is to bear complaint against the Supreme Being's 
will, is, in a sense, to rebel against His sacred designs... I dare not..." 
Tears gathered in this interesting girl's eyes and, after having given vent 
to them for a moment, she began her recitation in these terms. Permit 
me to conceal my name and birth, Madame; without being illustrious, 
they are distinguished, and my origins did not destine me to the 
humiliation to which you see me reduced. When very young I lost my 
parents; provided with the slender inheritance they had left me, I 
thought I could expect a suitable position and, refusing to accept all 
those which were not, I gradually spent, at Paris where I was born, the 
little I possessed; the poorer I became, the more I was despised; the 
greater became my need of support, the less I was able to hope for it; but 
from amongst all the severities to which I was exposed at the beginning 
of my woeful career, from amongst all the terrible proposals that were 
made me, I will cite to you what befell me at the home of Monsieur 
Dubourg, one of the capital's richest tradesmen.
The woman with whom I had lodgings had recommended him to me as 
someone whose influence and wealth might be able to meliorate the 
harshness of my situation; after having waited a very long time in this 
man's antechamber, I was admitted; Monsieur Dubourg, aged fortyeight, 
had just risen out of bed, and was wrapped in a dressing gown 
which barely hid his disorder; they were about to prepare his coiffure; he 
dismissed his servants and asked me what I wanted with him. "Alas, 
Monsieur," I said, greatly confused, "I am a poor orphan not yet fourteen 
years old and I have already become familiar with every nuance of 
misfortune; I implore your commiseration, have pity upon me, I beseech 
you," and then I told in detail of all my ills, the difficulty I was having to 
find a place, perhaps I even mentioned how painful it was for me to have 
to take one, not having been born for a menial's condition. My suffering 
throughout it all, how I exhausted the little substance I had... failure to 
obtain work, my hope he would facilitate matters and help me find the 
wherewithal to live; in sum, I said everything that is dictated by the 
eloquence of wretchedness, always swift to rise in a sensitive soul.... After 
having listened to me with many distractions and much yawning, 
Monsieur Dubourg asked whether I had always been well-behaved. "I 
should be neither so poor nor so embarrassed, Monsieur," I answered 
him, "had I wished to cease to be." "But," said Dubourg upon hearing 
that, "but what right have you to expect the wealthy to relieve you if you 
are in no way useful to them?" "And of what service are you speaking, 
Monsieur? I asked nothing more than to render those decency and my 
years will permit me fulfill."
"The services of a child like yourself are of no great use in a household," 
Dubourg replied to me. "You have neither the age nor the appearance to 
find the place you are seeking. You would be better advised to occupy 
yourself with giving men pleasure and to labor to discover someone who 
will consent to take care of you; the virtue whereof you make such a 
conspicuous display is worthless in this world; in vain will you genuflect 
before its altars, its ridiculous incense will nourish you not at all. The 
thing which least flatters men, that which makes the least favorable 
impression upon them, for which they have the most supreme contempt, 
is good behavior in your sex; here on earth, my child, nothing but what 
brings in gain or insures power is accounted; and what does the virtue of 
women profit us I It is their wantonness which serves and amuses us; but 
their chastity could not interest us less. When, to be brief, persons of our 
sort give, it is never except to receive; well, how may a little girl like 
yourself show gratitude for what one does for her if it is not by the most 
complete surrender of all that is desired of her body!" "Oh, Monsieur," I 
replied, grown heavy of heart and uttering a sigh, "then uprightness and 
benevolence are to be found in man no longer!" "Precious little," 
Dubourg rejoined. "How can you expect them still to exist after all the 
wise things that have been said and written about them? We have rid 
ourselves of this mania of obliging others gratuitously; it was recognized 
that charity's pleasures are nothing but sops thrown to pride, and we 
turned our thoughts to stronger sensations; it has been noticed, for 
example, that with a child like you, it is infinitely preferable to extract, by 
way of dividends upon one's investment, all the pleasures lechery is able 
to offer Ä much better these delights than the very insipid and futile ones 
said to come of the disinterested giving of help; his reputation for being a 
liberal man, an alms-giving and generous man, is not, even at the instant 
when he most enjoys it, comparable to the slightest sensual pleasure."


CHAPTER 5 

"Oh, Monsieur, in the light of such principles the miserable must 
therefore perish!" "Does it matter? We have more subjects in France 
than are needed; given the mechanism's elastic capacities for production, 
the State can easily afford to be burdened by fewer people." "But do you 
suppose children respect their fathers when they are thus despised by 
them?" "And what to a father is the love of the children who are a 
nuisance to him?" "Would it then have been better had they been 
strangled in the cradle?" "Certainly, such is the practice in numerous 
countries; it was the custom of the Greeks, it is the custom in China: 
there, the offspring of the poor are exposed, or are put to death.
What is the good of letting those creatures live who, no longer able to 
count upon their parents' aid either because they are without parents or 
because they are not wanted or recognized by them, henceforth are 
useful for nothing and simply weigh upon the State: that much surplus 
commodity, you see, and the market is glutted already; bastards, 
orphans, malformed infants should be condemned to death immediately 
they are pupped: the first and the second because, no longer having 
anyone who wishes or who is able to take care of them, they are mere 
dregs which one day can have nothing but an undesirable effect upon the 
society they contaminate; the others because they cannot be of any 
usefulness to it; the one and the other of these categories are to society 
what are excrescences to the flesh, battening upon the healthy members' 
sap, degrading them, enfeebling them; or, if you prefer, they are like 
those vegetable parasites which, attaching themselves to sound plants, 
cause them to deteriorate by sucking up their nutritive juices. It's a 
shocking outrage, these alms destined to feed scum, these most 
luxuriously appointed houses they have the madness to construct quite 
as if the human species were so rare, so precious one had to preserve it 
down to its last vile portion! But enough of politics whereof, my child, 
you are not likely to understand anything; why lament your fate? for it is 
in your power, and yours only, to remedy it."
"Great Heavens! at the price of what!" "At the price of an illusion, of 
something that has none but the value wherewith your pride invests it. 
Well," continued this barbarian, getting to his feet and opening the door, 
"that is all I can do for you; consent to it, or deliver me from your 
presence; I have no fondness for beggars...." My tears flowed fast, I was 
unable to check them; would you believe it, Madame? they irritated 
rather than melted this man. He shut the door and, seizing my dress at 
the shoulder, he said most brutally he was going to force from me what I 
would not accord him voluntarily. At this cruel moment my misery 
endowed me with courage; I freed myself from his grasp and rushed 
toward the door: "Odious man," said I as I fled from him, "may the 
Heaven you have so grievously offended some day punish your execrable 
heartlessness as it merits to be. You are worthy neither of the riches you 
have put to such vile use, nor of the very air you breathe in a world you 
defile with your barbarities."
I lost no time telling my hostess of the reception given me by the person 
to whom she had sent me; but what was my astonishment to have this 
wretch belabor me with reproaches rather than share my sorrow. "You 
idiotic chit!" said she in a great rage, "do you imagine men are such great 
dupes as to dole out alms to little girls such as you without requiring 
something for their money? Monsieur Dubourg's behavior was far too 
gentle; in his place I should not have allowed you to leave without having 
had satisfaction from you. But since you do not care to profit from the 
aid I offer you, make your own arrangements as you please; you owe me 
money: pay it tomorrow; otherwise, it's to jail." "Madame, have pity!" 
"Yes, yes, pity; one need only have pity and one starves to death." "But 
what would you have me do?"
"You must go back to Dubourg; you must appease him; you must bring 
home money to me; I will visit him, I will give him notice; if I am able, I'll 
repair the damage your stupidity has caused; I will convey your 
apologies, but keep it in mind, you had better improve your conduct." 
Ashamed, desperate, knowing not which way to turn, seeing myself 
savagely repulsed by everyone, I told Madame Desroches (that was my 
landlady's name) that I had decided to do whatever had to be done to 
satisfy her. She went to the financier's house and upon her return 
advised me that she had found him in a very irritable mood, that it had 
not been without an effort she had managed to incline him in my favor, 
that by dint of supplications she had at least persuaded him to see me 
again the following morning, but that I would have to keep a strict watch 
over my behavior, because, were I to take it into my head to disobey him 
again, he himself would see to it I was imprisoned forever. All atremble, I 
arrived; Dubourg was alone and in a state yet more indecent than on the 
previous day. Brutality, libertinage, all the characteristics of the 
debauchee glittered in his cunning glances.
"Thank Desroches," he said harshly, "for it is as a favor to her I intend to 
show you an instant's kindness; you must surely be aware how little you 
deserve it after your performance yesterday. Undress yourself and if you 
once again manifest the least resistance to my desires, two men, waiting 
for you in the next room, will conduct you to a place whence you will 
never emerge alive." "Oh Monsieur," say I, weeping, clutching the wicked 
man's knees, "unbend, I beseech you; be so generous as to relieve me 
without requiring what would be so costly I should rather offer you my 
life than submit to it.... Yes, I prefer to die a thousand times over than 
violate the principles I received in my childhood.... Monsieur, Monsieur, 
constrain me not, I entreat you; can you conceive of gleaning happiness 
in the depths of tears and disgust? Dare you suspect pleasure where you 
see naught but loathing? No sooner shall you have consummated your 
crime than my despair will overwhelm you with remorse...." But the 
infamies to which Dubourg abandoned himself prevented me from 
continuing; that I was able to have believed myself capable of touching a 
man who was already finding, in the very spectacle of my suffering, one 
further vehicle for his horrible passions! Would you believe it, Madame? 
becoming inflamed by the shrill accents of my pleadings, savoring them 
inhumanly, the wretch disposed himself for his criminal attempts! He 
gets up, and exhibiting himself to me in a state over which reason is 
seldom triumphant, and wherein the opposition of the object which 
causes reason's downfall is but an additional ailment to delirium, he 
seizes me brutally, impetuously snatches away the veils which still 
conceal what he burns to enjoy; he caresses me.... Oh! what a picture, 
Great God I What unheard-of mingling of harshness... and lewdness! It 
seemed that the Supreme Being wished, in that first of my encounters, to 
imprint forever in me all the horror I was to have for a kind of crime 
whence there was to be born the torrent of evils that have beset me since. 
But must I complain of them?
No, needless to say; to his excesses I owe my salvation; had there been 
less debauchery in him, I were a ruined girl; Dubourg's flames were 
extinguished in the fury of his enterprises, Heaven intervened in my 
behalf against the monster before he could commit the offenses he was 
readying for, and the loss of his powers, before the sacrifice could occur, 
preserved me from being its victim. The consequence was Dubourg 
became nothing if not more insolent; he laid upon me the blame for his 
weakness' mistakes, wanted to repair them with new outrages and yet 
more mortifying invectives; there was nothing he did not say to me, 
nothing he did not attempt, nothing his perfidious imagination, his 
adamantine character and the depravation of his manners did not lead 
him to undertake. My clumsiness made him impatient: I was far from 
wishing to participate in the thing, to lend myself to it was as much as I 
could do, my remorse remained lively. However, it was all for naught, 
submitting to him, I ceased to inflame him; in vain he passed 
successively from tenderness to rigor... from groveling to tyranny... from 
an air of decency to the profligate's excesses, in vain, I say, there was 
nothing for it, we were both exhausted, and happily he was unable to 
recover what he needed to deliver more dangerous assaults. He gave it 
up, made me promise to come the next day, and to be sure of me he 
refused absolutely to give me anything above the sum I owed Desroches.
Greatly humiliated by the adventure and firmly resolved, whatever might 
happen to me, not to expose myself a third time, I returned to where I 
was lodging. I announced my intentions to Desroches, paid her, and 
heaped maledictions upon the criminal capable of so cruelly exploiting 
my misery. But my imprecations, far from drawing the wrath of God 
down upon him, only added to his good fortune; and a week later I 
learned this signal libertine had just obtained a general trusteeship from 
the Government, which would augment his revenues by more than five 
hundred thousand pounds per annum. I was absorbed in the reflections 
such unexpected inconsistencies of fate inevitably give rise to, when a 
momentary ray of hope seemed to shine in my eyes. Desroches came to 
tell me one day that she had finally located a house into which I could be 
received with pleasure provided my comportment remained of the best. 
"Great Heaven, Madame," I cried, transported, throwing myself into her 
arms, "that condition is the one I would stipulate myself Ä you may 
imagine how happy I am to accept it." The man I was to serve was a 
famous Parisian usurer who had become rich, not only by lending money 
upon collateral, but even by stealing from the public every time he 
thought he could do so in safety. He lived in the rue Quincampoix, had a 
third-story flat, and shared it with a creature of fifty years he called his 
wife and who was at least as wicked as he. "Therese," this miser said to 
me (such was the name I had taken in order to hide my own), "Therese, 
the primary virtue in this house is probity; if ever you make off with the 
tenth part of a penny, I'll have you hanged, my child, d'ye see. The 
modest ease my wife and I enjoy is the fruit of our immense labors, and 
of our perfect sobriety.... Do you eat much, little one?" "A few ounces of 
bread each day, Monsieur," I replied, "water, and a little soup when I am 
lucky enough to get it."
"Soup! Bleeding Christ! Soup! Behold, deary," said the usurer to his 
dame, "behold and tremble at the progress of luxury: it's looking for 
circumstances, it's been dying of hunger for a year, and now it wants to 
eat soup; we scarcely have it once a week, on Sunday, we who work like 
galley slaves: you'll have three ounces of bread a day, my daughter, plus 
half a bottle of river water, plus one of my wife's old dresses every 
eighteen months, plus three crowns' wages at the end of each year, if we 
are content with your services, if your economy responds to our own and 
if, finally, you make the house prosper through orderliness and 
arrangement. Your duties are mediocre, they're done in jig time; 'tis but 
a question of washing and cleaning this six-room apartment thrice a 
week, of making our beds, answering the door, powdering my wig, 
dressing my wife's hair, looking after the dog and the parakeet, lending a 
hand in the kitchen, washing the utensils, helping my wife whenever she 
prepares us a bite to eat, and daily devoting four or five hours to the 
washing, to mending stockings, hats, and other little house-hold odds 
and ends; you observe, Therese, 'tis nothing at all, you will have ample 
free time to yourself, we will permit you to employ it to your own 
interest, provided, my child, you are good, discreet and, above all, thrifty, 
that's of the essence."


CHAPTER 6 

You may readily imagine, Madame, that one had to be in the frightful 
state I indeed was in to accept such a position; not only was there 
infinitely more work to be done than my strength permitted me to 
undertake, but should I be able to live upon what was offered me? 
However, I was careful to raise no difficulties and was installed that 
same evening. Were my cruel situation to permit me to amuse you for an 
instant, Madame, when I must think of nothing but gaining your 
compassion, I should dare describe some of the symptoms or avarice I 
witnessed while in that house; but a catastrophe so terrible for me was 
awaiting me during my second year there that it is by no means easy to 
linger over entertaining details before making you acquainted with my 
miseries.
Nevertheless, you will know, Madame, that, for light in Monsieur du 
Harpin's apartment, there was never any but what he got from the street 
lamp which, happily, was placed opposite his room; never did Monsieur 
or Madame use linen; what I washed was hoarded away, it was never 
touched; on the sleeves of Monsieur's coat, as well as upon Madame's 
dress, were old gauntlet cuffs sewn over the material, and these I 
removed and washed every Saturday evening; no sheets; no towels, and 
that to avoid laundry expenses. Never was wine drunk in her house, clear 
water being, declared Madame du Harpin, the natural drink of man, the 
healthiest and least dangerous. Every time bread was sliced, a basket was 
put beneath the knife so that whatever fell would not be lost; into this 
container went, also, and with exactitude all the scraps and leavings that 
might survive the meal, and this compound, fried up on Sunday together 
with a little butter, made a banquet for the day of rest; never was one to 
beat clothing or too energetically dust the furniture for fear of wearing it 
out, instead, very cautiously, one tickled about with a feather. Monsieur's 
shoes, and Madame's as well, were double-soled with iron, they were the 
same shoes that had served them on their wedding day; but a much more 
unusual custom was the one they had me practice once a week: there was 
in the apartment a rather large room whose walls were not papered; I 
was expected to take a knife and scrape and shave away a certain 
quantity of plaster, and this I next passed through a fine sieve; what 
resulted from this operation became the powder wherewith every 
morning I sprinkled Monsieur's peruke and Madame's hair, done up in a 
bun.
Ah! wouldst to God those had been the only turpitudes of which this evil 
pair had made habits! Nothing's more normal than the desire to 
conserve one's property; but what is not normal is the desire to augment 
it by the accession of the property of others. And it was not long before I 
perceived that it was only thus du Harpin acquired his wealth. Above us 
there lodged a solitary individual of considerable means who was the 
owner of some handsome jewels, and whose belongings, whether 
because of their proximity or because they had passed through my 
master's hands, were very well known to him; I often heard him express 
regrets to his wife over the loss of a certain gold box worth fifty or sixty 
louis, which article would infallibly have remained his, said he, had he 
proceeded with greater cleverness. In order to console himself for the 
sale of the said box, the good Monsieur du Harpin projected its theft, and 
it was to me he entrusted the execution of his plan.
After having delivered a long speech upon the indifference of robbery, 
upon, indeed, its usefulness in the world, since it maintains a sort of 
equilibrium which totally confounds the inequality of property; upon the 
infrequence of punishment, since out of every twenty thieves it could be 
proven that not above two dies on the gallows; after having 
demonstrated to me, with an erudition of which I had not dreamt 
Monsieur du Harpin capable, that theft was honored throughout Greece, 
that several races yet acknowledge it, favor it, and reward it for a bold 
deed simultaneously giving proof of courage and skill (two virtues 
indispensable to a warlike nation), after having, in a word, exalted his 
personal influence which would extricate me from all embarrassments in 
the event I should be detected, Monsieur du Harpin tendered me two 
lock picks, one to open the neighbor's front door, the other his secretary 
within which lay the box in question; incessantly he enjoined me to get 
him this box and, in return for so important a service, I could expect, for 
two years, to receive an additional crown.
"Oh Monsieur!" I exclaimed, shuddering at his proposal, "is it possible a 
master dare thus corrupt his domestic ! What prevents me from turning 
against you the weapons you put into my hands? Du Harpin, much 
confused, fell back on a lame subterfuge; what he was doing, said he, was 
being done with the simple intention of testing me; how fortunate that I 
had resisted this temptation, he added... how I should have been doomed 
had I succumbed, etc. I scoffed at this lie; but I was soon enough aware 
of what a mistake it had been to answer him with such asperity: 
malefactors do not like to find resistance in those they seek to seduce; 
unfortunately, there is no middle ground or median attitude when one is 
so unlucky as to have been approached by them: one must necessarily 
thereupon become either their accomplices, which is exceedingly 
dangerous, or their enemies, which is even more so.
Had I been a little experienced, I would have quit the house forthwith, 
but it was already written in Heaven that every one of the honest 
gestures that was to emanate from me would be answered by 
misfortunes. Monsieur Du Harpin let more than a month drift by, that is 
to say, he waited until the end of my second year with him, and waited 
without showing the least hint of resentment at the refusal I had given 
him, when one evening, having just retired to my room to taste a few 
hours of repose, I suddenly heard my door burst opens and there, not 
without terror, I saw Monsieur du Harpin and four soldiers of the watch 
standing by my bed. "Perform your duty, Sirrah," said he to the men of 
the law, "this wretch has stolen from me a diamond worth a thousand 
crowns, you will find it in her chamber or upon her person, the fact is 
certain." "I have robbed you, Monsieur!" said I, sore troubled and 
springing from my bed, "I! Great Heaven! Who knows better than you 
the contrary to be true! Who should be more deeply aware than you to 
what point I loathe robbery and to what degree it is unthinkable I could 
have committed it." But du Harpin made a great uproar to drown out my 
words; he continued to order perquisitions, and the miserable ring was 
discovered in my mattress. To evidence of this strength there was 
nothing to reply; I was seized instantly, pinioned, and led to prison 
without being able to prevail upon the authorities to listen to one word in 
my favor. The trial of an unfortunate creature who has neither influence 
nor protection is conducted with dispatch in a land where virtue is 
thought incompatible with misery, where poverty is enough to convict 
the accused; there, an unjust prepossession causes it to be supposed that 
he who ought to have committed a crime did indeed commit it; 
sentiments are proportioned according to the guilty one's estate; and 
when once gold or titles are wanting to establish his innocence, the 
impossibility that he be innocent then appears self-evident. ( o ages yet 
to come ! You shall no longer be witness to these horrors and infamies 
abounding!) I defended myself, it did no good, in vain I furnished the 
best material to the lawyer whom a protocol of form required be given 
me for an instant or two; my employer accused me, the diamond had 
been discovered in my room; it was plain I had stolen it.
When I wished to describe Monsieur du Harpin's awful traffic and prove 
that the misfortune that had struck me was naught but the fruit of his 
vengeance and the consequence of his eagerness to be rid of a creature 
who, through possession of his secret, had become his master, these 
pleadings were interpreted as so many recriminations, and I was 
informed that for twenty years Monsieur du Harpin had been known as a 
man of integrity, incapable of such a horror. I was transferred to the 
Conciergerie, where I saw myself upon the brink of having to pay with 
my life for having refused to participate in a crime; I was shortly to 
perish; only a new misdeed could save me: Providence willed that Crime 
serve at least once as an aegis unto Virtue, that crime might preserve it 
from the abyss which is some-day going to engulf judges together with 
their imbecility. I had about me a woman, probably forty years old, as 
celebrated for her beauty as for the variety and number of her villainies; 
she was called Dubois and, like the unlucky Therese, was on the eve of 
paying the capital penalty, but as to the exact form of it the judges were 
yet mightily perplexed: having rendered herself guilty of every 
imaginable crime, they found themselves virtually obliged to invent a 
new torture for her, or to expose her to one whence we ordinarily exempt 
our sex.
This woman had become interested in me, criminally interested without 
doubt, since the basis of her feelings, as I learned afterward, was her 
extreme desire to make a proselyte of me. Only two days from the time 
set for our execution, Dubois came to me; it was at night. She told me not 
to lie down to sleep, but to stay near her side. Without attracting 
attention, we moved as close as we could to the prison door. "Between 
seven and eight," she said, "the Conciergerie will catch fire, I have seen to 
it; no question about it, many people will be burned; it doesn't matter, 
Therese," the evil creature went on, "the fate of others must always be as 
nothing to us when our own lives are at stake; well, we are going to 
escape here, of that you can be sure; four men Ä my confederates Ä will 
join us and I guarantee you we will be free." I have told you, Madame, 
that the hand of God which had just punished my innocence, employed 
crime to protect me; the fire began, it spread, the blaze was horrible, 
twenty-one persons were consumed, but we made a successful sally. The 
same day we reached the cottage of a poacher, an intimate friend of our 
band who dwelt in the forest of Bondy. "There you are, Therese," Dubois 
says to me, "free. You may now choose the kind of life you wish, but were 
I to have any advice to give you, it would be to renounce the practice of 
virtue which, as you have noticed, is the courting of disaster; a misplaced 
delicacy led you to the foot of the scaffold, an appalling crime rescued 
you from it; have a look about and see how useful are good deeds in this 
world, and whether it is really worth the trouble immolating yourself for 
them.
Therese, you are young and attractive, heed me, and in two years I'll have 
led you to a fortune; but don't suppose I am going to guide you there 
along the paths of virtue: when one wants to get on, my dear girl, one 
must stop at nothing; decide, then, we have no security in this cottage, 
we've got to leave in a few hours."
"Oh Madame," I said to my benefactress, "I am greatly indebted to you, 
and am far from wishing to disown my obligations; you saved my life; in 
my view, 'tis frightful the thing was achieved through a crime and, 
believe me, had I been the one charged to commit it, I should have 
preferred a thousand deaths to the anguish of participating in it; I am 
aware of all the dangers I risk in trusting myself to the honest sentiments 
which will always remain in my heart; but whatever be the thorns of 
virtue, Madame, I prefer them unhesitatingly and always to the perilous 
favors which are crime's accompaniment. There are religious principles 
within me which, may it please Heaven, will never desert me; if 
Providence renders difficult my career in life, 'tis in order to compensate 
me in a better world. That hope is my consolation, it sweetens my griefs, 
it soothes me in my sufferings, it fortifies me in distress, and causes me 
confidently to face all the ills it pleases God to visit upon me. That joy 
should straightway be extinguished in my soul were I perchance to 
besmirch it with crime, and together with the fear of chastisements in 
this world I should have the painful anticipation of torments in the next, 
which would not for one instant procure me the tranquillity I thirst 
after."
"Those are absurd doctrines which will have you on the dung heap in no 
time, my girl," said Dubois with a frown; "believe me: forget God's 
justice, His future punishments and rewards, the lot of those platitudes 
lead us nowhere but to death from starvation. O Therese, the callousness 
of the Rich legitimates the bad conduct of the Poor; let them open their 
purse to our needs, let humaneness reign in their hearts and virtues will 
take root in ours; but as long as our misfortune, our patient endurance of 
it, our good faith, our abjection only serves to double the weight of our 
chains, our crimes will be their doing, and we will be fools indeed to 
abstain from them when they can lessen the yoke wherewith their cruelty 
bears us down. Nature has caused us all to be equals born, Therese; if 
fate is pleased to upset the primary scheme of the general law, it is up to 
us to correct its caprices and through our skill to repair the usurpations 
of the strongest. I love to hear these rich ones, these titled ones, these 
magistrates and these priests, I love to see them preach virtue to us. It is 
not very difficult to forswear theft when one has three or four times what 
one needs to live; it is not very necessary to plot murder when one is 
surrounded by nothing but adulators and thralls unto whom one's will is 
law; nor is it very hard to be temperate and sober when one has the most 
succulent dainties constantly within one's reach; they can well contrive 
to be sincere when there is never any apparent advantage in falsehood...
But we, Therese, we whom the barbaric Providence you are mad enough 
to idolize, has condemned to slink in the dust of humiliation as doth the 
serpent in grass, we who are beheld with disdain only because we are 
poor, who are tyrannized because we are weak; we, who must quench 
our thirst with gall and who, wherever we go, tread on the thistle always, 
you would have us shun crime when its hand alone opens up unto us the 
door to life, maintains us in it, and is our only protection when our life is 
threatened; you would have it that, degraded and in perpetual abjection, 
while this class dominating us has to itself all the blessings of fortune, we 
reserve for ourselves naught but pain, beatings, suffering, nothing but 
want and tears, brandings and the gibbet. No, no, Therese, no; either this 
Providence you reverence is made only for our scorn, or the world we see 
about us is not at all what Providence would have it. Become better 
acquainted with your Providence, my child, and be convinced that as 
soon as it places us in a situation where evil becomes necessary, and 
while at the same time it leaves us the possibility of doing it, this evil
harmonizes quite as well with its decrees as does good, and Providence 
gains as much by the one as by the other; the state in which she has 
created us is equality: he who disturbs is no more guilty than he who 
seeks to re-establish the balance; both act in accordance with received 
impulses, both have to obey those impulses and enjoy them."


CHAPTER 7 

I must confess that if ever I was shaken it was by this clever woman's 
seductions; but a yet stronger voice, that of my heart to which I gave 
heed, combatted her sophistries; I declared to Dubois that I was 
determined never to allow myself to be corrupted. "Very well!" she 
replied, "become what you wish, I abandon you to your sorry fate; but if 
ever you get yourself hanged, which is an end you cannot avoid, thanks 
to the fatality which inevitably saves the criminal by sacrificing the 
virtuous, at least remember before dying never to mention us."
While we were arguing thus, Dubois' four companions were drinking 
with the poacher, and as wine disposes the malefactor's heart to new 
crimes and causes him to forget his old, our bandits no sooner learned of 
my resolution than, unable to make me their accomplice, they decided to 
make me their victim; their principles, their manners, the dark retreat 
we were in, the security they thought they enjoyed, their drunkenness, 
my age, my innocence Ä everything encouraged them. They get up from 
table, they confer in whispers, they consult Dubois, doings whose 
lugubrious mystery makes me shiver with horror, and at last there comes 
an order to me then and there to satisfy the desires of each of the four; if 
I go to it cheerfully, each will give me a crown to help me along my way; 
if they must employ violence, the thing will be done all the same; but the 
better to guard their secret, once finished with me they will stab me, and 
will bury me at the foot of yonder tree.
I need not paint the effect this cruel proposition had upon me, Madame, 
you will have no difficulty understanding that I sank to my knees before 
Dubois, I besought her a second time to be my protectress: the low 
creature did but laugh at my tears: "Oh by God !" quoth she, "here's an 
unhappy little one. What! you shudder before the obligation to serve four 
fine big boys one after another? Listen to me," she added, after some 
reflection, "my sway over these dear lads is sufficiently great for me to 
obtain a reprieve for you upon condition you render yourself worthy of 
it." "Alas ! Madame, what must I do?" I cried through my tears; 
"command me; I am ready." "Join us, throw in your lot with us, and 
commit the same deeds, without show of the least repugnance; either 
that, or I cannot save you from the rest." I did not think myself in a 
position to hesitate; by accepting this cruel condition I exposed myself to 
further dangers, to be sure, but they were the less immediate; perhaps I 
might be able to avoid them, whereas nothing could save me from those 
with which I was actually menaced. "I will go everywhere with you, 
Madame," was my prompt answer to Dubois, "everywhere, I promise 
you; shield me from the fury of these men and I shall never leave your 
side while I live." "Children," Dubois said to the four bandits, "this girl is 
one of the company, I am taking her into it; I ask you to do her no ill, 
don't put her stomach off the m‚tier during her first days in it; you see 
how useful her age and face can be to us; let's employ them to our 
advantage rather than sacrifice them to our pleasures."
But such is the degree of energy in man's passions nothing can subdue 
them. The persons I was dealing with were in no state to heed reason: all 
four surrounded me, devoured me with their fiery glances, menaced me 
in a still more terrible manner; they were about to lay hands on me, I was 
about to become their victim. "She has got to go through with it," one of 
them declared, "it's too late for discussion: was she not told she must 
give proof of virtues in order to be admitted into a band of thieves? and 
once a little used, won't she be quite as serviceable as she is while a 
virgin?" I am softening their expressions, you understand, Madame, I 
am sweetening the scene itself; alas! their obscenities were such that 
your modesty might suffer at least as much from beholding them 
unadorned as did my shyness.
A defenseless and trembling victim, I shuddered; I had barely strength to 
breathe; kneeling before the quartet, I raised my feeble arms as much to 
supplicate the men as to melt Dubois' heart.... "An instant," said one who 
went by the name of Coeur-de-fer and appeared to be the band's chief, a 
man of thirty-six years, of a bull's strength and bearing the face of a 
satyr; "one moment, friends: it may be possible to satisfy everyone 
concerned; since this little girl's virtue is so precious to her and since, as 
Dubois states it very well, this quality otherwise put into action could 
become worth something to us, let's leave it to her; but we have got to be 
appeased; our mood is warm, Dubois, and in the state we are in, d'ye 
know, we might perhaps cut your own throat if you were to stand 
between us and our pleasures; let's have Therese instantly strip as naked 
as the day she came into the world, and next let's have her adopt one 
after the other all the positions we are pleased to call for, and meanwhile 
Dubois will sate our hungers, we'll burn our incense upon the altars' 
entrance to which this creature refuses us."
"Strip naked!" I exclaimed, "Oh Heaven, what is it thou doth require of 
me? When I shall have delivered myself thus to your eyes, who will be 
able to answer for me?..." But Coeur-de-fer, who seemed in no humor 
either to grant me more or to suspend his desires, burst out with an oath 
and struck me in a manner so brutal that I saw full well compliance was 
my last resort. He put himself in Dubois' hands, she having been put by 
his in a disorder more or less the equivalent of mine and, as soon as I 
was as he desired me to be, having made me crouch down upon all fours 
so that I resembled a beast, Dubois took in hand a very monstrous object 
and led it to the peristyles of first one and then the other of Nature's 
altars, and under her guidance the blows it delivered to me here and 
there were like those of a battering ram thundering at the gates of a 
besieged town in olden days. The shock of the initial assault drove me 
back; enraged, Coeur-de-fer threatened me with harsher treatments 
were I to retreat from these; Dubois is instructed to redouble her efforts, 
one of the libertines grasps my shoulders and prevents me from 
staggering before the concussions: they become so fierce I am in blood 
and am able to avoid not a one.
"Indeed," stammers Coeur-de-fer, "in her place I'd prefer to open the 
doors rather than see them ruined this way, but she won't have it, and 
we're not far from the capitulation.... Vigorously ... vigorously, Dubois...." 
And the explosive eruption of this debauchee's flames, almost as violent 
as a stroke of lightning, flickers and dies upon ramparts ravaged without 
being breached. The second had me kneel between his legs and while 
Dubois administered to him as she had to the other, two enterprises 
absorbed his entire attention: sometimes he slapped, powerfully but in a 
very nervous manner, either my cheeks or my breasts; sometimes his 
impure mouth fell to sucking mine. In an instant my face turned purple, 
my chest red.... I was in pain, I begged him to spare me, tears leapt from 
my eyes; they roused him, he accelerated his activities; he bit my tongue, 
and the two strawberries on my breasts were so bruised that I slipped 
backward, but was kept from falling. They thrust me toward him, I was 
everywhere more furiously harassed, and his ecstasy supervened....
The third bade me mount upon and straddle two somewhat separated 
chairs and, seating himself betwixt them, excited by Dubois, lying in his 
arms, he had me bend until his mouth was directly below the temple of 
Nature; never will you imagine, Madame, what this obscene mortal took 
it into his head to do; willy-nilly, I was obliged to satisfy his every need.... 
Just Heaven! what man, no matter how depraved, can taste an instant of 
pleasure in such things.... I did what he wished, inundated him, and my 
complete submission procured this foul man an intoxication of which he 
was incapable without this infamy. The fourth attached strings to all 
parts of me to which it was possible to tie them, he held the ends in his 
hands and sat down seven or eight feet from my body; Dubois' touches 
and kisses excited him prodigiously; I was standing erect: 'twas by sharp 
tugs now on this string, now on some other that the savage irritated his 
pleasures; I swayed, I lost balance again and again, he flew into an 
ecstasy each time tottered; finally, he pulled all the cords at once, I fell to 
the floor in front of him: such was his design: and my fore-head, my 
breast, my cheeks received the proofs of a delirium he owed to none but 
this mania.
That is what I suffered, Madame, but at least my honor was respected 
even though my modesty assuredly was not. Their calm restored, the 
bandits spoke of regaining the road, and that same night we reached 
Tremblai with the intention of approaching the woods of Chantilly, 
where it was thought a few good prizes might be awaiting us. Nothing 
equaled my despair at being obliged to accompany such persons, and I 
was determined to part with them as soon as I could do so without risk. 
The following day we fell hard by Louvres, sleeping under haystacks; I 
felt in need of Dubois' support and wanted to pass the night by her side; 
but it seemed she had planned to employ it otherwise than protecting my 
virtue from the attacks I dreaded; three of the thieves surrounded her 
and before my very eyes the abominable creature gave herself to all three 
simultaneously. The fourth approached me; it was the captain. "Lovely 
Therese," said he, "I hope you shall not refuse me at least the pleasure of 
spending the night with you?" and as he perceive my extreme 
unwillingness, "fear not," he went on; "we'll have a chat together, and I 
will attempt nothing without your consent. "O Therese," cried he, folding 
me in his arms, " 'tis all foolishness, don't you know, to be so pretentious 
with us. Why are you concerned to guard your purity in our midst? Even 
were we to agree to respect it, could it be compatible with the interests of 
the band? No need to hide it from you, my dear; for when we settle down 
in cities, we count on you to snare us some dupes."
"Why, Monsieur," I replied, "since it is certain I should prefer death to 
these horrors, of what use can I be to you, and why do you oppose my 
flight?" "We certainly do oppose it, my girl," Coeur-de-fer rejoined, "you 
must serve either our pleasures or our interests; your poverty imposes 
the yoke upon you, and you have got to adapt to it. But, Therese, and well 
you know it, there is nothing in this world that cannot be somehow 
arranged: so listen to me, and accept the management of your own fate: 
agree to live with me, dear girl, consent to belong to me and be properly 
my own, and I will spare you the baneful role for which you are 
destined." "I, Sir, I become the mistress of a -" 
"Say the word, Therese, out with it: a scoundrel, eh? Oh, I admit it, but I 
have no other titles to offer you; that our sort does not marry you are 
doubtless well aware: marriage is one of the sacraments, Therese, and 
full of an undiscriminating contempt for them all, with none do we ever 
bother. However, be a little reasonable; that sooner or later you lose 
what is so dear to you is an indispensable necessity, hence would it not 
be better to sacrifice it to a single man who thereupon will become your 
support and protector, is that not better, I say, than to be prostituted to 
everyone?" "But why must it be," I replied, "that I have no other 
alternative?" "Because, Therese, we have got you, and because the 
stronger is always the better reason; La Fontaine made the remark ages 
ago. Truthfully," he continued rapidly, "is it not a ridiculous 
extravagance to assign, as you do, such a great value to the most futile of 
all things? How can a girl be so dull-witted as to believe that virtue may 
depend upon the somewhat greater or lesser diameter of one of her 
physical parts? What difference does it make to God or man whether 
this part be intact or tampered with? I will go further: it being the 
intention of Nature that each individual fulfill on this earth all of the 
purposes for which he has been formed, and women existing only to 
provide pleasure for men, it is plainly to outrage her thus to resist the 
intention she has in your regard. It is to wish to be a creature useless in 
this world and consequently one contemptible.
This chimerical propriety, which they have had the absurdity to present 
to you as a virtue and which, since infancy, far from being useful to 
Nature and society, is an obvious defiance of the one and the other, this 
propriety, I say, is no more than a reprehensible stubbornness of which a 
person as mettlesome and full of intelligence as you should not wish to 
be guilty. No matter; continue to hear me out, dear girl, I am going to 
prove my desire to please you and to respect your weakness. I will not by
any means touch that phantom, Therese, whose possession causes all 
your delight; a girl has more than one favor to give, and one can offer to 
Venus in many a temple; I will be content with the most mediocre; you 
know, my dear, near the Cyprean altar, there is situate an obscure grot 
into whose solitude Love retires, the more energetically to seduce us: 
such will be the altar where I will burn my incense; no disadvantages 
there, Therese; if pregnancies affright you, 'tis not in this manner they 
can come about, never will your pretty figure be deformed this way; the 
maidenhead so cherished by you will be preserved unimpaired, and 
whatever be the use to which you decide to put it, you can propose it 
unattainted. Nothing can betray a girl from this quarter, however rude or 
multiple the attacks may be; as soon as the bee has left off sucking the 
pollen, the rose's calix closes shut again; one would never imagine it had 
been opened.
There exist girls who have known ten years of pleasure this way, even 
with several men, women who were just as much married as anyone else 
after it all, and on their wedding nights they proved quite as virgin as 
could be wished. How many fathers, what a multitude of brothers have 
thuswise abused their daughters and sisters without the latter having 
become on that account any the less worthy of a later hymeneal sacrifice! 
How many confessors have not employed the same route to satisfaction, 
without parents experiencing the mildest disquiet; in one word, 'tis the 
mystery's asylum, 'tis there where it connects itself with love by ties of 
prudence.... Need I tell you further, Therese, that although this is the 
most secret temple it is howbeit the most voluptuous; what is necessary 
to happiness is found nowhere else, and that easy vastness native to the 
adjacent aperture falls far short of having the piquant charms of a locale 
into which one does not enter without effort, where one takes up one's 
abode only at the price of some trouble; women themselves reap an 
advantage from it, and those whom reason compels to know this variety 
of pleasure, never pine after the others. Try it, Therese, try, and we shall 
both be contented."


CHAPTER 8 

"Oh Monsieur," I replied, "I have no experience of the thing; but I have 
heard it said that this perversion you recommend outrages women in a 
yet more sensitive manner.... It more grievously offends Nature. The 
hand of Heaven takes its vengeance upon it in this world, Sodom 
provides the example." "What innocence, my dear, what childishness," 
the libertine retorted; "who ever told you such a thing? Yet a little more 
attention, Therese, let me proceed to rectify your ideas. "The wasting of 
the seed destined to perpetuate the human species, dear girl, is the only 
crime which can exist Ä such is the hypothesis; according to it, this seed 
is put in us for the sole purpose of reproduction, and if that were true I 
would grant you that diverting it is an offense. But once it is 
demonstrated that her situating this semen in our loins is by no means 
enough to warrant supposing that Nature's purpose is to have all of it 
employed for reproduction, what then does it matter, Therese, whether it 
be spilled in one place or in another? Does the man who diverts it 
perform a greater evil than Nature who does not employ all of it?
Now, do not those natural losses, which we can imitate if we please, 
occur in an abundance of instances? Our very ability to provoke them, 
firstly, is an initial proof that they do not offend Nature in the slightest. 
It would be contrary to all the equity and profound wisdom we 
everywhere recognize in her laws for them to permit what might affront 
her; secondly, those losses occur a hundred hundred million times every 
day, and she instigates them herself; nocturnal pollutions, the inutility of 
semen during the periods of woman's pregnancy, are they not authorized 
by her laws, enjoined by them, and do they not prove that, very little 
concerned for what may result from this liquid to which we so foolishly 
attach a disproportionate value, she permits us its waste with the same 
indifference she herself causes it every day to be wasted; she tolerates 
reproduction, yes, but much is wanting to prove reproduction is one of 
her intentions; she lets us go ahead with our reproducing to be sure, but 
it being no more to her advantage than our abstaining therefrom, the 
choice we happen to make is as one to her.
Is it not clear that leaving us the power to create, not to create, or to 
destroy, we will not delight her at all or disappoint her any more by 
adopting toward the one or the other the attitude which suits us best; 
and what could be more self-evident than that the course we choose, 
being but the result of her power over us and the influence upon us of 
her actions, will far more surely please than it will risk offending her. Ah, 
Therese ! believe me, Nature frets very little over those mysteries we are 
great enough fools to turn into worship of her.
Whatever be the temple at which one sacrifices, immediately she allows 
incense to be burned there, one can be sure the homage offends her in no 
wise; refusals to produce, waste of the semen employed in production, 
the obliteration of that seed when it has germinated, the annihilation of 
that germ even long after its formation, all those, Therese, are imaginary 
crimes which are of no interest to Nature and at which she scoffs as she 
does at all the rest of our institutions which offend more often than they 
serve her." Coeur-de-fer waxed warm while expounding his perfidious 
maxims, and I soon beheld him again in the state which had so terrified 
me the night before; in order to give his lesson additional impact, he 
wished instantly to join practice to precept; and, my resistances 
notwithstanding, his hands strayed toward the altar into which the 
traitor wanted to penetrate....
Must I declare, Madame, that, blinded by the wicked man's seductions; 
content, by yielding a little, to save what seemed the more essential; 
reflecting neither upon his casuistries' illogicalities nor upon what I was 
myself about to risk since the dishonest fellow, possessing gigantic 
proportions, had not even the possibility to see a woman in the most 
permissible place and since, urged on by his native perversity, he most 
assuredly had no object but to maim me; my eyes as I say, perfectly blind 
to all that, I was going to abandon myself and become criminal through 
virtue; my opposition was weakening; already master of the throne, the 
insolent conqueror concentrated all his energies in order to establish 
himself upon it; and then there was heard the sound of a carriage moving 
along the highway. Upon the instant, Coeur-de-fer forsakes his pleasures 
for his duties; he assembles his followers and flies to new crimes. Not 
long afterward, we hear cries, and those bandits, all bloodied over, 
return triumphant and laden with spoils. "Let's decamp smartly," says 
Coeur-de-fer, "we've killed three men, the corpses are on the road, we're 
safe no longer."
The booty is divided, Coeur-de-fer wants me to have my share; it comes 
to twenty louis, which I am compelled to accept. I tremble at the 
obligation to take such money; however, we are in a hurry, everyone 
snatches up his belongings and off we go. The next day we find ourselves 
out of danger and in the forest of Chantilly; during supper, the men 
reckon what their latest operation has been worth to them, and evaluate 
the total capture at no more than two hundred louis. "Indeed," says one 
of them, "it wasn't worth the trouble to commit three murders for such a 
little sum."
"Softly, my friends," Dubois answers, "it was not for the sake of their 
purses I exhorted you not to spare those travelers, it was solely in the 
interests of our security; the law's to be blamed for these crimes, the 
fault's not ours; so long as thieves are hanged like murderers, thefts shall 
never be committed without assassinations. The two misdeeds are 
punished equally; why then abstain from the second when it may cover 
up the first? What makes you suppose, furthermore," the horrid creature 
continued, "that two hundred louis are not worth three killings? One 
must never appraise values save in terms of our own interests. The 
cessation of the victims' existences is as nothing compared to the 
continuation of ours, not a mite does it matter to us whether any 
individual is alive or in the grave; consequently, if one of the two cases 
involves what in the smallest way affects our welfare, we must, with 
perfect unremorse, determine the thing in our own favor; for in a 
completely indifferent matter we should, if we have any wits and are 
master of the situation, undoubtedly act so as to turn it to the profitable 
side, entirely neglecting whatever may befall our adversary; for there is 
no rational commensuration between what affects us and what affects 
others; the first we sense physically, the other only touches us morally, 
and moral feelings are made to deceive; none but physical sensations are 
authentic; thus, not only do two hundred louis suffice for three murders, 
but even thirty centimes would have sufficed, for those thirty centimes 
would have procured a satisfaction which, although light, must 
necessarily affect us to a much more lively degree than would three men 
murdered, who are nothing to us, and by the wrongs done whom we are 
not in the least touched, no, not even scratched; our organic feebleness, 
careless thinking, the accursed prejudices in which we were brought up, 
the vain terrors of religion and law, those are what hamper idiots and 
confound their criminal careers, those are what prevent them from 
arriving at greatness; but every strong and healthy individual, endowed 
with an energetically organized mind, who preferring himself to others, 
as he must, will know how to weigh their interests in the balance against 
his own, will laugh God and mankind to the devil, will brave death and 
mock at the law, fully aware that it is to himself he must be faithful, that 
by himself all must be measured, will sense that the vastest multitude of 
wrongs inflicted upon others cannot offset the least enjoyment lost to 
himself or be as important as his slightest pleasure purchased by an 
unheard-of host of villainies.
Joy pleases him, it is in him, it is his own, crime's effect touches him not, 
is exterior to him; well, I ask, what thinking man will not prefer what 
causes his delectation to what is alien to him? who will not consent to 
commit this deed whereof~ he experiences nothing unpleasant, in order 
to procure what moves him most agreeably?" "Oh Madame," I said to 
Dubois, asking her leave to reply to her execrable sophistries, "do you 
not at all feel that your damnation is writ in what you have just uttered? 
At the very most, such principles could only befit the person powerful 
enough to have nothing to dread from others; but we, Madame, 
perpetually in fear and humiliated; we, proscribed by all honest folk, 
condemned by every law, should we be the exponents of doctrines which 
can only whet the sword blade suspended above our heads?
Would we find ourselves in this unhappy position were we in the center 
of society; were we to be where, that is to say, we ought to be, without 
our misconduct and delivered from our miseries, do you fancy such 
maxims could be any more fitting to us? How would you have him not 
perish who through blind egoism wishes all alone to strive against the 
combined interests of others? Is not society right never to suffer in its 
midst the man who declares himself hostile to it? And can the isolated 
individual fight against everyone? Can he flatter himself he is happy and 
tranquil if, refusing to submit to the social contract, he does not consent 
to give up a little of his happiness to insure the rest? Society is 
maintained only by the ceaseless interexchange of considerations and 
good works, those are the bonds which cement the edifices; such a one 
who instead of positive acts offers naught but crimes, having therefore to 
be dreaded, will necessarily be attacked if he is the strongest, laid low by 
the first he offends if he is the weakest; but destroyed at any rate, for 
there is in man a powerful instinct which compels him to safeguard his 
peace and quiet and to strike whosoever seeks to trouble them; that is 
why the long endurance of criminal associations is virtually impossible: 
their well-being suddenly confronted by cold steel, all the others must 
promptly unite to blunt the threatening point.
Even amongst ourselves, Madame, I dare add; how can you lull yourself 
into believing you can maintain concord amongst ourselves when you 
counsel each to heed nothing but his own self-interest? Would you have 
any just complaints to make against the one of us who wanted to cut the 
throats of the others, who did so in order to monopolize for himself what 
has been shared by his colleagues? Why, 'tis a splendid panegyric to 
Virtue, to prove its necessity in even a criminal society... to prove for a 
certainty that this society would disintegrate in a trice were it not 
sustained by Virtue!"
"Your objections, Therese," said Coeur-de-fer, "not the theses Dubois has 
been expounding, are sophistries; our criminal fraternities are not by any 
means sustained by Virtue; rather by self-interest, egoism, selfishness; 
this eulogy of Virtue, which you have fabricated out of a false hypothesis, 
miscarries; it is not at all owing to virtuousness that, believing myself, let 
us suppose, the strongest of the band, I do not use a dagger on my 
comrades in order to appropriate their shares, it is because, thereupon 
finding myself all alone, I would deprive myself of the means which 
assure me the fortune I expect to have with their help; similarly, this is 
the single motive which restrains them from lifting their arms against 
me. Now this motive, as you, Therese, perfectly well observe, is purely 
selfish, and has not even the least appearance of virtue; he who wishes to 
struggle alone against society's interests must, you say, expect to perish; 
will he not much more certainly perish if, to enable him to exist therein, 
he has nothing but his misery and is abandoned by others?
What one terms the interest of society is simply the mass of individual 
interests unified, but it is never otherwise than by ceding that this 
private interest can accommodate and blend with the general interest; 
well, what would you have him cede who has nothing he can relinquish? 
And he who had much? Agree that he should see his error grow apace 
with the discovery that he was giving infinitely more than he was getting 
in return; and, such being the case, agree that the unfairness of the 
bargain should prevent him from concluding it. Trapped in this 
dilemma, the best thing remaining for this man, don't you agree, is to 
quit this unjust society, to go elsewhere, and to accord prerogatives to a 
different society of men who, placed in a situation comparable to his, 
have their interest in combating, through the coordination of their lesser 
powers, the broader authority that wished to extract from the poor man 
what little he possessed in exchange for nothing at all. But you will say, 
thence will be born a state of perpetual warfare. Excellent! is that not the 
perpetual state of Nature? Is it not the only state to which we are really 
adapted? All men are born isolated, envious, cruel and despotic; wishing 
to have everything and surrender nothing, incessantly struggling to 
maintain either their rights or achieve their ambition, the legislator 
comes up and says to them:
Cease thus to fight; if each were to retreat a little, calm would be 
restored. I find no fault with the position implicit in the agreement, but I 
maintain that two species of individuals cannot and ought not submit to 
it, ever; those who feel they are the stronger have no need to give up 
anything in order to be happy, and those who find themselves the weaker 
also find themselves giving up infinitely more than what is assured them. 
However, society is only composed of weak persons and strong; well, if 
the pact must perforce displease both weak and strong, there is great 
cause to suppose it will fail to suit society, and the previously existing 
state of warfare must appear infinitely preferable, since it permitted 
everyone the free exercise of his strength and his industry, whereof he 
would discover himself deprived by a society's unjust pact which takes 
too much from the one and never accords enough to the other; hence, 
the truly intelligent person is he who, indifferent to the risk of renewing 
the state of war that reigned prior to the contract, lashes out in 
irrevocable violation of that contract, violates it as much and often as he 
is able, full certain that what he will gain from these ruptures will always 
be more important than what he will lose if he happens to be a member 
of the weaker class; for such he was when he respected the treaty; by 
breaking it he may become one of the stronger; and if the laws return 
him to the class whence he wished to emerge, the worst that can befall 
him is the loss of his life, which is a misfortune infinitely less great than 
that of existing in opprobrium and wretchedness.
There are then two positions available to us: either crime, which renders 
us happy, or the noose, which prevents us from being unhappy. I ask 
whether there can be any hesitation, lovely Therese, and where will your 
little mind find an argument able to combat that one?"


CHAPTER 9 

"Oh Monsieur," I replied with the vehemence a good cause inspires, 
"there are a thousand; but must this life be man's unique concern? Is this 
existence other than a passage each of whose stages ought only, if he is 
reasonable, to conduct him to that eternal felicity, the prize vouchsafed 
by Virtue? I suppose together with you (but this, however, is rare, it 
conflicts with all reason's informations, but never mind), I will for an 
instant grant you that the villain who abandons himself to crime may be 
rendered happy by it in this world, but do you imagine God's justice does 
not await that dishonest man, that he will not have to pay in another 
world for what he does in this? Ah! think not the contrary, Monsieur, 
believe it not," I added, tears in my eyes, " 'tis the misfortunate one's sole 
consolation, take it not away from us; forsaken by mankind, who will 
avenge us if not God?" "Who? No one, Therese, absolutely no one; it is 
in no wise necessary that the misfortunate be avenged; they flatter 
themselves with the notion because they would like to be, the idea 
comforts them, but it is not on that account the less false: better still, it is 
essential that the misfortunate suffer; their humiliation, their anguishes 
are included in what Nature decrees, and their miserable existence is 
useful to the general scheme, as is that of the prosperity which crushes 
them; such is the truth which should stifle remorse in the tyrant's soul or 
in the malefactor's; let him not constrain himself; let him blindly, 
unthinkingly deliver himself up to causing every hurt the idea for which 
may be born in him, it is only Nature's voice which suggests this idea; 
such is the only fashion in which she makes us her laws' executors. When 
her secret inspirations dispose us to evil, it is evil she wishes, it is evil she 
requires, for the sum of crimes not being complete, not sufficient to the 
laws of equilibrium, the only laws whereby she is governed, she demands 
that there be crimes to dress the scales; therefore let him not be afraid, 
let him not pause, whose brain is driven to concerting ill; let him 
unheeding commit wrong immediately he discerns the impulsion, it is 
only by lagging and snuffling he outrages Nature. But let us ignore ethics 
for a moment, since it's theology you want.
Be advised then, young innocent, that the religion you fall back upon, 
being nothing but the relationship between man and God, nothing but 
the reverence the creature thinks himself obliged to show his creator, is 
annihilated instantly this creator's existence is itself proven illusory. 
"Primitive man, terrified by the phenomena which harried him, had 
necessarily to believe that a sublime being unknown to him had the 
direction of their operation and influence; it is native to weakness to 
suppose strength and to fear it; the human mind, then too much in its 
infancy to explore, to discover in Nature's depths the laws of motion, the 
unique springs of the entire mechanism that struck him with awe, found 
it simpler to fancy a motor in this Nature than to view Nature as her own 
mover, and without considering that he would have to go to much more 
trouble to edify, to define this gigantic master, than through the study of 
Nature to find the cause of what amazed him, he acknowledged this 
sovereign being, he elaborated rituals to worship it: from this moment 
each nation composed itself an overlord in conformance with its peculiar 
characteristics, its knowledge, and its climate; soon there were as many 
religions on earth as races and peoples and not long after, as many Gods 
as families; nevertheless, behind all these idols it was easy to recognize 
the same absurd illusion, first fruit of human blindness.
They appareled it differently, but it was always the same thing. Well, tell 
me, Therese, merely because these idiots talk drivel about the erection of 
a wretched chimera and about the mode of serving him, must it follow 
that an intelligent man has got to renounce the certain and present 
happiness of life; like Aesop's dog, must he abandon the bone for the 
shadow and renounce his real joys for hallucinations? No, Therese, no, 
there is no God, Nature sufficeth unto herself; in no wise hath she need 
of an author; once supposed, that author is naught but a decayed version 
of herself, is merely what we describe in school by the phrase, a begging 
of the question. A God predicates a creation, that is to say, an instant 
when there was nothing, or an instant when all was in chaos. If one or 
the other of these states was evil, why did your God allow it to subsist? 
Was it good? Then why did he change it?
But if all is now good at last, your God has nothing left to do; well, if he is 
useless, how can he be powerful? And if he is not powerful, how can he 
be God? If, in a word, Nature moves herself, what do we want with a 
motor? and if the motor acts upon matter by causing it to move, how is it 
not itself material? Can you conceive the effect of the mind upon matter 
and matter receiving motion from the mind which itself has no 
movement? Examine for one coldblooded instant all the ridiculous and 
contradictory qualities wherewith the fabricators of this execrable
chimera have been obliged to clothe him; verify for your own self how 
they contradict one another, annul one another, and you will recognize 
that this deific phantom, engendered by the fear of some and the 
ignorance of all, is nothing but a loathsome platitude which merits from 
us neither an instant of faith nor a minute's examination; a pitiable 
extravagance, disgusting to the mind, revolting to the heart, which ought 
never to have issued from the darkness save to plunge back into it, 
forever to be drowned.
"May the hope or fear of a world to come, bred of those primordial lies, 
trouble you not, Therese, and above all give over endeavoring to forge 
restraints for us out of this stuff. Feeble portions of a vile crude matter, 
upon our death, that is to say, upon the conjointure of the elements 
whereof we are composed with the elements composing the universal 
mass, annihilated forever, regardless of what our behavior has been, we 
will pass for an instant into Nature's crucible thence to spring up again 
under other shapes, and that without there being any more prerogatives 
for him who madly smoked up Virtue's effigy, than for the other who 
wallowed in the most disgraceful excesses, because there is nothing by 
which Nature is offended and because all men, equally her womb's issue, 
during their term having acted not at all save in accordance with her 
impulsions, will all of them meet with after their existence, both the 
same end and the same fate." I was once again about to reply to these 
appalling blasphemies when we heard the clatter of a horseman not far 
away. "To arms !" shouted Coeur-de-fer, more eager to put his systems 
into action than to consolidate their bases.
The men leapt into life... and an instant later a luckless traveler was led 
into the copse where we had our camp. Questioned upon his motive for 
traveling alone and for being so early abroad, upon his age, his 
profession, the rider answered that his name was Saint-Florent, one of 
the most important merchants of Lyon, that he was thirty-six years old, 
that he was on his way back from Flanders where he had been concerned 
with affairs relative to his business, that he had not much hard money 
upon his person, but many securities. He added that his valet had left 
him the preceding day and that, to avoid the heat, he was journeying at 
night with the intention of reaching Paris the next day, where he would 
secure a new domestic, and would conclude some of his transactions; 
that, moreover, he was following an unfamiliar road, and, apparently, he 
must have lost his way while dozing on his horse. And having said that, 
he asked for his life, in return offering all he possessed.
His purse was examined, his money was counted, the prize could not 
have been better. Saint-Florent had near unto a half a million, payable 
upon demand at the capital, had also a few gems and about a hundred 
gold louis.... "Friend," said Coeur-de-fer, clapping his pistol to Saint
Florent's nose, "you understand, don't you, that after having robbed you, 
we cannot leave you alive." "Oh Monsieur," I cried, casting myself at the 
villain's feet, "I beseech you not to present me the horrible spectacle, 
upon my reception into your band, of this poor man's death; allow him to 
live, do not refuse me this first request I ask of you." And quickly 
resorting to a most unusual ruse, in order to justify the interest I 
appeared to take in the captive: "The name Monsieur has just given 
himself," I added with warmth, "causes me to believe we are nearly 
related. Be not astonished, Monsieur," I went on, now addressing the 
voyager, "be not at all surprised to find a kinsman in these 
circumstances; I will explain it all to you. In the light of this," I 
continued, once again imploring our chief, "in the light of this, Monsieur, 
grant me the unlucky creature's life, I will show my gratitude for the 
favor by the completest devotion to ail that will be able to serve your 
interests." "You know upon what conditions I can accord you what you 
ask, Therese," Coeur-de-fer answered; "you know what I demand from 
you..."
"Ah, very well, Monsieur, I will do everything," I cried, throwing myself 
between SaintFlorent and our leader, who was still about to kill him. 
"Yes, I will do anything; spare him." "Let him live," said Coeur-de-fer, 
"but he has got to join us, that last clause is crucial, I can do nothing if he 
refuses to comply with it, my comrades would be against me." Surprised, 
the merchant, understanding nothing of this. consanguinity I was 
establishing, but observing his life saved if he were to consent to the 
proposal, saw no cause for a moment's hesitation. He was provided with 
meat and drink, as the men did not wish to leave the place until 
daybreak. "Therese," Coeur-de-fer said to me, "I remind you of your 
promise, but, since I am weary tonight, rest quietly beside Dubois, I will 
summon you toward dawn and if you are not prompt to come, taking this 
knave's life will be my revenge for your deceit."
"Sleep, Monsieur, sleep well," I replied, "and believe that she whom you 
have filled with gratitude has no desire but to repay it." However, such 
was far from my design, for if ever I believed deception permitted, it was 
certainly upon this occasion. Our rascals, greatly overconfident, kept at 
their drinking and fell into slumber, leaving me entirely at liberty beside 
Dubois who, drunk like the others, soon closed her eyes too. Then seizing 
my opportunity as soon as the bandits surrounding us were overcome 
with sleep: "Monsieur," I said to the young Lyonnais, "the most atrocious 
catastrophe has thrown me against my will into the midst of these 
thieves, I detest both them and the fatal instant that brought me into 
their company. In truth, I have not the honor to be related to you; I 
employed the trick to save you and to escape, if you approve it, with you, 
from out of these scoundrels' clutches; the moment's propitious," I 
added, "let us be off; I notice your pocketbook, take it back, forget the 
money, it is in their pockets; we could not recover it without danger: 
come, Monsieur, let us quit this place. You see what I am doing for you, I 
put myself into your keeping; take pity on me; above all, be not more 
cruel than these men; deign to respect my honor, I entrust it to you, it is 
my unique treasure, they have not ravished it away from me."


CHAPTER 10

It would be difficult to render the declarations of gratitude I had from 
Saint-Florent. He knew not in what terms to express his thanks; but we 
had no time to talk; it was a question of flight. With a dextrous 
movement, I retrieve the pocketbook, return it to him, and treading 
softly we walk through the copse, leaving the horse for fear the sound of 
his hoofs might rouse the men; with all possible dispatch we reach the 
path which is to lead us out of the forest. We had the good luck to be out 
of it by daybreak, without having been followed by anyone; before ten 
o'clock we were in Luzarches and there, free from all anxiety, we thought 
of nothing but resting ourselves . There are moments in life when one 
finds that despite one's riches, which may be great, one nevertheless 
lacks what is needed to live; such was Saint-Florent's case: five hundred 
thousand francs might be awaiting him in Paris, but he now had not a 
coin on his person; mindful of this, he paused before entering the inn.... 
"Be easy, Monsieur," I said upon perceiving his embarrassment, "the 
thieves have not left me without money, here are twenty louis, take them, 
please, use them, give what remains to the poor; nothing in the world 
could make me want to keep gold acquired by murder." Saint-Florent, 
whose refinements of character I at the time did not exactly appreciate, 
was absolutely unwilling to accept what I tendered him; he asked me 
what my expectations were, said he would make himself bound to fulfill 
them, and that he desired nothing but the power to acquit himself of his 
indebtedness to me.
"It is to you I owe my life and fortune, Therese," he added, kissing my 
hands, "I can do no better than to lay them both at your feet; receive 
them, I beseech you, and permit the God of marriage to tighten the knots 
of friendship." I know not whether it was from intuition or chilliness of 
temper, but I was so far from believing that what I had done for the 
young man could motivate such sentiments as these he expressed for me, 
that I allowed him to read in my countenance the refusal I dared not 
articulate; he understood, insisted no further, and limited himself to 
asking what he could do for me. "Monsieur," said I, "if my behavior is 
really not without merit in your view, for my entire recompense I ask 
nothing more than to proceed to Lyon with you and to have you find me 
a place in some correct household, where my modesty will have no more 
to suffer." "You could do nothing better," said Saint-Florent, "and no one 
is in a better position than I to render this service; I have twenty relatives 
in the city," and the young trader then besought me to divulge my 
reasons for having left Paris where I had mentioned to him I was born. I 
told my story with equal amounts of confidence and ingenuousness. "Oh, 
if it is but that," said the young man, "I will be of use to you before we 
reach Lyon; fear not, Therese, your troubles are over; the affair will be 
hushed; you will not be sought after and, certainly, less in the asylum 
where I wish to leave you than in any other. A member of my family 
dwells near Bondy, a charming region not far from here; I am sure it will 
be a pleasure for her to have you with her; I will introduce you 
tomorrow."
In my turn filled with gratitude, I approve a project which seems so well 
suited to me; we repose at Luzarches for the rest of the day and on the 
morrow, it is our plan, we will gain Bondy, but six leagues distant. "The 
weather is fine," Saint-Florent says to me, "trust me, Therese; it will be 
most enjoyable to go afoot; we will reach my relative's estate, will tell of 
our adventure, and this manner of arriving, I should think, will make you 
appear in a still more interesting light." Having not the faintest suspicion 
of this monster's designs, and far from imagining that I was to be less 
safe with him than I had been when in the infamous company I had left, 
I agree to everything; we dine together; he not so much as murmurs 
when for the night I take a chamber separate from his, and after having 
waited until the warmest part of the day is past, certain of what he tells 
me, that four or five hours will suffice to bring us to his relative's, we 
leave Luzarches and strike out on foot for Bondy. It was toward four 
o'clock in the afternoon when we entered the forest.
Until then SaintFlorent had not once contradicted himself: always the 
same propriety, always the same eagerness to prove his sentiments for 
me; I should not have thought myself more secure had I been with my 
father. The shades of night began to descend upon the forest and to 
inspire that kind of religious horror which at once causes the birth of fear 
in timorous spirits and criminal projects in ferocious hearts. We followed 
mere paths; I was walking ahead, and I turned to ask Saint-Florent 
whether these obscure trails were really the ones we ought to be 
following, whether perchance he had not lost his bearings, whether he 
thought we were going to arrive soon. "We have arrived, whore," the 
villain replied, toppling me with a blow of his cane brought down upon 
my head; I fell unconscious... Oh, Madame, I have no idea what that man 
afterward said or did; but the state I was in when I returned to my senses 
advised me only too well to what point I had been his victim. I was 
darkest night when I awoke; I was at the foot of a tree, away from any 
road, injured, bleeding... dishonored, Madame; such had been the 
reward of all I had just done for the unlucky man; and carrying infamy to 
its ultimate degree, the wretch, after having done to me all he had 
wished, after having abused me in every manner, even in that which 
most outrages Nature, had taken my purse... containing the same money 
I had so generously offered him. He had torn my clothing, most of it lay 
in shreds and ribbons about me, I was virtually naked, and several parts 
of my body were lacerated, clawed; you may appreciate my situation: 
there in the depths of the night, without resources, without honor, 
without hope, exposed to every peril: I wished to put an end to my days: 
had a weapon been presented to me, I would have laid hands on it and 
abridged this unhappy life full only of plagues for me... the monster!
What did I do to him, I asked myself, to have deserved such cruel 
treatment at his hands? I save his life, restore his fortune to him, he 
snatches away what is most dear to me! A savage beast would have been 
less cruel! O man, thus are you when you heed nothing but your 
passions! Tigers that dwell in the wildest jungles would quail before such 
ignominies... these first pangs of suffering were succeeded by some few 
minutes of exhaustion; my eyes, brimming over with tears, turned 
mechanically towards the sky; my heart did spring to the feet of the 
Master who dwelleth there... that pure glittering vault... that imposing 
stillness of the night... that terror which numbed my senses... that image 
of Nature in peace, nigh unto my whelmed, distraught soul... all distilled 
a somber horror into me, whence there was soon born the need to pray. I 
cast myself down, kneeling before that potent God denied by the 
impious, hope of the poor and the downtrodden. "Holy Majesty, Saintly 
One," I cried out in tears, "Thou Who in this dreadful moment deign to 
flood my soul with a celestial joy, Who doubtless hath prevented me 
from attempting my life; O my Protector and my Guide, I aspire to Thy 
bounties, I implore Thy clemency, behold my miseries and my torments, 
my resignation, and hear Thou my entreaties: Powerful God I Thou 
knowst it, I am innocent and weak, I am betrayed and mistreated; I have 
wished to do well in imitation of Thee, and Thy will hath punished it in 
me: may Thy will be done, O my God I all its sacred effects are cherished 
by me, I respect them and cease to complain of them; but if however I 
am to find naught but stings and nettles terrestrially, is it to offend Thee, 
O my Sovereign Master, to supplicate Thy puissance to take me into Thy 
bosom, in order untroubled to adore Thee, to worship Thee far away 
from these perverse men who, alas I have made me meet with evils only, 
and whose bloodied and perfidious hands at their pleasure drown my 
sorrowful days in a torrent of tears and in an abyss of agonies."
Prayer is the misfortunate's sweetest comfort; strength reenters him 
once he has fulfilled this duty. My courage renewed, I raised myself up, I 
gathered together the rags the villain had left me, and I hid myself in a 
thicket so as to pass the night in less danger. The security I believed I 
enjoyed, the satisfaction I had just tasted by communing with my God, 
all combined to help me rest a few hours, and the sun was already risen 
high when I opened my eyes. For the wretched, the instant of awakening 
is hideous: the imagination, refreshed by sleep's sweet ministrations, 
very rapidly and lugubriously fills with the evils these moments of 
deceiving repose have smoothed into oblivion. Very well, I said as I 
examined myself, it is then true that there are human creatures Nature 
reduces to the level of wild beasts! Lurking in this forest, like them flying 
the sight of man, what difference now exists between them and me? Is it 
worth being born for a fate so pitiable?... And my tears flowed 
abundantly as I meditated in sorrow; I had scarcely finished with my 
reflections when I heard sounds somewhere about; little by little, two 
men hove into view. I pricked up my ears: "Come, dear friend," said one 
of them, "this place will suit us admirably; the cruel and fatal presence of 
an aunt I abhor will not prevent me from tasting a moment with you the 
pleasures I cherish." They draw near, they station themselves squarely in 
front of me and so proximately that not one of their words, not one of 
their gestures is able to escape me, and I observe... Just Heaven, 
Madame, said Therese, interrupting herself, is it possible that destiny 
has placed me in none but situations so critical that it becomes quite as 
difficult for Virtue to hear them recited as for modesty to describe them? 
That horrible crime which equally outrages both Nature and social 
conventions, that heinous deed, in a word, which the hand of God has so 
often smitten, rationalized, legitimized by Coeur-de-fer, proposed by him 
to the unhappy Therese, despite her wishes consummated against her by 
the butcher who has just immolated her, in brief, I did see that revolting 
execration carried out before my own eyes, together with all the impure 
gropings and fumblings, all the frightful episodes the most meditated 
depravity can devise. One of the men, he who gave himself, was twentyfour 
years old, of such a bearing and presence one might suppose him of 
an elevated degree, the other, of about the same age, appeared to be one 
of his domestics.
The act was scandalous and prolonged. Bending over, supported by his 
hands, leaning upon the crest of a little hillock facing the thicket where I 
lay, the young master exposed naked to his companion in debauch the 
impious sacrificial altar, and the latter, whom the spectacle filled with 
ardor, caressed the idol, ready to immolate it with a spear far more awful 
and far more colossal than the one wherewith the captain of the brigands 
of Bondy had menaced me; but, in no wise intimidated, the young 
master seemed prepared unhesitatingly to brave the shaft that was 
presented to him; he teased it, he excited it, covered it with kisses; seized 
it, plunged it into himself, was in an ecstasy as he swallowed it up; 
aroused by criminal caresses, the infamous creature writhed and 
struggled under the iron and seemed to regret it was not yet more 
terrible; he withstood its blows, he rose to anticipate them, he repelled 
them.... A tender couple lawfully connected would not have caressed one
another so passionately... their mouths were pressed together, their sighs 
intermingled, their tongues entwined, and I witnessed each of them, 
drunk with lust, bring his perfidious horrors to completion in the very 
vortex of delight. The homage is renewed, and in order to fire the incense 
nothing is neglected by him who cries aloud his demand for it; kisses, 
fingerings, pollutions, debauchery's most appalling refinements, 
everything is employed to revive sinking strength, and it all succeeds in 
reanimating them five times in swift succession; but that without either 
of them changing his role.
The young lord was constantly the woman and although there was about 
him what suggested the possibility he could have acted the man in his 
turn, he had not for one instant even the appearance of wishing to. If he 
visited the altar corresponding to the one in him where sacrifices were 
performed, it was in the other idol's behalf, and there was never any 
indication the latter was threatened by assault.


CHAPTER 11

Ah, how slowly the time seemed to pass! I dared not budge for fear of 
detection; at last, the criminal actors in this indecent drama, no doubt 
surfeited, got up and were prepared to start along the road that was to 
take them home, when the master drew near the bush which hid me; my 
bonnet betrayed me... he caught sight of it.... "Jasmin," said he to his 
valet, "we are discovered... a girl has beheld our mysteries.... Come 
hither, flush the bitch into the open, let's find out why she is here." I did 
not put them to the trouble of dragging me from my sanctuary; I stepped 
forward immediately and, falling at their feet, "Oh, Messieurs!" I cried, 
stretching my arms toward them, "deign to have pity upon an unhappy 
creature whose fate more deserves your compassion than you may think; 
there are very few misfortunes which can equal mine; do not let the 
posture wherein you discover me cause any suspicion to be born in you; 
it is rather the consequence of my misery than of my faults; do not 
augment the ills which overwhelm me, be so kind as to diminish them by 
making available to me the means to escape the furies that hound me."
The Comte de Bressac (that was the name of the young man into whose 
hands I had fallen) possessed a mind containing a great fund of 
wickedness and libertinage; no very abundant amount of sympathy 
dwelled in his heart. Unfortunately, it is only too common to find men in 
whom pity has been obliterated by libertinage, whose ordinary effect is 
to harden: whether it be that the major part of his excesses necessitates 
apathy in the soul, or that the violent shock passion imparts to the 
nervous system decreases the vigor of its action, the fact always remains 
that a libertine is rarety a man of sensibility. But in addition to this 
harshness native to the species whose character I am sketching, there 
was also in Monsieur de Bressac a disgust for our sex so inveterate, a 
hatred so powerful for all that distinguishes it, that I encountered 
considerable difficulty introducing the affections into his soul wherewith 
I strove to move him. "My little dove," said the Count, severity in his 
tone, "if you are looking for dupes, improve your style; neither my friend 
nor I ever sacrifice at your sex's impure temple; if it is money you are 
begging, look for people who are fond of good works, we never perform 
any of that description.... But, wretch, out with it: did you see what 
passed between Monsieur and me?" "I saw you conversing together upon 
the sward," I replied, "nothing more, Monsieur, I assure you." "I should 
like to believe it," said the Count, "for your own good; were I to imagine 
you had seen anything else, never would you emerge alive from where we 
are.... Jasmin, it is early, we have time to hear the girl's adventures, and 
afterward we will see what's to be done with her." The young men sit 
down, they order me to sit near them, and thereupon very ingenuously I 
make them acquainted with all the woes that have afflicted me from the 
day of my birth.
"Well, Jasmin," said Monsieur de Bressac as soon as I had finished, "for 
once let us be just: the equitable Themis has doomed this creature, let us 
not suffer the Goddess' designs to be thwarted so cruelly: let us expose 
the delinquent to the death penalty she has incurred: this little murder, 
far from being a crime, will merely take its place as a reparation in the 
moral scheme; since sometimes we have the misfortune to disturb that 
order, let us at least courageously make amends when the occasion 
arises...." And the cruel men, having laid hands upon me, dragged me 
toward the wood, laughing at my tears and screams. "We'll tie each of 
her members to a tree Ä we need four trees placed in a rectangle," said 
Bressac, tearing off my clothes.
Then by means of their cravats, their handkerchiefs, their braces, they 
make cords wherewith I am tied instantly, in keeping with their plan, 
that is to say in the cruelest and most painful position imaginable. I 
cannot express to you what I suffered; it seemed they were rending me 
limb from limb and that my belly, facing downward and strained to the 
utmost, was about to split at any moment; sweat drenched my forehead, 
I no longer existed save through the violence of pain; had it ceased to 
compress my nerves, a mortal anguish would surely have seized me: the 
villains were amused by my posture, they considered me and applauded. 
"Well, that's enough," Bressac said at last, "for the time being she may 
get off with a fright. "Therese," he continued as he untied my hands and 
commanded me to dress myself, "show a little judgment and come along 
with us; if you attach yourself to me you shall never have reason to regret 
it. My aunt requires a second maid; I am going to present you to her and, 
upon the basis of your story, undertake to interest her in you; I shall 
make myself answerable for your conduct; but should you abuse my 
kindness, were you to betray my confidence, or were you not to submit 
yourself to my intentions, behold these four trees, Therese, behold the 
plot of earth they encompass: it might serve you for a sepulcher: bear it 
in mind that this dreadful place is no more than a league's distance from 
the chateau to which I am going to lead you and that, upon the least 
provocation, I will bring you back here at once."
I forgot my sufferings instantly, I embraced the Count's knees, tears 
streaming down my cheeks, I swore to behave myself well; but quite as 
insensible to my joy as to my pain, "Let us be off," said Bressac, "your 
actions will speak for you, they alone will govern your fate." We advance; 
Jasmin and his master exchange whispered remarks; I follow them 
humbly, without saying a word. In less than an hour we arrive at 
Madame la Marquise de Bressac's chateau, whose magnificence and the 
multitude of servants it contains make me see that whatever the post I 
must hold in the house, it will surely be more advantageous to me than 
that of drudge to Monsieur du Harpin. I am made to wait in an office 
where Jasmin most obligingly offers me everything conducive to my 
comfort. The young Count seeks out his aunt, acquaints her with what he 
has done, and a half-hour later himself comes to introduce me to the 
Marquise. Madame de Bressac was a woman of forty-six years, still very 
beautiful, and who seemed highly respectable and sensible, although into 
her principles and remarks somewhat of austerity had entrance; for two 
years she had been the widow of the young Count's uncle, who had 
married her without any fortune beyond the fine name he brought with 
him.
All the riches Monsieur de Bressac was able to hope for depended upon 
this aunt; what had come down to him from his father barely gave him 
the wherewithal to buy his pleasures: to which income Madame de 
Bressac joined a considerable allowance, but that scarcely sufficed; 
nothing is so expensive as the delights to which the Count was addicted; 
perhaps they are purchased at a cheaper rate than others, but they far 
more rapidly multiply. Fifty thousand crowns was the Marquise's 
revenue, and young Monsieur de Bressac was its sole heir. All efforts to 
induce him to find a profession or an occupation had failed; he could not 
adapt himself to whatever diverted his attentions from libertinage. The 
Marquise passed three months of the year's twelve in the country; the 
rest of the time she lived in Paris; and these three months which she 
required her nephew to spend with her, were a kind of torture for a man 
who hated his aunt and considered as wasted every moment he passed 
outside the city which was the home of his pleasures. The young Count 
bade me relate to the Marquise the matter with which I had just made 
him acquainted, and as soon as I was done: "Your candor and naivete," 
Madame de Bressac said to me, "do not permit me to think you 
untruthful. I will inquire after no other information save what will 
authorise me to believe you are really the daughter of the man you 
indicate; if it is so, then I knew your father, and that will be one more 
reason to take an interest in you. As for the du Harpin affair, I will 
assume responsibility for settling it with two visits paid to the 
Chancellor; he has been my friend for ages. In all the world there is no 
man of greater integrity; we have but to prove your innocence to him: all 
the charges leveled against you will crumble and be withdrawn.
But consider well, Therese: what I promise you now will not be yours 
save at the price of flawless conduct; thus, you see that the effects of the 
gratitude I require will always redound to your profit." I cast myself at 
the Marquise's feet, assured her she would be contented with me; with 
great kindness she raised me up and upon the spot gave me the post of 
second chambermaid in her service. At the end of three days, the 
information Madame de Bressac had sought from Paris arrived; it 
corresponded with what I desired; the Marquise praised me for having in 
no wise imposed upon her, and every thought of unhappiness vanished 
from my mind, to be replaced by nothing but hope for the sweetest 
consolations it was permitted me to expect; but it did not consort with 
the designs of Heaven that the poor Therese should ever be happy, and if 
fortuitously there were born unto her some few moments of calm, it was 
only to render more bitter those of distress that were to succeed them.
We were no sooner arrived in Paris than Madame de Bressac hastened to 
work in my behalf: the first president judge wished to see me, he heard 
with interest the tale of my misfortunes; du Harpin's calumnies were 
recognized, but it was in vain they undertook to punish him; having 
made a great success of trafficking in counterfeit banknotes, whereby he 
ruined three or four families, and whence he amassed nearly two 
millions, he had just removed to England; as regarded the burning of the 
Palace prisons, they were convinced that although I had profited from 
the event, I was in no way to blame for causing it and the case against me 
was dropped, the officiating magistrates being agreed, so I was assured, 
that there was no need to employ further formalities; I asked no 
questions, I was content to learn what I was told, and you will see shortly 
whether I was mistaken. You may readily imagine that as a consequence 
of what she did for me, I became very fond of Madame de Bressac; had 
she not shown me every kindness as well, had not such steps as those she 
had taken obligated me forever to this precious protectress?
However, it was by no means the young Count's intention that I become 
so intimately attached to his aunt.... But this seems the moment for a 
portrait of the monster. Monsieur de Bressac had the charms of youth 
and the most attractive countenance too; if there were some defects in 
his figure or his features, it was because they had a rather too 
pronounced tendency toward that nonchalance, that softness which 
properly belongs only to women; it seemed that, in lending him the 
attributes of the feminine sex, Nature had introduced its tastes into him 
as well.... Yet what a soul lurked behind those effeminate graces! All the 
vices which characterize the villain's genius were to be encountered in 
his: never had wickedness, vindictiveness, cruelty, atheism, debauchery, 
contempt for all duties and principally those out of which Nature is said 
to fashion our delights, never had all these qualities been carried to such 
an extreme. In the midst of all his faults predominated another: 
Monsieur de Bressac detested his aunt. The Marquise did everything 
conceivable to restore her nephew to the paths of virtue; perhaps she put 
too much rigorousness into her attempts; the result, however, was that 
the Count, further inflamed by that very rigor's effects, only the more 
impetuously gave himself up to his predilections and the poor Marquise 
gained nothing from her persecutions but his redoubled hate.
"Do not imagine," the Count would often tell me, "that it is of her own 
accord my aunt acts in all that concerns you, Therese; believe me, were it 
not for my constant badgering she would quickly forget what she has 
promised to do for you. She would have you feel indebted to her, but all 
she has done is owing exclusively to me; yes, Therese, exactly, it is to me 
alone you are beholden, and the thanks I expect from you should appear 
the more disinterested, for although you've a pretty face, it is not, and 
you know it very well, after your favors I aspire; no, Therese, the services 
I await from you are of a radically different sort, and when you are well 
convinced of what I have accomplished in behalf of your tranquillity, I 
hope I will find what I think I have the right to expect from your spirit." 
So obscure were these speeches I knew not how to answer: however, 
reply to him I did, on a chance, as it were, and perhaps with too great a 
facility. Must I confess it? Alas! yes; to conceal my shortcomings would 
be to wrong your confidence and poorly to respond to the interest my 
misfortunes have quickened in you.
Hear then, Madame, of the one deliberate fault with which I have to 
reproach myself.... What am I saying, a fault? It was a folly, an 
extravagance... there has never been one to equal it; but at least it is not a 
crime, it is merely a mistake, for which I alone have been punished, and 
of which it surely does not seem that the equitable hand of Heaven had 
to make use in order to plunge me into the abyss which yawned beneath 
me soon afterward. Whatever the foul treatment to which the Comte de 
Bressac had exposed me the first day I had met him, it had, all the same, 
been impossible to see him so frequently without feeling myself drawn 
toward him by an insuperable and instinctive tenderness. 
Despite all my recollections of his cruelty, all my thoughts upon his 
disinclinations toward women, upon the depravity of his tastes, upon the 
gulf which separated us morally, nothing in the world was able to 
extinguish this nascent passion, and had the Count called upon me to lay 
down my life, I would have sacrificed it for him a thousand times over. 
He was far from suspecting my sentiments... he was far, the ungrateful 
one, from divining the cause of the tears I shed every day; nevertheless, 
it was out of the question for him to be in doubt of my eagerness to fly to 
do his every bidding, to please him in every possible way, it could not 
have been he did not glimpse, did not have some inkling of my 
attentions; doubtless, because they were instinctive, they were also 
mindless, and went to the point of serving his errors, of serving them as 
far as decency permitted, and always of hiding them from his aunt.
This behavior had in some sort won me his confidence, and all that came 
from him was so precious to me, I was so blinded by the little his heart 
offered me, that I sometimes had the weakness to believe he was not 
indifferent to me. But how promptly his excessive disorders disabused 
me: they were such that even his health was affected. I several times took 
the liberty to represent to him the dangers of his conduct, he would hear 
me out patiently, then end by telling me that one does not break oneself 
of the vice he cherished.


CHAPTER 12

"Ah, Therese!" he exclaimed one day, full of enthusiasm, "if only you 
knew this fantasy's charms, if only you could understand what one 
experiences from the sweet illusion of being no more than a woman! 
incredible inconsistency I one abhors that sex, yet one wishes to imitate 
it! Ah! how sweet it is to succeed, Therese, how delicious it is to be a slut 
to everyone who would have to do with you and carrying delirium and 
prostitution to their ultimate period, successively, in the very same day, 
to be the mistress of a porter, a marquis, a valet, a friar, to be the beloved 
of each one after the other, caressed, envied, menaced, beaten, 
sometimes victorious in their arms, sometimes a victim and at their feet, 
melting them with caresses, reanimating them with excesses.... Oh no, 
Therese, you do not understand what is this pleasure for a mind 
constructed like mine.... But, morals aside, if you are able to imagine this 
divine whimsy's physical sensations, there is no withstanding it, it is a 
titillation so lively, it is of so piquant a voluptuousness... one becomes 
giddy, one ceases to reason, stammers; a thousand kisses one more 
tender than the next do not inflame us with an ardor in any way 
approaching the drunkenness into which the agent plunges us; enlaced 
in his arms, our mouth glued to his, we would that our entire being were 
incorporated into his; we would not make but a single being with him; if 
we dare complain, 'tis of being neglected; we would have him, more 
robust than Hercules, enlarge us, penetrate us; we would have that 
precious semen, shot blazing to the depths of our entrails, cause, by its 
heat and its strength, our own to leap forth into his hands....
Do not suppose, Therese, we are made like other men; 'tis an entirely 
different structure we have; and, in creating us, Heaven has ornamented 
the altars at which our Celadons sacrifice with that very same sensitive 
membrane which lines your temple of Venus; we are, in that sector, as 
certainly women as you are in your generative sanctuary; not one of your 
pleasures is unknown to us, there is not one we do not know how to 
enjoy, but we have in addition to them our own, and it is this delicious 
combination which makes us of all men on earth the most sensitive to 
pleasure, the best created to experience it; it is this enchanting 
combination which renders our tastes incorrigible, which would turn us 
into enthusiasts and frenetics were one to have the stupidity to punish 
us... which makes us worship, unto the grave itself, the charming God 
who enthralls us."
Thus the Count expressed himself, celebrating his eccentricities; when I 
strove to speak to him of the Being to whom he owed everything, and of 
the grief such disorders caused his respectable aunt, I perceived nothing 
in him but spleen and ill-humor and especially impatience at having to 
see, in such hands and for so long, riches which, he would say, already 
ought to belong to him; I saw nothing but the most inveterate hatred for 
that so gentle woman, nothing but the most determined revolt against 
every natural sentiment. It would then be true that when in one's tastes 
one has been able so formally to transgress that law's sacred instinct, the 
necessary consequence of this original crime is a frightful penchant to 
commit every other. Sometimes I employed the means Religion 
provides; almost always comforted by it, I attempted to insinuate its 
sweetnesses into this perverse creature's soul, more or less certain he 
could be restrained by those bonds were I to succeed in having him strike 
at the lure; but the Count did not long tolerate my use of such weapons.
A declared enemy of our most holy mysteries, a stubborn critic of the 
purity of our dogmas, an impassioned antagonist of the idea of a 
Supreme Being's existence, Monsieur de Bressac, instead of letting 
himself be converted by me, sought rather to work my corruption. "All 
religions start from a false premise, Therese," he would say; "each 
supposes as necessary the worship of a Creator, but that creator never 
existed. In this connection, put yourself in mind of the sound precepts of 
that certain Coeur-de-fer who, you told me, used to labor over your mind 
as I do; nothing more just, nor more precise, than that man's principles, 
and the degradation in which we have the stupidity to keep him does not 
deprive him of the right to reason well.
"If all Nature's productions are the resultant effects of the laws whereof 
she is a captive; if her perpetual action and reaction suppose the motion 
necessary to her essence, what becomes of the sovereign master fools 
gratuitously give her? that is what your sagacious instructor said to you, 
dear girl. What, then, are religions if not the restraint wherewith the 
tyranny of the mightier sought to enslave the weaker? Motivated by that 
design, he dared say to him whom he claimed the right to dominate, that 
a God had forged the irons with which cruelty manacled him; and the 
latter, bestialized by his misery, indistinctly believed everything the 
former wished. Can religions, born of these rogueries, merit respect? Is 
there one of them, Therese, which does not bear the stamp of imposture 
and of stupidity? What do I descry in them all? Mysteries which cause 
reason to shudder, dogmas which outrage Nature, grotesque ceremonies 
which simply inspire derision and disgust. But if amongst them all there 
were one which most particularly deserves our scorn and hatred, O 
Therese, is it not that barbaric law of the Christianity into which both of 
us were born? Is there any more odious? one which so spurs both the 
heart and mind to revolt? How is it that rational men are still able to lend 
any credence to the obscure mutterings, to the alleged miracles of that 
appalling cult's vile originator?
Has there ever existed a rowdy scoundrel more worthy of public 
indignation! What is he but a leprous Jew who, born of a slut and a 
soldier in the world's meanest stews, dared fob himself off for the 
spokesman of him who, they say, created the universe! With such lofty 
pretensions, you will have to admit, Therese, at least a few credentials 
are necessary. But what are those of this ridiculous Ambassador? What is 
he going to do to prove his mission? Is the earth's face going to be 
changed? are the plagues which beset it going to be annihilated? is the 
sun going to shine upon it by night as well as by day? vices will soil it no 
more? Are we going to see happiness reign at last?... Not at all; it is 
through hocus-pocus, antic capers, and puns... (The Marquis de Bievre 
never made one quite as clever as the Nazarene's to his disciple: "Thou 
art Peter and upon this Rock I will build my Church"; and they tell Us 
that witty language is one of our century's innovations!) ...that God's 
envoy announces himself to the world; it is in the elegant society of 
manual laborers, artisans, and streetwalkers that Heaven's minister 
comes to manifest his grandeur; it is by drunken carousing with these, 
bedding with those, that God's friend, God himself, comes to bend the 
toughened sinner to his laws; it is by inventing nothing for his farces but 
what can satisfy either his lewdness or his gourmand's guts that the 
knavish fellow demonstrates his mission; however all that may be, he 
makes his fortune; a few beef-witted satellites gravitate toward the 
villain; a sect is formed; this crowd's dogmas manage to seduce some 
Jews; slaves of the Roman power, they joyfully embrace a religion which, 
ridding them of their shackles, makes them subject to none but a 
metaphysical tyranny.
Their motives become evident, their indocility unveils itself, the seditious 
louts are arrested; their captain perishes, but of a death doubtless much 
too merciful for his species of crime, and through an unpardonable lapse 
of intelligence, this uncouth boor's disciples are allowed to disperse 
instead of being slaughtered cheek to jowl with their leader. Fanaticism 
gets minds in its grip, women shriek, fools scrape and scuffle, imbeciles 
believe, and lo! the most contemptible of beings, the most maladroit 
quacksalver, the clumsiest impostor ever to have made his entrance, 
there he is: behold! God, there's God's little boy, his papa's peer; and 
now all his dreams are consecrated I and now all his epigrams are 
become dogmas! and all his blunders mysteries! His fabulous father's 
breast opens to receive him and that Creator, once upon a time simple, of 
a sudden becomes compound, triple, to humor his son, this lad so worthy 
of his greatness; but does that sacred God stick at that?
No, surely not, his celestial might is going to bestow many another and 
greater favor. At the beck and call of a priest, of, that is to say, an odd 
fellow foul with lies, the great God, creator of all we behold, is going to 
abase himself to the point of descending ten or twelve million times 
every morning in a morsel of wheat paste; this the faithful devour and 
assimilate, and God Almighty is lugged to the bottom of their intestines 
where he is speedily transmuted into the vilest excrements, and all that 
for the satisfaction of the tender son, odious inventor of this monstrous 
impiety which had its beginnings in a cabaret supper. He spake, and it 
was ordained. He said: this bread you see will be my flesh; you will digest 
it as such; now, I am God; hence, God will be digested by you; hence, the 
Creator of Heaven and Earth will be changed, because I have spoken, 
into the vilest stuff the body of man can exhale, and man will eat his God, 
because this God is good and because he is omnipotent. However, these 
blatherings increase; their growth is attributed to their authenticity, their 
greatness, their sublimity to the puissance of him who introduced them, 
while in truth the commonest causes double their existence, for the 
credit error acquires never proved anything but the presence of 
swindlers on the one side and of idiots on the other. This infamous 
religion finally arrives on the throne, and it is a weak, cruel, ignorant and 
fanatical emperor who, enveloping it in the royal mantle, soils the four 
corners of the earth with it. Therese, what weight are these arguments 
to carry with an inquiring and philosophic mind? Is the sage able to see 
anything in this appalling heap of fables but the disgusting fruit of a few 
men's imposture and the diddled credulity of a vast number? had God 
willed it that we have some religion or other, and had he been truly 
powerful or, to frame it more suitably, had there truly been a God, would 
it have been by these absurd means he would have imparted his 
instructions to us?
Would it have been through the voice of a contemptible bandit he would 
have shown how it were necessary to serve him? Were he supreme, were 
he mighty, were he just, were he good, this God you tell me about, would 
it be through enigmas and buffooneries he would wish to teach me to 
serve and know him? Sovereign mover of the stars and the heart of man, 
may he not instruct us by employing the one or convince us by graving 
himself in the other? Let him, one of these days, upon the Sun indite the 
law, writ out in letters of fire, the law as he wants us to understand it, in 
the version that pleases him; then from one end of the universe to the 
other, all mankind will read it, will behold it at once, and thereafter will 
be guilty if they obey it not. But to indicate his desires nowhere but in 
some unknown corner of Asia; to select for witnesses the craftiest and 
most visionary of people, for alter ego the meanest artisan, the most 
absurd, him of the greatest rascality; to frame his doctrine so confusedly 
it is impossible to make it out; to limit knowledge of it to a small group of 
individuals; to leave the others in error and to punish them for 
remaining there....
Why, no, Therese, no, these atrocities are not what we want for our 
guidance; I should prefer to die a thousand deaths rather than believe 
them. When atheism will wish for martyrs, let it designate them; my 
blood is ready to be shed. 
Let us detest these horrors, Therese; let the most steadfast outrages 
cement the scorn which is patently their due.... My eyes were barely open 
when I began to loathe these coarse reveries; very early I made it a law 
unto myself to trample them in the dust, I took oath to return to them 
never more; if you would be happy, imitate me; as do I, hate, abjure, 
profane the foul object of this dreadful cult; and this cult too, created for 
illusion, made like him to be reviled by everyone who pretends to 
wisdom."


CHAPTER 13

"Oh! Monsieur," I responded, weeping, "you would deprive an 
unfortunate of her fondest hope were you to wither in her heart this 
religion which is her whole comfort. Firmly attached to its teachings, 
absolutely convinced that all the blows leveled against it are nothing but 
libertinage's effects and the passions', am I to sacrifice, to blasphemies, 
to sophistries horrible to me, my heart's sweetest sustenance?" I added a 
thousand other arguments to this one, they merely caused the Count to 
laugh, and his captious principles, nourished by a more male eloquence, 
supported by readings and studies I, happily, had never performed, daily 
attacked my own principles, without shaking them. Madame de Bressac, 
that woman filled with piety and virtue, was not unaware her nephew 
justified his wild behavior with every one of the day's paradoxes; she too 
often shuddered upon hearing them; and as she condescended to 
attribute somewhat more good sense to me than to her other women, she 
would sometimes take me aside and speak of her chagrin. Meanwhile, 
her nephew, champing at the bit, had reached the point where he no 
longer bothered to hide his malign intentions; not only had he 
surrounded his aunt with all of that dangerous canaille which served his 
pleasures, but he had even carried boldness so far as to declare to her, in 
my presence, that were she to take it into her head to frustrate his 
appetite, he would convince her of their charm by practicing them before 
her very eyes. I trembled; I beheld this conduct with horror. I strove to 
rationalize my reactions by attributing their origin to personal motives, 
for I wished to stifle the unhappy passion which burned in my soul; but 
is love an illness to be cured? All I endeavored to oppose to it merely 
fanned its flames, and the perfidious Count never appeared more lovable 
to me than when I had assembled before me everything which ought to 
have induced me to hate him. I had remained four years in this 
household unrelentingly persecuted by the same sorrows, forever 
consoled by the same sweetnesses, when this abominable man, finally 
believing himself sure of me, dared disclose his infamous schemes.
We were in the country at the time, I alone attended upon the Marquise, 
her first maid-in-waiting had obtained leave to remain in Paris through 
the summer to look after some of her husband's business. One evening 
shortly after I had retired, and as I was taking some air upon the balcony 
of my room, being unable to bring myself to go to bed because of the 
extreme heat, I suddenly heard the Count knock; he wished to have a 
word or two with me. Alas! the moments that cruel author of my ills 
accorded me of his presence were too precious for me to dare refuse him 
one; he enters, carefully closes the door and flings himself into an 
armchair. "Listen to me, Therese," and there is a note of embarrassment 
in his voice, "I have things of the greatest importance to say to you; 
swear to me you will never reveal any of them." "Monsieur," I reply, "do 
you think me capable of abusing your confidence?" "You have no idea 
what you would be risking - were you to prove to me I had made a 
mistake in trusting you!" "The most frightful of all my woes should be to 
lose your trust, I have no need of greater menaces...." "Ah then, Therese, 
I have condemned my aunt to die . . . and it is your hand I must employ."
"My hand!" I cried, recoiling in fright, "have you been able, Monsieur, to 
conceive such projects?... no, dispose of my life if you must, but imagine 
not you will ever obtain from me the horror you propose." "Hear me, 
Therese," says the Count, reasoning with me calmly, "I indeed foresaw 
your distaste for the idea but, as you have wit and verve, I flattered 
myself with the belief I could vanquish your feelings... could prove to you 
that this crime, which seems to you of such enormity, is, at bottom, a 
very banal affair. "Two misdeeds present themselves, Therese, to your 
not very philosophic scrutiny: the destruction of a creature bearing a 
resemblance to us, and the evil with which this destruction is augmented 
when the said creature is one of our near kinsmen. With regard to the 
crime of destroying one's fellow, be persuaded, dear girl, it is purely 
hallucinatory; man has not been accorded the power to destroy; he has at 
best the capacity to alter forms, but lacks that required to annihilate 
them: well, every form is of equal worth in Nature's view; nothing is lost 
in the immense melting pot where variations are wrought: all the 
material masses which fall into it spring incessantly forth in other 
shapes, and whatsoever be our interventions in this process, not one of 
them, needless to say, outrages her, not one is capable of offending her. 
Our depredations revive her power; they stimulate her energy, but not 
one attenuates her; she is neither impeded nor thwarted by any.... Why! 
what difference does it make to her creative hand if this mass of flesh 
today wearing the conformation of a bipedal individual is reproduced 
tomorrow in the guise of a handful of centipedes? Dare one say that the 
construction of this two-legged animal costs her any more than that of an 
earthworm, and that she should take a greater interest in the one than in 
the other? If then the degree of attachment, or rather of indifference, is 
the same, what can it be. to her if, by one man's sword, another man is 
transspeciated into a fly or a blade of grass?
When they will have convinced me of the sublimity of our species, when 
they will have demonstrated to me that it is really so important to 
Nature, that her laws are necessarily violated by this transmutation, then 
I will be able to believe that murder is a crime; but when the most 
thoughtful and sober study has proven to me that everything that 
vegetates upon this globe is of equal value in her eyes, I shall never 
concede that the alteration of one of these creatures into a thousand 
others can in any sense upset her intentions or sort ill with her desires. I 
say to myself: all men, all animals, all plants growing, feeding, destroying 
and reproducing themselves by the same means, never undergoing a real 
death, but a simple variation in what modifies them; all, I say, appearing 
today in one form and several years or hours later in another, all may, at 
the will of the being who wishes to move them, change a thousand 
thousand times in a single day, without one of Nature's directives being 
affected for one instant Ä what do I say? without this transmuter having 
done anything but good, since, by dismantling the individuals whose 
basic components again become necessary to Nature, he does naught by 
this action, improperly qualified as criminal, but render her the creative 
energy of which she is necessarily deprived by him who, through brutish 
indifference, dares not undertake any shuffling, as it were, of the deck....
O Therese, it is man's pride alone erects murder as a crime. This vain 
creature, imagining himself the most sublime of the globe's inhabitants, 
its most essential, takes his departure from this false principle in order to 
affirm that the deed which results in his undoing can be nothing but an 
infamy; but his vanity, his lunacy alter the laws of Nature not one jot; no 
person exists who in the depths of his heart does not feel the most 
vehement desire to be rid of those by whom he is hampered, troubled, or 
whose death may be of some advantage to him; and do you suppose, 
Therese, that the difference between this desire and its effect is very 
great? Now, if these impressions come to us from Nature, can it be 
presumed they irritate her? Would she inspire in us what would cause 
her downfall? Ah, be at ease, dear girl, we experience nothing that does 
not serve her; all the impulses she puts in us are the agents of her 
decrees; man's passions are but the means she employs to attain her 
ends. If she stands in need of more individuals, she inspires lust in us 
and behold! there are creations; when destructions become necessary to 
her, she inserts vengeance, avarice, lechery, ambition into our hearts and 
lo! you have murders; but she has not ceased to labor in her own behalf, 
and whatever we do, there can be no question of it, we are the 
unthinking instruments of her caprices.
"Ah, no, Therese, no! Nature does not leave in our hands the possibility 
of committing crimes which would conflict with her economy; has it ever 
been known to happen that the weakest were able to offend the 
mightiest? What are we in comparison to her? Can she, when she created 
us, have placed in us what would be capable of hurting her? Can that 
idiotic supposition consort with the sublime and sure manner in which 
we see her attain her ends? Ah! were murder not one of the human 
actions which best fulfilled her intentions, would she permit the doing of 
murder? May to imitate then be to injure her? Can she be incensed to see 
man do to his brethren what she herself does to him every day? Since it 
is proven that she cannot reproduce without destructions, is it not to act 
in harmony with her wishes to multiply them unceasingly? The man who 
moves in this direction, who plunges ahead with all possible zeal, will 
incontestably be the one who serves her best, since it will be he who most 
cooperates with the schemes she manifests constantly. The primary and 
most beautiful of Nature's qualities is motion, which agitates her at all 
times, but this motion is simply a perpetual consequence of crimes, she 
conserves it by means of crimes only; the person who most nearly 
resembles her, and therefore the most perfect being, necessarily will be 
the one whose most active agitation will become the cause of many 
crimes; whereas, I repeat, the inactive or indolent person, that is to say, 
the virtuous person, must be in her eyes - how may there be any doubt of 
it? Ä the least perfect since he tends only to apathy, to lethargy, to that 
inactivity which would immediately plunge everything back into chaos 
were his star to be in the ascendant. Equilibrium must be preserved; it 
can only be preserved by crimes; therefore, crimes serve Nature; if they 
serve her, if she demands them, if she desires them, can they offend her? 
And who else can be offended if she is not?
"But my aunt is the creature I am going to destroy.... Oh, Therese, in a 
philosopher's view how frivolous are these consanguinary ties! Forgive 
me, but I do not even wish to discuss them, so futile are they. These 
contemptible chains, fruit of our laws and our political institutions Ä can 
they mean anything to Nature? "Desert your prejudices, Therese, leave 
them behind, and serve me; your fortune is made." "Oh Monsieur !" I 
replied, terrified by the Comte de Bressac, "your mind invents this theory 
of an impassive, indifferent Nature; deign rather to heed your heart, and 
you will hear it condemn all libertinage's false reasonings. Is not that 
heart, to whose tribunal I recommend you, the sanctuary where this 
Nature you outrage wishes to be heard and respected? If she engraves 
upon it the extreme horror of the crime you meditate, will you grant me 
it is a damnable one? Passions, I know, are blinding you at the present 
moment, but once they subside, how will you not be torn by remorse? 
The greater your sensitivity, the more cruelly shall it sting you....
Oh Monsieur! preserve, respect this tender, invaluable friend's life; 
sacrifice it not; you would perish of despair! Every day... at every instant 
you would be visited by the image of this cherished aunt, she whom your 
unthinking rage would have hurled into her tomb; you would hear her 
plaintive voice still pronouncing those sweet names that were your 
childhood's joy; she would be present during your waking hours and 
appear to torture you in your dreams; she would open with her 
bloodstained fingers the wounds wherewith you would have mutilated 
her; thereafter not one happy moment would shine for you while you 
dwelt upon this earth; you would become a stranger to pleasures; your 
every idea would be of trouble; a celestial arm, whose might you do not 
appreciate, would avenge the days you would have obliterated, by 
envenoming your own, and without having tasted happiness from your 
felonies, you would be slain by mortal sorrow for having dared 
accomplish them."
As I uttered these words tears returned to my eyes, I sank to my knees 
before the Count; by all that is most holy I did implore him to let fade 
into oblivion an infamous aberration I swore to him all my life I would 
conceal.... But I did not know the man with whom I was dealing; I knew 
not to what point passions had enthroned crime in that perverse soul. 
The Count rose and spoke in a voice of ice. "I see very well I was 
mistaken, Therese," said he. "I regret it, perhaps as much on your 
account as on my own; no matter, I shall discover other means, and it 
will be much you shall have lost without your mistress gaining anything." 
The threat changed all my ideas; by not accepting the criminal role 
proposed to me, I was exposing myself to great personal risk and my 
protectress was infallibly to perish; by consenting to be his accomplice, I 
would shield myself from the Count's wrath and would assuredly save his 
aunt; an instant's reflection convinced me I should agree to everything. 
But as so rapid a reversal would have appeared suspicious, I strove to 
delay my capitulation; I obliged the Count to repeat his sophistries often; 
little by little I took on an air of not knowing what to reply: Bressac 
believed me vanquished; I justified my weakness by the potency of his 
art and in the end I surrendered. The Count sprang into my arms. Ah, 
how I should have been overjoyed had his movement been inspired by 
another motive.... What is it I am saying? The time had passed: his 
horrible conduct, his barbarous designs had annihilated all the feelings 
my weakling heart had dared conceive, and I saw in him nothing but a 
monster....


CHAPTER 14

"You are the first woman I have ever held in my arms," said the Count, 
"and truly, it is with all my soul.... You are delicious, my child; a gleam of 
wisdom seems to have penetrated into your mind! That this charming 
mind has lain in darkness for so long! Incredible." Next, we came to 
facts. In two or three days, as soon, that is, as an opportunity presented 
itself, I was to drop a dose of poison Ä Bressac gave me the package that 
contained it Ä into the cup of chocolate Madame customarily took in the 
morning.
The Count assured my immunity against all consequences and directly I 
consummated the deed, handed me a contract providing me with an 
annuity of two thousand crowns; he signed these promises without 
characterizing the state in which I was to enjoy their benefits; we 
separated. In the midst of all this, something most singular occurred, 
something all too able to reveal the atrocious soul of the monster with 
whom I had to deal; I must not interrupt myself for a moment for, no 
doubt, you are awaiting the denouement of the adventure in which I had 
become involved.
Two days following the conclusion of our criminal pact, the Count 
learned that an uncle, upon whose succession he had not in the least 
counted, had just left him an income of eighty thousand pounds.... "O 
Heaven!" I said to myself upon hearing the news, "is it then in thuswise 
celestial justice punishes the basest conspiracy!" And straightway 
repenting this blasphemy spoken against Providence, I cast myself upon 
my knees and implored the Almighty's forgiveness, and happily 
supposed that this unexpected development should at least change the 
Count's plans.... What was my error!
"Ah, my dear Therese," he said that same evening, having run to my 
room, "how prosperity does rain down upon me! Often I have told you 
so: the idea of a crime or an execution is the surest means to attract good 
fortune; none exists save for villains." "What!" I responded, "this 
unhoped for bounty does not persuade you, Monsieur, patiently to await 
the death you wished to hasten?" "Wait?" the Count replied sharply, "I 
do not intend to wait two minutes, Therese; are you not aware I am 
twenty-eight? Well, it is hard to wait at my age.... No, let this affect our 
scheme not in the slightest, give me the comfort of seeing everything 
brought to an end before the time comes for us to return to Paris.... 
Tomorrow, at the very latest the day after tomorrow, I beseech you. 
There has been delay enough: the hour approaches for the payment of 
the first quarter of your annuity... for performing the act which 
guarantees you the money...." As best I could, I disguised the fright this 
desperate eagerness inspired in me, and I renewed my resolution of the 
day before, well persuaded that if I were not to execute the horrible 
crime I had engaged to commit, the Count would soon notice I was 
playing a trick upon him and that, if I were to warn Madame de Bressac, 
whatever would be her reaction to the project's disclosure, the young 
Count, observing himself deceived one way or another, would promptly 
resort to more certain methods which, causing his aunt equally to perish, 
would also expose me to all her nephew's vengeance. There remained the 
alternative of consulting the law, but nothing in the world could have 
induced me to adopt it; I decided to forewarn the Marquise; of all 
possible measures, that seemed the best, and I elected it. "Madame," I 
said to her on the morrow of my last interview with the Count, "Madame, 
I have something of the highest importance to reveal, but however vital 
its interest to you, I shall not broach it unless, beforehand, you give me 
your word of honor to bear no resentment against your nephew for what 
Monsieur has had the audacity to concert.... You will act, Madame, you 
will take the steps prudence enjoins, but you will say not a word. Deign 
to give me your promise; else I am silent." Madame de Bressac, who 
thought it was but a question of some of her nephew's everyday 
extravagances, bound herself by the oath I demanded, and I disclosed 
everything. The unhappy woman burst into tears upon learning of the 
infamy.... "The monster!" she cried, "have I ever done anything that was 
not for his good?
Had I wished to thwart his vices, or correct them, what other motive 
than his own happiness could have constrained me to severity! And is it 
not thanks to me he inherits this legacy his uncle has just left him? Ah, 
Therese, Therese, prove to me that it is true, this project... put me in a 
way that will prevent me from doubting; I need all that may aid in 
extinguishing the sentiments my unthinking heart dares yet preserve for 
the monster...." And then I brought the package of poison into view; it 
were difficult to furnish better proof; yet the Marquise wished to 
experiment with it; we made a dog swallow a light dose, shut up the 
animal, and at the end of two hours it was dead after being seized by 
frightful convulsions. Any lingering doubt by now dispelled, Madame de 
Bressac came to a decision; she bade me give her the rest of the poison 
and immediately sent a courier with a letter to the Duc de Sonzeval, 
related to her, asking him to go directly, but in secrecy, to the Secretary 
of State, and to expose the atrocity of a nephew whose victim she might 
at any moment become; to provide himself with a lettre de cachet; to 
make all possible haste to come and deliver her from the wretch who had 
so cruelly plotted to take her life.
But the abominable crime was to be consummated; some inconceivable 
permission must have been granted by Heaven that virtue might be 
made to yield to villainy's oppressions: the animal upon which we had 
experimented revealed everything to the Count: he heard it howling; 
knowing of his aunt's fondness for the beast, he asked what had been 
done to it; those to whom he spoke knew nothing of the matter and made 
him no clear answer; from this moment, his suspicions began to take 
shape; he uttered not a word, but I saw that he was disquieted; I 
mentioned his state to the Marquise, she became further upset, but could 
think of nothing to do save urge the courier to make yet greater haste, 
and, if possible, still more carefully to hide the purpose of his mission. 
She advised her nephew that she was writing to Paris to beg the Duc de 
Sonzeval to waste not a moment to take up the matter of the recently 
deceased uncle's inheritance for if no one were to appear to claim it, 
there was litigation to be feared; she added that she had requested the 
Duke to come and give her a complete account of the affair, in order that 
she might learn whether or not she and her nephew would be obliged to 
make a journey to Paris. Too skillful a physiognomist to fail to notice the 
embarrassment in his aunt's face, to fail to observe, as well, some 
confusion written upon mine, the Count smiled at everything and was no 
less on his guard. Under the pretext of taking a promenade, he leaves the 
chateau; he lies in wait for the courier at a place the man must inevitably 
pass.
The messenger, far more a creature of the Count than his aunt's 
trustworthy minion, raises no objections when his master demands to 
see the dispatches he is carrying, and Bressac, once convinced of what no 
doubt he calls my treachery, gives the courier a hundred louis, together 
with instructions never to appear again at the Marquise's. He returns to 
the chateau, rage in his heart; however, he restrains himself; he 
encounters me, as usual he cajoles me, asks whether it shall not be 
tomorrow, points out it is essential the deed be performed before the 
Duke's arrival, then goes to bed with a tranquil air about which nothing 
is to be remarked. At the time I knew nothing, I was the dupe of 
everything. Were the appalling crime to be committed Ä as the Count's 
actions informed me later Ä he would of course have to commit it 
himself; but I did not know how; I conjectured much; what good would it 
do to tell you what I imagined? Rather, let us move ahead to the cruel 
manner in which I was punished for not having wished to undertake the 
thing. On the day after the messenger was intercepted, Madame drank 
her chocolate as she always did, dressed, seemed agitated, and sat down 
at table; scarcely was I out of the dining room when the Count accosted 
me.
"Therese," and nothing could have been more phlegmatic than his 
manner as he spoke, "I have found a more reliable method than the one I 
proposed to attain our objectives, but numerous details are involved, and 
I dare not come so often to your room; at precisely five o'clock be at the 
corner of the park, I'll join you, we will take a walk together in the woods; 
while on our promenade I'll explain it all." I wish to affirm, Madame, 
that, whether because of the influence of Providence, whether owing to 
an excessive candor, whether to blindness, nothing gave me a hint of the 
terrible misery awaiting me; I believed myself so safe, thanks to the 
Marquise's secret arrangements, that I never for a moment imagined 
that the Count had been able to discover them; nevertheless I was not 
entirely at ease.
"Le parjure est vertu quand on promit le crime," one of our tragic poets 
has said; but perjury is always odious to a delicate and sensitive spirit 
which finds itself compelled to resort to it. My role embarrassed me. 
However that may be, I came to the rendezvous; the Count was not late 
in getting there; he came up to me very gay and easy, and we set off into 
the forest; the while he but laughed banteringly and jested, as was his 
habit when we were together. When I sought to guide the conversation to 
the subject which he had desired to discuss, he told me to wait yet a little, 
he said he feared we might be observed, it did not seem to him we were 
in a safe enough place; very gradually, without my perceiving it, we 
approached the four trees to which I had been so cruelly bound long ago. 
Upon seeing the place, a quiver ran through me: all the horror of my fate 
rose up before my eyes, and fancy whether my terror was not doubled 
when I caught sight of the preparations which had been made in that 
horrible place.
Ropes hung from one of the trees; huge mastiffs were leashed to each of 
the other three and seemed to be waiting for nothing but me in order to 
fall to sating the hunger announced by their gaping foam-flecked jaws; 
one of the Count's favorites guarded them. Whereupon the perfidious 
creature ceased to employ all but the very foulest epithets. "Scum," quoth 
he, "do you recognize that bush whence I dragged you like a wild beast 
only to spare a life you deserved to lose? Do you recognize these trees 
unto which I threatened to lash you were you ever to give me cause to 
repent my kindness? Why did you agree to perform the task I 
demanded, if you intended to betray me to my aunt? and how could you 
imagine it was virtue you served by imperiling the freedom of him to 
whom you owe all your happiness? By necessity placed between two 
crimes, why have you chosen the more abominable?" "Alas ! I did not 
choose the less..." "But you should have refused," the Count continued, 
in his rage seizing one of my arms and shaking me furiously, "yes, 
certainly, refused, and not consented to betray me."
Then Monsieur de Bressac told me how he had gone about the 
interception of Madame's messages, and how the suspicion had been 
born which had led him to decide to stop them. "What has your duplicity 
done for you, unworthy creature? You have risked your life without 
having saved my aunt's: the die is cast, upon my return to the chateau I 
will find a fortune awaiting me, but you must perish; before you expire 
you must learn that the virtuous road is not always the safest, and that 
there are circumstances in this world when complicity in crime is 
preferable to informing." And without giving me time to reply, without 
giving evidence of the least pity for the frightful situation I was in, he 
dragged me toward the tree destined for me and by which his valet stood 
expectantly.
"Here she is," he said, "the creature who wanted to poison my aunt and 
who may already have committed the terrible crime in spite of my efforts 
to prevent it; no doubt, it would have been better to have put her into the 
hands of justice, but the law would have taken away her life, and I prefer 
to leave it to her in order that she have longer to suffer." The two villains 
then lay hands on me, in an instant they strip me naked. "Pretty 
buttocks," said the Count in a tone of cruelest irony, brutally handling 
those objects, "superb flesh... excellent lunch for the dogs." When no 
article of clothing is left upon me, I am secured to the tree by a rope 
attached around my waist; so that I may defend myself as best I can, my 
arms are left free, and enough slack is provided for me to advance or 
retreat about two yards. The arrangements completed, the Count, very 
much moved, steps up to have a look at my expression, he turns and 
passes around me; his savage way of handling me seems to say that his 
murderous fingers would like to dispute the rage of his mastiff's steel 
teeth.... "Come," says he to his lieutenant, "free the animals, the time has 
arrived." They are loosed, the Count excites them, all three fling 
themselves upon my poor body, one would think they were sharing it in 
such wise that not one of its parts would be exempt from assault; in vain 
I drive them back, they bite and tear me with renewed fury, and 
throughout this horrible scene, Bressac, the craven Bressac, as if my 
torments had ignited his perfidious lust... the beastly man gives himself 
up, while he regards me, to his companion's criminal caresses. "Enough," 
said he after several minutes had gone by, "that will do. Tie up the dogs 
and let's abandon this creature to her sweet fate.
"Well indeed, Therese," says he as he severs my bonds, "virtue is not to 
be practiced at some expense; a pension of two thousand crowns, would 
that not have been worth more than the bites you are covered with?" But 
in my state I can scarcely hear him; I slump to the foot of the tree and am 
about to lose consciousness. "It is most generous of me to save your life," 
continues the traitor whom my sufferings inflame, "at least take good 
care how you make use of this favor...." Then he orders me to get up, 
dress, and quit the place at once. As my blood is flowing everywhere, in 
order that my few clothes, the only clothes I have, not be stained, I 
gather some grass to wipe myself; Bressac paces to and fro, much more 
preoccupied with his thoughts than concerned with me. My swollen 
flesh, the blood that continues to stream from my multiple wounds, the 
atrocious pain I am enduring, everything makes the operation of 
dressing well nigh impossible; never once does the dishonest man who 
has just put me into this horrible state... him for whom I once would 
have sacrificed my life, never once does he deign to show me the least 
hint of sympathy. When at length I am ready: "Go wherever you wish," 
says he; "you must have some money left, I will not take it from you, but 
beware of reappearing at any one of my houses in the city or the country: 
there are two excellent reasons for not doing so: you may just as well 
know, first of all, that the affair you thought finished is not at all over.
They informed you that the law was done with you; they told you what is 
not true; the warrant for your arrest still holds, the case is still warm: you 
were left in this situation so that your conduct might be observed. In the 
second place, you are going to pass, insofar as the public is concerned,
for the Marquise's murderer; if she yet breathes, I am going to see to it 
she carries this notion into the grave, the entire household will share it; 
and there you have two trials still to face instead of one: instead of a vile 
usurer, you have for an adversary a rich and powerful man who is 
determined to hound you into Hell itself if you misuse the life his 
compassion leaves to you."


CHAPTER 15

"Oh Monsieur !" was my response, "whatever have been your severities 
with me, fear not that I will retaliate; I thought myself obliged to take 
steps against you when it was a question of your aunt's life; but where 
only the unhappy Therese is involved, I shall never do anything. Adieu, 
Monsieur, may your crimes render you as happy as your cruelties have 
made me to suffer; and no matter what the fate reserved to me by 
Heaven, while it shall prolong my deplorable life, I shall only employ my 
days in uttering prayers for you." The Count raised his head; he could 
not avoid glancing at me upon hearing these words, and, as he beheld me 
quavering and covered with tears and doubtless was afraid lest he be 
moved by what he saw, the cruel one went away, and I saw him 
nevermore. Entirely delivered unto my agony, I fell back again and lay by 
the tree; there, giving free reign to my hurt, I made the forest resound 
with my groans; I pressed my stricken frame against the earth, and shed 
upon the sward all my tears.
"O my God," I cried out, "Thou hast so willed it; it was grained in Thy 
eternal decrees that the innocent were to fall unto the guilty and were to 
be their prey: dispose of me, O Lord, I am yet far away from what Thou 
didst suffer for us; may those I endure, as I adore Thee, render me 
worthy someday of what rewards Thou keepeth for the lowly, when he 
hath Thee before him in his tribulations, and let his anguishes be unto 
Thy greater glorification!" Night was closing: it was almost beyond my 
power to move; I was scarcely able to stand erect; I cast my eyes upon 
the thicket where four years earlier I had slept a night when I had been 
in circumstances almost as unhappy! I dragged myself along as best I 
could, and having reached the very same spot, tormented by my still 
bleeding wounds, overwhelmed by my mind's anxieties and the sorrows 
of my heart, I passed the cruelest night imaginable. By dawn, thanks to 
my youth and my vigorous temperament, some of my strength was 
restored; greatly terrified by the proximity of that baneful chateau, I 
started away from it without delay; I left the forest, and resolved at any 
price to gain the first habitation which might catch my eye, I entered the 
town of Saint-Marcel, about five leagues distant from Paris; I demanded 
the address of a surgeon, one was given me; I presented myself and 
besought him to dress my wounds; I told him that, in connection with 
some affair at whose source lay love, I had fled my mother's house, quit 
Paris, and during the night had been overtaken in the forest by bandits 
who in revenge for my resistance to their desires, had set their dogs upon 
me.
Rodin, as this artist was called, examined me with the greatest attention, 
found nothing dangerous about my injuries; had I come to him directly, 
he said, he would have been able to guarantee that in the space of a 
fortnight he would have me as fresh and whole as I had been before my 
adventure; however, the night passed in the open and my worry had 
infected my wounds, and I could not expect to be well in less than a 
month. Rodin found space in his own house to lodge me, took all 
possible care of me, and on the thirtieth day there no longer existed upon 
my body a single vestige of Monsieur de Bressac's cruelties. As soon as I 
was fit to take a little air, my first concern was to find in the town some 
girl sufficiently adroit and intelligent to go to the Marquise's chateau and 
find out what had taken place there since my departure. This apparently 
very dangerous inquisitiveness would without the slightest doubt have 
been exceedingly misplaced; but here it was not a question of mere 
Curiosity.
What I had earned while with the Marquise remained in my room; I had 
scarcely six louis about me, and I possessed above forty at the chateau. I 
did not suppose the Count would be unkind enough to refuse me what 
was so legitimately mine. Persuaded that, his first fury once passed, he 
would not wish to do me such an injustice, I wrote a letter calculated to 
touch him as deeply as possible. I was careful to conceal my address and 
I begged him to send back my old clothes together with the small sum 
that would be found in my chamber. A lively and spirited peasant girl of 
twenty-five undertook to deliver my letter and promised to do her best to 
bring me back all the information she could garner upon the various 
subjects about which I gave her to understand I needed to be 
enlightened. I insisted, that above all else, she hide the name of the place 
where I was, that she not breathe a word of me in whatever form or 
connection, and that she say she had taken the letter from a man who 
had brought it from somewhere fifteen leagues away. Jeannette left, and 
twenty-four hours later she came back with the reply; it still exists, I have 
it here, Madame, but before you read it, deign to learn what had 
transpired at the Count's chateau since I had been out of it. Having fallen 
seriously ill the very day I left, the Marquise de Bressac had been seized 
by frightful pains and convulsions, and had died the next morning; the 
family had rushed to the chateau and the nephew, seemingly gripped in 
the greatest desolation, had declared that his aunt had been poisoned by 
a chambermaid who had taken flight the same day.
Inquiries were made, and they had the intention to put the wretch to 
death were she to be found; as for the rest, the Count discovered that the 
inheritance had made him much wealthier than he had ever anticipated 
he would be; the Marquise's strongbox, pocketbook, and gems, all of 
them objects of which no one had known anything, put the nephew, 
apart from his revenues, in possession of more than six hundred 
thousand francs in chattels or cash. Behind his affected grief, the young 
man had, it was said, considerable trouble concealing his delight, and the 
relatives, convoked for the autopsy demanded by the Count, after having 
lamented the unhappy Marquise's fate and sworn to avenge her should 
the culprit fall into their hands, had left the young man in undisputed 
and peaceful possession of his villainy. Monsieur de Bressac himself had 
spoken to Jeannette, he had asked a number of questions to which the 
girl had replied with such frankness and decision that he had resolved to 
give her his response without pressing her further. There is the fatal 
letter, said Therese, handing it to Madame de Lorsange, yes, there it is, 
Madame, sometimes my heart has need of it and I will keep it until I die; 
read it, read it without shuddering, if you can. Madame de Lorsange, 
having taken the note from our lovely adventuress' hands, read therein 
the following words: The criminal capable of having poisoned my aunt is 
brazen indeed to dare thus write to me after her execrable deed; better 
still is the care with which she conceals her retreat; for she may be sure 
she will be discomfited if she is discovered. But what is it she has the 
temerity to demand? What are these references to money? Does what 
she left behind equal the thefts she committed, either during her sojourn 
in the house or while consummating her final crime? Let her avoid 
sending a second request similar to this, for she is advised her 
ambassador will be arrested and held until the law acquaints itself with 
the place where the guilty party is taking cover.
Madame de Lorsange returned the note to Therese; "Continue, my dear 
child," said she, "the man's behavior is horrifying; to be swimming in 
gold and to deny her legitimate earnings to a poor creature who merely 
did not want to commit a crime, that is a gratuitous infamy entirely 
without example." Alas! Madame, Therese continued, resuming her 
story, I was in tears for two days over that dreadful letter; I was far more 
afflicted by the thought of the horrible deed it attested than by the 
refusal it contained. Then, I groaned, then I am guilty, here am I a 
second time denounced to justice for having been overly respectful of the 
law! So be it, I repent nothing, I shall never know the least remorse so 
long as my soul is pure, and may I never be responsible for any evil other 
than that of having too much heeded the equitable and virtuous 
sentiments which will never abandon me. I was, however, simply unable 
to believe that the pursuits and inquiries the Count mentioned were 
really true, for they seemed highly implausible: it would be so dangerous 
for him to have me brought into court that I imagined there was far 
greater reason for him to be frightened at the prospect of having to 
confront me, than I had cause to tremble before his menaces. These 
reflections led me to decide to stay where I was and to remain, if 
possible, until the augmentation of my funds might allow me to move on; 
I communicated my plan to Rodin, who approved it, and even suggested 
I keep my chamber in his house; but first of all, before I speak of what I 
decided to do, it is necessary to give you an idea of this man and his 
entourage.
Rodin was forty years of age, dark-haired, with shaggy eye-brows, a 
sparkling bright eye; there was about him what bespoke strength and 
health but, at the same time, libertinage. In wealth he was risen far above 
his native station, possessing from ten to twelve thousand pounds a year; 
owing to which, if Rodin practiced his surgical art, it was not out of 
necessity, but out of taste; he had a very attractive house in Saint-Marcel 
which, since the death of his wife two years previously, he shared with 
two girls, who were his servants, and with another, who was his own 
daughter. This young person, Rosalie by name, had just reached her 
fourteenth year; in her were gathered all the charms most capable of 
exciting admiration: the figure of a nymph, an oval face, clear, lovely, 
extraordinarily animated, delicate pretty features, very piquant as well, 
the prettiest mouth possible, very large dark eyes, soulful and full of 
feeling, chestnut-brown hair falling to below her waist, skin of an 
incredible whiteness... aglow, smooth, already the most beautiful throat 
in all the world, and, furthermore, wit, vivacity, and one of the most 
beautiful souls Nature has yet created. With respect to the companions 
with whom I was to serve in this household, they were two peasant girls: 
one of them was a governess, the other the cook.
She who held the first post could have been twenty-five, the other 
eighteen or twenty, and both were extremely attractive; their looks 
suggested a deliberate choice, and this in turn caused the birth of some 
suspicions as to why Rodin was pleased to accommodate me. What need 
has he of a third woman? I asked myself, and why does he wish them all 
to be pretty? Assuredly, I continued, there is something in all this that 
little conforms with the regular manners from which I wish never to 
stray; we'll see. In consequence, I besought Monsieur Rodin to allow me 
to extend my convalescence at his home for yet another week, declaring 
that, at the end of this time, he would have my reply to what he had very 
kindly proposed. I profited from this interval by attaching myself more 
closely to Rosalie, determined to establish myself in her father's house 
only if there should prove to be nothing about it whence I might be 
obliged to take umbrage. With these designs, I cast appraising glances in 
every direction, and, on the following day, I noticed that this man 
enjoyed an arrangement which straightway provoked in me furious 
doubts concerning his behavior.


CHAPTER 16

Monsieur Rodin kept a school for children of both sexes; during his 
wife's lifetime he had obtained the required charter and they had not 
seen fit to deprive him of it after he had lost her. Monsieur Rodin's 
pupils were few but select: in all, there were but fourteen girls and 
fourteen boys: he never accepted them under twelve and they were 
always sent away upon reaching the age of sixteen; never had monarch 
prettier subjects than Rodin. If there were brought to him one who had 
some physical defect or a face that left something to be desired, he knew 
how to invent twenty excuses for rejecting him, all his arguments were 
very ingenious, they were always colored by sophistries to which no one 
seemed able to reply; thus, either his corps of little day students had 
incomplete ranks, or the children who filled them were always charming.
These youngsters did not take their meals with him, but came twice a 
day, from seven to eleven in the morning, from four to eight in the 
afternoon. If until then I had not yet seen all of this little troupe it was 
because, having arrived at Rodin's during the holidays, his scholars were 
not attending classes; toward the end of my recovery they reappeared. 
Rodin himself took charge of the boys' instruction, his governess looked 
after that of the girls, whom he would visit as soon as he had completed 
his own lessons; he taught his young pupils writing, arithmetic, a little 
history, drawing, music, and for all that no other master but himself was 
employed. I early expressed to Rosalie my astonishment that her father, 
while performing his functions as a doctor, could at the same time act as 
a schoolmaster; it struck me as odd, said I, that being able to live 
comfortably without exercising either the one or the other of these 
professions, he devoted himself to both. Rosalie, who by now had 
become very fond of me, fell to laughing at my remark; the manner in 
which she reacted to what I said only made me the more curious, and I 
besought her to open herself entirely to me. "Listen," said that charming 
girl, speaking with all the candor proper to her age, and all the naivete of 
her amiable character; "listen to me, Therese, I am going to tell you 
everything, for I see you are a well brought up girl... incapable of 
betraying the secret I am going to confide to you.
"Certainly, dear friend, my father could make ends meet without 
pursuing either of these two occupations; and if he pursues both at once, 
it is because of the two motives I am going to reveal to you. He practices 
medicine because he has a liking for it; he takes keen pleasure in using 
his skill to make new discoveries, he has made so many of them, he has 
written so many authoritative texts based upon his investigations that he 
is generally acknowledged the most accomplished man in France at the 
present time; he worked for twenty years in Paris, and for the sake of his 
amusements he retired to the country. The real surgeon at Saint-Marcel 
is someone named Rombeau whom he has taken under his tutelage and 
with whom he collaborates upon experiments; and now, Therese, would 
you know why he runs a school?... Libertinage, my child, libertinage 
alone, a passion he carries to its extremes. My father finds in his pupils 
of either sex objects whose dependence submits them to his inclinations, 
and he exploits them.... But wait a moment ... come with me," said 
Rosalie, "today is Friday, one of the three days during the week when he 
corrects those who have misbehaved; it is in this kind of punishment my 
father takes his pleasure; follow me, I tell you, you shall see how he 
behaves.
Everything is visible from a closet in my room which adjoins the one 
where he concludes his business; let's go there without making any 
noise, and above all be careful not to say a word both about what I am 
telling you and about what you are going to witness." It was a matter of 
such great importance to familiarize myself with the customs of this 
person who had offered me asylum, that I felt I could neglect nothing 
which might discover them to me; I follow hard upon Rosalie's heels, she 
situates me near a partition, through cracks between its ill-joined boards 
one can view everything going on in the neighboring room. Hardly have 
we taken up our post when Rodin enters, leading a fourteen-year-old 
girl, blond and as pretty as Love; the poor creature is sobbing away, all 
too unhappily aware of what awaits her; she comes in with moans and 
cries; she throws herself down before her implacable instructor, she 
entreats him to spare her, but his very inexorability fires the first sparks 
of the unbending Rodin's pleasure, his heart is already aglow, and his 
savage glances spring alive with an inner light.... "Why, no, no," he cries, 
"not for one minute, this happens far too frequently, Julie, I repent my 
forbearance and leniency, their sole result has been repeated misconduct 
on your part, but could the gravity of this most recent example of it 
possibly allow me to show clemency, even supposing I wished to? A note 
passed to a boy upon entering the classroom!" "Sir, I protest to you, I did 
not -" "Ah I but I saw it, my dear, I saw it." "Don't believe a word of it," 
Rosalie whispered to me, "these are trifles he invents by way of pretext; 
that little creature is an angel, it is because she resists him he treats her 
harshly."
Meanwhile, Rodin, greatly aroused, had seized the little girl's hands, tied 
them to a ring fitted high upon a pillar standing in the middle of the 
punishment room. Julie is without any defense... any save the lovely face 
languishingly turned toward her executioner, her superb hair in disarray, 
and the tears which inundate the most beautiful face in the world, the 
sweetest... the most interesting. Rodin dwells upon the picture, is fired 
by it, he covers those supplicating eyes with a blindfold, approaches his 
mouth and dares kiss them, Julie sees nothing more, now able to 
proceed as he wishes, Rodin removes the veils of modesty, her blouse is 
unbuttoned, her stays untied, she is naked to the waist and yet further 
below.... What whiteness! What beauty! These are roses strewn upon 
lilies by the Graces' very hands... what being is so heartless, so cruel as to 
condemn to torture charms so fresh... so poignant? What is the monster 
that can seek pleasure in the depths of tears and suffering and woe?
Rodin contemplates... his inflamed eye roves, his hands dare profane the 
flowers his cruelties are about to wither; all takes place directly before us, 
not a detail can escape us: now the libertine opens and peers into, now 
he closes up again those dainty features which enchant him; he offers 
them to us under every form, but he confines himself to these only: 
although the true temple of Love is within his reach, Rodin, faithful to 
his creed, casts not so much as a glance in that direction, to judge by his 
behavior, he fears even the sight of it; if the child's posture exposes those 
charms, he covers them over again; the slightest disturbance might upset 
his homage, he would have nothing distract him... finally, his mounting 
wrath exceeds all limits, at first he gives vent to it through invectives, 
with menaces and evil language he affrights this poor little wretch 
trembling before the blows wherewith she realizes she is about to be 
torn; Rodin is beside himself, he snatches up a cat-o'-nine-tails that has 
been soaking in a vat of vinegar to give the thongs tartness and sting.
"Well there," says he, approaching his victim, "prepare yourself, you have 
got to suffer"; he swings a vigorous arm, the lashes are brought whistling 
down upon every inch of the body exposed to them; twenty-five strokes 
are applied; the tender pink rosiness of this matchless skin is in a trice 
run into scarlet. Julie emits cries... piercing screams which rend me to 
the soul; tears run down from beneath her blindfold and like pearls shine 
upon her beautiful cheeks; whereby Rodin is made all the more 
furious.... He puts his hands upon the molested parts, touches, squeezes, 
worries them, seems to be readying them for further assaults; they follow 
fast upon the first, Rodin begins again, not a cut he bestows is 
unaccompanied by a curse, a menace, a reproach... blood appears...
Rodin is in an ecstasy; his delight is immense as he muses upon the 
eloquent proofs of his ferocity. He can contain himself no longer, the 
most indecent condition manifests his overwrought state; he fears not to 
bring everything out of hiding, Julie cannot see it... he moves to the 
breech and hovers there, he would greatly like to mount as a victor, he 
dares not, instead, he begins to tyrannize anew; Rodin whips with might 
and main and finally manages, thanks to the leathern stripes, to open 
this asylum of the Graces and of joy.... He no longer knows who he is or 
where; his delirium has attained to such a pitch the use of reason is no 
longer available to him; he swears, he blasphemes, he storms, nothing is 
exempt from his savage blows, all he can reach is treated with identical 
fury, but the villain pauses nevertheless, he senses the impossibility of 
going further without risking the loss of the powers which he must 
preserve for new operations.
"Dress yourself," he says to Julie, loosening her bonds and readjusting 
his own costume, "and if you are once again guilty of similar misconduct, 
bear it firmly in mind you will not get off quite so lightly." Julie returns 
to her class, Rodin goes into the boys' and immediately brings back a 
young scholar of fifteen, lovely as the day; Rodin scolds him; doubtless 
more at his ease with the lad, he wheedles and kisses while lecturing 
him. "You deserve to be punished," he observes, "and you are going to 
be." Having uttered these words, he oversteps the last bounds of modesty 
with the child; for in this case, everything is of interest to him, nothing is 
excluded, the veils are drawn aside, everything is palpated 
indiscriminately; Rodin alternates threats, caresses, kisses, curses; his 
impious fingers attempt to generate voluptuous sentiments in the boy 
and, in his turn, Rodin demands identical ministrations. "Very well," 
cries the satyr, spying his success, "there you are in the state I forbade.... 
I dare swear that with two more movements you'd have the impudence 
to spit at me...." But too sure of the titillations he has produced, the 
libertine advances to gather a homage, and his mouth is the temple 
offered to the sweet incense; his hands excite it to jet forth, he meets the 
spurts, devours them, and is himself ready to explode, but he wishes to 
persevere to the end.
"Ah, I am going to make you pay for this stupidity!" says he and gets to 
his feet. He takes the youth's two hands, he clutches them tight, and 
offers himself entirely to the altar at which his fury would perform a 
sacrifice. He opens it, his kisses roam over it, his tongue drives deep into 
it, is lost in it. Drunk with love and ferocity, Rodin mingles the 
expressions and sentiments of each.... "Ah, little weasel!" he cries, "I 
must avenge myself upon the illusion you create in me." The whips are 
picked up, Rodin flogs; clearly more excited by the boy than he was by 
the vestal, his blows become both much more powerful and far more 
numerous: the child bursts into tears, Rodin is in seventh heaven, but 
new pleasures call, he releases the boy and flies to other sacrifices.
A little girl of thirteen is the boy's successor, and she is followed by 
another youth who is in turn abandoned for a girl; Rodin whips nine: five 
boys, four girls; the last is a lad of fourteen, endowed with a delicious 
countenance: Rodin wishes to amuse himself, the pupil resists; out of his 
mind with lust, he beats him, and the villain, losing all control of himself, 
hurls his flame's scummy jets upon his young charge's injured parts, he 
wets him from waist to heels; enraged at not having had strength enough 
to hold himself in check until the end, our corrector releases the child 
very testily, and after warning him against such tricks in the future, he 
sends him back to the class: such are the words I heard, those the scenes 
which I witnessed. "Dear Heaven!" I said to Rosalie when this appalling 
drama came to its end, "how is one able to surrender oneself to such 
excesses? How can one find pleasure in the torments one inflicts?" "Ah," 
replied Rosalie, "you do not know everything. Listen," she said, leading 
me back into her room, "what you have seen has perhaps enabled you to 
understand that when my father discovers some aptitudes in his young 
pupils, he carries his horrors much further, he abuses the girls in the 
same manner he deals with the boys." Rosalie spoke of that criminal 
manner of conjugation whereof I myself had believed I might be the 
victim with the brigands' captain into whose hands I had fallen after my 
escape from the Conciergerie, and by which I had been soiled by the 
merchant from Lyon. 
"By this means," Rosalie continued, "the girls are not in the least 
dishonored, there are no pregnancies to fear, and nothing prevents them 
from finding a husband; not a year goes by without his corrupting nearly 
all the boys in this way, and at least half the other children. Of the 
fourteen girls you have seen, eight have already been spoiled by these 
methods, and he has taken his pleasure with nine of the boys; the two 
women who serve him are submitted to the same horrors.... O Therese! " 
Rosalie added, casting herself into my arms, "O dear girl, and I too, yes I, 
he seduced me in my earliest years; I was barely eleven when I became 
his victim... when, alas! I was unable to defend myself against him." "But 
Mademoiselle," I interrupted, horrified, "at least Religion remained to 
you... were you unable to consult a confessor and avow everything?" "Oh, 
you do not know that as he proceeds to pervert us he stifles in each of us 
the very seeds of belief, he forbids us all religious devotions, and, 
furthermore, could I have done so? he had instructed me scarcely at all. 
The little he had said pertaining to these matters had been motivated by 
the fear that my ignorance might betray his impiety. But I had never 
been to confession, I had not made my First Communion; so deftly did 
he cover all these things with ridicule and insinuate his poisonous self 
into even our smallest ideas, that he banished forever all their duties out 
of them whom he suborned; or if they are compelled by their families to 
fulfill their religious duties, they do so with such tepidness, with such 
complete indifference, that he has nothing to fear from their 
indiscretion; but convince yourself, Therese, let your own eyes persuade 
you," she continued, very quickly drawing me back into the closet 
whence we had emerged; "come hither: that room where he chastises his 
students is the same wherein he enjoys us; the lessons are over now, it is 
the hour when, warmed by the preliminaries, he is going to compensate 
himself for the restraint his prudence sometimes imposes upon him; go 
back to where you were, dear girl, and with your own eyes behold it all." 
However slight my curiosity concerning these new abominations, it was 
by far the better course to leap back into the closet rather than have 
myself surprised with Rosalie during the classes; Rodin would without 
question have become suspicious. And so I took my place; scarcely was I 
at it when Rodin enters his daughter's room, he leads her into the other, 
the two women of the house arrive; and thereupon the impudicious 
Rodin, all restraints upon his behavior removed, free to indulge his 
fancies to the full, gives himself over in a leisurely fashion and 
undisguisedly to committing all the irregularities of debauchery.
The two peasants, completely nude, are flogged with exceeding violence; 
while he plies his whip upon the one the other pays him back in kind, 
and during the intervals when he pauses for rest, he smothers with the 
most uninhibited, the most disgusting caresses, the same altar in Rosalie 
who, elevated upon an armchair, slightly bent over, presents it to him; at 
last, there comes this poor creature's turn: Rodin ties her to the stake as 
he tied his scholars, and while one after another and sometimes both at 
once his domestics flay him, he beats his daughter, lashes her from her 
ribs to her knees, utterly transported by pleasure. His agitation is 
extreme: he shouts, he blasphemes, he flagellates: his thongs bite deep 
everywhere, and wherever they fall, there immediately he presses his 
lips. Both the interior of the altar and his victim's mouth... everything, 
the before-end excepted, everything is devoured by his suckings; without 
changing the disposition of the others, contenting himself with rendering 
it more propitious, Rodin by and by penetrates into pleasure's narrow 
asylum; meanwhile, the same throne is offered by the governess to his 
kisses, the other girl beats him with all her remaining strength, Rodin is 
in seventh heaven, he thrusts, he splits, he tears, a thousand kisses, one 
more passionate than the other, express his ardor, he kisses whatever is 
presented to his lust: the bomb bursts and the libertine besotted dares 
taste the sweetest of delights in the sink of incest and infamy...
Rodin sat down to dine; after such exploits he was in need of 
restoratives. That afternoon there were more lessons and further 
corrections, I could have observed new scenes had I desired, but I had 
seen enough to convince myself and to settle upon a reply to make to this 
villain's offers. The time for giving it approached. Two days after the 
events I have described, he himself came to my room to ask for it. He 
surprised me in bed. By employing the excuse of looking to see whether 
any traces of my wounds remained, he obtained the right, which I was 
unable to dispute, of performing an examination upon me, naked, and as 
he had done the same thing twice a day for a month and had never given 
any offense to my modesty I did not think myself able to resist. But this 
time Rodin had other plans; when he reaches the object of his worship, 
he locks his thighs about my waist and squeezes with such force that I 
find myself, so to speak, quite defenseless. "Therese," says he, the while 
moving his hands about in such a manner as to erase all doubt of his 
intents, "you are fully recovered, my dear, and now you can give me 
evidence of the gratitude with which I have beheld your heart 
overflowing; nothing simpler than the form your thanks would take; I 
need nothing beyond this," the traitor continued, binding me with all the 
strength at his command. "...Yes, this will do, merely this, here is my 
recompense, I never demand anything else from women... but," he 
continued, " 'tis one of the most splendid I have seen in all my life... 
What roundness, fullness!... unusual elasticity!... what exquisite quality 
in the skin!... Oh my! I absolutely must put this to use...."


CHAPTER 17

Whereupon Rodin, apparently already prepared to put his projects into 
execution, is obliged, in order to proceed to the next stage, to relax his 
grip for a moment; I seize my opportunity and extricating myself from 
his clutches, "Monsieur," I say, "I beg you to be well persuaded that there 
is nothing in the entire world which could engage me to consent to the 
horrors you seem to wish to commit. My gratitude is due to you, indeed 
it is, but I will not pay my debt in a criminal coin. Needless to say, I am 
poor and most unfortunate; but no matter; here is the small sum of 
money I possess," I continue, producing my meager purse, "take what 
you esteem just and allow me to leave this house, I beg of you, as soon as 
I am in a fitting state to go." Rodin, confounded by the opposition he 
little expected from a girl devoid of means and whom, according to an 
injustice very ordinary amongst men, he supposed dishonest by the 
simple fact she was sunk in poverty; Rodin, I say, gazed at me 
attentively.
"Therese," he resumed after a minute's silence, "Therese, it is hardly 
appropriate for you to play the virgin with me; I have, so it would seem 
to me, some right to your complaisance; but, however, it makes little 
difference: keep your silver but don't leave me. I am highly pleased to 
have a well-behaved girl in my house, the conduct of these others I have 
about me being far from impeccable... Since you show yourself so 
virtuous in this instance, you will be equally so, I trust, in every other. 
My interests would benefit therefrom; my daughter is fond of you, just a 
short while ago she came and begged me to persuade you not to go; and 
so rest with us, if you will, I invite you to remain." "Monsieur," I replied, 
"I should not be happy here; the two women who serve you aspire to all 
the affection you are able to give them; they will not behold me without 
jealousy, and sooner or later I will be forced to leave you." "Be not 
apprehensive," Rodin answered, "fear none of the effects of these 
women's envy, I shall be quite capable of keeping them in their place by 
maintaining you in yours, and you alone will possess my confidence 
without any resultant danger to yourself.
But in order to continue to deserve it, I believe it would be well for you to 
know that the first quality, the foremost, I require in you, Therese, is an 
unassailable discretion. Many things take place here, many which do not 
sort with your virtuous principles; you must be able to witness 
everything, hear all and never speak a syllable of it.... Ah, Therese, 
remain with me, stay here, Therese, my child, it will be a joy to have you; 
in the midst of the many vices to which I am driven by a fiery temper, an 
unrestrainable imagination and a much rotted heart, at least I will have 
the comfort of a virtuous being dwelling close by, and upon whose breast 
I shall be able to cast myself as at the feet of a God when, glutted by my 
debauches, I..." "Oh Heaven!" I did think at this moment, "then Virtue is 
necessary, it is then indispensable to man, since even the vicious one is 
obliged to find reassurance in it and make use of it as of a shelter." And 
then, recollecting Rosalie's requests that I not leave her, and thinking to 
discern some good principles in Rodin, I resolved to stay with him. 
"Therese," Rodin said to me several days later, "I am going to install you 
near my daughter; in this way, you will avoid all frictions with the other 
two women, and I intend to give you three hundred pounds wages." Such 
a post was, in my situation, a kind of godsend; inflamed by the desire to 
restore Rosalie to righteousness, and perhaps even her father too
Were I able to attain some influence over him, I repented not of what I 
had just done... Rodin, having had me dress myself, conducted me at 
once to where his daughter was; Rosalie received me with effusions of 
joy, and I was promptly established. Ere a week was gone by I had begun 
to labor at the conversions after which I thirsted, but Rodin's 
intransigence defeated all my efforts. "Do not believe," was the response 
he made to my wise counsels, "that the kind of deference I showed to the 
virtue in you proves that I either esteem virtue or have the desire to favor 
it over vice. Think nothing of the sort, Therese, 'twould be to deceive 
yourself; on the basis of what I have done in your regard, anyone who 
was to maintain, as consequential to my behavior, the importance or the 
necessity of virtue would fall into the very largest error, and sorry I 
would be were you to fancy that such is my fashion of thinking.
The rustic hovel to which I repair for shelter when, during the hunt, the 
excessive heat of the sun's rays falls perpendicularly upon me, that hut is 
certainly not to be mistaken for a superior building: its worth is merely 
circumstantial: I am exposed to some sort of danger, I find something 
which affords protection, I use it, but is this something the grander on 
that account? can it be the less contemptible? In a totally vicious society, 
virtue would be totally worthless; our societies not being entirely of this 
species, one must absolutely either play with virtue or make use of it so 
as to have less to dread from its faithful followers. If no one adopts the 
virtuous way, it becomes useless; I am then not mistaken when I affirm 
that it owes its necessity to naught but opinion or circumstances; virtue 
is not some kind of mode whose value is incontestable, it is simply a 
scheme of conduct, a way of getting along, which varies according to 
accidents of geography and climate and which, consequently, has no 
reality, the which alone exhibits its futility.
Only what is constant is really good; what changes perpetually cannot 
claim that characterization: that is why they have declared that 
immutability belongs to the ranks of the Eternal's perfections; but virtue 
is completely without this quality: there is not, upon the entire globe, two 
races which are virtuous in the same manner; hence, virtue is not in any 
sense real, nor in any wise intrinsically good and in no sort deserves our 
reverence. How is it to be employed? as a prop, as a device: it is politic to 
adopt the virtue of the country one inhabits, so that those who practice 
it, either because they have a taste for it or who have to cultivate it 
because of their station, will leave you in peace, and so that this virtue 
which happens to be respected in your area will guarantee you, by its 
conventional preponderance, against the assaults delivered by them who 
profess vice. But, once again, all that is at the dictation of variable 
circumstances, and nothing in all that assigns a real merit to virtue.
There are, furthermore, such virtues as are impossible to certain men; 
now, how are you going to persuade me that a virtue in conflict or in 
contradiction with the passions is to be found in Nature? And if it is not 
in Nature and natural; how can it be good? In those men we are speaking 
of there will certainly be vices opposed to these virtues, and these vices 
will be preferred by these men, since they will be the only modes... the 
only schemes of being which will be thoroughly agreeable to their 
peculiar physical constitutions or to their uncommon organs; in this 
hypothesis, there would then be some very useful vices: well, how can 
virtue be useful if you demonstrate to me that what is contrary to virtue 
is useful? In reply to that, one hears that virtue is useful to others, and 
that in this sense it is good; for if it is posited that I must do only what is 
good to others, in my turn I will receive only good. And this argument is 
pure sophistry: in return for the small amount of good I receive at the 
hands of others thanks to the virtue they practice, my obligation to 
practice virtue in my turn causes me to make a million sacrifices for 
which I am in no wise compensated. Receiving less than I give, I hence 
conclude a very disadvantageous bargain, I experience much more ill 
from the privations I endure in order to be virtuous, than I experience 
good from those who do it to me; the arrangement being not at all 
equitable, I therefore must not submit to it, and certain, by being 
virtuous, not to cause others as much pleasure as I receive pain by 
compelling myself to be good, would it not be better to give up procuring 
them a happiness which must cost me so much distress? There now 
remains the harm I may do others by being vicious and the evil I myself 
would suffer were everyone to resemble me.
Were we to acknowledge an efficient circulation of vices, I am certainly 
running a grave danger, I concede it; but the grief experienced by what I 
risk is offset by the pleasure I receive from causing others to be menaced: 
and there! you see, equality is re-established: and everyone is more or 
less equally happy: which is not the case and cannot be the case in a 
society where some are good and others are bad, because, from this 
mixture, perpetual pitfalls result! and no pitfalls exist in the other 
instance. In the heterogeneous society, all interests are unalike: there 
you have the source of an infinite number of miseries; in the contrary 
association, all interests are identical, each individual composing it is 
furnished with the same proclivities, the same penchants, each one 
marches together with all the others and to the same goal; they are all 
happy. But, idiots complain to you, evil does not make for happiness.
No, not when everyone has agreed to idolise good; but merely cease to 
prize, instead deflate, heap abuse upon what you call good, and you will 
no longer revere anything but what formerly you had the idiocy to call 
evil; and every man will have the pleasure of committing it not at all 
because it will be permitted (that might be, upon occasion, a reason for 
the diminishment of its appeal), but because the law will no longer 
punish it, and it is the law, through the fear it inspires, which lessens the 
pleasure Nature has seen to it we take in crime. I visualize a society 
where it will be generally admitted that incest (let us include this offense 
together with all the others), that incest, I say, is criminal: those who 
commit incest will be unhappy, because opinion, laws, beliefs, everything 
will concert to chill their pleasure; those who desist from doing this evil, 
those who, because of these restraints, will not dare, will be equally 
unhappy: thus, the law that proscribes incest will have done nothing but 
cause wretchedness.
Now, I visualize another society neighboring the first; in this one incest 
is no crime at all: those who do not desist will not be unhappy, and those 
who desire it will be happy. Hence, the society which permits this act will 
be better suited to mankind than the one in which the act is represented 
as a crime; the same pertains to all other deeds clumsily denominated 
criminal; regard them from this point of view, and you create crowds of 
unhappy persons; permit them, and not a complaint is to be heard; for 
he who cherishes this act, whatever it happens to be, goes about 
performing it in peace and quiet, and he who does not care for it either 
remains in a kind of neutral indifference toward it, which is certainly not 
painful, or finds restitution for the hurt he may have sustained by 
resorting to a host of other injuries wherewith in his turn he belabors 
whosoever has aggrieved him: thus everyone in a criminal society is 
either very happy indeed, or else in a paradise of unconcern; 
consequently, there's nothing good, nothing respectable, nothing that 
can bring about happiness in what they call virtue. Let those who follow 
the virtuous track be not boastingly proud of the concessions wrung from 
us by the structural peculiarities of our society; 'tis purely a matter of 
circumstance, an accident of convention that the homages demanded of 
us take a virtuous form; but in fact, this worship is a hallucination, and 
the virtue which obtains a little pious attention for a moment is not on 
that account the more noble."
Such was the infernal logic of Rodin's wretched passions; but Rosalie, 
gentle and less corrupt, Rosalie, detesting the horrors to which she was 
submitted, was a more docile auditor and more receptive to my opinions. 
I had the most ardent desire to bring her to discharge her primary 
religious duties; but we would have been obliged to confide in a priest, 
and Rodin would not have one in the house; he beheld them, and the 
beliefs they professed, with horror: nothing in the world would have 
induced him to suffer one to come near his daughter; to lead the girl to a 
confessor was equally impossible: Rodin never allowed Rosalie to go 
abroad unless he accompanied her. We were therefore constrained to 
bide our time until some occasion might present itself; and while we 
waited I instructed the young person; by giving her a taste for virtue, I 
inspired in her another for Religion, I revealed to her its sacred dogmas 
and its sublime mysteries, and I so intimately attached these two 
sentiments to her youthful heart that I rendered them indispensable to 
her life's happiness. "O Mademoiselle," I said one day, my eyes welling 
with tears at her compunction, "can man blind himself to the point of
believing that he is not destined to some better end? Is not the fact he 
has been endowed with the capacity of consciousness of his God 
sufficient evidence that this blessing has not been accorded him save to 
meet the responsibilities it imposes? Well, what may be the foundation 
of the veneration we owe the Eternal, if it is not that virtue of which He is 
the example? Can the Creator of so many wonders have other than good 
laws? And can our hearts be pleasing unto Him if their element is not 
good? It seems to me that, for sensitive spirits, the only valid motives for 
loving that Supreme Being must be those gratitude inspires. Is it not a 
favor thus to have caused us to enjoy the beauties of this Universe? and 
do we not owe Him some gratitude in return for such a blessing? But a 
yet stronger reason establishes, confirms the universal chain of our 
duties; why should we refuse to fulfill those required by His decrees, 
since they are the very same which consolidate our happiness amongst 
mortals? Is it not sweet to feel that one renders oneself worthy of the 
Supreme Being simply by practicing those virtues which must bring 
about our contentment on earth, and that the means which render us 
worthy to live amongst our brethren are the identical ones which give us 
the assurance of a rebirth, in the life still to come, close by the throne of 
God! Ah, Rosalie! how blind are they who would strive to ravish away 
this our hope! Mistaken, benighted, seduced by their wretched passions, 
they prefer to deny eternal verities rather than abandon what may render 
them deserving of them.
They would rather say, 'These people deceive us,' than admit they 
deceive themselves; the lingering thought of what they are preparing 
themselves to lose troubles them in their low riot and sport; it seems to 
them less dreadful to annihilate hope of Heaven, than to be deprived of 
what would acquire it for them! But when those tyrannical passions 
finally weaken and fade in them, when the veil is torn away, when there 
is no longer anything left in their disease-eaten hearts to counter the 
imperious voice of that God their delirium disregardingly misprized, Oh 
Rosalie! what must it be, this cruel awakening I and how much its 
accompanying remorse must inflate the price to be paid for the instant's 
error that blinded them I Such is the condition wherein man has got to 
be in order to construe his proper conduct: 'tis neither when in 
drunkenness, nor when in the transport produced by a burning fever, he 
ought to be believed or his sayings marked, but when his reason is 
calmed and enjoys its full lucid energy he must seek after the truth, 'tis 
then he divines and sees it.
'Tis then with all our being we yearn after that Sacred One of Whom we 
were once so neglectful; we implore Him, He becomes our whole solace; 
we pray to Him, He hears our entreaties. Ah, why then should I deny 
Him, why should I be unheeding of this Object so necessary to 
happiness? Why should I prefer to say with the misguided man, There is 
no God, while the heart of the reasoning part of human- kind every 
instant offers me proofs of this Divine Being's existence? Is it then better 
to dream amongst the mad than rightly to think with the wise? All 
derives nevertheless from this initial principle: immediately there exists 
a God, this God deserves to be worshiped, and the primary basis of this 
worship indisputably is Virtue." From these elementary truths I easily 
deduced the others and the deistic Rosalie was soon made a Christian.
But by what means, I repeat, could I join a little practice to the morality? 
Rosalie, bound to obey her father, could at the very most do no more 
than display her disgust for him, and with a man like Rodin might that 
not become dangerous? He was intractable; not one of my doctrines 
prevailed against him; but although I did not win him over, he for his 
part at least did not shake me.
However, such an academy, dangers so permanent, so real, caused me to 
tremble for Rosalie, so much so in fact that I could not find myself in any 
wise guilty in engaging her to fly from this perverse household. It seemed 
to me that to snatch her from her incestuous father were a lesser evil 
than to leave her prey to all the risks she must run by staying with him. I 
had already delicately hinted at the idea and perhaps I was not so very 
far from success when all of a sudden Rosalie vanished from the house; 
all my efforts to find out where she was failed. When I interrogated his 
women or Rodin himself I was told she had gone to pass the summer 
months with a relative who lived ten leagues away. When I made 
inquiries around the neighborhood, they were at first astonished to hear 
such a question from a member of the household, then, as had Rodin and 
his domestics, they would answer that she had been seen, everyone had 
bade her farewell the day before, the day she had left; I received the same 
replies everywhere.
I asked Rodin why this departure had been kept secret from me; why had 
I not been allowed to accompany my mistress? He assured me the 
unique reason had been to avoid a scene difficult for both Rosalie and 
me, and that I would certainly see the person I loved very soon. I had to 
be content with these answers, but it was more difficult to be convinced 
of their truth. Was it presumable that Rosalie Ä and how great was her 
affection for me I Ä could have consented to leave me without so much 
as one word? and according to what I knew of Rodin's character, was 
there not much to fear for the poor girl's fate? I resolved to employ every 
device to learn what had become of her, and in order to find out, every 
means seemed justifiable. The following day, noticing I was alone in the 
house, I carefully investigated every corner of it; I thought I caught the 
sound of moans emanating from a very obscure cellar.... I approached; a 
pile of firewood seemed to be blocking a narrow door at the end of a 
passageway; by removing the obstructions I am able to advance... further 
noises are to be heard... I believe I detect a voice... I listen more 
carefully... I am in doubt no longer.
"Therese," I hear at last, "O Therese, is it you?" "Yes, my dear, my most 
tender friend," I cry, recognizing Rosalie's accents.... "Yes, 'tis Therese 
Heaven sends to your rescue . . ." And my numerous questions scarcely 
allow this interesting girl time to reply. At length I learn that several 
hours before her disappearance, Rombeau, Rodin's friend and colleague, 
had examined her naked and that she had received an order from her 
father to ready herself to undergo, at Rombeau's hands, the same horrors 
Rodin exposed her to every day; that she had resisted; that Rodin, 
furious, had seized her and himself presented her to his companion's 
frantic attacks; that, next, the two men had spoken together in whispers 
for a very long time, leaving her naked the while, and periodically 
renewing their probings, they had continued to amuse themselves with 
her in the same criminal fashion and had maltreated her in a hundred 
different ways; that, after this session, which had lasted four or five 
hours, Rodin had finally said he was going to send her to the country to
visit one of her family, but that she must leave at once and without 
speaking to Therese, for reasons he would explain the day afterward, for 
he intended to join her immediately.
He had given Rosalie to understand he meant to marry her and this 
accounted for the examination Rombeau had given her, which was to 
determine whether she were capable of becoming a mother. Rosalie had 
indeed left under an old woman's guardianship; she had crossed through 
the town, in passing said farewell to several acquaintances; but 
immediately night had fallen, her conductress had led her back to her 
father's house; she had entered at midnight. Rodin, who was waiting for 
her, had seized her, had clapped his hand over her mouth to stifle her 
voice and, without a word, had plunged her into this cellar where, in 
truth, she had been decently well fed and looked after.
"I have everything to fear," the poor thing added; "my father's conduct 
toward me since he put me here, his discourses, what preceded 
Rombeau's examination, everything, Therese, everything suggests that 
these monsters are going to use me in one of their experiments, and that 
your poor Rosalie is doomed." After copious tears had flowed from my 
eyes, I asked the unhappy girl whether she knew where the key to the 
cellar was kept; she did not; but she did not believe their custom was to 
take it with them. I sought for it everywhere; in vain; and by the time the 
hour arrived œor me to return upstairs I had been able to give the dear 
child no more by way of aid than consoling words, a few hopes, and 
many tears. She made me swear to come back the next day; I promised, 
even assuring her that if by that time I had discovered nothing 
satisfactory regarding her, I would leave the house directly, fetch the 
police and extricate her, at no matter what price, from the terrible fate 
threatening her.


CHAPTER 18

I went up; Rombeau was dining with Rodin that evening. Determined to 
stick at nothing to clarify my mistress' fate, I hid myself near the room 
where the two friends were at table, and their conversation was more 
than enough to convince me of the horror of the project wherewith both 
were occupied. It was Rodin who was speaking: "Anatomy will never 
reach its ultimate state of perfection until an examination has been 
performed upon the vaginal canal of a fourteen- or fifteen-yearold child 
who has expired from a cruel death; it is only from the contingent 
contraction we can obtain a complete analysis of a so highly interesting 
part." "The same holds true," Rombeau replied, "for the hymeneal 
membrane; we must, of course, find a young girl for the dissection. What 
the deuce is there to be seen after the age of puberty? nothing; the 
menstrual discharges rupture the hymen, and all research is necessarily 
inexact; your daughter is precisely what we need; although she is fifteen! 
she is not yet mature; the manner in which we have enjoyed her has done 
no damage to the membranous tissue, and we will be able to handle her 
with complete immunity from interference.
I am delighted you have made up your mind at last." "Oh, I certainly 
have," Rodin rejoined; "I find it odious that futile considerations check 
the progress of science; did great men ever allow themselves to be 
enslaved by such contemptible chains? And, when Michelangelo wished 
to render a Christ after Nature, did he make the crucifixion of a young 
man the occasion for a fit of remorse? Why no: he copied the boy in his 
death agonies. But where it is a question of the advance of our art, how 
absolutely essential such means become I And how the evil in permitting 
them dwindles to insignificance! Only think of it! you sacrifice one, but 
you save a million, perhaps; may one hesitate when the price is so 
modest? Is the murder operated by the law of a species different from 
the one we are going to perform? and is not the purpose of those laws, 
which are commonly found so wise, the sacrifice of one in order to save a 
thousand?"
"But what other way can one approach the problem?" Rombeau 
demanded; "there is certainly no other by which to obtain any 
information. In those hospitals where I worked as a young man I saw 
similar experiments by the thousand; but in view of the ties which attach 
you to this creature, I must confess I was afraid you would hesitate." 
"What! because she is my daughter? A capital reason!" Rodin roared, 
"and what rank do you then fancy this title must allot her in my heart? I 
place roughly the same value (weighing the matter very nicely) upon a 
little semen which has hatched its chick, and upon that I am pleased to 
waste while enjoying myself. One has the power to take back what one 
has given; amongst no race that has ever dwelled upon earth has there 
been any disputing the right to dispose of one's children as one sees fit. 
The Persians, the Medes, the Armenians, the Greeks enjoyed this right in 
its fullest latitude. The constitution decreed by Lycurgus, that paragon of 
lawgivers, not only accorded fathers every right over their offspring, but 
even condemned to death those children parents did not care to feed, or 
those which were discovered malformed.
A great proportion of savage peoples kill their young immediately they 
are born. Nearly all the women of Asia, Africa, and America practice 
abortions, and are not for that reason covered with discredit; Cook 
discovered the custom widespread in all the South Sea islands. Romulus 
permitted infanticide; the law of the twelve tables similarly tolerated it 
and until the era of Constantine the Romans exposed or killed their 
children with impunity. Aristotle recommended this pretended crime; 
the Stoic sect regarded it as praiseworthy; it is still very much in use in 
China. Every day one counts, lying in the streets and floating in the 
canals of Peking, more than ten thousand individuals immolated or 
abandoned by their parents, and in that wisely-governed empire 
whatever be the child's age, a father need but put it into the hands of a 
judge to be rid of it.
According to the laws of the Parthians, one killed one's son, one's 
daughter, or one's brother, even at the age of nubility; Caesar discovered 
the custom universal amongst the Gauls; several passages in the 
Pentateuch prove that amongst the children of God one was allowed to 
kill one's children; and, finally, God Himself ordered Abraham to do just 
that. It was long believed, declares a celebrated modern author, that the 
prosperity of empires depends upon the slavery of children; this opinion 
is supported by the healthiest logic. Why! a monarch will fancy himself 
authorized to sacrifice twenty or thirty thousand of his subjects in a 
single day to achieve his own ends, and a father is not to be allowed, 
when he esteems it propitious, to become the master of his children's 
lives! What absurdity! O folly! Oh what is this inconsistency, this 
feebleness in them upon whom such chains are binding! A father's 
authority over his children, the only real one, the one that serves as basis 
to every other, that authority is dictated to us by the voice of Nature 
herself, and the intelligent study of her operations provides examples of 
it at every turn and instant.
Czar Peter was in no doubt as to this right; he used it habitually and 
addressed a public declaration to all the orders of his empire, in which he 
said that, according to laws human and divine, a father had the entire 
and absolute right to sentence his children to death, without appeal and 
without consulting the opinion of anyone at all. It is nowhere but in our 
own barbarous France that a false and ludicrous pity has presumed to 
suppress this prerogative. No," Rodin pursued with great feeling, "no, my 
friend, I will never understand how a father, who had the kindness to 
provide it with life, may not be at liberty to bestow death upon his issue.
'Tis the ridiculous value we attach to this life which eternally makes us 
speak drivel about the kind of deed to which a man resorts in order to 
disencumber himself of a fellow creature. Believing that existence is the 
greatest of all goods, we stupidly fancy we are doing something criminal 
when we convey someone away from its enjoyment; but the cessation of 
this existence, 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 
to Nature, if all the decomposed parts of any body whatsoever merely 
await.dissolution to reappear immediately under new forms, how 
indifferent is this act of murder! and how dare one find any evil in it? In 
this connection I ought to act according to nothing but my own whim; I 
ought to regard the thing as very simple indeed, especially so when it 
becomes necessary to an act of such vital importance to mankind... when 
it can furnish such a wealth of knowledge: henceforth it is an evil no 
longer, my friend, it is no longer a crime, no, not a petty misdemeanor, it 
is the best, the wisest, the most useful of all actions, and crime would 
exist only in refusing oneself the pleasure of committing it."
"Ha!" said Rombeau, full of enthusiasm for these appalling maxims, "I 
applaud you, my dear fellow, your wisdom enchants me, but your 
indifference is astonishing; I thought you were amorous -" "I? in love 
with a girl?... Ah, Rombeau! I supposed you knew me better; I employ 
those creatures when I have nothing better to hand: the extreme 
penchant I have for pleasures of the variety you have watched me taste 
makes very precious to me all the temples at which this sort of incense 
can be offered, and to multiply my devotions, I sometimes assimilate a 
little girl into a pretty little boy; but should one of these female 
personages unhappily nourish my illusion for too long, my disgust 
becomes energetically manifest, and I have never found but one means 
to satisfy it deliciously... you understand me, Rombeau; Chilperic, the 
most voluptuous of France's kings, held the same views.
His boisterous organ proclaimed aloud that in an emergency one could 
make use of a woman, but upon the express condition one exterminated 
her immediately one had done with her. ( Cf. a work entitled ‘The Jesuits 
in Fine Fettle’) For five years this little wench has been serving my 
pleasures; the time has come for her to pay for my loss of interest by the 
loss of her existence." The meal ended; from those two madmen's 
behavior, from their words, their actions, their preparations, from their 
very state, which bordered upon delirium, I was very well able to see that 
there was not a moment to be lost, and that the hour of the unhappy 
Rosalie's destruction had been fixed for that evening. I rushed to the 
cellar, resolved to deliver her or die. "O dear friend," I cried, "there is not 
an instant to waste... the monsters ... it is to be tonight ... they are going 
to come...."
And upon saying that, I make the most violent efforts to batter down the 
door. One of my blows dislodges something, I reach out my hand, it is 
the key, I seize it, I hasten to open the door... I embrace Rosalie, I urge 
her to fly, I promise to follow her, she springs forward... Just Heaven! It 
was again decreed that Virtue was to succumb, and that sentiments of 
the tenderest commiseration were going to be brutally punished; lit by 
the governess, Rodin and Rombeau appeared of a sudden, the former 
grasped his daughter the instant she crossed the threshold of the door 
beyond which, a few steps away, lay deliverance. "Ah, wretch, where are 
you going?" Rodin shouts, bringing her to a halt while Rombeau lays 
hands upon me.... "Why," he continues, glancing at me, "here's the rascal 
who has encouraged your flight! Therese, now we behold the results of 
your great virtuous principles... the kidnapping of a daughter from her 
father!" "Certainly," was my steadfast reply, "and I must do so when that 
father is so barbarous as to plot against his daughter's life." "Well, well! 
Espionage and seduction," Rodin pursued; "all a servant's most 
dangerous vices; upstairs, up with you, I say, the case requires to be 
judged." Dragged by the two villains, Rosalie and I are brought back to 
the apartments; the doors are bolted. The unlucky daughter of Rodin is 
tied to the posts of a bed, and those two demoniacs turn all their rage 
upon me, their language is of the most violent, the sentence pronounced 
upon me appalling: it is nothing less than a question of a vivisection in 
order to inspect the beating of my heart, and upon this organ to make 
observations which cannot practicably be made upon a cadaver. 
Meanwhile, I am undressed, and subjected to the most impudicious 
fondlings.
"Before all else," says Rombeau, "my opinion is a stout attack ought to be 
delivered upon the fortress your lenient proceedings have respected.... 
Why, 'tis superb! do you mark that velvet texture, the whiteness of those 
two half-moons defending the portal! never was there a virgin of such 
freshness." "Virgin! but so she is, or nearly," says Rodin, "once raped, 
and then it was despite her wishes; since then, untouched. Here, let me 
take the wheel a moment..." and the cruel one added to Rombeau's his 
homage made up of those harsh and savage caresses which degrade 
rather than honor the idol. Had whips been available I should have been 
cruelly dealt with; whips were indeed mentioned, but none were found, 
they limited themselves to what the bare hand could achieve; they set me 
afire... the more I struggled, the more rigidly I was held; when however I 
saw them about to undertake more serious matters, I flung myself 
prostrate before my executioners and offered them my life. "But when 
you are no longer a virgin," said Rombeau, "what is the difference? What 
are these qualms? we are only going to violate you as you have been 
already and not the least peccadillo will sit on your conscience; you will 
have been vanquished by force..." and comforting me in this manner, the 
infamous one placed me on a couch.
"No," spoke up Rodin, interrupting his colleague's effervescence, of 
which I was on the brink of becoming the victim, "no, let's not waste our 
powers with this creature; remember we cannot further postpone the 
operations scheduled for Rosalie, and our vigor is necessary to carry 
them out; let's punish this wretch in some other manner." Upon saying 
which, Rodin put an iron in the fire. "Yes," he went on, "let's punish her a 
thousand times more than we would were we to take her life, let's brand 
her; this disgrace, joined to all the sorry business about her body, will get 
her hanged if she does not first die of hunger; until then she will suffer, 
and our more prolonged vengeance will become the more delicious." 
Wherewith Rombeau seized me, and the abominable Rodin applied 
behind my shoulder the red-hot iron with which thieves are marked. "Let 
her dare appear in public, the whore," the monster continued, exhibiting 
the ignominious letter, "and I'll sufficiently justify my reasons for 
sending her out of the door with such secrecy and promptitude." They 
bandage me, dress me, and fortify me with a few drops of brandy, and 
under the cover of night the two scientists conduct me to the forest's 
edge and abandon me cruelly there after once again having sketched 
what dangers a recrimination would expose me to were I to dare bring 
complaint in my present state of disgrace.
Anyone else might have been little impressed by the menace; what would 
I have to fear as soon as I found the means to prove that what I had just 
suffered had been the work not of a tribunal but of criminals? But my 
weakness, my natural timidity, the frightful memory of what I had 
undergone at Paris and recollections of the chateau de Bressac Ä it all 
stunned me, terrified me; I thought only of flight, and was far more 
stirred by anguish at having to abandon an innocent victim to those two 
villains, who were without doubt ready to immolate her, than I was 
touched by my own ills. More irritated, more afflicted morally than in 
physical pain, I set off at once; but, completely unoriented, never 
stopping to ask my way, I did but swing in a circle around Paris and on 
the fourth day of traveling I found I had got no further than Lieursaint. 
Knowing this road would lead me to the southern provinces, I resolved to 
follow it and try to reach those distant regions, fancying to myself that 
the peace and calm so cruelly denied me in those parts of France where I 
had grown up were, perhaps, awaiting me in others more remote; fatal 
error! how much there remained of grief and pain yet to experience.


CHAPTER 19

Whatever had been my trials until that time, at least I was in possession 
of my innocence. Merely the victim of a few monsters' attempts, I was 
still able to consider myself more or less in the category of an honest girl. 
The fact was I had never been truly soiled save by a rape operated five 
years earlier, and its traces had healed... a rape consummated at an 
instant when my numbed state had not even left me the faculty of 
sensation. Other than that, what was there with which I could reproach 
myself? Nothing, oh! nothing, doubtless; and my heart was chaste, I was 
overweeningly proud of it, my presumption was to be punished; the 
outrages awaiting me were to be such that in a short while it would no
longer be possible, however slight had been my participation, for me to 
form the same comforting ideas in the depths of my heart. This time I 
had my entire fortune about me; that is to say, about a hundred crowns, 
comprising the total of what I had saved from Bressac's clutches and 
earned from Rodin. In my extreme misery I was able to feel glad that this 
money, at least, had not been taken from me; I flattered myself with the 
notion that through the frugality, temperance, and economy to which I 
was accustomed, this sum would amply suffice until I was so situated as 
to be able to find a place of some sort.
The execration they had just stamped upon my flesh did not show, I 
imagined I would always be able to disguise it and that this brand would 
be no bar to making my living. I was twenty-two years old, in good 
health, and had a face which, to my sorrow, was the object of eulogies all 
too frequent; I possessed some virtues which, although they had brought 
me unremitting injury, nevertheless, as I have just told you, were my 
whole consolation and caused me to hope that Heaven would finally 
grant me, if not rewards, at least some suspension of the evils they had 
drawn down upon me. Full of hope and courage, I kept my road until I 
gained Sens, where I rested several days. A week of this and I was 
entirely restored; I might perhaps have found work in that city but, 
penetrated by the necessity of getting further away, I resumed my 
journeying with the design of seeking my fortune in Dauphine; I had 
heard this province much spoken of, I fancied happiness attended me 
there, and we are going to see with what success I sought it out. Never, 
not in a single one of my life's circumstances, had the sentiments of 
Religion deserted me.
Despising the vain casuistries of strong-headed thinkers, believing them 
all to emanate from libertinage rather than consequent upon firm 
persuasion, I had dressed my conscience and my heart against them and, 
by means of the one and the other, I had found what was needed in order 
to make them stout reply. By my misfortunes often forced to neglect my 
pious duties, I would make reparation for these faults whenever I could 
find the opportunity. I had just, on the 7th of August, left Auxerre; I shall 
never forget that date. I had walked about two leagues: the noonday heat 
beginning to incommode me, I climbed a little eminence crowned by a 
grove of trees; the place was not far removed from the road, I went there 
with the purpose of refreshing myself and obtaining a few hours of sleep 
without having to pay the expense of an inn, and up there I was in 
greater safety than upon the highway. I established myself at the foot of 
an oak and, after a frugal lunch, I drifted off into sweet sleep. Well did I 
rest, for a considerable time, and in a state of complete tranquillity; and 
then, opening my eyes, it was with great pleasure I mused upon the 
landscape which was visible for a long distance. From out of the middle 
of a forest that extended upon the right, I thought I could detect, some 
three or four leagues from where I was, a little bell tower rising modestly 
into the air.... "Beloved solitude," I murmured, "what a desire I have to 
dwell a time in thee; and thou afar," said I, addressing the abbey, "thou 
must be the asylum of a few gentle, virtuous recluses who are occupied 
with none but God... with naught but their pious duties; or a retreat unto 
some holy hermits devoted to Religion alone... men who, far removed 
from that pernicious society where incessant crime, brooding heavily, 
threatfully over innocence, degrades it, annihilates it... ah! there must all 
virtues dwell, of that I am certain, and when mankind's crimes exile 
them out of the world, 'tis thither they go in that isolated place to 
commune with the souls of those fortunate ones who cherish them and 
cultivate them every day." I was absorbed in these thoughts when a girl 
of my age, keeper of a flock of sheep grazing upon the plateau, suddenly 
appeared before my eyes; I question her about that habitation, she tells 
me what I see is a Benedictine monastery occupied by four solitary 
monks of peerless devotion, whose continence and sobriety are without 
example.
Once a year, says the girl, a pilgrimage is made to a miraculous Virgin 
who is there, and from Her pious folk obtain all their hearts' desire. 
Singularly eager immediately to go and implore aid at the feet of this 
holy Mother of God, I ask the girl whether she would like to come and 
pray with me; 'tis impossible, she replies, for her mother awaits her; but 
the road there is easy. She indicates it to me, she assures me the superior 
of the house, the most respectable, the most saintly of men, will receive 
me with perfect good grace and will offer me all the aid whereof I can 
possibly stand in need. "Dom Severino, so he is called," continues the 
girl, "is an Italian closely related to the Pope, who overwhelms him with 
kindnesses; he is gentle, honest, correct, obliging, fifty-five years old, and 
has spent above two-thirds of his life in France... you will be satisfied 
with him, Mademoiselle," the shepherdess concluded, "go and edify 
yourself in that sacred quiet, and you will only return from it improved."
This recital only inflamed my zeal the more, I became unable to resist the 
violent desire I felt to pay a visit to this hallowed church and there, by a 
few acts of piety, to make restitution for the neglect whereof I was guilty. 
However great was my own need of charities, I gave the girl a crown, and 
set off down the road leading to Saint Mary-in-the-Wood, as was called 
the monastery toward which I directed my steps. When I had descended 
upon the plain I could see the spire no more; for guide I had nothing but 
the forest ahead of me, and before long I began to fear that the distance, 
of which I had forgotten to inform myself, was far greater than I had 
estimated at first; but was in nowise discouraged. I arrived at the edge of 
the forest and, some amount of daylight still remaining, I decided to 
forge on, considering I should be able to reach the monastery before 
nightfall. However, not a hint of human life presented itself to my gaze, 
not a house, and all I had for road was a beaten path I followed virtually 
at random; I had already walked at least five leagues without seeing a 
thing when, the Star having completely ceased to light the universe, it 
seemed I heard the tolling of a bell...
I harken, I move toward the sound, I hasten, the path widens ever so 
little, at last I perceive several hedges and soon afterward the monastery; 
than this isolation nothing could be wilder, more rustic, there is no 
neighboring habitation, the nearest is six leagues removed, and dense 
tracts of forest surround the house on all sides; it was situated in a 
depression, I had a goodly distance to descend in order to get to it, and 
this was the reason I had lost sight of the tower; a gardener's cabin 
nestled against the monastery's walls; it was there one applied before 
entering. I demanded of this gate-keeper whether it were permitted to 
speak to the superior; he asked to be informed of my errand; I advised 
him that a religious duty had drawn me to this holy refuge and that I 
would be well repaid for all the trouble I had experienced to get to it were 
I able to kneel an instant before the feet of the miraculous Virgin and the 
saintly ecclesiastics in whose house the divine image was preserved. The 
gardener rings and I penetrate into the monastery; but as the hour is 
advanced and the fathers are at supper, he is some time in returning. At 
last he reappears with one of the monks: "Mademoiselle," says he, "here 
is Dom Clement, steward to the house; he has come to see whether what 
you desire merits interrupting the superior." Clement, whose name could 
not conceivably have been less descriptive of his physiognomy, was a 
man of forty-eight years, of an enormous bulk, of a giant's stature; 
somber was his expression, fierce his eye; the only words he spoke were 
harsh, and they were expelled by a raucous voice: here was a satyric 
personage indeed, a tyrant's exterior; he made me tremble.... And then 
despite all I could do to suppress it, the remembrance of my old miseries 
rose to smite my troubled memory in traits of blood....
"What do you want?" the monk asked me; his air was surly, his mien 
grim; "is this the hour to come to a church?... Indeed, you have the air of 
an adventuress." "Saintly man," said I, prostrating myself, "I believed it 
was always the hour to present oneself at God's door; I have hastened 
from far off to arrive here; full of fervor and devotion, I ask to confess, if 
it is possible, and when what my conscience contains is known to you, 
you will see whether or not I am worthy to humble myself at the feet of 
the holy image." "But this is not the time for confession," said the monk, 
his manner softening; "where are you going to spend the night? We have 
no hospice... it would have been better to have come in the morning."
I gave him the reasons which had prevented me from doing so and, 
without replying, Clement went to report to the superior. Several 
minutes later the church was opened, Don Severino himself approached 
me, and invited me to enter the temple with him. Dom Severino, of 
whom it would be best to give you an idea at once, was, as I had been 
told, a man of fifty-five, but endowed with handsome features, a still 
youthful quality, a vigorous physique, herculean limbs, and all that 
without harshness; a certain elegance and pliancy reigned over the whole 
and suggested that in his young years he must have possessed all the 
traits which constitute a splendid man. There were in all the world no 
finer eyes than his; nobility shone in his features, and the most genteel, 
the most courteous tone was there throughout.
An agreeable accent which colored every one of his words enabled one to 
identify his Italian origin and, I admit it, this monk's outward graces did 
much to dispel the alarm the other had caused me. "My dear girl," said 
he very graciously, "although the hour is unseasonable and though it is 
not our usage to receive so late, I will however hear your confession, and 
afterward we will confer upon the means whereby you may pass the 
night in decency; tomorrow you will be able to bow down before the 
sacred image which brings you here." We enter the church; the doors are 
closed; a lamp is lit near the confessional. Severino bids me assume my 
place, he sits down and requests me to tell him everything with complete 
confidence. I was perfectly at ease with a man who seemed so mildmannered, 
so full of gentle sympathy. I disguised nothing from him: I 
confessed all my sins; I related all my miseries; I even uncovered the 
shameful mark wherewith the barbaric Rodin had branded me. Severino 
listened to everything with keenest attention, he even had me repeat 
several details, wearing always a look of pity and of interest; but a few 
movements, a few words betrayed him nevertheless Ä alas! it was only 
afterward I pondered them thoroughly. Later, when able to reflect calmly 
upon this interview, it was impossible not to remember that the monk 
had several times permitted himself certain gestures which dramatized 
the emotion that had heavy entrance into many of the questions he put 
to me, and those inquiries not only halted complacently and lingered 
lovingly over obscene details, but had borne with noticeable insistence 
upon the following five points:
1 Whether it were really so that I were an orphan and had been born in 
Paris.
2 Whether it were a certainty I were bereft of kin and had neither 
friends, nor protection, nor, in a word, anyone to whom I could write.
3 Whether I had confided to anyone, other than to the shepherdess who 
had pointed out the monastery to me, my purpose in going there, and 
whether I had not arranged some rendezvous upon my return.
4 Whether it were certain that I had known no one since my rape, and 
whether I were fully sure the man who had abused me had done so on 
the side Nature condemns as well as on the side she permits.
5 Whether I thought I had not been followed and whether anyone, 
according to my belief, might have observed me enter the monastery.
After I had answered these questions in all modesty, with great sincerity, 
and most naively: "Very well," said the monk, rising and taking me by the 
hand, "come, my child, tomorrow I shall procure you the sweet 
satisfaction of communing at the feet of the image you have come to 
visit; let us begin by supplying your primary needs," and he led me 
toward the depths of the church.... "Why!" said I, sensing a vague 
inquietude arise in me despite myself, "what is this, Father? Why are we 
going inside?" "And where else, my charming pilgrim?" answered the 
monk, introducing me into the sacristy. "Do you really fear to spend the 
night with four saintly anchorites? Oh, we shall find the means to succor 
you, my dearest angel, and if we do not procure you very great pleasures, 
you will at least serve ours in their most extreme amplitude." These
words sent a thrill of horror through me; I burst out in a cold sweat, I fell 
to shivering; it was night, no light guided our footsteps, my terrified 
imagination raised up the specter of death brandishing its scythe over 
my head; my knees were buckling... and at this point a sudden shift 
occurred in the monk's speech. He jerked me upright and hissed: 
"Whore, pick up your feet and get along; no complaints, don't try 
resistance, not here, it would be useless." These cruel words restore my 
strength, I sense that if I falter I am doomed, I straighten myself. "O 
Heaven!" I say to the traitor, "must I then be once again my good 
sentiments' victim, must the desire to approach what is most respectable 
in Religion be once again punished as a crime..."
We continue to walk, we enter obscure byways, I know not where I am, 
where I am going. I was advancing a pace ahead of Dom Severino; his 
breathing was labored, words flowed incoherently from his lips, one 
might have thought he was drunk; now and again he stopped me, twined 
his left arm about my waist while his right hand, sliding beneath my 
skirts from the rear, wandered impudently over that unseemly part of 
ourselves which, likening us to men, is the unique object of the homages 
of those who prefer that sex for their shameful pleasures. Several times 
the libertine even dared apply his mouth to these areas' most secluded 
lair; and then we recommenced our march. A stairway appears before us; 
we climb thirty steps or forty, a door opens, brightness dazzles my eyes, 
we emerge into a charmingly appointed, magnificently illuminated 
room; there, I see three monks and four girls grouped around a table 
served by four other women, completely naked. At the spectacle I recoil, 
trembling; Severino shoves me forward over the threshold and I am in 
the room with him. "Gentlemen," says he as we enter, "allow me to 
present you with one of the veritable wonders of the world, a Lucretia 
who simultaneously carries upon her shoulder the mark stigmatizing 
girls who are of evil repute, and, in her conscience, all the candor, all the 
naivete of a virgin....
One lone violation, friends, and that six years ago; hence, practically a 
vestal... indeed, I do give her to you as such... the most beautiful, 
moreover... Oh Clement! how that cheerless countenance of yours will 
light up when you fall to work on those handsome masses... what 
elasticity, my good fellow! what rosiness!" "Ah, fuck!" cried the half
intoxicated Clement, getting to his feet and lurching toward me: "we are 
pleasantly met, and let us verify the facts." I will leave you for the briefest 
possible time in suspense about my situation, Madame, said Therese, but 
the necessity to portray these other persons in whose midst I discovered 
myself obliges me to interrupt the thread of my story. You have been 
made acquainted with Dom Severino, you suspect what may be his 
predilections; alas, in these affairs his depravation was such he had 
never tasted other pleasures Ä and what an inconsistency in Nature's 
operations was here! for with the bizarre fantasy of choosing none but 
the straiter path, this monster was outfitted with faculties so gigantic 
that even the broadest thoroughfares would still have appeared too 
narrow for him.


CHAPTER 20

As for Clement, he has been drawn for you already. To the superficies I 
have delineated, join ferocity, a disposition to sarcasm, the most 
dangerous roguishness, intemperance in every point, a mordant, satirical 
mind, a corrupt heart, the cruel tastes Rodin displayed with his young 
charges, no feelings, no delicacy, no religion, the temperament of one 
who for five years had not been in a state to procure himself other joys 
than those for which savagery gave him an appetite Ä and you have there 
the most complete characterization of this horrid man. Antonin, the 
third protagonist in these detestable orgies, was forty; small, slight of 
frame but very vigorous, as formidably organized as Severino and almost 
as wicked as Clement; an enthusiast of that colleague's pleasures, but 
giving himself over to them with a somewhat less malignant intention; 
for while Clement, when exercising this curious mania, had no objective 
but to vex, to tyrannize a woman, and could not enjoy her in any other 
way, Antonin using it with delight in all its natural purity, had recourse 
to the flagellative aspect only in order to give additional fire and further 
energy to her whom he was honoring with his favors. In a word, one was 
brutal by taste, the other by refinement. Jerome, the eldest of the four 
recluses, was also the most debauched; every taste, every passion, every 
one of the most bestial irregularities were combined in this monk's soul; 
to the caprices rampant in the others, he joined that of loving to receive 
what his comrades distributed amongst the girls, and if he gave (which 
frequently happened), it was always upon condition of being treated 
likewise in his turn: all the temples of Venus were, what was more, as 
one to him, but his powers were beginning to decline and for several 
years he had preferred that which, requiring no effort of the agent, left to 
the patient the task of arousing the sensations and of producing the 
ecstasy.
The mouth was his favorite temple, the shrine where he liked best to 
offer, and while he was in the pursuit of those choice pleasures, he would 
keep a second woman active: she warmed him with the lash. This man's 
character was quite as cunning, quite as wicked as that of the others; in 
whatever shape or aspect vice could exhibit itself, certain it was 
immediately to find a spectator in this infernal household. You will 
understand it more easily, Madame, if I explain how the society was 
organized. Prodigious funds had been poured by the Order into this 
obscene institution, it had been in existence for above a century, and had 
always been inhabited by the four richest monks, the most powerful in 
the Order's hierarchy, they of the highest birth and of a libertinage of 
sufficient moment to require burial in this obscure retreat, the disclosure 
of whose secret was well provided against as my further explanations will 
cause you to see in the sequel; but let us return to the portraits.
The eight girls who were present at the supper were so much separated 
by age I cannot describe them collectively, but only one by one; that they 
were so unlike with respect to their years astonished me I will speak first 
of the youngest and continue in order. This youngest one of the girls was 
scarcely ten: pretty but irregular features, a look of humiliation because 
of her fate, an air of sorrow and trepidation. The second was fifteen: the 
same trouble written over her countenance, a quality of modesty 
degraded, but a bewitching face, of considerable interest all in all. The 
third was twenty: pretty as a picture, the loveliest blond hair; fine, 
regular, gentle features; she appeared less restive, more broken to the 
saddle. The fourth was thirty: she was one of the most beautiful women 
imaginable; candor, quality, decency in her bearing, and all a gentle 
spirit's virtues. The fifth was a girl of thirty-six, six months pregnant; 
dark- haired, very lively, with beautiful eyes, but having, so it seemed to 
me, lost all remorse, all decency, all restraint. The sixth was of the same 
age: a tall creature of grandiose proportions, a true giantess, fair of face 
but whose figure was already ruined in excess flesh; when I first saw her 
she was naked, and I was readily able to notice that not one part of her 
body was unstamped by signs of the brutality of those villains whose 
pleasures her unlucky star had fated her to serve.
The seventh and eighth were two very lovely women of about forty. Let 
us continue with the story of my arrival in this impure place. I did tell 
you that no sooner had I entered than each one approached me: Clement 
was the most brazen, his foul lips were soon glued to my mouth; I 
twisted away in horror, but I was advised all resistance was pure 
affectation, pretense, and useless; I should do best by imitating my 
companions. "You may without difficulty imagine," declared Dom 
Severino, "that a recalcitrant attitude will be to no purpose in this 
inaccessible retreat. You have, you say, undergone much suffering; but 
that greatest of all woes a virtuous girl can know is yet missing from the 
catalogue of your troubles. Is it not high time that lofty pride be 
humbled? and may one still expect to be nearly a virgin at twenty- two? 
You see about you companions who, upon entering here, like yourself 
thought to resist and who, as prudence will bid you to do, ended by 
submitting when they noticed that stubbornness could lead them to 
incur penalties; for I might just as well declare to you, Therese," the 
superior continued, showing me scourges, ferules, withes, cords, and a 
thousand other instruments of torture, "yes, you might just as well know 
it: there you see what we use upon unmanageable girls; decide whether 
you wish to be convinced. What do you expect to find here? Mercy? we 
know it not; humaneness? our sole pleasure is the violation of its laws. 
Religion? 'tis as naught to us, our contempt for it grows the better 
acquainted with it we become; allies... kin... friends... judges? there's 
none of that in this place, dear girl, you will discover nothing but cruelty, 
egoism, and the most sustained debauchery and impiety. The completest 
submissiveness is your lot, and that is all; cast a glance about the 
impenetrable asylum which shelters you: never has an outsider invaded 
these premises: the monastery could be taken, searched, sacked, and 
burned, and this retreat would still be perfectly safe from discovery: we 
are in an isolated outbuilding, as good as buried within the six walls of 
incredible thickness surrounding us entirely, and here you are, my child, 
in the midst of four libertines who surely have no inclination to spare 
you and whom your entreaties, your tears, your speeches, your 
genuflections, and your outcries will only further inflame.
To whom then will you have recourse? to what? Will it be to that God you 
have just implored with such earnestness and who, by way of reward for 
your fervor, only precipitates you into further snares, each more fatal 
than the last? to that illusory God we ourselves outrage all day long by 
insulting his vain commandments?...
And so, Therese, you conceive that there is no power, of whatever species 
you may suppose, which could possibly deliver you out of our hands, and 
there is neither in the category of things real nor in that of miracles, any 
sort of means which might permit you successfully to retain this virtue 
you yet glory in; which might, in fine, prevent you from becoming, in 
every sense and in every manner, the prey of the libidinous excesses to 
which we, all four of us, are going to abandon ourselves with you... 
Therefore, little slut, off with your clothes, offer your body to our lusts, 
let it be soiled by them instantly or the severest treatment will prove to 
you what risks a wretch like yourself runs by disobeying us." This 
harangue... this terrible order, I felt, left me no shifts, but would I not 
have been guilty had I failed to employ the means my heart prompted in 
me? my situation left me this last resource: I fall at Dom Severino's feet, 
I employ all a despairing soul's eloquence to supplicate him not to take 
advantage of my state or abuse it; the bitterest tears spring from my eyes 
and inundate his knees, all I Imagine to be of the strongest, all I believe 
the most pathetic, I try everything with this man....
Great God! what was the use? could I have not known that tears merely 
enhance the object of a libertine's coveting? how was I able to doubt that 
everything I attempted in my efforts to sway those savages had the 
unique effect of arousing them.... "Take the bitch," said Severino in a 
rage, "seize her, Clement, let her be naked in a minute, and let her learn 
that it is not in persons like ourselves that compassion stifles Nature." 
My resistance had animated Clement, he was foaming at the mouth: he 
took hold of me, his arm shook nervously; interspersing his actions with 
appalling blasphemies, he had my clothing torn away in a trice. "A lovely 
creature," came from the superior, who ran his fingers over my flanks, 
"may God blast me if I've ever seen one better made; friends," the monk 
pursued, "let's put order into our procedures; you know our formula for 
welcoming newcomers: she might be exposed to the entire ceremony, 
don't you think? Let's omit nothing; and let's have the eight other women 
stand around us to supply our wants and to excite them." A circle is 
formed immediately, I am placed in its center and there, for more than 
two hours, I am inspected, considered, handled by those four monks, 
who, one after the other, pronounce either encomiums or criticisms. You 
will permit me, Madame, our lovely prisoner said with a blush, to 
conceal a part of the obscene details of this odious ritual; allow your 
imagination to figure all that debauch can dictate to villains in such 
instances; allow it to see them move to and fro between my companions 
and me, comparing, confronting, contrasting, airing opinions, and 
indeed it still will not have but a faint idea of what was done in those 
initial orgies, very mild, to be sure, when matched against all the horrors 
I was soon to experience.
"Let's to it," says Severino, whose prodigiously exalted desires will brook 
no further restraint and who in this dreadful state gives the impression 
of a tiger about to devour its prey, "let each of us advance to take his 
favorite pleasure." And placing me upon a couch in the posture expected 
by his execrable projects and causing me to be held by two of his monks, 
the infamous man attempts to satisfy himself in that criminal and 
perverse fashion which makes us to resemble none but the sex we do not 
possess while degrading the one we have; but either the shameless 
creature is too strongly proportioned, or Nature revolts in me at the 
mere suspicion of these pleasures; Severino cannot overcome the 
obstacles; he presents himself, and he is repulsed immediately.... He 
spreads, he presses, thrusts, tears, all his efforts are in vain; in his fury 
the monster lashes out against the altar at which he cannot speak his 
prayers; he strikes it, he pinches it, he bites it; these brutalities are 
succeeded by renewed challenges; the chastened flesh yields, the gate 
cedes, the ram bursts through; terrible screams rise from my throat; the 
entire mass is swifty engulfed, and darting its venom the next moment, 
robbed then of its strength, the snake gives ground before the 
movements I make to expel it, and Severino weeps with rage.
Never in my life have I suffered so much. Clement steps forward; he is 
armed with a cat-o'-nine-tails; his perfidious designs glitter in his eyes. 
"'Tis I," says he to Severino, "'tis I who shall avenge you, Father, I shall 
correct this silly drab for having resisted your pleasures." He has no need 
of anyone else to hold me; with one arm he enlaces me and forces me, 
belly down, across his knees; what is going to serve his caprices is nicely 
discovered. At first, he tries a few blows, it seems they are merely 
intended as a prelude; soon inflamed by lust, the beast strikes with all his 
force; nothing is exempt from his ferocity; everything from the small of 
my back to the lower part of my thighs, the traitor lays cuts upon it all; 
daring to mix love with these moments of cruelty, he fastens his mouth 
to mine and wishes to inhale the sighs agony wrests from me... my tears 
flow, he laps them up, now he kisses, now he threatens, but the rain of 
blows continues; while he operates, one of the women excites him; 
kneeling before him, she works with each hand at diverse tasks; the 
greater her success, the more violent the strokes delivered me; I am nigh 
to being rent and nothing yet announces the end of my sufferings; he has 
exhausted every possibility, still he drives on; the end I await is to be the 
work of his delirium alone; a new cruelty stiffens him: my breasts are at 
the brute's mercy, he irritates them, uses his teeth upon them, the 
cannibal snaps, bites, this excess determines the Crisis, the incense 
escapes him.
Frightful cries, terrifying blasphemies, shouts characterize its spurtings, 
and the monk, enervated, turns me over to Jerome. "I will be no more of 
a threat to your virtue than Clement was," said this libertine as he 
caressed the blood-spattered altar at which Clement had just sacrificed, 
"but I should indeed like to kiss the furrows where the plow passed; I too 
am worthy to open them, and should like to pay them my modest 
respects; but I should like even more," went on the old satyr, inserting a 
finger where Severino had lodged himself, "I should like to have the hen 
lay, and 'twould be most agreeable to devour its egg... does one exist? 
Why, yes indeed, by God!... Oh, my dear, dear little girl! how very soft..." 
His mouth takes the place of his finger... I am told what I have to do, full 
of disgust I do it. In my situation, alas, am I permitted to refuse? The 
infamous one is delighted... he swallows, then, forcing me to kneel before 
him, he glues himself to me in this position; his ignominious passion is 
appeased in a fashion that cannot justify any complaint on my part. 
While he acts thus, the fat woman flogs him, another puts herself directly 
above his mouth and acquits herself of the same task I have just been 
obliged to execute.
"'Tis not enough," says the monster, "each one of my hands has got to 
contain... for one cannot get one's fill of these goodies." The two prettiest 
girls approach; they obey: there you have the excesses to which satiety 
has led Jerome. At any rate, thanks to impurities he is happy, and at the 
end of half an hour, my mouth finally receives, with a loathing you must 
readily appreciate, this evil man's disgusting homage. Antonin appears. 
"Well," says he, "let's have a look at this so very spotless virtue; I wonder 
whether, damaged by a single assault, it is really what the girl 
maintains." His weapon is raised and trained upon me; he would 
willingly employ Clement's devices: I have told you that active 
flagellation pleases him quite as much as it does the other monk but, as 
he is in a hurry, the state in which his colleague has put me suffices him: 
he examines this state, relishes it, and leaving me in that attitude of 
which they are all so fond, he spends an instant pawing the two 
hemispheres poised at the entrance; in a fury, he rattles the temple's 
porticos, he is soon at the sanctuary; although quite as violent as 
Severino's, Antonin's assault, launched against a less narrow passage, is 
not as painful to endure; the energetic athlete seizes my haunches and, 
supplying the movements I am unable to make, he shakes me, pulls me 
to him vivaciously; one might judge by this Hercules' redoubling efforts 
that, not content to be master of the place, he wishes to reduce it to a 
shambles. Such terrible attacks, so new to me, cause me to succumb; but 
unconcerned for my pain, the cruel victor thinks of nothing but 
increasing his pleasure; everything embraces, everything conspires to his 
voluptuousness; facing him, raised upon my flanks, the fifteen year-old 
girl, her legs spread open, offers his mouth the altar at which he 
sacrifices in me: leisurely, he pumps that precious natural juice whose 
emission Nature has only lately granted the young child; on her knees, 
one of the older women bends toward my vanquisher's loins, busies 
herself about them and with her impure tongue animating his desires, 
she procures them their ecstasy while, to inflame himself yet further, the 
debauchee excites a woman with either hand; there is not one of his 
senses which is not tickled, not one which does not concur in the 
perfection of his delirium; he attains it, but my unwavering horror for all 
these infamies inhibits me from sharing it....
He arrives there alone; his jets, his cries, everything proclaims it and, 
despite myself, I am flooded with the proofs of a fire I am but one of six 
to light; and thereupon I fall back upon the throne which has just been 
the scene of my immolation, no longer conscious of my existence save 
through my pain and my tears... my despair and my remorse.


CHAPTER 21

However, Dom Severino orders the women to bring me food; but far 
from being quickened by these attentions, an access of furious grief 
assails my soul. I, who located all my glory, all my felicity in my virtue, I 
who thought that, provided I remained well-behaved at all times, I could 
be consoled for all fortune's ills, I cannot bear the horrible idea of seeing 
myself so cruelly sullied by those from whom I should have been able to 
expect the greatest comfort and aid: my tears flowed in abundance, my 
cries made the vault ring; I rolled upon the floor, I lacerated my breast, 
tore my hair, invoked my butchers, begged them to bestow death upon 
me... and, Madame, would you believe it? this terrible sight excited them 
all the more. "Ah!" said Severino, "I've never enjoyed a finer spectacle: 
behold, good friends, see the state it puts me in; it is really unbelievable, 
what feminine anguish obtains from me." "Let's go back to work," quoth 
Clement, "and in order to teach her to bellow at fate, let the bitch be 
more sharply handled in this second assault."
The project is no sooner conceived than put into execution; up steps 
Severino, but his speeches notwithstanding, his desires require a further 
degree of irritation and it is only after having used Clement's cruel 
measures that he succeeds in marshaling the forces necessary to 
accomplish his newest crime. Great God! What excess of ferocity! Could 
it be that those monsters would carry it to the point of selecting the 
instant of a crisis of moral agony as violent as that I was undergoing, in 
order to submit me to so barbarous a physical one! "'Twould be an 
injustice to this novice," said Clement, "were we not to employ in its 
major form what served us so well in its merely episodic dimension," and 
thereupon he began to act, adding: "My word upon it, I will treat her no 
better than did you." "One instant." said Antonin to the superior whom 
he saw about to lay hands upon me again; "while your zeal is exhaled 
into this pretty maiden's posterior parts, I might, it seems to me, make 
an offering to the contrary God; we will have her between us two."
The position was so arranged I could still provide Jerome with a mouth; 
Clement fitted himself between my hands, I was constrained to arouse 
him; all the priestesses surrounded this frightful group; each lent an 
actor what she knew was apt to stir him most profoundly; however, it 
was I supported them all, the entire weight bore down upon me alone; 
Severino gives the signal, the other three follow close after him and there 
I am a second time infamously defiled by the proofs of those 
blackguards' disgusting luxury. "Well," cries the superior, "that should be 
adequate for the first day; we must now have her remark that her 
comrades are no better treated than she." I am placed upon an elevated 
armchair and from there I am compelled to witness those other horrors 
which are to terminate the orgies. The monks stand in queue; all the 
sisters file before them and receive whiplashes from each; next, they are 
obliged to excite their torturers with their mouths while the latter 
torment and shower invectives upon them.
The youngest, she of ten, is placed upon a divan and each monk steps 
forward to expose her to the torture of his choice; near her is the girl of 
fifteen; it is with her each monk, after having meted out punishment, 
takes his pleasure; she is the butt; the eldest woman is obliged to stay in 
close attendance upon the monk presently performing, in order to be of 
service to him either in this operation or in the act which concludes it. 
Severino uses only his hands to molest what is offered him and speeds to 
engulf himself in the sanctuary of his whole delight and which she whom 
they have posted nearby presents to him; armed with a handful of 
nettles, the eldest woman retaliates upon him for what he has a moment 
ago done to the child; 'tis in the depths of painful titillations the 
libertine's transports are born.... Consult him; will he confess to cruelty? 
But he has done nothing he does not endure in his turn.
Clement lightly pinches the little girl's flesh; the enjoyment offered 
within is beyond his capabilities, but he is treated as he has dealt with 
the girl, and at the feet of the idol he leaves the incense he lacks the 
strength to fling into its sanctuary. Antonin entertains himself by 
kneading the fleshier parts of the victim's body; fired by her convulsive 
struggling, he precipitates himself into the district offered to his chosen 
pleasures. In his turn he is mauled, beaten, and ecstasy is the fruit of his 
torments. Old Jerome employs his teeth only, but each bite leaves a 
wound whence blood leaps instantly forth; after receiving a dozen, the 
target tenders him her open mouth; therein his fury is appeased while he 
is himself bitten quite as severely as he did bite. The saintly fathers drink 
and recover their strength.
The thirty-six-year-old woman, six months pregnant, as I have told you, 
is perched upon a pedestal eight feet high; unable to pose but one leg, 
she is obliged to keep the other in the air; round about her, on the floor, 
are mattresses garnished three feet deep with thorns, splines, holly; a 
flexible rod is given to her that she may keep herself erect; it is easy to 
see, on the one hand, that it is to her interest not to tumble, and on the 
other, that she cannot possibly retain her balance; the alternatives divert 
the monks; all four of them cluster around her, during the spectacle each 
has one or two women to excite him in divers manners; great with child 
as she is, the luckless creature remains in this attitude for nearly a 
quarter of an hour; at last, strength deserts her, she falls upon the 
thorns, and our villains, wild with lust, one last time step forward to 
lavish upon her body their ferocity's abominable homage... the company 
retires.
The superior put me into the keeping of the thirty-year-old girl of whom 
I made mention; her name was Omphale; she was charged to instruct 
me, to settle me in my new domicile. But that night I neither saw nor 
heard anything. Annihilated, desperate, I thought of nothing but to 
capture a little rest. In the room where I had been installed I noticed 
other women who had not been at the supper; I postponed consideration 
of these new objects until the following day, and occupied myself with 
naught else but repose. Omphale left me to myself; she went to put 
herself to bed; scarcely had I stepped into mine when the full horror of 
my circumstances presented itself to me in yet more lively colors: I could 
not dispel the thought of the execrations I had suffered, nor of those to 
which I had been a witness. Alas! if at certain times those pleasures had 
occurred to my wandering imagination, I had thought them chaste, as is 
the God Who inspires them, given by Nature in order to comfort human 
beings; I had fancied them the product of love and delicacy. I had been 
very far from believing that man, after the example of savage beasts, 
could only relish them by causing his companion to shudder... then, 
returning to my own black fate...
"O Just Heaven," I said to myself, "it is then absolutely certain that no 
virtuous act will emanate from my heart without being answered at once 
by an agonizing echo! And of what evil was I guilty, Great God! in 
desiring to come to accomplish some religious duties in this monastery? 
Do I offend Heaven by wanting to pray? Incomprehensible decrees of 
Providence, deign," I continued, "deign to open wide my eyes, cause me 
to see if you do not wish me to rebel against you!" Bitterest tears 
followed these musings, and I was still inundated with them when 
daylight appeared; then Omphale approached my bed. "Dear 
companion," she said, "I come to exhort you to be courageous; I too wept 
during my first days, but now the thing has become a habit; as have I, 
you will become accustomed to it all; the beginnings are terrible: it is not 
simply the necessity to sate these debauchees' hungers which is our life's 
torture, it is the loss of our freedom, it is the cruel manner in which we 
are handled in this terrible house."
The wretched take comfort in seeing other sufferers about them. 
However trenchant were my anguishes, they were assuaged for an 
instant; I begged my companion to inform me of the ills I had to expect. 
"In a moment," my instructress said, "but first get up and let me show 
you about our retreat, observe your new companions; then we'll hold our 
conversation." Following Omphale's suggestion, I began by examining 
the chamber we were in. It was an exceedingly large chamber, containing 
eight little beds covered with clean calico spreads; by each bed was a 
partitioned dressing room; but all the windows which lit both these 
closets and the room itself were raised five feet above the floor and 
barred inside and out. In the middle of the room was a large table, 
secured to the floor, and it was intended for eating or work; three doors 
bound and braced with iron closed the room; on our side no fittings or 
keyholes were to be seen; on the other, enormous bolts. "And this is our 
prison?" "Alas! yes, my dear," Omphale replied; "such is our unique 
dwelling place; not far from here, the eight other girls have a similar 
room, and we never communicate with each other save when the monks 
are pleased to assemble us all at one time." I peered into the alcove 
destined for me; it was eight feet square, daylight entered it, as in the 
great room, by a very high window fitted all over with iron. The only 
furniture was a bidet, a lavatory basin and a chaise perce'e. I re-emerged; 
my companions, eager to see me, gathered round in a circle: they were 
seven, I made the eighth. Omphale, inhabiting the other room, was only 
in this to indoctrinate me; were I to wish it, she would remain with me, 
and one of the others would take her place in her own chamber; I asked 
to have the arrangement made.
But before coming to Omphale's story, it seems to me essential to 
describe the seven new companions fate had given me; I will proceed 
according to age, as I did with the others. The youngest was twelve years 
old: a very animated, very spirited physiognomy, the loveliest hair, the 
prettiest mouth. The second was sixteen: she was one of the most 
beautiful blondes imaginable, with truly delicious features and all the 
grace, all the sweetness of her age, mingled with a certain interesting 
quality, the product of her sadness, which rendered her yet a thousand 
times more beautiful. The third was twenty-three; very pretty, but an 
excessive effrontery, too much impudence degraded, so I thought, the 
charms Nature had endowed her with. The fourth was twenty-six: she 
had the figure of Venus; but perhaps her forms were rather too 
pronounced; a dazzling fair skin; a sweet, open, laughing countenance, 
beautiful eyes, a mouth a trifle large but admirably furnished, and 
superb blond hair.
The fifth was thirty-two; she was four months pregnant; with an oval, 
somewhat melancholic face, large soulful eyes; she was very pale, her 
health was delicate, she had a harmonious voice but the rest seemed 
somehow spoiled. She was naturally libertine: she was, I was told, 
exhausting herself. The sixth was thirty-three; a tall strapping woman, 
the loveliest face in the world, the loveliest flesh. The seventh was 
thirtyeight; a true model of figure and beauty: she was the superintendent of 
my room; Omphale forewarned me of her malicious temper and, 
principally, of her taste for women. "To yield is the best way of pleasing 
her," my companion told me; "resist her, and you will bring down upon 
your head every misfortune that can befall you in this house. Bear it in 
mind." Omphale asked permission of Ursule, which was the 
superintendent's name, to instruct me; Ursule consented upon condition 
I kiss her. I approached: her impure tongue sought to attach itself to 
mine, and meanwhile her fingers labored to determine sensations she 
was far indeed from obtaining. However, I had to lend myself to 
everything, my own feelings notwithstanding, and when she believed she 
had triumphed, she sent me back to my closet where Omphale spoke to 
me in the following manner: "All the women you saw yesterday, my dear 
Therese, and those you have just seen, are divided into four classes, each 
containing four girls; the first is called the children's class: it includes 
girls ranging from the most tender age to those of sixteen; a white 
costume distinguishes them. "The second class, whose color is green, is 
called the youthful class; it contains girls of from sixteen to twenty-one.
"The third is the class of the age of reason; its vestments are blue; its 
ages are from twentyone to thirty, and both you and I belong to it. "The 
fourth class, dressed in reddish brown, is intended for those of mature 
years; it is composed of anyone over thirty. "These girls are either 
indiscriminately mingled at the Reverend Fathers' suppers, or they 
appear there by class: it all depends upon the whims of the monks but, 
when not at the meals, they are mixed in the two dormitories, as you are 
able to judge by those who are lodged in ours. "The instruction I have to 
give you," said Omphale, "divides under the headings of four primary 
articles; in the first, we will treat of what pertains to the house; in the 
second we will place what regards the behavior of the girls, their 
punishment, their feeding habits, etc., etc., etc.; the third article will 
inform you of the arrangement of these monks' pleasures, of the manner 
in which the girls serve them; the fourth will contain observations on 
personnel changes. "I will not, Therese, describe the environs of this 
frightful house, for you are as familiar with them as I; I will only discuss 
the interior; they have shown it all to me so that I can give a picture of it 
to newcomers, whose education is one of my chores, and in whom, by 
means of this account, I am expected to dash all hope of escape. 
Yesterday Severino explained some of its features and he did not deceive 
you, my dear.
The church and the pavilion form what is properly called the monastery; 
but you do not know where the building we inhabit is situated and how 
one gets here; 'tis thus: in the depths of the sacristy, behind the altar, is a 
door hidden in the wainscoting and opened by a spring; this door is the 
entrance to a narrow passage, quite as dark as it is long, whose windings 
your terror, upon entering, prevented you from noticing; the tunnel 
descends at first, because it must pass beneath a moat thirty feet deep, 
then it mounts after the moat and, leveling out, continues at a depth of 
no more than six feet beneath the surface; thus it arrives at the 
basements of our pavilion having traversed the quarter of a league from 
the church; six thick enclosures rise to baffle all attempts to see this 
building from the outside, even were one to climb into the church's 
tower; the reason for this invisibility is simple: the pavilion hugs the 
ground, its height does not attain twenty-five feet, and the compounded 
enclosures, some stone walls, others living palisades formed by trees 
growing in strait proximity to each other, are, all of them, at least fifty 
feet high: from whatever direction the place is observed it can only be 
taken for a dense clump of trees in the forest, never for a habitation; it is, 
hence, as I have said, by means of a trap door opening into the cellars 
one emerges from the obscure corridor of which I gave you some idea 
and of which you cannot possibly have any recollection in view of the 
state you must have been while walking through it. This pavilion, my 
dear, has, in all, nothing but basements, a ground floor, an entresol, and 
a first floor; above it there is a very thick roof covered with a large tray, 
lined with lead, filled with earth, and in which are planted evergreen 
shrubberies which, blending with the screens surrounding us, give to 
everything a yet more realistic look of solidity; the basements form a 
large hall in the middle, around it are distributed eight smaller rooms of 
which two serve as dungeons for girls who have merited incarceration, 
and the other six are reserved for provisions; above are located the 
dining room, the kitchens, pantries, and two cabinets the monks enter 
when they wish to isolate their pleasures and taste them with us out of 
their colleagues' sight; the intervening story is composed of eight 
chambers, whereof four have each a closet: these are the cells where the 
monks sleep and introduce us when their lubricity destines us to share 
their beds; the four other rooms are those of the serving friars, one of 
whom is our jailer, another the monks' valet, a third the doctor, who has 
in his cell all he needs for emergencies, and the fourth is the cook; these 
four friars are deaf and dumb; it would be difficult to expect, as you 
observe, any comfort or aid from them; furthermore, they never pass 
time in our company and it is forbidden to accost or attempt to 
communicate with them.
Above the entresol are two seraglios; they are identical; as you see, each 
is a large chamber edged by eight cubicles; thus, you understand, dear 
girl, that, supposing one were to break through the bars in the casement 
and descend by the window, one would still be far from being able to 
escape, since there would remain five palisades, a stout wall, and a broad 
moat to get past: and were one even to overcome these obstacles, where 
would one be? In the monastery's courtyard which, itself securely shut, 
would not afford, at the first moment, a very safe egress.
A perhaps less perilous means of escape would be, I admit, to find, 
somewhere in our basements, the opening to the tunnel that leads out; 
but how are we to explore these underground cellars, perpetually locked 
up as we are? were one even to be able to get down there, this opening 
would still not be found, for it enters the building in some hidden corner 
unknown to us and itself barricaded by grills to which they alone have 
the key. However, were all these difficulties vanquished, were one in the 
corridor, the route would still not be any the more certain for us, for it is 
strewn with traps with which only they are familiar and into which 
anyone who sought to traverse the passageways would inevitably fall 
without the guidance of the monks. And so you must renounce all 
thought of escape, for it is out of the question, Therese; believe me, were 
it thinkable, I should long have fled this detestable place, but that cannot 
be. They who come here never leave save upon their death; and thence is 
born this impudence, this cruelty, this tyranny these villains use with us; 
nothing inflames them, nothing stimulates their imagination like the 
impunity guaranteed them by this impregnable retreat; certain never to 
have other witnesses to their excesses than the very victims they feast 
upon, sure indeed their perversities will never be revealed, they carry 
them to the most abhorrent extremes; delivered of the law's restraints, 
having burst the checks Religion imposes, unconscious of those of 
remorse, there is no atrocity in which they do not indulge themselves, 
and by this criminal apathy their abominable passions are so much more 
agreeably pricked that nothing, they say, incenses them like solitude and 
silence, like helplessness on one hand and impunity on the other.
The monks regularly sleep every night in this pavilion, they return here 
at five in the afternoon and go to the monastery the following morning at 
nine, except for one of the four, chosen daily, who spends the day here: 
he is known as the Officer of the Day. We will soon see what his duties 
are. As for the four subaltern friars, they never budge from here; in each 
chamber we have a bell which communicates with the jailer's cell; the 
superintendent alone has the right to ring for him but, when she does so 
in time of her need or ours, everyone comes running instantly; when 
they return each day, the fathers themselves bring the necessary victuals 
and give them to the cook, who prepares our meals in accordance with 
their instructions; there is an artesian well in the basements, abundant 
wines of every variety in the cellars. We pass on to the second article 
which relates to the girls' manners, bearing, nourishment, punishment, 
etc. 


CHAPTER 22

"Our number is always maintained constant; affairs are so managed that 
we are always sixteen, eight in either chamber, and, as you observe, 
always in the uniform of our particular class; before the day is over you 
will be given the habit appropriate to the one you are entering; during 
the day we wear a light costume of the color which belongs to us; in the 
evening, we wear gowns of the same color and dress our hair with all 
possible elegance.
The superintendent of the chamber has complete authority over us, 
disobedience to her is a crime; her duty is to inspect us before we go to 
the orgies and if things are not in the desired state she is punished as 
well as we. The errors we may commit are of several kinds. Each has its 
particular punishment, and the rules, together with the list of what is to 
be expected when they are broken, are displayed in each chamber; the 
Officer of the Day, the person who comes, as I explained a moment ago, 
to give us orders, to designate the girls for the supper, to visit our living 
quarters, and to hear the superintendents' complaints, this monk, I say, 
is the one who, each evening, metes out punishment to whoever has 
merited it: here are the crimes together with the punishments exacted 
for them.
"Failure to rise in the morning at the prescribed hour, thirty strokes with 
the whip (for it is almost always with whipping we are punished; it were 
perfectly to be expected that an episode in these libertines' pleasures 
would have become their preferred mode of correction). The 
presentation during the pleasurable act, either through 
misunderstanding or for whatsoever may be the reason, of one part of 
the body instead of some other which was desired, fifty strokes; 
improper dress or an unsuitable coiffure, twenty strokes; failure to have 
given prior notice of incapacitation due to menstruation, sixty strokes; 
upon the day the surgeon confirms the existence of a pregnancy, one 
hundred strokes are administered; negligence, incompetence, or refusal 
in connection with luxurious proposals, two hundred strokes.
And how often their infernal wickedness finds us wanting on that head, 
without our having made the least mistake! How frequently it happens 
that one of them will suddenly demand what he very well knows we have 
just accorded another and cannot immediately do again! One undergoes 
the punishment nonetheless; our remonstrances, our pleadings are never 
heeded; one must either comply or suffer the consequences. Imperfect 
behavior in the chamber, or disobedience shown the superintendent, 
sixty strokes; the appearance of tears, chagrin, sorrow, remorse, even the 
look of the slightest return to Religion, two hundred strokes. If a monk 
selects you as his partner when he wishes to taste the last crisis of 
pleasure and if he is unable to achieve it, whether the fault be his, which 
is most common, or whether it be yours, upon the spot, three hundred 
strokes; the least hint of revulsion at the monks' propositions, of 
whatever nature these propositions may be, two hundred strokes; an 
attempted or concerted escape or revolt, nine days' confinement in a 
dungeon, entirely naked, and three hundred lashes each day; caballing, 
the instigation of plots, the sowing of unrest, etc., immediately upon 
discovery, three hundred strokes; projected suicide, refusal to eat the 
stipulated food or the proper quantity, two hundred strokes; disrespect 
shown toward the monks, one hundred eighty strokes.
Those only are crimes; beyond what is mentioned there, we can do 
whatever we please, sleep together, quarrel, fight, carry drunkenness, 
riot and gourmandizing to their furthest extremes, swear, blaspheme: 
none of that makes the faintest difference, we may commit those faults 
and never a word will be said to us; we are rated for none but those I 
have just mentioned. But if they wish, the superintendents can spare us 
many of these unpleasantnesses; however, this protection, unfortunately, 
can be purchased only by complacencies frequently more disagreeable 
than the sufferings for which they are substitutes; these women, in both 
chambers, have the same taste, and it is only by according them one's 
favors that one enters into their good graces. Spurn one of them, and she 
needs no additional motive to exaggerate her report of your misdeeds, 
the monks the superintendents serve double their powers, and far from 
reprimanding them for their injustice, unceasingly encourage it in them; 
they are themselves bound by all those regulations and are the more 
severely chastised if they are suspected of leniency: not that the 
libertines need all that in order to vent their fury upon us, but they 
welcome excuses; the look of legitimacy that may be given to a piece of 
viciousness renders it more agreeable in their eyes, adds to its piquancy, 
its charm. Upon arriving here each of us is provided with a little store of 
linen; we are given everything by the half-dozen, and our supplies are 
renewed every year, but we are obliged to surrender what we bring here 
with us; we are not permitted to keep the least thing.
The complaints of the four friars I spoke of are heard just as are the 
superintendents'; their mere delation is sufficient to procure our 
punishment; but they at least ask nothing from us and there is less to be 
feared from that quarter than from the superintendents who, when 
vengeance informs their maneuvers, are very demanding and very 
dangerous. Our food is excellent and always copious; were it not that 
their lust derives benefits thence, this article might not be so satisfactory, 
but as their filthy debauches profit thereby, they spare themselves no 
pains to stuff us with food: those who have a bent for flogging seek to 
fatten us, and those, as Jerome phrased it yesterday, who like to see the 
hen lay, are assured by means of abundant feeding, of a greater yield of 
eggs.
Consequently, we eat four times a day; at breakfast, between nine and 
ten o'clock we are regularly given volaille au riz, fresh fruit or compotes, 
tea, coffee, or chocolate; at one o'clock, dinner is served; each table of 
eight is served alike; a very good soup, four entrees, a roast of some kind, 
four second courses, dessert in every season. At fivethirty an afternoon 
lunch of pastries and fruit arrives. There can be no doubt of the evening 
meal's excellence if it is taken with the monks; when we do not join them 
at table, as often happens, since but four of us from each chamber are 
allowed to go, we are given three roast plates and four entremets; each of 
us has a daily ration of one bottle of white wine, one of red, and an half
bottle of brandy; they who do not drink that much are at liberty to 
distribute their quota to the others; among us are some great gourmands 
who drink astonishing amounts, who get regularly drunk, all of which 
they do without fear of reprimand; and there are, as well, some for whom 
these four meals still do not suffice; they have but to ring, and what they 
ask for will be brought them at once.
"The superintendents require that the food be consumed, and if someone 
persists in not wishing to eat, for whatever reason, upon the third 
infraction that person will be severely punished; the monks' supper is 
composed of three roast dishes, six entrees followed by a cold plate and 
eight entremets, fruit, three kinds of wine, coffee and liqueurs: 
sometimes all eight of us are at table with them, sometimes they oblige 
four of us to wait upon them, and these four dine afterward; it also 
happens from time to time that they take only four girls for supper; they 
are, ordinarily, an entire class; when our number is eight, there are 
always two from each class. I need hardly tell you that no one ever visits 
us; under no circumstances is any outsider ever admitted into this 
pavilion.
If we fall ill, we are entrusted to the surgeon friar only, and if we die, we 
leave this world without any religious ministrations; our bodies are flung 
into one of the spaces between the circumvallations, and that's an end to 
it; but, and the cruelty is signal, if the sick one's condition becomes too 
grave or if there is fear of contagion, they do not wait until we are dead to 
dispose of us; though still alive, we are carried out and dropped in the 
place I mentioned; During the eighteen years I have been here I have 
seen more than ten instances of this unexampled ferocity; concerning 
which they declare it is better to lose one than endanger sixteen; the loss 
of a girl, they continue, is of very modest import, and it may be so easily 
repaired there is scant cause to regret it.
Let us move on to the arrangements concerning the monks' pleasures 
and to all of what pertains to the subject. "We rise at exactly nine every 
morning, and in every season; we retire at a later or an earlier hour, 
depending upon the monks' supper. Immediately we are up, the Officer 
of the Day comes on his rounds; he seats himself in a large armchair and 
each of us is obliged to advance, stand before him with our skirts raised 
upon the side he prefers; he touches, he kisses, he examines, and when 
everyone has carried out this duty, he identifies those who are to 
participate at the evening's exercises: he prescribes the state in which 
they must be, he listens to the superintendent's report, and the 
punishments are imposed. Rarely does the officer leave without a 
luxurious scene in which all eight usually find roles. The superintendent 
directs these libidinous activities, and the most entire submission on our 
part reigns during them. Before breakfast it often occurs that one of the 
Reverend Fathers has one of us called from bed; the jailer friar brings a 
card bearing the name of the person desired, the Officer of the Day sees 
to it she is sent, not even he has the right to withhold her, she leaves and 
returns when dismissed. This first ceremony concluded, we breakfast; 
from this moment till evening we have no more to do; but at seven 
o'clock in summer, at six in winter, they come for those who have been 
designated; the jailer friar himself escorts them, and after the supper 
they who have not been retained for the night come back to the seraglio. 
Often, all return; other girls have been selected for the night, and they 
are advised several hours in advance in what costume they must make 
their appearance; sometimes only the Girls of the Watch sleep out of the 
chamber." "Girls of the Watch?" I interrupted.
"What function this?" "I will tell you," my historian replied. "Upon the 
first day of every month each monk adopts a girl who must serve a term 
as his servant and as the target of his shameful desires; only the 
superintendents are exempted, for they have the task of governing their 
chambers. The monks can neither exchange girls during the month, nor 
make them serve two months in succession; there is nothing more cruel, 
more taxing than this drudgery, and I have no idea how you will bear up 
under it. When five o'clock strikes, the Girl of the Watch promptly 
descends to the monk she serves and does not leave his side until the 
next day, at the hour he sets off for the monastery.
She rejoins him when he comes back; she employs these few hours to eat 
and rest, for she must remain awake all night throughout the whole of 
the term she spends with her master; I repeat to you, the wretch remains 
constantly on hand to serve as the object of every caprice which may 
enter the libertine's head; cuffs, slaps, beatings, whippings, hard 
language, amusements, she has got to endure all of it; she must remain 
standing all night long in her patron'.c bedroom, at any instant ready to 
offer herself to the passions which may stir that tyrant; but the cruelest, 
the most ignominious aspect of this servitude is the terrible obligation 
she is under to provide her mouth or her breast for the relief of the one 
and the other of the monster's needs: he never uses any other vase: she 
has got to be the willing recipient of everything and the least hesitation 
or recalcitrance is straightway punished by the most savage reprisals.
During all the scenes of lust these are the girls who guarantee pleasure's 
success, who guide and manage the monks' joys, who tidy up whoever 
has become covered with filth: for example, a monk dirties himself while 
enjoying a woman: it is his aide's duty to repair the disorder; he wishes 
to be excited? the task of rousing him falls to the wretch who 
accompanies him everywhere, dresses him, undresses him, is ever at his 
elbow, who is always wrong, always at fault, always beaten; at the 
suppers her place is behind her master's chair or, like a dog, at his feet 
under the table, or upon her knees, between his thighs, exciting him with 
her mouth; sometimes she serves as his cushion, his seat, his torch; at 
other times all four of them will be grouped around the table in the most 
lecherous, but, at the same time, the most fatiguing attitudes. "If they 
lose their balance, they risk either falling upon the thorns placed near by, 
or breaking a limb, or being killed, such cases have been known; and 
meanwhile the villains make merry, enact debauches, peacefully get 
drunk upon meats, wines, lust, and upon cruelty."
"O Heaven!" said I to my companion, trembling with horror, "is it 
possible to be transported to such excesses! What infernal place is this!"
"Listen to me, Therese, listen, my child, you have not yet heard it all, not 
by any means," said Omphale. "Pregnancy, reverenced in the world, is 
the very certitude of reprobation amongst these villains; here, the 
pregnant woman is given no dispensations: brutalities, punishments, 
and watches continue; on the contrary, a gravid condition is the certain 
way to procure oneself troubles, sufferings, humiliations, sorrows; how 
often do they not by dint of blows cause abortions in them whose fruits 
they decide not to harvest, and when indeed they do allow the fruit to 
ripen, it is in order to sport with it: what I am telling you now should be 
enough to warn you to preserve yourself from this state as best you 
possibly can." "But is one able to?"
"Of course, there are certain devices, sponges... But if Antonin perceives 
what you are up to, beware of his wrath; the safest way is to smother 
whatever might be the natural impression by striving to unhinge the 
imagination, which with monsters like these is not difficult. "We have 
here as well," my instructress continued, "certain dependencies and 
alliances of which you probably know very little and of which it were well 
you had some idea; although this has more to do with the fourth article Ä 
with, that is to say, the one that treats of our recruitings, our 
retrenchments, and our exchanges Ä I am going to anticipate for a 
moment in order to insert the following details.
"You are not unaware, Therese, that the four monks composing this 
brotherhood stand at the head of their Order; all belong to distinguished 
families, all four are themselves very rich: independently of the 
considerable funds allocated by the Benedictines for the maintenance of 
this bower of bliss into which everyone hopes to enter in his turn, they 
who do arrive here contribute a large proportion of their property and 
possessions to the foundation already established. These two sources 
combined yield more than a hundred thousand crowns annually which is 
devoted solely to finding recruits and meeting the house's expenses; they 
have a dozen discreet and reliable women whose sole task is to bring 
them every month a new subject, no younger than twelve nor older than 
thirty. The conscriptee must be free of all defects and endowed with the 
greatest possible number of qualities, but principally with that of 
eminent birth.
These abductions, well paid for and always effected a great distance from 
here, bring no consequent discomfitures; I have never heard of any that 
resulted in legal action; their extreme caution protects them against 
everything. They do not absolutely confine themselves to virgins: a girl 
who has been seduced already or a married woman may prove equally 
pleasing, but a forcible abduction has got to take place, rape must be 
involved, and it must be definitely verified; this circumstance arouses 
them; they wish to be certain their crimes cost tears; they would send 
away any girl who was to come here voluntarily; had you not made a 
prodigious defense, had they not recognized a veritable fund of virtue in 
you, and, consequently, the possibility of crime, they would not have 
kept you twenty-four hours.
Everyone here, Therese, comes of a distinguished line; my dear friend, 
you see before you the only daughter of the Comte de * * *, carried off 
from Paris at the age of twelve and destined one day to have a dowry of a 
hundred thousand crowns: I was ravished from the arms of my 
governess who was taking me by carriage, unoccupied save for ourselves, 
from my father's country seat to the Abbey of Panthemont where I was 
brought up; my guardian disappeared; she was in all likelihood bought; I 
was fetched hither by post chaise. The same applies to all the others. The 
girl of twenty belongs to one of the noblest families of Poitou. The one 
sixteen years old is the daughter of the Baron de * * *, one of the greatest 
of the Lorraine squires; Counts, Dukes, and Margraves are the fathers of 
the girls of twenty-three, twelve, and thirty-two; in a word, there is not 
one who cannot claim the loftiest titles, not one who is not treated with 
the greatest ignominy. But these depraved men are not content to stop at 
these horrors; they have wished to bring dishonor into the very bosom of 
their own family. The young lady of twenty-six, without doubt one of the 
most beautiful amongst us, is Clement's daughter; she of thirty-six is the 
niece of Jerome. "As soon as a new girl has arrived in this cloaca, as soon 
as she has been sealed in here forever to become a stranger to the world, 
another is immediately retrenched: such is our sufferings' complement; 
the cruelest of our afflictions is to be in ignorance of what happens to us 
during these terrible and disquieting dismissals. It is absolutely 
impossible to say what becomes of one upon leaving this place. From all 
the evidence we in our isolation are able to assemble, it seems as if the 
girls the monks retire from service never appear again; they themselves 
warn us, they do not conceal from us that this retreat is our tomb, but do 
they assassinate us? Great Heaven!
Would murder, the most execrable of crimes, would murder be for them 
what it was for that celebrated Marechal de Retz, (See L'Historic de 
Bretagne by Dom Lobineau: Marechal de Retz: Gilles de Rais, marshal of 
Charles VII's army.ÄTr.) a species of erotic entertainment whose cruelty, 
exalting their perfidious imaginations, were able to plunge their senses 
into a more intense drunkenness! Accustomed to extracting joy from 
suffering only, to know no delectation save what is derived from 
inflicting torment and anguish, would it be possible they were distracted 
to the point of believing that by redoubling, by ameliorating the 
delirium's primary cause, one would inevitably render it more perfect; 
and that, without principles as without faith, wanting manners as they 
are lacking in virtues, the scoundrels, exploiting the miseries into which 
their earlier crimes plunged us, were able to find satisfaction in the later 
ones which snatch our lives away from us.... I don't know.... If one 
questions them upon the matter, they mumble unintelligibilities, 
sometimes responding negatively, sometimes in the affirmative; what is 
certain is that not one of those who has left, despite the promises she 
made us to denounce these men to the authorities and to strive to 
procure our liberation, not one, I say, has ever kept her word....
Once again: do they placate us, dissuade us, or do they eliminate the 
possibility of our preferring charges? What we ask those who arrive for 
news of them who have gone, they never have any to communicate. What 
becomes of these wretches? That is what torments me, Therese, that is 
the fatal incertitude which makes for the great unhappiness of our 
existence. I have been in this house for eighteen years, I have seen more 
than two hundred girls depart from it.... Where are they? All of them 
having sworn to help us, why has not one kept her vow?
"Nothing, furthermore, justifies our retirement; age, loss of looks, this is 
not what counts: caprice is their single rule. They will dismiss today the 
girl they most caressed yesterday, and for ten years they will keep 
another of whom they are the most weary: such is the story of this 
chamber's superintendent; she has been twelve years in the house, and 
to preserve her I have seen them get rid of fifteen-year-old children 
whose beauty would have rendered the very Graces jealous. She who left 
a week ago was not yet sixteen; lovely as Venus herself, they had enjoyed 
her for less than a year, but she became pregnant and, as I told you 
Therese, that is a great sin in this establishment. Last month they retired 
one of sixteen, a year ago one of twenty, eight months pregnant; and, 
recently, another when she began to feel the first pangs of childbirth. Do 
not imagine that conduct has any bearing upon the matter: I have seen 
some who flew to do their every bidding and who were gone within six 
months' time; others sullen, peevish, fantastical whom they kept a great 
number of years; hence, it is useless to prescribe any kind of behavior to 
our newly arrived; those monsters' whimsy bursts all circumscriptions, 
and caprice forms the unique law by which their actions are determined.


CHAPTER 23

"When one is going to be dismissed, one is notified the same morning, 
never earlier: as usual, the Officer of the Day makes his appearance at 
nine o'clock and says, let us suppose, ‘Omphale, the monastery is 
sending you into retirement; I will come to take you this evening.’ Then 
he continues about his business. But you do not present yourself for his 
inspection; he examines the others, then he leaves; the person about to 
be released embraces her comrades, she makes a thousand promises to 
strive in their behalf, to bring charges, to bruit abroad what transpires in 
the monastery: the hour strikes, the monk appears, the girl is led away, 
and not a word is heard of her. Supper takes place in the usual fashion; 
we have simply been able to remark that upon these days the monks 
rarely reach pleasure's ultimate episodes, one might say they proceed 
gingerly and with unwonted care. However, they drink a great deal more, 
sometimes even to inebriation; they send us to our chamber at a much 
earlier hour, they take no one to bed with them, even the Girls of the 
Watch are relegated to the seraglios."
"Very well," I say to my companion, "if no one has helped you it is 
because you have had to deal with frail, intimidated creatures, or women 
with children who dared not attempt anything for you. That they will kill 
us is not my fear; at least, I don't believe they do: that reasoning beings 
could carry crime to that point... it is unthinkable... I know that full 
well... After what I have seen and undergone I perhaps ought not defend 
mankind as I do, but, my dear, it is simply inconceivable that they can 
execute horrors the very idea of which defies the imagination. Oh dear 
companion!" I pursued with great emotion, "would you like to exchange 
that promise which for my part I swear I will fulfill!... Do you wish it?" 
"Yes." "Ah, I swear to you in the name of all I hold most holy, in the 
name of the God Who makes me to breathe and Whom only I adore... I 
vow to you I will either die in the undertaking or destroy these infamies... 
will you promise me the same?"
"Do not doubt it," Omphale replied, "but be certain of these promises' 
futility; others more embittered than you, stauncher, no less resolute and 
not so scrupulous, in a word, friends who would have shed their last drop 
of blood for us, have not kept identical vows; and so, dear Therese, and 
so allow my cruel experience to consider ours equally vain and to count 
upon them no more." "And the monks," I said, "do they also vary, do new 
ones often come here?" "No," answered Omphale, "Antonin has been 
here ten years, Clement eighteen, Jerome thirty, Severino twenty-five.
The superior was born in Italy, he is closely allied to the Pope with whom 
he is in intimate contact; only since his arrival have the so-called 
miracles of the Virgin assured the monastery's reputation and prevented 
scandalmongers from observing too closely what takes place here; but 
when he came the house was already furnished as presently you see it to 
be; it has subsisted in the same style and upon this footing for above a 
century, and all the superiors who have governed it have perpetuated a 
system which so amicably smiles upon their pleasures. Severino, the 
most libertine man of our times, has only installed himself here in order 
to lead a life consonant with his tastes.
He intends to maintain this abbey's secret privileges as long as he 
possibly can. We belong to the diocese of Auxerre, but whether or not the 
bishop is informed, we never see him, never does he set foot in the 
monastery: generally speaking, very few outsiders come here except 
toward the time of the festival which is that of Notre Dame d'Aout; 
according to the monks, ten persons do not arrive at this house over the 
period of a twelvemonth; however, it is very likely that when strangers 
do present themselves, the superior takes care to receive them with 
hospitality; by appearances of religion and austerity he imposes upon 
them, they go away content, the monastery is eulogized, and thus these 
villains' impunity is established upon the people's good faith and the 
credulity of the devout." Omphale had scarcely concluded her instruction 
when nine o'clock tolled; the superintendent called us to come quickly, 
and the Officer of the Day did indeed enter. 'Twas Antonin; according to 
custom, we drew ourselves up in a line. He cast a rapid glance upon the 
group, counted us, and sat down; then, one by one, we went forward and 
lifted our skirts, on the one side as high as the navel, on the other up to 
the middle of the back. Antonin greeted the homage with the blase 
unconcern of satiety; then, clapping an eye upon me, he asked how I 
liked this newest of my adventures.
Getting no response but tears, "She'll manage," he said with a laugh; "in 
all of France there's not a single house where girls are finished as nicely 
as they are in this." From the superintendent's hands he took the list of 
girls who had misbehaved, then, addressing himself to me again, he 
caused me to shudder; each gesture, each movement which seemed to 
oblige me to submit myself to these libertines was for me as a sentence of 
death. Antonin commanded me to sit on the edge of a bed and when I 
was in this posture he bade the superintendent uncover my breast and 
raise my skirt to above my waist; he himself spread my legs as far apart 
as possible, he seats himself before this prospect, one of my companions 
comes and takes up the same pose on top of me in such a way that it is 
the altar of generation instead of my visage which is offered to Antonin; 
with these charms raised to the level of his mouth he readies himself for 
pleasure. A third girl, kneeling before him, begins to excite him with her 
hands, and a fourth, completely naked, with her fingers indicates where 
he must strike my body.
Gradually, this girl begins to arouse me and what she does to me Antonin 
does as well, with both his hands, to two other girls on his left and right. 
One cannot imagine the language, the obscene speeches by which that 
debauchee stimulates himself; at last he is in the state he desires, he is 
led to me, but everyone follows him, moves with him, endeavors to 
inflame him yet further while he takes his pleasure; his naked hind parts 
are exposed, Omphale takes possession of them and neglects nothing in 
order to irritate him: rubbings, kisses, pollutions, she employs them all; 
completely afire, Antonin leaps toward me.... "I wish to stuff her this 
time," he says, beside himself.... These moral deviations determine the 
physical. Antonin, who has the habit of uttering terrible cries during the 
final instants of drunkenness, emits dreadful ones; everyone surrounds, 
everyone serves him, everyone labors to enrich his ecstasy, and the 
libertine attains it in the midst of the most bizarre episodes of luxury and 
depravation.
These groupings were frequent; for when a monk indulged in whatever 
form of pleasure, all the girls regularly surrounded him in order to fire all 
his parts' sensations, that voluptuousness might, if one may be forgiven 
the expression, more surely penetrate into him through every pore. 
Antonin left, breakfast was brought in; my companions forced me to eat, 
I did so to please them. We had not quite finished when the superior 
entered: seeing us still at table, he dispensed us from ceremonies which 
were to have been identical with those we had just executed for Antonin.
"We must give a thought to dressing her," said he, looking at me; and 
then he opened a wardrobe and threw upon my bed several garments of 
the color appropriate to my class, and several bundles of linen as well. 
"Try that on," he said, "and give me what belongs to you." I donned the 
new clothes and surrendered my old; but, in anticipation of having to 
give them up, I had, during the night, prudently removed my money 
from my pockets and had concealed it in my hair. With each article of 
clothing I took off, Severino's ardent stare fell upon the feature newly 
exposed, and his hands wandered to it at once. At length, when I was 
half-naked, the monk seized me, put me in the position favorable to his 
pleasure, that is to say, in the one exactly opposite to the attitude 
Antonin had made me assume; I wish to ask him to spare me, but spying 
the fury already kindled in his eyes, I decide the obedient is the safer 
way; I take my place, the others form a ring around me, Severino is able 
to see nothing but a multitude of those obscene altars in which he 
delights; his hands converge upon mine, his mouth fastens upon it, his 
eyes devour it... he is at the summit of pleasure.
With your approval, Madame, said the beautiful Therese, I shall limit 
myself to a foreshortened account of the first month I spent in that 
monastery, that is, I will confine myself to the period's principal 
anecdotes; the rest would be pure repetition; the monotony of that 
sojourn would make my recital tedious; immediately afterward, I should, 
it seems to me, move on to the events which finally produced my 
emergence from this ghastly sewer. I did not attend supper that first day; 
I had simply been selected to pass the night with Dom Clement. In 
accordance with custom, I was outside his cell some few minutes before 
he was expected to return to it; the jailer opened the door, then locked it 
when I had gone in. Clement arrives as warm with wine as lust, he is 
followed by the twenty-six year-old girl who, at the time was officiating 
as his watch; previously informed of what I am to do, I fall to my knees 
as soon as I hear him coming; he nears me, considers me in my humbled 
posture, then commands me to rise and kiss him upon the mouth; he 
savors the kiss for several moments and imparts to it all the expression... 
all the amplitude one could possibly conceive.
Meanwhile, Armande, as his thrall was named, undresses me by stages; 
when the lower part of the loins, with which she had begun, is exposed, 
she bids me turn around and display to her uncle the area his tastes 
cherish. Clement examines it, feels it, then, reposing himself in an 
armchair, orders me to bring it close so that he can kiss it; Armande is 
upon her knees, rousing him with her mouth, Clement places his at the 
sanctuary of the temple I present to him and his tongue strays into the 
path situate at its center; his hands fasten upon the corresponding altar 
in Armande but, as the clothing the girl is still wearing impedes him, he 
commands her to be rid of it, this is soon done, and the docile creature 
returns to her uncle to take up a position in which, while exciting him 
with only the hand, she finds herself better within reach of Clement's. 
The impure monk uninterruptedly occupied with me in like fashion, then 
tells me to give the largest possible vent to whatever winds may be 
hovering in my bowels, and these I am to direct into his mouth; this 
eccentricity struck me as revolting, but I was at the time far from perfect 
acquaintance with all the irregularities of debauch: I obey and 
straightway feel the effect of this intemperance.
More excited, the monk becomes more impassioned: he suddenly applies 
bites to six different places upon the fleshy globes I have put at his 
disposal; I emit a cry and start forward involuntarily, whereat he stands, 
advances toward me, rage blazing in his eyes, and demands whether I 
know what I am risking by unsettling him.... I make a thousand 
apologies, he grasps the corset still about my torso, rips it away, and my 
blouse too, in less time than it takes to tell.... Ferociously he seizes my 
breasts, spouting invectives as he squeezes, wrings, crushes them; 
Armande undresses him, and there we are, all three of us, naked. Upon 
Armande his attention comes to bear for a moment: he deals her savage 
blows with his fists; kisses her mouth; nibbles her tongue and lips, she 
screams; pain now and again sends the girl into uncontrollable gales of 
weeping; he has her stand upon a chair and extracts from her just what 
he desired from me. Armande satisfies him, with one hand I excite him, 
and, during this luxury, I whip him gently with the other, he also bites 
Armande, but she holds herself somehow in check, not daring to stir a 
hair. The monster's tooth-marks are soon printed upon the lovely girl's 
flesh; they are to be seen in a number of places; brusquely wheeling upon 
me: "Therese," he says, "you are going to suffer cruelly" Ä he had no need 
to tell me so, for his eyes declared it but too emphatically. "You are going 
to be lashed everywhere," he continues, "everywhere, without exception," 
and as he spoke he again laid hands upon my breasts and mauled them 
brutally, he bruised their extremities with his fingertips and occasioned 
me very sharp pain; I dared not say a word for fear of irritating him yet 
more, but sweat bathed my forehead and, willy-nilly, my eyes filled with 
tears; he turns me about, makes me kneel on the edge of a chair upon 
whose back I must keep my hands without removing them for a single 
instant; he promises to inflict the gravest penalties upon me if I lift them; 
seeing me ready and well within range, he orders Armande to fetch him 
some birch rods, she presents him with a handful, slender and long; 
Clement snatches them, and recommending that I not stir, he opens with 
a score of stripes upon my shoulders and the small of my back; he leaves 
me for an instant, returns to Armande, brings her back, she too is made 
to kneel upon a chair six feet from where I am; he declares he is going to 
flog us simultaneously and the first of the two to release her grip, utter a 
cry, or shed a tear will be exposed on the spot to whatever torture he is 
pleased to inflict: he bestows the same number of strokes upon Armande 
he has just given me, and positively upon the identical places, he returns 
to me, kisses everything he has just left off molesting, and raising his 
sticks, says to me, "Steady, little slut, you are going to be used like the 
last of the damned."
Whereupon I receive fifty strokes, all of them directed between the 
region bordered by the shoulders and the small of the back. He dashes to 
my comrade and treats her likewise: we pronounce not a word; nothing 
may be heard but a few stifled groans, we have enough strength to hold 
back our tears. There was no indication as to what degree the monk's 
passions were inflamed; he periodically excited himself briskly, but 
nothing rose. Returning now to me, he spent a moment eyeing those two 
fatty globes then still intact but about to undergo torture in their turn; he 
handled them, he could not prevent himself from prying them apart, 
tickling them, kissing them another thousand times. "Well," said he, "be 
courageous..." and a hail of blows descended upon these masses, 
lacerating them to the thighs. Extremely animated by the starts, the 
leaps, the grinding of teeth, the contortions the pain drew from me, 
examining them, battening upon them rapturously, he comes and 
expresses, upon my mouth which he kisses with fervor, the sensations 
agitating him....
"This girl entertains me," he cries, "I have never flogged another with as 
much pleasure," and he goes back to his niece whom he treats with the 
same barbarity; there remained the space between the upper thigh and 
the calves and this he struck with identical vehemence: first the one of 
us, then the other. "Ha !" he said, now approaching me, "let's change 
hands and visit this place here"; now wielding a cat-o'-ninetails he gives 
me twenty cuts from the middle of my belly to the bottom of my thighs; 
then wrenching them apart, he slashed at the interior of the lair my 
position bares to his whip. "There it is," says he, "the bird I am going to 
pluck": several thongs having, through the precautions he had taken, 
penetrated very deep, I could not suppress my screams. "Well, well!" said 
the villain, "I must have found the sensitive area at last; steady there, 
calm yourself, we'll visit it a little more thoroughly"; however, his niece is 
put in the same posture and treated in the same manner; once again he 
reaches the most delicate region of a woman's body; but whether 
through habit, or courage, or dread of incurring treatment yet worse, she 
has enough strength to master herself, and about her nothing is visible 
beyond a few shivers and spasmodic twitchings. However, there was by 
now a slight change in the libertine's physical aspect, and although 
things were still lacking in substance, thanks to strokings and shakings a 
gradual improvement was being registered.
"On your knees," the monk said to me, "I am going to whip your titties." 
"My titties, oh my Father!" "Yes, those two lubricious masses which 
never excite me but I wish to use them thus," and upon saying this, he 
squeezed them, he compressed them violently. "Oh Father! They are so 
delicate! You will kill me!" "No matter, my dear, provided I am satisfied," 
and he applied five or six blows which, happily, I parried with my hands.
Upon observing that, he binds them behind my back; nothing remains 
with which to implore his mercy but my countenance and my tears, for 
he has harshly ordered me to be silent. I strive to melt him... but in vain, 
he strikes out savagely at my now unprotected bosom; terrible bruises 
are immediately writ out in black and blue; blood appears as his 
battering continues, my suffering wrings tears from me, they fall upon 
the vestiges left by the monster's rage, and render them, says he, yet a 
thousand times more interesting... he kisses those marks, he devours 
them and now and again returns to my mouth, to my eyes whose tears he 
licks up with lewd delight. Armande takes her place, her hands are tied, 
she presents breasts of alabaster and the most beautiful roundness; 
Clement pretends to kiss them, but to bite them is what he wishes.... And 
then he lays on and that lovely flesh, so white, so plump, is soon nothing 
more in its butcher's eyes but lacerations and bleeding. stripes.
"Wait one moment," says the berserk monk, "I want to flog 
simultaneously the most beautiful of behinds and the softest of breasts." 
He leaves me on my knees and, bringing Armande toward me, makes her 
stand facing me with her legs spread, in such a way that my mouth 
touches her womb and my breasts are exposed between her thighs and 
below her behind; by this means the monk has what he wants before 
him: Armande's buttocks and my titties in close proximity: furiously he 
beats them both, but my companion, in order to spare me blows which 
are becoming far more dangerous for me than for her, has the goodness 
to lower herself and thus shield me by receiving upon her own person the 
lashes that would inevitably have wounded me. Clement detects the trick 
and separates us: "She'll gain nothing by that," he fumes, "and if today I 
have the graciousness to spare that part of her, 'twill only be so as to 
molest some other at least as delicate."
As I rose I saw that all those infamies had not been in vain: the 
debauchee was in the most brilliant state; and it made him only the more 
furious; he changes weapons Ä opens a cabinet where several martinets 
are to be found and draws out one armed with iron tips. I fall to 
trembling. "There, Therese," says he showing me the martinet, "you'll see 
how delicious it is to be whipped with this... you'll feel it, you'll feel it, my 
rascal, but for the instant I prefer to use this other one..." It was 
composed of small knotted cords, twelve in all; at the end of each was a 
knot somewhat larger than the others, about the size of a plum pit. 
"Come there! Up!
The cavalcade!... the cavalcade!" says he to his niece; she, knowing what 
is meant, quickly gets down on all fours, her rump raised as high as 
possible, and tells me to imitate her; I do. Clement leaps upon my back, 
riding facing my rear; Armande, her own presented to him, finds herself 
directly ahead of Clement: the villain then discovering us both well 
within reach, furiously cuts at the charms we offer him; but, as this 
position obliges us to open as wide as possible that delicate part of 
ourselves which distinguishes our sex from men's, the barbarian aims 
stinging blows in this direction: the whip's long and supple strands, 
penetrating into the interior with much more facility than could withes 
or ferules, leave deep traces of his rage; now he strikes one, now his 
blows fly at the other; as skilled a horseman as he is an intrepid 
flagellator, he several times changes his mount; we are exhausted, and 
the pangs of pain are of such violence that it is almost impossible to bear 
them any longer.
"Stand up," he tells us, catching up the martinet again, "yes, get up and 
stand in fear of me" Ä his eyes glitter, foam flecks his lips Ä like persons 
distracted, we run about the room, here, there, he follows after us, 
indiscriminately striking Armande, myself; the villain brings us to blood; 
at last he traps us both between the bed and the wall: the blows are 
redoubled: the unhappy Armande receives one upon the breast which 
staggers her, this last horror determines his ecstasy, and while my back 
is flailed by its cruel effects, my loins are flooded by the proofs of a 
delirium whose results are so dangerous.


CHAPTER 24

"We are going to bed," Clement finally says to me; "that has perhaps 
been rather too much for you, Therese, and certainly not enough for me; 
one never tires of this mania notwithstanding the fact it is a very pale 
image of what one should really like to do; ah, dear girl! you have no idea 
to what lengths this depravity leads us, you cannot imagine the 
drunkenness into which it plunges us, the violent commotion in the 
electrical fluid which results from the irritation produced by the 
suffering of the object that serves our passions; how one is needled by its 
agonies! The desire to increase them... 'tis, I know, the reef upon which 
the fantasy is doomed to wreck, but is this peril to be dreaded by him 
who cares not a damn for anything?" Although Clement's mind was still 
in the grip of enthusiasm, I observed that his senses were much more 
calm, and by way of reply to what he had just said, I dared reproach him 
his tastes' depravation, and the manner in which this libertine justified 
them merits inclusion, it seems to me, amidst the confessions you wish 
to have from me.
"Without question the silliest thing in the world, my dear Therese," 
Clement said to me, "is to wish to dispute a man's tastes, to wish to 
contradict, thwart, discredit, condemn, or punish them if they do not 
conform either with the laws of the country he inhabits on with the 
prejudices of social convention. Why indeed! Will it never be understood 
that there is no variety of taste, however bizarre, however outlandish, 
however criminal it may be supposed, which does not derive directly 
from and depend upon the kind of organization we have individually
received from Nature? That posed, I ask with what right one man will 
dare require another either to curb or get rid of his tastes or model them 
upon those of the social order? With what right will the law itself, which 
is created for man's happiness only, dare pursue him who cannot mend 
his ways, or who would succeed in altering his behavior only at the price 
of forgoing that happiness whose protection the law is obliged to 
guarantee him? Even were one to desire to change those tastes could one 
do so? Have we the power to remake ourselves? Can we become other 
than what we are? Would you demand the same thing from someone 
born a cripple? and is this inconformity of our tastes anything in the 
moral sphere but what the ill-made man's imperfection is in the 
physical? "Shall we enter into details? Why, very well.
The keen mind I recognize in you, Therese, will enable you to appreciate 
them. I believe you have been arrested by two irregularities you have 
remarked in us: you are astonished at the piquant sensation experienced 
by some of our friends where it is a question of matters commonly 
beheld as fetid or impure, and you are similarly surprised that our 
voluptuous faculties are susceptible of powerful excitation by actions 
which, in your view, bear none but the emblem of ferocity; let us analyze 
both these tastes and attempt, if 'tis possible, to convince you that there 
is nothing simpler or more normal in this world than the pleasures 
which are their result.
"Extraordinary, you declare, that things decayed, noisome, and filthy are 
able to produce upon our senses the irritation essential to precipitate 
their complete delirium; but before allowing oneself to be startled by 
this, it would be better to realize, Therese, that objects have no value for 
us save that which our imagination imparts to them; it is therefore very 
possible, bearing this constant truth well in mind, that not only the most 
curious but even the vilest and most appalling things may affect us very 
appreciably. The human imagination is a faculty of man's mind 
whereupon, through the senses' agency, objects are painted, whereby 
they are modified, and wherein, next, ideas become formed, all in reason 
of the initial glimpsing of those external objects. But this imagination, 
itself the result of the peculiar organization a particular individual is 
endowed with, only adopts the received objects in such-and-such a 
manner and afterward only creates ideas according to the effects 
produced by perceived objects' impact: let me give you a comparison to 
help you grasp what I am exposing.
Therese, have you not seen those differently formed mirrors, some of 
which diminish objects, others of which enlarge them; some give back 
frightful images of things, some beautify things; do you now imagine that 
were each of these types of mirrors to possess both a creative and an 
objective faculty, they would not each give a completely different portrait 
of the same man who stands before them, and would not that portrait be 
different thanks to the manner in which each mirror had perceived the 
object? If to the two faculties we have just ascribed to the mirror, there 
were added a third of sensation, would not this man, seen by it in suchand 
such a manner, be the source of that one kind of feeling the mirror 
would be able, indeed would be obliged, to conceive for the sort of being 
the mirror had perceived?
The mirror sees the man as beautiful, the mirror loves the man; another 
mirror sees the man as frightful and hates him, and it is always the same 
being who produces various impressions. "Such is the human 
imagination, Therese; the same object is represented to it under as many 
forms as that imagination has various facets and moods, and according 
to the effect upon the imagination received from whatsoever be the 
object, the imagination is made to love or to hate it; if the perceived 
object's impact strikes it in an agreeable manner, the object is loved, 
preferred, even if this object has nothing really attractive about it; and if 
the object, though of a certain high value in the eyes of someone else, has 
only struck in a disagreeable manner the imagination we are discussing, 
hostility will be the result, because not one of our sentiments is formed 
save in reason of what various objects produce upon the imagination; 
these fundamentals once grasped, should not by any means be cause for 
astonishment that what distinctly pleases some is able to displease 
others, and, conversely, that the most extraordinary thing is able to find 
admirers....
The cripple also discovers certain mirrors which make him handsome. 
"Now, if we admit that the senses' joy is always dependent upon the 
imagination, always regulated by the imagination, one must not be 
amazed by the numerous variations the imagination is apt to suggest 
during the pleasurable episode, by the infinite multitude of different 
tastes and passions the imagination's various extravagances will bring to 
light. Luxurious though these tastes may be, they are never intrinsically 
strange; there is no reason to find a mealtime eccentricity more or less 
extraordinary than a bed-room whim; and in the one and the other, it is 
not more astonishing to idolize what the common run of mankind holds 
detestable than it is to love something generally recognized as pleasant. 
To like what others like proves organic conformity, but demonstrates 
nothing in favor of the beloved object. Three-quarters of the universe 
may find the rose's scent delicious without that serving either as 
evidence upon which to condemn the remaining quarter which might 
find the smell offensive, or as proof that this odor is truly agreeable. "If 
then in this world there exist persons whose tastes conflict with accepted 
prejudices, not only must one not be surprised by the fact, not only must 
one not scold these dissenters or punish them, but one must aid them, 
procure them contentment, remove obstacles which impede them, and 
afford them, if you wish to be just, all the means to satisfy themselves 
without risk; because they are no more responsible for having this 
curious taste than you are responsible for being live-spirited or dull
witted, prettily made or knock-kneed. It is in the mother's womb that 
there are fashioned the organs which must render us susceptible of 
suchand-such a fantasy; the first objects which we encounter, the first 
conversations we overhear determine the pattern; once tastes are formed 
nothing in the world can destroy them.
Do what it will, education is incapable of altering the pattern, and he 
who has got to be a villain just as surely becomes a villain, the good 
education you give him notwithstanding; quite as he, however much he 
has lacked good example, flies unerringly toward virtue if his organs 
dispose him to the doing of good. Both have acted in accordance with 
their organic structure, in accordance with the impressions they have 
received from Nature, and the one is no more deserving of punishment 
than the other is of reward. "Curiously enough, so long as it is merely a 
question of trifles, we are never in the least astonished by the differences 
existing among tastes; but let the subject take on an erotic tincture, and 
listen to the word spread about! rumors fly, women, always thoughtful of 
guarding their rights - women whose feebleness and inconsequence 
make them especially prone to seeing enemies everywhere aboutÄ, 
women, I say, are all constantly trembling and quivering lest something 
be snatched away from them and if, when taking one's pleasure, one 
unfortunately puts practices to use which conflict with woman-worship, 
lo! there you have crimes which merit the noose.
And what an injustice! Must sensual pleasure render a man better than 
life's other pleasures? In one word, must our penchants be any more 
concentrated upon the temple of generation, must it necessarily more 
certainly awaken our desires, than some other part of the body either the 
most contrary to or at the furthest remove from it? than some emanation 
of the body either the most fetid or the most disgusting? It should not, in 
my opinion, appear any more astonishing to see a man introduce 
singularity into his libertine pleasures than it should appear strange to 
see him employ the uncommon in any other of life's activities. Once 
again, in either case, his singularity is the result of his organs: is it his 
fault if what affects you is naught to him, or if he is only moved by what 
repels you? What living man would not instantly revise his tastes, his 
affections, his penchants and bring them into harmony with the general 
scheme, what man, rather than continue a freak, would not prefer to be 
like everyone else, were it in his power to do so? It is the most barbarous 
and most stupid intolerance to wish to fly at such a man's throat; he is no 
more guilty toward society, regardless of what may be his extravagances, 
than is, as I have just said, the person who came blind and lame into the 
world.
And it would be quite as unjust to punish or deride the latter as to afflict 
or berate the other. The man endowed with uncommon tastes is sick; if 
you prefer, he is like a woman subject to hysterical vapors. Has the idea 
to punish such a person ever occurred to us? Let us be equally fair when 
dealing with the man whose caprices startle us; perfectly like unto the ill 
man or the woman suffering from vapors, he is deserving of sympathy 
and not of blame; that is the moral apology for the persons whom we are 
discussing; a physical explanation will without doubt be found as easily, 
and when the study of anatomy reaches perfection they will without any 
trouble be able to demonstrate the relationship of the human 
constitution to the tastes which it affects. Ah, you pedants, hangmen, 
turnkeys, lawmakers, you shavepate rabble, what will you do when we 
have arrived there? what is to become of your laws, your ethics, your 
religion, your gallows, your Gods and your Heavens and your Hell when 
it shall be proven that such a flow of liquids, this variety of fibers, that 
degree of pungency in the blood or in the animal spirits are sufficient to 
make a man the object of your givings and your takings away? We 
continue. Cruel tastes astonish you. "What is the aim of the man who 
seeks his joy? is it not to give his senses all the irritation of which they 
are susceptible in order, by this means, better and more warmly to reach 
the ultimate crisis... the precious crisis which characterizes the 
enjoyment as good or bad, depending upon the greater or lesser activity 
which occurs during the crisis?
Well, is one not guilty of an untenable sophistry when one dares affirm it 
is necessary, in order to ameliorate it, that it be shared with the woman? 
Is it not plain enough that the woman can share nothing with us without 
taking something from us? and that all she makes away with must 
necessarily be had by her at our expense? And what then is this 
necessity, I ask, that a woman enjoy herself when we are enjoying 
ourselves? in this arrangement is there any sentiment but pride which 
may be flattered? and does one not savor this proud feeling in a far more 
piquant manner when, on the contrary, one harshly constrains this 
woman to abandon her quest for pleasure and to devote herself to 
making you alone feel it? Does not tyranny flatter the pride in a far more 
lively way than does beneficence? In one word, is not he who imposes 
much more surely the master than he who shares? But how could it ever 
have entered a reasonable man's head that delicacy is of any value during 
enjoyment? 'Tis absurd, to maintain it is necessary at such a time; it 
never adds anything to the pleasure of the senses, why, I contend that it 
detracts therefrom. To love and to enjoy are two very different things: 
the proof whereof is that one loves every day without enjoying, and that 
even more often one enjoys without loving. Anything by way of 
consideration for the woman one stirs into the broth has got to dilute its 
strength and impair its flavor for the man; so long as the latter spends 
his time giving enjoyment, he assuredly does not himself do any 
enjoying, or his enjoyment is merely intellectual, that is to say, 
chimerical and far inferior to sensual enjoyment.
No, Therese, no, I will not cease repeating it, there is absolutely no 
necessity that, in order to be keen, an enjoyment must be shared; and in 
order that this kind of pleasure may be rendered piquant to the utmost, 
it is, on the contrary, very essential that the man never take his pleasure 
save at the expense of the woman, that he take from her (without regard 
for the sensation she may experience thereby) everything which may in 
any way improve or increase the voluptuous exercise he wants to relish, 
and this without the slightest concern for whatever may be the effects of 
all this upon the woman, for preoccupation of that sort will prove 
bothersome to him; he either wants the woman to partake of pleasure, 
and thereupon his joys are at an end; or he fears lest she will suffer, and 
he is hurled into confusion, all's brought to a stop. If egoism is Nature's 
fundamental commandment, it is very surely most of all during our 
lubricious delights that this celestial Mother desires us to be most 
absolutely under its rule; why, it's a very small evil, is it not, that, in the 
interests of the augmentation of the man's lecherous delights he has got 
either to neglect or upset the woman's; for if this upsetting of her 
pleasure causes him to gain any, what is lost to the object which serves 
him affects him in no wise, save profitably: it must be a matter of 
indifference to him whether that object is happy or unhappy, provided it 
be delectable to him; in truth, there is no relation at all between that 
object and himself.
He would hence be a fool to trouble himself about the object's sensations 
and forget his own; he would be entirely mad if, in order to modify those 
sensations foreign to him, he were to renounce improvement of his. That 
much established, if the individual in question is, unhappily, organized 
in such a fashion he cannot be stirred save by producing painful 
sensations in the object employed, you will admit he is forced to go 
ruthlessly to work, since the point of it all is to have the best possible 
time, the consequences for the object being entirely excluded from 
consideration.... We will return to the problem; let us continue in an 
orderly fashion. "Isolated enjoyment therefore has its charms, it may 
therefore have more of them than all other kinds; why I if it were not so, 
how should the aged and so many deformed or defective persons be able 
to enjoy themselves? for they know full well they are not loved nor 
lovable; perfectly certain it is impossible to share what they experience, 
is their joy any the less powerful on that account? Do they desire even 
the illusion? Behaving with utter selfishness in their riots, you will 
observe them seeking pleasure, you will see them sacrifice everything to 
obtain it, and in the object they put to use never other than passive 
properties.
Therefore, it is in no wise necessary to give pleasures in order to receive 
them; the happy or unhappy situation of the victim of our debauch is, 
therefore, absolutely as one from the point of view of our senses, there is 
never any question of the state in which his heart or mind may be; it 
matters not one whit, the object may be pleased by what you do to it, the 
object may suffer, it may love or detest you: all these considerations are 
nullified immediately it is only a question of your sensation. Women, I 
concede, may establish contrary theories, but women, who are nothing 
but machines designed for voluptuousness, who ought to be nothing but 
the targets of lust, are untrustworthy authorities whenever one has got to 
construct an authentic doctrine upon this kind of pleasure. Is there a 
single reasonable man who is eager to have a whore partake of his joy? 
And, however, are there not millions of men who amuse themselves 
hugely with these creatures? Well, there you have that many individuals 
convinced of what I am urging, who unhesitatingly put it into practice, 
and who scorn those who use good principles to legitimate their deeds, 
those ridiculous fools, the world is stuffed to overflowing with them, who 
go and come, who do this and that, who eat, who digest, without ever 
sensing a thing. "Having proven that solitary pleasures are as delicious 
as any others and much more likely to delight, it becomes perfectly clear 
that this enjoyment, taken in independence of the object we employ, is 
not merely of a nature very remote from what could be pleasurable to 
that object, but is even found to be inimical to that object's pleasure: 
what is more, it may become an imposed suffering, a vexation, or a 
torture, and the only thing that results from this abuse is a very certain 
increase of pleasure for the despot who does the tormenting or vexing; 
let us attempt to demonstrate this.
"Voluptuous emotion is nothing but a kind of vibration produced in our 
soul by shocks which the imagination, inflamed by the remembrance of a 
lubricious object, registers upon our senses, either through this object's 
presence, or better still by this object's being exposed to that particular 
kind of irritation which most profoundly stirs us; thus, our voluptuous 
transport Ä this indescribable convulsive needling which drives us wild, 
which lifts us to the highest pitch of happiness at which man is able to 
arrive Ä is never ignited save by two causes: either by the perception in 
the object we use of a real or imaginary beauty, the beauty in which we 
delight the most, or by the sight of that object undergoing the strongest 
possible sensation; now, there is no more lively sensation than that of 
pain; its impressions are certain and dependable, they never deceive as 
may those of the pleasure women perpetually feign and almost never 
experience; and, furthermore, how much self-confidence, youth, vigor, 
health are not needed in order to be sure of producing this dubious and 
hardly very satisfying impression of pleasure in a woman. To produce the 
painful impression, on the contrary, requires no virtues at all: the more 
defects a man may have, the older he is, the less lovable, the more 
resounding his success.
With what regards the objective, it will be far more certainly attained 
since we are establishing the fact that one never better touches, I wish to 
say, that one never better irritates one's senses than when the greatest 
possible impression has been produced in the employed object, by no 
matter what devices; therefore, he who will cause the most tumultuous 
impression to be born in a woman, he who will most thoroughly convulse 
this woman's entire frame, very decidedly will have managed to procure 
himself the heaviest possible dose of voluptuousness, because the shock 
resultant upon us by the impressions others experience, which shock in 
turn is necessitated by the impression we have of those others, will 
necessarily be more vigorous if the impression these others receive be 
painful, than if the impression they receive be sweet and mild; and it 
follows that the voluptuous egoist, who is persuaded his pleasures will be 
keen only insofar as they are entire, will therefore impose, when he has it 
in his power to do so, the strongest possible dose of pain upon the 
employed object, fully certain that what by way of voluptuous pleasure 
he extracts will be his only by dint of the very lively impression he has 
produced."
"Oh, Father," I said to Clement, "these doctrines are dreadful, they lead 
to the cultivation of cruel tastes, horrible tastes." "Why, what does it 
matter?" demanded the barbarian; "and, once again, have we any control 
over our tastes? Must we not yield to the dominion of those Nature has 
inserted in us as when before the tempest's force the proud oak bends its 
head? Were Nature offended by these proclivities, she would not have 
inspired them in us; that we can receive from her hands a sentiment such 
as would outrage her is impossible, and, extremely certain of this, we can 
give ourselves up to our passions, whatever their sort and of whatever 
their violence, wholly sure that all the discomfitures their shock may 
occasion are naught but the designs of Nature, of whom we are the 
involuntary instruments. And what to us are these passions' 
consequences? When one wishes to delight in any action whatsoever, 
there is never any question of consequences."
"I am not speaking to you of consequences," I put in abruptly, "but of the 
thing itself; if indeed you are the stronger and if through atrocious 
principles of cruelty you love to take your pleasure only by means of 
causing suffering with the intention of augmenting your sensations, you 
will gradually come to the point of producing them with such a degree of 
violence that you will certainly risk killing the employed object." "So be 
it; that is to say that, by means of tastes given me by Nature, I shall have 
carried out the intentions of Nature who, never affecting her creations 
save through destructions, never inspires the thought of the latter in me 
save when she is in need of the former; that is to say that from an oblong 
portion of matter I shall have formed three or four thousand round or 
square ones. Oh Therese, is there any crime here? Is this the name with 
which to designate what serves Nature? Is it in man's power to commit 
crimes? And when, preferring his own happiness to that of others, he 
overthrows or destroys whatever he finds in his path, has he done 
anything but serve Nature whose primary and most imperious 
inspirations enjoin him to pursue his happiness at no matter whose 
expense? The doctrine of brotherly love is a fiction we owe to Christianity 
and not to Nature; the exponent of the Nazarene's cult, tormented, 
wretched and consequently in an enfeebled state which prompted him to 
cry out for tolerance and compassion, had no choice but to allege this 
fabulous relationship between one person and another; by gaining 
acceptance for the notion he was able to save his life.
But the philosopher does not acknowledge these gigantic rapports; to his 
consideration, he is alone in the universe, he judges everything 
subjectively, he only is of importance. If he is thoughtful of or caresses 
another for one instant, it is never but in strait connection with what 
profit he thinks to draw from the business; when he is no longer in need 
of others, when he can forcefully assert his empire, he then abjures 
forever those pretty humanitarian doctrines of doing good deeds to 
which he only submitted himself for reasons of policy; he no longer fears 
to be selfish, to reduce everyone about him, and he sates his appetites 
without inquiring to know what his enjoyments may cost others, and 
without remorse." "But the man you describe is a monster."
"The man I describe is in tune with Nature." "He is a savage beast." 
"Why, is not the tiger or the leopard, of whom this man is, if you wish, a 
replica, like man created by Nature and created to prosecute Nature's 
intentions? The wolf who devours the lamb accomplishes what this 
common mother designs, just as does the malefactor who destroys the 
object of his revenge or his lubricity." "Oh, Father, say what you will, I 
shall never accept this destructive lubricity." "Because you are afraid of 
becoming its object Ä there you have it: egoism. Let's exchange our roles 
and you will fancy it very nicely. Ask the lamb, and you will find he does 
not understand why the wolf is allowed to devour him; ask the wolf what 
the lamb is for: to feed me, he will reply. Wolves which batten upon 
lambs, lambs consumed by wolves, the strong who immolate the weak, 
the weak victims of the strong: there you have Nature, there you have her 
intentions, there you have her scheme: a perpetual action and reaction, a 
host of vices, a host of virtues, in one word, a perfect equilibrium 
resulting from the equality of good and evil on earth; the equilibrium 
essential to the maintenance of the stars, of vegetation and, lacking 
which, everything would be instantly in ruins. O Therese, mightily 
astonished she would be, this Nature, were she to be able to converse 
with us for a moment and were we to tell her that these crimes which 
serve her, these atrocities she demands and inspires in us are punished 
by laws they assure us are made in imitation of hers. 'Idiots' she would 
reply to us, 'sleep, eat, and fearlessly commit whatever crimes you like 
whenever you like: every one of those alleged infamies pleases me, and I 
would have them all, since it is I who inspire them in you. It is within 
your province to regulate what annoys me and what delights, indeed! be 
advised that there is nothing in you which is not my own, nothing I did 
not place in you for reasons it is not fitting you be acquainted with; know 
that the most abominable of your deeds is, like the most virtuous of some 
other, but one of the manners of serving me.
So do not restrain yourself, flout your laws, a fig for your social 
conventions and your Gods; listen to me and to none other, and believe 
that if there exists a crime to be committed against me it is the resistance 
you oppose, in the forms of stubbornness or casuistries, to what I inspire 
in you."' "Oh, Just Heaven!" I cried, "you make me shudder! Were there 
no crimes against Nature, whence would come that insurmountable 
loathing we experience for certain misdeeds?" "That loathing is not 
dictated by Nature," the villain replied with feeling, "its one source is in 
the total lack of habit; does not the same hold true for certain foods? 
Although they are excellent, is not our repugnance merely caused by our 
being unaccustomed to them? would you dare say, upon the basis of your 
prejudices or ignorance, that they are good or bad? If we make the effort, 
we will soon become convinced and will find they suit our palate; we 
have a hostility toward medicaments, do we not, although they are 
salutary; in the same fashion, let us accustom ourselves to evil and it will 
not be long before we find it charming; this momentary revulsion is 
certainly a shrewdness, a kind of coquetry on the part of Nature, rather 
than a warning that the thing outrages her: thus she prepares the 
pleasures of our triumph; she even manages thus to augment those of 
the deed itself: better still, Therese, better still: the more the deed seems 
appalling to us, the more it is in contradiction with our manners and 
customs, the more it runs headlong against restraints and shatters them, 
the more it conflicts with social conventions and affronts them, the more 
it clashes with what we mistake for Nature's laws, then the more, on the 
contrary, it is useful to this same Nature. It is never but by way of crimes 
that she regains possession of the rights Virtue incessantly steals away 
from her. If the crime is slight, if it is at no great variance with Virtue, its 
weight will be less in re- establishing the balance indispensable to 
Nature; but the more capital the crime, the more deadly, the more it 
dresses the scales and the better it offsets the influence of Virtue which, 
without this, would destroy everything. Let him then cease to be in a 
fright, he who meditates a crime or he who has just committed one: the 
vaster his crime, the better it will serve Nature."


CHAPTER 25

These frightful theories soon led me to think of Omphale's doubts upon 
the manner in which we left the terrible house we were in. And it was 
then I conceived the plans you will see me execute in the sequel. 
However, to complete my enlightenment I could not prevent myself from 
putting yet a few more questions to Father Clement.
"But surely," I said, "you do not keep your passions' unhappy victims 
forever; you surely send them away when you are wearied of them?" 
"Certainly, Therese," the monk replied; "you only entered this 
establishment in order to leave it when the four of us agree to grant your 
retirement. Which will most certainly be granted." "But do you not fear," 
I continued, "lest the younger and less discreet girls sometimes go and 
reveal what is done here?" "'Tis impossible." "Impossible?" "Absolutely." 
"Could you explain..." "No, that's our secret, but I can assure you of this 
much: that whether you are discreet or indiscreet, you will find it 
perfectly impossible ever to say a word about what is done here when 
you are here no longer. And thus you see, Therese, I recommend no 
discretion to you, just as my own desires are governed by no restraining 
policy...."
And, having utter'd these words, the monk fell asleep. From that 
moment onward, I could no longer avoid realizing that the most violent 
measures were used with those unhappy ones of us who were retrenched 
and that this terrible security they boasted of was only the fruit of our 
death. I was only the more confirmed in my resolve; we will soon see its 
effect. As soon as Clement was asleep, Armande came near to me. "He 
will awake shortly," she said; "he will behave like a madman: Nature only 
puts his senses to sleep in order to give them, after a little rest, a much 
greater energy; one more scene and we will have peace until tomorrow." 
"But you," I said to my companion, "aren't you going to sleep a little 
while?" "How can I?" Armande replied, "when, were I not to remain 
awake and standing by his side, and were my negligence to be perceived, 
he would be the man to stab me to death." "O Heaven!" I sighed, "why! 
even as he sleeps the villain would that those around him remain in a 
state of suffering !"
"Yes," my companion responded, "it is the very barbarity of the idea 
which procures the furious awakening you are going to witness; upon 
this he is like unto those perverse writers whose corruption is so 
dangerous, so active, that their single aim is, by causing their appalling 
doctrines to be printed, to immortalize the sum of their crimes after their 
own lives are at an end; they themselves can do no more, but their 
accursed writings will instigate the commission of crimes, and they carry 
this sweet idea with them to their graves: it comforts them for the 
obligation, enjoined by death, to relinquish the doing of evil." "The 
monsters!" I cried.... Armande, who was a very gentle creature, kissed 
me as she shed a few tears, then went back to pacing about the roue's 
bed.
Two hours passed and then the monk did indeed awake in a prodigious 
agitation and seized me with such force I thought he was going to 
strangle me; his respiration was quick and labored, his eyes glittered, he 
uttered incoherent words which were exclusively blasphemous or 
libertine expressions; he summoned Armande, called for whips, and 
started in again with his flogging of us both, but in a yet more vigorous 
manner than before having gone to sleep. It seemed as if he wished to 
end matters with me; shrill cries burst from his mouth; to abridge my 
sufferings, Armande excited him violently, he lost his head entirely, and 
finally made rigid by the most violent sensations, the monster lost both 
his ardor and his desires together with smoking floods of semen. 
Nothing transpired during the rest of the night; upon getting up, the 
monk was content to touch and examine each of us; and as he was going 
to say Mass, we returned to the seraglio.
The superintendent could not be prevented from desiring me in. the 
inflamed state she swore I must be in; exhausted I indeed was and, thus 
weakened, how could I defend myself? She did all she wished, enough to 
convince me that even a woman, in such a school, soon losing all the 
delicacy and restraint native to her sex, could only, after those tyrants' 
example, become obscene and cruel. Two nights later, I slept with 
Jerome; I will not describe his horrors to you; they were still more 
terrifying. What an academy, great God! by week's end I had finally 
made the circuit, and then Omphale asked me whether it were not true 
that of them all, Clement was the one about whom I had the most to 
complain. "Alas!" was my response, "in the midst of a crowd of horrors 
and messes of filth which now disgust and now revolt, it is very difficult 
to pronounce upon these villains' individual odiousness; I am mortally 
weary of them all and would that I were gone from here, whatever be the 
fate that awaits me."
"It might be possible that you will soon be satisfied," my companion 
answered; "we are nearing the period of the festival: this circumstance 
rarely takes place without bringing them victims; they either seduce girls 
by means of the confessional, or, if they can, they cause them to 
disappear: which means so many new recruits, each of whom always 
supposes a retrenchment." The famous holiday arrived... will you be able 
to believe, Madame, what monstrous impieties the monks were guilty of 
during this event! They fancied a visible miracle would double the 
brilliance of their reputation; and so they dressed Florette, the youngest 
of the girls, in all the Virgin's attire and adornments; by means of 
concealed strings they tied her against the wall of the niche and ordered 
her to elevate her arms very suddenly and with compunction toward 
heaven simultaneously the host was raised. As the little creature was 
threatened with the cruelest chastising if she were to speak a single word 
or mismanage in her role, she carried it off marvelously well, and the 
fraud enjoyed all the success that could possibly have been expected.
The people cried aloud the miracle, left rich offerings to the Virgin, and 
went home more convinced than ever of the efficacity of the celestial 
Mother's mercies. In order to increase their impiety, our libertines 
wanted to have Florette appear at the orgies that evening, dressed in the 
same costume that had attracted so many homages, and each one 
inflamed his odious desires to submit her, in this guise, to the 
irregularity of his caprices. Aroused by this initial crime, the sacrilegious 
ones go considerably further: they have the child stripped naked, they 
have her lie on her stomach upon a large table; they light candles, they 
place the image of our Saviour squarely upon the little girl's back and 
upon her buttocks they dare consummate the most redoubtable of our 
mysteries. I swooned away at this horrible spectacle, 'twas impossible to 
bear the sight. Severino, seeing me unconscious, says that, to bring me to 
heel, I must serve as the altar in my turn. I am seized; I am placed where 
Florette was lying; the sacrifice is consummated, and the host... that 
sacred symbol of our august Religion... Severino catches it up and thrusts 
it deep into the obscene locale of his sodomistic pleasures... crushes it 
with oaths and insults... ignominiously drives it further with the 
intensified blows of his monstrous dart and as he blasphemes, spurts, 
upon our Saviour's very Body, the impure floods of his lubricity's 
torrents.... I was insensible when they drew me from his hands; I had to 
be carried to my room, where for a week I shed uninterrupted tears over 
the hideous crime for which, against my will, I had been employed.
The memory still gnaws at my soul, I never think back upon that scene 
without shuddering.... In me, Religion is the effect of sentiment; all that 
offends or outrages it makes my very heart bleed. The end of the month 
was close at hand when one morning toward nine Severino entered our 
chamber; he appeared greatly aroused; a certain crazed look hovered in 
his eyes; he examines us, one after the other, places us in his cherished 
attitude, and especially lingers over Omphale; for several minutes he 
stands, contemplating her in the posture she has assumed, he excites 
himself, mutters dully, secretly, kisses what is offered him, allows 
everyone to see he is in a state to consummate, and consummates 
nothing; next, he has her straighten up, casts upon her glances filled with 
rage and wickedness; then, swinging his foot, with all his strength he 
kicks her in the belly, she reels backward and falls six yards away. "The 
company is retrenching you, whore," he says, "we are tired of you, be 
ready by this afternoon. I will come to fetch you myself." And he leaves.
When he is gone Omphale gets up and, weeping, casts herself into my 
arms. "Ah!" she says, "by the infamy, by the cruelty of the preliminaries... 
can you still blind yourself as to what follows? Great God! what is to 
become of me?" "Be easy," I say to the miserable girl, "I have made up 
my mind about everything; I only await the opportunity; it may perhaps 
present itself sooner than you think; I will divulge these horrors; if it is 
true the measures they take are as cruel as we have reason to believe, 
strive to obtain some delays, postpone it, and I will wrest you from their 
clutches." In the event Omphale were to be released, she swore in the 
same way to aid me, and both of us fell to weeping. The day passed, 
nothing happened during it; at five o'clock Severino returned. "Well," he 
asked Omphale, "are you ready?" "Yes, Father," she answered between 
sobs, "permit me to embrace my friends." " 'Tis useless," replied the 
monk; "we have no time for lachrymose scenes; they are waiting for us; 
come." Then she asked whether she were obliged to take her belongings 
with her. "No," said the superior; "does not everything belong to the 
house? You have no further need of any of it"; then, checking himself, as 
might one who has said too much: "Those old clothes have become 
useless; you will have some cut to fit your size, they will be more 
becoming to you; be content to take along only what you are wearing." I 
asked the monk whether I might be allowed to accompany Omphale to 
the door of the house; his reply was a glance that made me recoil in 
terror.... Omphale goes out, she turns toward us eyes filled with 
uneasiness and tears, and the minute she is gone I fling myself down 
upon the bed, desperate.


CHAPTER 26

Accustomed to these occurrences or blind to their significance, my 
companions were less affected by Omphale's departure than I; the 
superior returned an hour later to lead away the supper's girls of whom I 
was one Ä we were only four: the girl of twelve, she of sixteen, she of 
twenty-three, and me. Everything went more or less as upon other days; 
I only noticed that the Girls of the Watch were not on hand, that the 
monks often whispered in each other's ears, that they drank much, that 
they limited themselves violently to exciting desires they did not once 
consummate, and that they sent us away at an early hour without 
retaining any of us for their own beds.... I deduced what I could from 
what I observed, because, under such circumstances, one keeps a sharp 
eye upon everything, but what did this evidence augur? Ah, such was my 
perplexity that no clear idea presented itself to my mind but it was not 
immediately offset by another; recollecting Clement's words, I felt there 
was everything to fear... of course; but then, hope... that treacherous 
hope which comforts us, which blinds us, and which thus does us almost 
as much ill as good... hope finally surged up to reassure me....
Such a quantity of horrors were so alien to me that I was simply unable 
to conceive of them. In this terrible state of confusion, I lay down in bed; 
now I was persuaded Omphale would not fail to keep her word; and the 
next instant I was convinced the cruel devices they would use against her 
would deprive her of all power to help us, and that was my final opinion 
when I saw an end come to the third day of having heard nothing at all. 
Upon the fourth I found myself again called to supper; the company was 
numerous and select: the eight most beautiful women were there that 
evening, I had been paid the honor of being included amongst them; the 
Girls of the Watch attended too. Immediately we entered we caught sight 
of our new companion. "Here is the young lady the corporation has 
destined to replace Omphale, Mesdemoiselles," said Severino. And as the 
words escaped his lips he tore away the mantlets and lawn which covered 
the girl's bust, and we beheld a maiden of fifteen, with the most 
agreeable and delicate face: she raised her lovely eyes and graciously 
regarded each of us; those eyes were still moist with tears, but they 
contained the liveliest expression; her figure was supple and light, her 
skin of a dazzling whiteness, she had the world's most beautiful hair, and 
there was something so seductive about the whole that it was impossible 
not to feel oneself automatically drawn to her.
Her name was Octavie; we were soon informed she was a girl of the 
highest quality, born in Paris, and had just emerged from a convent in 
order to wed the Comte de * * *: she had been kidnaped while en route in 
the company of two governesses and three lackeys; she did not know 
what had become of her retinue; it had been toward nightfall and she 
alone had been taken; after having been blindfolded, she had been 
brought to where we were and it had not been possible to know more of 
the matter. As yet no one had spoken a word to her. Our libertine 
quartet, confronted by so much charm, knew an instant of ecstasy; they 
had only the strength to admire her. Beauty's dominion commands 
respect; despite his heartlessness, the most corrupt villain must bow 
before it or else suffer the stings of an obscure remorse; but monsters of 
the breed with which we had to cope do not long languish under such 
restraints.
"Come, pretty child," quoth the superior, impudently drawing her toward 
the chair in which he was settled, "come hither and let's have a look to 
see whether the rest of your charms match those Nature has so profusely 
distributed in your countenance." And as the lovely girl was sore 
troubled, as she flushed crimson and strove to fend him off, Severino 
grasped her rudely round the waist. "Understand, my artless one," he 
said, "understand that what I want to tell you is simply this: get 
undressed. Strip. Instantly." And thereupon the libertine slid one hand 
beneath her skirts while he grasped her with the other. Clement 
approached, he raised Octavie's clothes to above her waist and by this 
maneuver exposed the softest, the most appetizing features it is possible 
anywhere to find; Severino touches, perceives nothing, bends to 
scrutinize more narrowly, and all four agree they have never seen 
anything as beautiful. However, the modest Octavie, little accustomed to 
usage of this sort, gushes tears, and struggles. "Undress, undress," cries 
Antonin, "we can't see a thing this way."
He assists Severino and in a trice we have displayed to us all the 
maiden's unadorned charms. Never, without any doubt, was there a 
fairer skin, never were there more happily modeled forms.... God! the 
crime of it!... So many beauties, such chaste freshness, so much 
innocence and daintiness Ä all to become prey to these barbarians! 
Covered with shame, Octavie knows not where to fly to hide her charms, 
she finds naught but hungering eyes everywhere about, nothing but 
brutal hands which sully those treasures; the circle closes around her, 
and, as did I, she rushes hither and thither; the savage Antonin lacks the 
strength to resist; a cruel attack determines the homage, and the incense 
smokes at the goddess' feet. Jerome compares her to our young colleague 
of sixteen, doubtless the seraglio's prettiest; he places the two altars of 
his devotion one next to the other. "Ha! what whiteness! what grace!" 
says he as he fingers Octavie, "but what gentility and freshness may be 
discerned in this other one: indeed," continues the monk all afire, "I am 
uncertain"; then imprinting his mouth upon the charms his eyes behold, 
"Octavie," he cries, "to you the apple, it belongs to none but you, give me 
the precious fruit of this tree my heart adores.... Ah, yes! yes, one of you, 
give it me, and I will forever assure beauty's prize to who serves me 
sooner." Severino observes the time has come to meditate on more 
serious matters; absolutely in no condition to be kept waiting, he lays 
hands upon the unlucky child, places her as he desires her to be; not yet 
being able to have full confidence in Octavie's aid, he calls for Clement to 
lend him a hand. Octavie weeps and weeps unheeded; fire gleams in the 
impudicious monk's glance; master of the terrain, one might say he casts 
about a roving eye only to consider the avenues whereby he may launch 
the fiercest assault; no ruses, no preparations are employed; will he be 
able to gather these so charming roses? will he be able to battle past the 
thorns?
Whatever the enormous disproportion between the conquest and the 
assailant, the latter is not the less in a sweat to give fight; a piercing cry 
announces victory, but nothing mollifies the enemy's chilly heart; the 
more the captive implores mercy, the less quarter is granted her, the 
more vigorously she is pressed; the ill-starred one fences in vain: she is 
soon transpierced. "Never was laurel with greater difficulty won," says 
Severino, retreating, "I thought indeed that for the first time in my life I 
would fall before the gate... ah! 'twas never so narrow, that way, nor so 
hot; 'tis the God's own Ganymede."
"I had better bring her round to the sex you have just soiled," cries 
Antonin, seizing Octavie where she is, and not wishing to let her stand 
up; "there's more than one breach to a rampart," says he, and proudly, 
boldly marching up, he carries the day and is within the sanctuary in no 
time at all. Further screams are heard. "Praise be to God," quoth the 
indecent man, "I thought I was alone; and would have doubted of my 
success without a groan or two from the victim; but my triumph is 
sealed. Do you observe? Blood and tears." "In truth," says Clement, who 
steps up with whip in hand, "I'll not disturb her sweet posture either, it is 
too favorable to my desires." Jerome's Girl of the Watch and the twentyyear-old 
girl hold Octavie: Clement considers, fingers; terrified, the little 
girl beseeches him, and is not listened to. "Ah, my friends!" says the 
exalted monk, "how are we to avoid flogging a schoolgirl who exhibits an 
ass of such splendor!"
The air immediately resounds to the whistle of lashes and the thud of 
stripes sinking into lovely flesh; Octavie's screams mingle with the 
sounds of leather, the monk's curses reply: what a scene for these 
libertines surrendering themselves to a thousand obscenities in the 
midst of us all I They applaud him, they cheer him on; however, 
Octavie's skin changes color, the brightest tints incarnadine join the lily 
sparkle; but what might perhaps divert Love for an instant, were 
moderation to have direction of the sacrifice, becomes, thanks to 
severity, a frightful crime against Love's laws; nothing stops or slows the 
perfidious monk, the more the young student complains, the more the 
professor's harshness explodes; from the back to the knee, everything is 
treated in the same way, and it is at last upon his barbaric pleasures' 
blooddrenched vestiges the savage quenches his flames. "I shall be less 
impolite, I think," says Jerome, laying hands upon the lovely thing and
adjusting himself between her coral lips; "where is the temple where I 
would sacrifice? Why, in this enchanting mouth...." I fall silent.... 'Tis the 
impure reptile withering the rose Ä my figure of speech relates it all.
The rest of the soiree would have resembled all the others had it not been 
for the beauty and the touching age of this young maiden who more than 
usually inflamed those villains and caused them to multiply their 
infamies; it was satiety rather than commiseration that sent the unhappy 
child back to her room and gave her, for a few hours at least, the rest and 
quiet she needed. I should indeed have liked to have been able to 
comfort her that first night, but, obliged to spend it with Severino, it may 
well have been I on the contrary who stood in the greater need of help, 
for I had the misfortune, no, not to please, the word would not be 
suitable, no, but in a most lively manner to excite that sodomite's 
infamous passions; at this period he desired me almost every night; 
being exhausted on this particular one, he conducted some researches; 
doubtless afraid the appalling sword with which he was endowed would 
not cause me an adequate amount of pain, he fancied, this time, he might 
perforate me with one of those articles of furniture usually found in 
nunneries, which decency forbids me from naming and which was of an 
exorbitant thickness; here, one was obliged to be ready for anything.
He himself made the weapon penetrate into his beloved shrine; thanks to 
powerful blows, it was driven very deep; I screamed; the monk was 
amused, after a few backward and forward passes, he suddenly snapped 
the instrument free and plunged his own into the gulf he had just dug 
open... what whimsy! Is that not positively the contrary of everything 
men are able to desire! But who can define the spirit of libertinage? For a 
long time we have realized this to be an enigma of Nature; she has not 
yet pronounced the magic word. In the morning, feeling somewhat 
renewed, he wanted to try out another torture: he produced a far more 
massy machine: this one was hollow and fitted with a high-pressure 
pump that squirted an incredibly powerful stream of water through an 
orifice which gave the jet a circumference of over three inches; the 
enormous instrument itself was nine inches around by twelve long. 
Severino loaded it with steaming hot water and prepared to bury it in my 
front end; terrified by such a project, I throw myself at his knees to ask 
for mercy, but he is in one of those accursed situations where pity cannot 
be heard, where far more eloquent passions stifle it and substitute an 
often exceedingly dangerous cruelty. The monk threatens me with all his 
rage if I do not acquiesce; I have to obey.
The perfidious machine penetrates to the two-thirds mark and the 
tearing it causes combined with its extreme heat are about to deprive me 
of the use of my senses; meanwhile, the superior, showering an 
uninterrupted stream of invectives upon the parts he is molesting, has 
himself excited by his follower; after fifteen minutes of rubbing which 
lacerates me, he releases the spring, a quart of nearly boiling water is 
fired into the last depths of my womb... I fall into a faint. Severino was in 
an ecstasy... he was in a delirium at least the equal of my agony. "Why," 
said the traitor, "that's nothing at all. When I recover my wits, we'll treat 
those charms much more harshly... a salad of thorns, by Jesus! well 
peppered, a copious admixture of vinegar, all that tamped in with the 
point of a knife, that's what they need to buck them up; the next mistake 
you make, I condemn you to the treatment," said the villain while he 
continued to handle the object of his worship; but two or three homages 
after the preceeding night's debauches had near worked him to death, 
and I was sent packing.
Upon returning to my chamber I found my new companion in tears; I 
did what I could to soothe her, but it is not easy to adjust to so frightful a 
change of situation; this girl had, furthermore, a great fund of religious 
feeling, of virtue, and of sensitivity; owing to it, her state only appeared 
to her the more terrible. Omphale had been right when she told me 
seniority in no way influenced retirement; that, simply by the monks' 
caprice, or by their fear of ulterior inquiries, one could undergo dismissal 
at the end of a week as easily as at the end of twenty years. Octavie had 
not been with us four months when Jerome came to announce her 
departure; although 'twas he who had most enjoyed her during her 
sojourn at the monastery, he who had seemed to cherish her and seek 
her more than any other, the poor child left, making us the same 
promises Omphale had given; she kept them just as poorly. From that 
moment on, my every thought was bent upon the plan I had been 
devising since Omphale's departure; determined to do everything 
possible to escape from this den of savages, nothing that might help me 
succeed held any terrors for me. What was there to dread by putting my 
scheme into execution? Death. And were I to remain, of what could I be 
certain? Of death.
And successful flight would save me; there could be no hesitation for 
there was no alternative; but it were necessary that, before I launched my 
enterprise, fatal examples of vice rewarded be yet again reproduced 
before my eyes; it was inscribed in the great book of fate, in that obscure 
tome whereof no mortal has intelligence, 'twas set down there, I say, that 
upon all those who had tormented me, humiliated me, bound me in iron 
chains, there were to be heaped unceasing bounties and rewards for what 
they had done with regard to me, as if Providence had assumed the task 
of demonstrating to me the inutility of virtue.... Baleful lessons which 
however did not correct me, no, I wavered not; lessons which, should I 
once again escape from the blade poised above my head, will not prevent 
me from forever remaining the slave of my heart's Divinity.


CHAPTER 27

One morning, quite unexpectedly, Antonin appeared in our chamber and 
announced that the Reverend Father Severino, allied to the Pope and his 
protege, had just been named General of the Benedictine Order by His 
Holiness. The next day that monk did in effect depart, without taking his 
leave of us; 'twas said another was expected to replace him, and he would 
be far superior in debauch to all who remained; additional reasons to 
hasten ahead with my plans. The day following Severino's departure, the 
monks decided to retrench one more of my companions; I chose for my 
escape the very day when sentence was pronounced against the wretched 
girl, so that the monks, preoccupied with her, would pay less attention to 
me. It was the beginning of spring; the length of the nights still 
somewhat favored my designs: for two months I had been preparing 
them, they were completely unsuspected; little by little I sawed through 
the bars over my window, using a dull pair of scissors I had found; my 
head could already pass through the hole; with sheets and linen I had 
made a cord of more than sufficient length to carry me down the twenty 
or twenty-five feet Omphale had told me was the building's height.
When they had taken my old belongings, I had been careful, as I told 
you, to remove my little fortune which came to about six louis, and these 
I had always kept hidden with extreme caution; as I left, I put them into 
my hair, and nearly all of our chamber having left for that night's supper, 
finding no one about but one of my companions who had gone to bed as 
soon as the others had descended, I entered my cabinet; there, clearing 
the hole I had scrupulously kept covered at all times, I knotted my cord 
to one of the undamaged bars, then, sliding down outside, I soon 
touched the ground Ä 'twas not this part which troubled me: the six 
enclosures of stone and trees my companion had mentioned were what 
intrigued me far more. Once there, I discovered that each concentric 
space between one barrier and the next was no more than eight feet 
wide, and it was this proximity which assured a casual glance that there 
was nothing in the area but a dense cluster of trees. The night was very 
dark; as I turned round the first alley to discover where I might not find 
a gap in the palisade, I passed beneath the dining hall, which seemed 
deserted; my inquietude increased; however, I continued my search and 
thus at last came abreast the window to the main underground room, 
located directly below that in which the orgies were staged. Much light 
flooded from the basement, I was bold enough to approach the window 
and had a perfect view of the interior. My poor companion was stretched 
out upon a trestle table, her hair in disarray; she was doubtless destined 
for some terrible torture by which she was going to find freedom, the 
eternal end of her miseries....
I shuddered, but what my glances fell upon soon astonished me more: 
Omphale had either not known everything, or had not told all she knew; 
I spied four naked girls in the basement, and they certainly did not 
belong to our group; and so there were other victims of these monsters' 
lechery in this horrible asylum... other wretches unknown to us.... I fled 
away and continued my circuit until I was on the side opposite the 
basement window; not yet having found a breach, I resolved to make 
one; all unobserved, I had furnished myself with a long knife; I set to 
work; despite my gloves, my hands were soon scratched and torn; but 
nothing daunted me; the hedge was two feet thick, I opened a passage, 
went through, and entered the second ring; there, I was surprised to find 
nothing but soft earth underfoot; with each step I sank in ankle-deep: 
the further I advanced into these copses, the more profound the 
darkness became. Curious to know whence came the change of terrain, I 
felt about with my hands... O Just Heaven! my fingers seized the head of 
a cadaver! Great God! I thought, whelmed with horror, this must then be 
the cemetery, as indeed I was told, into which those murderers fling their 
victims; they have scarcely gone to the bother of covering them with 
earth!... this skull perhaps belongs to my dear Omphale, perhaps it is 
that of the unhappy Octavie, so lovely, so sweet, so good, and who while 
she lived was like unto the rose of which her charms were the image. And 
I, alas! might that this have been my resting place! Wouldst that I had 
submitted to my fate! What had I to gain by going on in pursuit of new 
pitfalls? Had I not committed evil enough? Had I not been the occasion 
of a number of crimes sufficiently vast? Ah! fulfill my destiny! O Earth, 
gape wide and swallow me up I Ah, 'tis madness, when one is so 
forsaken, so poor, so utterly abandoned, madness to go to such pains in 
order to vegetate yet a few more instants amongst monsters!... But no! I 
must avenge Virtue in irons.... She expects it of my courage.... Let her not 
be struck down... let us advance: it is essential that the universe be 
ridded of villains as dangerous as these.
Ought I fear causing the doom of three or four men in order to save the 
millions of individuals their policy or their ferocity sacrifice? And 
therewith I pierce the next hedge; this one was thicker than the first: the 
further I progressed, the stouter they became. The hole was made, 
however, but there was firm ground beyond... nothing more betrayed the 
same horrors I had just encountered; and thus I arrived at the brink of 
the moat without having met with the wall Omphale had spoken of; 
indeed, there turned out to be none at all, and it is likely that the monks 
mentioned it merely to add to our fear. Less shut in when beyond the 
sextuple enclosure, I was better able to distinguish objects: my eyes at 
once beheld the church and the bulk of the adjacent building; the moat 
bordered each of them; I was careful not to attempt to cross it at this 
point; I moved along the edge and finally discovering myself opposite 
one of the forest roads, I resolved to make my crossing there and to dash
down that road as soon as I had climbed up the other side of the ditch; it 
was very deep but, to my good fortune, dry and lined with brick, which 
eliminated all possibilities of slipping; then leapt: a little dazed by my 
fall, it was a few moments before I got to my feet...
I went ahead, got to the further side without meeting any obstacle, but 
how was I to climb it! I spent some time seeking a means and at last 
found one where several broken bricks at once gave me the opportunity 
to use the others as steps and to dig foot-holds in order to mount; I had 
almost reached the top.when something gave way beneath my weight 
and I fell back into the moat under the debris I dragged with me; I 
thought myself dead; this involuntary fall had been more severe than the 
other; I was, as well, entirely covered with the material which had 
followed me; some had struck my head... it was cut and bleeding. O God! 
I cried out in despair, go no further; stay there; 'tis a warning sent from 
Heaven; God does not want me to go on: perhaps I am deceived in my 
ideas, perhaps evil is useful on earth, and when God's hand desires it, 
perhaps it is a sin to resist it! But, soon revolted by that doctrine, the too 
wretched fruit of the corruption which had surrounded me, I extricated 
myself from the pile of rubble on top of me and finding it easier to climb 
by the breach I had just made, for now there were new holes, I try once 
again, I take courage, a moment later I find myself at the crest.
Because of all this I had strayed away from the path I had seen, but 
having taken careful note of its position, I found it again, and began to 
run. Before day-break I reached the forest's edge and was soon upon that 
little hill from which, six long months before, I had, to my sorrow, espied 
that frightful monastery; I rest a few minutes, I am bathed in 
perspiration; my first thought is to fall upon my knees and beg God to 
forgive the sins I unwillingly committed in that odious asylum of crime 
and impurity; tears of regret soon flowed from my eyes. Alas! I said, I 
was far less a criminal when last year I left this same road, guided by a 
devout principle so fatally deceived! O God! In what state may I now 
behold myself! These lugubrious reflections were in some wise mitigated 
by the pleasure of discovering I was free; I continued along the road 
toward Dijon, supposing it would only be in that capital my complaints 
could be legitimately lodged....
At this point Madame de Lorsange persuaded Therese to catch her 
breath for a few minutes at least; she needed the rest; the emotion she 
put into her narrative, the wounds these dreadful recitals reopened in 
her soul, everything, in short, obliged her to resort to a brief respite. 
Monsieur de Corville had refreshments brought in, and after collecting 
her forces, our heroine set out again to pursue her deplorable adventures 
in great detail, as you shall see. By the second day all my initial fears of 
pursuit had dissipated; the weather was extremely warm and, following 
my thrifty habit, I left the road to find a sheltered place where I could eat 
a light meal that would fortify me till evening. Off the road to the right 
stood a little grove of trees through which wound a limpid stream; this 
seemed a good spot for my lunch. My thirst quenched by this pure cool 
water, nourished by a little bread, my back leaning against a tree trunk, I 
breathed deep draughts of clear, serene air which relaxed me and was 
soothing. Resting there, my thoughts dwelled upon the almost 
unexampled fatality which, despite the thorns strewn thick along the 
career of Virtue, repeatedly brought me back, whatever might happen, to 
the worship of that Divinity and to acts of love and resignation toward 
the Supreme Being from Whom Virtue emanates and of Whom it is the 
image. A kind of enthusiasm came and took possession of me; alas! I said 
to myself, He abandons me not, this God I adore, for even at this instant 
I find the means to recover my strength. Is it not to Him I owe this 
merciful favor? And are there not persons in the world to whom it is 
refused? I am then not completely unfortunate because there are some 
who have more to complain of than I....
Ah! am I not much less so than the unlucky ones I left in that den of 
iniquity and vice from which God's kindness caused me to emerge as if 
by some sort of miracle?... And full of gratitude I threw myself upon my 
knees, raised my eyes, and fixing the sun, for it seemed to me the 
Divinity's most splendid achievement, the one which best manifests His 
greatness, I was drawing from that Star's sublimity new motives for 
prayer and good works when all of a sudden I felt myself seized by two 
men who, having cast something over my head to prevent me from 
seeing and crying out, bound me like a criminal and dragged me away 
without uttering a word. And thus had we walked for nearly two hours 
during which I knew not whither my escorts were taking me when one of 
them, hearing me gasp for air, proposed to his comrade that I be freed of 
the sack covering my head; he agreed, I drank in fresh air and observed 
that we were in the midst of a forest through which we were traveling 
along a fairly broad although little frequented road. A thousand dark 
ideas rushed straightway into my mind. I feared I was being led back to 
their odious monastery.
"Ah," I say to one of my guides, "ah Monsieur, will you tell me where I 
am being conducted? May I not ask what you intend to do with me?" "Be 
at ease, my child," the man replied, "and do not let the precautions we 
are obliged to take cause you any fright; we are leading you to a good 
master; weighty considerations engage him to procure a maid for his 
wife by means of this mysterious process, but never fear, you will find 
yourself well off." "Alas! Messieurs," I answered, "if 'tis my welfare for 
which you labor it is to no purpose I am constrained; I am a poor 
orphan, no doubt much to be commiserated; I ask for nothing but a place 
and since you are giving me one, I have no cause to run away, do I?" 
"She's right," said one of my escorts, "let's make her more comfortable; 
untie everything but her hands." They do so and we resume our march. 
Seeing me calmed, they even respond to my questions, and I finally learn 
that I am destined to have for master one Comte de Gernande, a native 
of Paris, but owning considerable property in this country and rich to the 
tune of five hundred thousand pounds a year, all of which he consumes 
alone Ä so said one of my guides. "Alone?" "Yes, he is a solitary man, a 
philosopher: he never sees a soul; but on the other hand he is one of 
Europe's greatest epicures; there is not an eater in all the world who can 
hold a candle to him. But I'll say no more about it; you'll see." "But what 
do these cautious measures signify, Monsieur?"
"Well, simply this. Our master has the misfortune to have a wife who has 
become insane; a strict watch must be kept over her, she never leaves her 
room, no one wishes to be her servant; it would have done no good to 
propose the work to you, for had you been forewarned you'd never have 
accepted it. We are obliged to carry girls off by force in order to have 
someone to exercise this unpleasant function." "What? I will be made 
this lady's captive?" "Why, forsooth, yes, you will, and that's why we 
have you tied this way; but you'll get on... don't fret, you'll get on 
perfectly; apart from this annoyance, you'll lack nothing." "Ah! Merciful 
Heaven! what thralldom!" "Come, come, my child, courage, you'll get out 
of it someday and you'll have made your fortune."


CHAPTER 28

My guide had no sooner finished speaking than we caught sight of the 
chateau. It was a superb and vast building isolated in the middle of the 
forest, but this great edifice which could have accommodated hundreds 
of persons, seemed to be inhabited hardly at all. I only noticed a few 
signs of life coming from kitchens situated in the vaults below the central 
part of the structure; all the rest was as deserted as the chateau's site was 
lonely. No one was there to greet us when we entered; one of my guides 
went off in the direction of the kitchens, the other presented me to the 
Count. He was at the far end of a spacious and superb apartment, his 
body enveloped in an oriental satin dressing gown, reclining upon an 
ottoman, and having hard by him two young men so indecently, or rather 
so ridiculously, costumed, their hair dressed with such elegance and 
skill, that at first I took them for girls; a closer inspection allowed me to 
recognize them for two youths, one of about fifteen, the other perhaps 
sixteen.
Their faces struck me as charming, but in such a state of dissipated 
softness and weariness, that at the outset I thought they were ill. "My 
Lord, here is a girl," said my guide, "she seems to us to be what might 
suit you: she is properly bred and gentle and asks only to find a situation; 
we hope you will be content with her." " 'Tis well," the Count said with 
scarcely a glance in my direction; "you, Saint-Louis, will close the doors 
when you go out and you will say that no one is to enter unless I ring." 
Then the Count rose to his feet and came up to examine me. While he 
makes a detailed investigation I can describe him to you: the portrait's 
singularity merits an instant's attention. Monsieur de Gernande was at 
that time a man of fifty, almost six feet tall and monstrously fat.
Nothing could be more terrifying than his face, the length of his nose, his 
wicked black eyes, his large ill-furnished mouth, his formidable high 
forehead, the sound of his fearful raucous voice, his enormous hands; all 
combined to make a gigantic individual whose presence inspired much 
more fear than reassurance. We will soon be able to decide whether the 
morals and actions of this species of centaur were in keeping with his 
awesome looks. After the most abrupt and cavalier scrutiny, the Count 
demanded to Know my age. "I am twenty-three, Monsieur," I replied. 
And to this first question he added some others of a personal nature. I 
made him privy to everything that concerned me; I did not even omit the 
brand I had received from Rodin, and when I had represented my misery 
to him, when I had proven to him that unhappiness had constantly 
dogged my footsteps: "So much the better," the dreadful man replied, "so 
much the better, it will have made you more pliable Ä adaptability counts 
heavily toward success in this household Ä I see nothing to regret in the 
wretchedness that hounds an abject race of plebeians Nature has 
doomed to grovel at our feet throughout the period allotted them to live 
on the same earth as we. Your sort is more energetic and less insolent, 
the pressures of adversity help you fulfill your duties toward us."
"But, Monsieur, I told you that I am not of mean birth." "Yes, yes, I have 
heard that before, they always pass themselves off for all kinds of things 
when in fact they are nothing or miserable. Oh indeed, pride's illusions 
are of the highest usefulness to console fortune's ills, and then, you see, it 
is up to us to believe what we please about these lofty estates beaten 
down by the blows of destiny. Pish, d'ye know, it's all the same to me if 
you fancy yourself a princess. To my consideration you have the look and 
more or less the costume of a servant, and as such you may enter my 
hire, if it suits you. However," the hard-hearted man continued, "your 
welfare, your happiness Ä they are your concern, they depend on your 
performance: a little patience, some discretion, and in a few years you 
will be sent forth in a way to avoid further service." Then he took one 
after the other of my arms, rolled my sleeves to the elbows, and 
examined them attentively while asking me how many times I had been 
bled. "Twice, Monsieur," I told him, rather surprised at the question, and 
I mentioned when and under what circumstances it had happened. He 
pressed his fingers against the veins as one does when one wishes to 
inflate them, and when they were swollen to the desired point, he 
fastened his lips to them and sucked. From that instant I ceased to doubt 
libertinage was involved in this dreadful person's habits, and tormenting 
anxieties were awakened in my heart.
"I have got to know how you are made," continued the Count, staring at 
me in a way that set me to trembling; "the post you are to occupy 
precludes any corporeal defects; show me what you have about you." I 
recoiled; but the Count, all his facial muscles beginning to twitch with 
anger, brutally informed me that I should be ill-advised to play the prude 
with him, for, said he, there are infallible methods of bringing women to 
their senses. "What you have related to me does not betoken a virtue of 
the highest order; and so your resistance would be quite as misplaced as 
ludicrous."
Whereupon he made a sign to his young boys who, approaching 
immediately, fell to undressing me. Against persons as enfeebled, as 
enervated as those who surrounded me, it is certainly not difficult to 
defend oneself; but what good would it have done? The cannibal who 
had cast me into their hands could have pulverized me, had he wished to, 
with one blow of his fist. I therefore understood I had to yield: an instant 
later I was unclothed; 'twas scarcely done when I perceived I was exciting 
those two Ganymedes to gales of laughter. "Look ye, friend," said the 
younger, "a girl's a pretty thing, eh? But what a shame there's that cavity 
there." "Oh!" cried the other, "nothing nastier than that hole, I'd not 
touch a woman even were my fortune at stake." And while my fore end 
was the subject of their sarcasms, the Count, an intimate partisan of the 
behind (unhappily, alas! like every libertine), examined mine with the 
keenest interest: he handled it brutally, he browsed about with avidity; 
taking handfuls of flesh between his fingers, he rubbed and kneaded 
them to the point of drawing blood. Then he made me walk away from 
him, halt, walk backward in his direction, keeping my behind turned 
toward him while he dwelled upon the sight of it.
When I had returned to him, he made me bend, stoop, squat, stand erect, 
squeeze and spread. Now and again he slipped to his knees before that 
part which was his sole concern. He applied kisses to several different 
areas of it, even a few upon that most secret orifice; but all his kisses 
were distinguished by suction, his lips felt like leeches. While he was 
applying them here and there and everywhere he solicited numerous 
details concerning what had been done to me at the monastery of Saint 
Mary-in-the-Wood, and without noticing that my recitations doubled his 
warmth, I was candid enough to give them all with naivete. He 
summoned up one of his youths and placing him beside me, he untied 
the bow securing a great red ribbon which gathered in white gauze 
pantaloons, and brought to light all the charms this garment concealed. 
After some deft caresses bestowed upon the same altar at which, in me, 
the Count had signaled his devotion, he suddenly exchanged the object 
and fell to sucking that part which characterized the child's sex.
He continued to finger me: whether because of habit in the youth, 
whether because of the satyr's dexterity, in a very brief space Nature, 
vanquished, caused there to flow into the mouth of the one what was 
ejected from the member of the other. That was how the libertine 
exhausted the unfortunate children he kept in his house, whose number 
we will shortly see; 'twas thus he sapped their strength, and that was 
what caused the languor in which I beheld them to be. And now let us 
see how he managed to keep women in the same state of prostration and 
what was the true cause of his own vigor's preservation. The homage the 
Count rendered me had been protracted, but during it not a trace of 
infidelity to his chosen temple had he revealed; neither his glances, nor 
his kisses, nor his hands, nor his desires strayed away from it for an 
instant; after having sucked the other lad and having in likewise 
gathered and devoured his sperm: "Come," he said to me, drawing me 
into an adjacent room before I could gather up my clothes, "come, I am 
going to show you how we manage." I was unable to dissimulate my 
anxiety, it was terrible; but there was no other way to put a different 
aspect upon my fate, I had to quaff to the lees the potion in the chalice 
tendered to me. Two other boys of sixteen, quite as handsome, quite as 
peaked as the first two we had left in the salon, were working upon a 
tapestry when we entered the room. Upon our entrance they rose.
"Narcisse," said the Count to one of them, "here is the Countess' new 
chambermaid; I must test her; hand me the lancets." Narcisse opens a 
cupboard and immediately produces all a surgeon's gear. I allow your 
imagination to fancy my state; my executioner spied my embarrassment, 
and it merely excited his mirth. "Put her in place, Zephire," Monsieur de 
Gernande said to another of the youths, and this boy approached me 
with a smile. "Don't be afraid, Mademoiselle," said he, "it can only do you 
the greatest good. Take your place here." It was a question of kneeling 
lightly upon the edge of a tabouret located in the middle of the room; 
one's arms were elevated and attached to two black straps which 
descended from the ceiling. No sooner have I assumed the posture than 
the Count steps up scalpel in hand: he can scarcely breathe, his eyes are 
alive with sparks, his face smites me with terror; he ties bands about 
both my arms, and in a flash he has lanced each of them. A cry bursts 
from between his teeth, it is accompanied by two or three blasphemies 
when he catches sight of my blood; he retires to a distance of six feet and 
sits down. The light garment covering him is soon deployed; Zephire 
kneels between his thighs and sucks him; Narcisse, his feet planted on 
his master's armchair, presents the same object to him to suckle he is 
himself having drained by Zephire. Gernande gets his hands upon the 
boy's loins, squeezes them, presses them to him, but quits them long 
enough to cast his inflamed eyes toward me.
My blood is escaping in floods and is falling into two white basins 
situated underneath my arms. I soon feel myself growing faint. 
"Monsieur, Monsieur," I cry, "have pity on me, I am about to collapse." I 
sway, totter, am held up by the straps, am unable to fall; but my arms 
having shifted, and my head slumping upon my shoulder, my face is now 
washed with blood. The Count is drunk with joy... however, I see nothing 
like the end of his operation approaching, I swoon before he reaches his 
goal; he was perhaps only able to attain it upon seeing me in this state, 
perhaps his supreme ecstasy depended upon this morbid picture.... At 
any rate, when I returned to my senses I found myself in an excellent 
bed, with two old women standing near me; as soon as they saw me open 
my eyes, they brought me a cup of bouillon and, at three-hour intervals, 
rich broths; this continued for two days, at the end of which Monsieur de 
Gernande sent to have me get up and come for a conversation in the 
same salon where I had been received upon my arrival. I was led to him; 
I was still a little weak and giddy, but otherwise well; I arrived.
"Therese," said the Count, bidding me be seated, "I shall not very often 
repeat such exercises with you, your person is useful for other purposes; 
but it was of the highest importance I acquaint you with my tastes and 
the manner in which you will expire in this house should you betray me 
one of these days, should you be unlucky enough to let yourself be 
suborned by the woman in whose society you are going to be placed. 
"That woman belongs to me, Therese, she is my wife and that title is 
doubtless the most baleful she could have, since it obliges her to lend 
herself to the bizarre passion whereof you have been a recent victim; do 
not suppose it is vengeance that prompts me to treat her thus, scorn, or 
any sentiment of hostility or hatred; it is merely a question of passion. 
Nothing equals the pleasure I experience upon shedding her blood... I go 
mad when it flows; I have never enjoyed this woman in any other 
fashion. Three years have gone by since I married her, and for three 
years she has been regularly exposed every four days to the treatment 
you have undergone. Her youth (she is not yet twenty), the special care 
given her, all this keeps her aright; and as the reservoir is replenished at 
the same rate it is tapped, she has been in fairly good health since the 
regime began. Our relations being what they are, you perfectly well 
appreciate why I can neither allow her to go out nor to receive visitors. 
And so I represent her as insane and her mother, the only living member 
of her family, who resides in a chateau six leagues from here, is so firmly 
convinced of her derangement that she dares not even come to see her. 
Not infrequently the Countess implores my mercy, there is nothing she 
omits to do in order to soften me; but I doubt whether she shall ever 
succeed. My lust decreed her fate, it is immutable, she will go on in this 
fashion so long as she is able; while she lives she will want nothing and 
as I am incredibly fond of what can be drained from her living body, I 
will keep her alive as long as possible; when finally she can stand it no 
more, well, tush, Nature will take its course. She's my fourth; I'll soon 
have a fifth. Nothing disturbs me less than to lose a wife. There are so 
many women about, and it is so pleasant to change.


CHAPTER 29

"In any event, Therese, your task is to look after her. Her blood is let 
once every ninety-six hours; she loses two bowls of it each time and 
nowadays no longer faints, having got accustomed to it. Her prostration 
lasts twenty-four hours; she is bedridden one day out of every four, but 
during the remaining three she gets on tolerably well. But you may easily 
understand this life displeases her; at the outset there was nothing she 
would not try to deliver herself from it, nothing she did not undertake to 
acquaint her mother with her real situation: she seduced two of her 
maid-servants whose maneuvers were detected early enough to defeat 
their success: she was the cause of these two unhappy creatures' ruin, 
today she repents what she did and, recognizing the irremediable 
character of her destiny, she is co-operating cheerfully and has promised 
not to make confederates of the help I hire to care for her. But this secret 
and what becomes of those who conspire to betray me, these matters, 
Therese, oblige me to put no one in her neighborhood but persons who, 
like yourself, have been impressed; and thus inquiries are avoided.
Not having carried you off from anyone's house, not having to render an 
account of you to anyone at all, nothing stands in the way of my 
punishing you, if you deserve to be, in a manner which, although you will 
be deprived of mortal breath, cannot nevertheless expose me to 
interrogations or embroil me in any unpleasantnesses. As of the present 
moment you inhabit the world no longer, since the least impulse of my 
will can cause you to disappear from it. What can you expect at my 
hands? Happiness if you behave properly, death if you seek to play me 
false.
Were these alternatives not so clear, were they not so few, I would ask for 
your response; but in your present situation we can dispense with 
questions and answers. I have you, Therese, and hence you must obey 
me.... Let us go to my wife's apartment." Having nothing to object to a 
discourse as precise as this, I followed my master: we traversed a long 
gallery, as dark, as solitary as the rest of the chateau; a door opens, we 
enter an antechamber where I recognize the two elderly women who 
waited upon me during my coma and recovery. They got up and 
introduced us into a superb apartment where we found the unlucky 
Countess doing tambour brocade as she reclined upon a chaise longue; 
she rose when she saw her husband.
"Be seated," the Count said to her, "I permit you to listen to me thus. 
Here at last we have a maid for you, Madame," he continued, "and I trust 
you will remember what has befallen the others Ä and that you will not 
try to plunge this one into an identical misfortune." "It would be 
useless," I said, full eager to be of help to this poor woman and wishing 
to disguise my designs, "yes, Madame, I dare certify in your presence 
that it would be to no purpose, you will not speak one word to me I shall 
not report immediately to his Lordship, and I shall certainly not 
jeopardize my life in order to serve you." "I will undertake nothing, 
Mademoiselle, which might force you into that position," said this poor 
woman who did not yet grasp my motives for speaking in this wise; "rest 
assured: I solicit nothing but your care." "It will be entirely yours, 
Madame," I answered, "but beyond that, nothing." And the Count, 
enchanted with me, squeezed my hand as he whispered: "Nicely done, 
Therese, your prosperity is guaranteed if you conduct yourself as you say 
you will."
The Count then showed me to my room which adjoined the Countess' 
and he showed me as well that the entirety of this apartment, closed by 
stout doors and double grilled at every window, left no hope of escape. 
"And here you have a terrace," Monsieur de Gernande went on, leading 
me out into a little garden on a level with the apartment, "but its 
elevation above the ground ought not, I believe, give you the idea of 
measuring the walls; the Countess is permitted to take fresh air out here 
whenever she wishes, you will keep her company... adieu." I returned to 
my mistress and, as at first we spent a few moments examining one 
another without speaking, I obtained a good picture of her Ä but let me 
paint it for you. Madame de Gernande, aged nineteen and a half, had the 
most lovely, the most noble, the most majestic figure one could hope to 
see, not one of her gestures, not a single movement was without 
gracefulness, not one of her glances lacked depth of sentiment: nothing 
could equal the expression of her eyes, which were a beautiful dark 
brown although her hair was blond; but a certain languor, a lassitude 
entailed by her misfortunes, dimmed their e'clat, and thereby rendered 
them a thousand times more interesting; her skin was very fair, her hair 
very rich; her mouth was very small, perhaps too small, and I was little 
surprised to find this defect in her: 'twas a pretty rose not yet in full 
bloom; but teeth so white... lips of a vermillion... one might have said 
Love had colored them with tints borrowed from the goddess of flowers; 
her nose was aquiline, straight, delicately modeled; upon her brow 
curved two ebony eyebrows; a perfectly lovely chin; a visage, in one 
word, of the finest oval shape, over whose entirety reigned a kind of 
attractiveness, a naivete, an openness which might well have made one 
take this adorable face for an angelic rather than mortal physiognomy.
Her arms, her breasts, her flanks were of a splendor... of a round fullness 
fit to serve as models to an artist; a black silken fleece covered her mons 
veneris, which was sustained by two superbly cast thighs; and what 
astonished me was that, despite the slenderness of the Countess' figure, 
despite her sufferings, nothing had impaired the firm quality of her flesh: 
her round, plump buttocks were as smooth, as ripe, as firm as if her 
figure were heavier and as if she had always dwelled in the depths of 
happiness. However, frightful traces of her husband's libertinage were 
scattered thickly about; but, I repeat, nothing spoiled, nothing 
damaged... the very image of a beautiful lily upon which the honeybee 
has inflicted some scratches. To so many gifts Madame de Gernande 
added a gentle nature, a romantic and tender mind, a heart of such 
sensibility!... welleducated, with talents... a native art for seduction 
which no one but her infamous husband could resist, a charming timbre 
in her voice and much piety: such was the unhappy wife of the Comte de 
Gernande, such was the heavenly creature against whom he had plotted; 
it seemed that the more she inspired ideas, the more she inflamed his 
ferocity, and that the abundant gifts she had received from Nature only 
became further motives for that villain's cruelties. "When were you last 
bled, Madame?" I asked in order to have her understand I was 
acquainted with everything. "Three days ago," she said, "and it is to be 
tomorrow...." Then, with a sigh: "... yes, tomorrow... Mademoiselle, 
tomorrow you will witness the pretty scene." "And Madame is not 
growing weak?" "Oh, Great Heaven! I am not twenty and am sure I shall 
be no weaker at seventy. But it will come to an end, I flatter myself in the 
belief, for it is perfectly impossible for me to live much longer this way: I 
will go to my Father, in the arms of the Supreme Being I will seek a place 
of rest men have so cruelly denied me on earth." These words clove my 
heart; wishing to maintain my role, I disguised my trouble, but upon the 
instant I made an inward promise to lay down my life a thousand times, 
if necessary, rather than leave this ill-starred victim in the clutches of 
this monstrous debauchee. The Countess was on the point of taking her 
dinner.
The two old women came to tell me to conduct her into her cabinet; I 
transmitted the message; she was accustomed to it all, she went out at 
once, and the two women, aided by the two valets who had carried me 
off, served a sumptuous meal upon a table at which my place was set 
opposite my mistress. The valets retired and the women informed me 
that they would not stir from the antechamber so as to be near at hand to 
receive whatever might be Madame's orders. I relayed this to the 
Countess, she took her place and, with an air of friendliness and 
affability which entirely won my heart, invited me to join her. There were 
at least twenty dishes upon the table. "With what regards this aspect of 
things, Mademoiselle, you see that they treat me well." "Yes, Madame," I 
replied, "and I know it is the wish of Monsieur le Comte that you lack 
nothing." "Oh yes! But as these attentions are motivated only by cruelty,
my feelings are scarcely of gratitude." Her constant state of debilitation 
and perpetual need of what would revive her strength obliged Madame 
de Gernande to eat copiously. She desired partridge and Rouen duckling; 
they were brought to her in a trice. After the meal, she went for some air 
on the terrace, but upon rising she took my arm, for she was quite unable 
to take ten steps without someone to lean upon. It was at this moment 
she showed me all those parts of her body I have just described to you; 
she exhibited her arms: they were covered with small scars.
"Ah, he does not confine himself to that," she said, "there is not a single 
spot on my wretched person whence he does not love to see blood flow." 
And she allowed me to see her feet, her neck, the lower part of her 
breasts and several other fleshy areas equally speckled with healed 
punctures. That first day I limited myself to murmuring a few 
sympathetic words and we retired for the night. The morrow was the 
Countess' fatal day. Monsieur de Gernande, who only performed the 
operation after his dinner Ä which he always took before his wife ate hers 
Ä had me join him at table; it was then, Madame, I beheld that ogre fall 
to in a manner so terrifying that I could hardly believe my eyes. Four 
domestics, amongst them the pair who had led me to the chateau, served 
this amazing feast. It deserves a thorough description: I shall give it you 
without exaggeration. The meal was certainly not intended simply to 
overawe me. What I witnessed then was an everyday affair. Two soups 
were brought on, one a consomme flavored with saffron, the other a ham 
bisque; then a sirloin of English roast beef, eight hors d'oeuvres, five 
substantial entrees, five others only apparently lighter, a boar's head in 
the midst of eight braised dishes which were relieved by two services of 
entremets, then sixteen plates of fruit; ices, six brands of wine, four 
varieties of liqueur and coffee.
Monsieur de Gernande attacked every dish, and several were polished off 
to the last scrap; he drank a round dozen bottles of wine, four, to begin 
with, of Burgundy, four of Champagne with the roasts; Tokay, Mulseau, 
Hermitage and Madeira were downed with the fruit. He finished with 
two bottles of West Indies rum and ten cups of coffee. As fresh after this 
performance as he might have been had he just waked from sleep, 
Monsieur de Gernande said: "Off we go to bleed your mistress; I trust 
you will let me know if I manage as nicely with her as I did with you." 
Two young boys I had not hitherto seen, and who were of the same age 
as the others, were awaiting at the door of the Countess' apartment; it 
was then the Count informed me he had twelve minions and renewed 
them every year. These seemed yet prettier than the ones I had seen 
hitherto; they were livelier... we went in.... All the ceremonies I am going 
to describe now, Madame, were part of a ritual from which the Count 
never deviated, they were scrupulously observed upon each occasion, 
and nothing ever changed except the place where the incisions were 
made. The Countess, dressed only in a loose-floating muslin robe, fell to 
her knees instantly the Count entered. "Are you ready?" her husband 
inquired.
"For everything, Monsieur," was the humble reply; "you know full well I 
am your victim and you have but to command me. ' Monsieur de 
Gernande thereupon told me to undress his wife and lead her to him. 
Whatever the loathing I sensed for all these horrors, you understand, 
Madame, I had no choice but to submit with the most entire resignation. 
In all I have still to tell you, do not, I beseech you, do not at any time 
regard me as anything but a slave; I complied simply because I could not 
do otherwise, but never did I act willingly in anything whatsoever. I 
removed my mistress' simar, and when she was naked conducted her to 
her husband who had already taken his place in a large armchair: as part 
of the ritual she perched upon this armchair and herself presented to his 
kisses that favorite part over which he had made such a to-do with me 
and which, regardless of person or sex, seemed to affect him in the same 
way. "And now spread them, Madame," the Count said brutally.
And for a long time he rollicked about with what he enjoyed the sight of; 
he had it assume various positions, he opened it, he snapped it shut; with 
tongue and fingertip he tickled the narrow aperture; and soon carried 
away by his passions' ferocity, he plucked up a pinch of flesh, squeezed it, 
scratched it. Immediately he produced a small wound he fastened his 
mouth to the spot. I held his unhappy victim during these preliminaries, 
the two boys, completely naked, toiled upon him in relays; now one, now 
the other knelt between Gernande's thighs and employed his mouth to 
excite him. It was then I noticed, not without astonishment, that this 
giant, this species of monster whose aspect alone was enough to strike 
terror, was howbeit barely a man; the most meager, the most minuscule 
excrescence of flesh or, to make a juster comparison, what one might 
find in a child of three was all one discovered upon this so very 
enormous and otherwise so corpulent individual; but its sensations were 
not for that the less keen and each pleasurable vibration was as a 
spasmodic attack. After this prologue he stretched out upon a couch and 
wanted his wife, seated astride his chest, to keep her behind poised over 
his visage while with her mouth she rendered him, by means of suckings, 
the same service he had just received from the youthful Ganymedes who 
were simultaneously, one to the left, one to the right, being excited by 
him; my hands meanwhile worked upon his behind: I titillated it, I 
polluted it in every sense; this phase of activities lasted more than a 
quarter of an hour but, producing no results, had to be given up for 
another; upon her husband's instructions I stretched the Countess upon 
a chaise longue: she lay on her back, her legs spread as wide as possible.
The sight of what she exposed put her husband in a kind of rage, he 
dwelt upon the perspective... his eyes blaze, he curses; like one crazed he 
leaps upon his wife, with his scalpel pricks her in several places, but 
these were all superficial gashes, a drop or two of blood, no more, seeped 
from each. These minor cruelties came to an end at last; others began. 
The Count sits down again, he allows his wife a moment's respite, and, 
turning his attention to his two little followers, he now obliges them to 
suck each other, and now he arranges them in such a way that while he 
sucks one, the other sucks him, and now again the one he sucked first 
brings round his mouth to render the same service to him by whom he 
was sucked: the Count received much but gave little. Such was his 
satiety, such his impotence that the extremest efforts availed not at all, 
and he remained in his torpor: he did indeed seem to experience some 
very violent reverberations, but nothing manifested itself; he several 
times ordered me to suck his little friends and immediately to convey to 
his mouth whatever incense I drained from them; finally he flung them 
one after the other at the miserable Countess. These young men accosted 
her, insulted her, carried insolence to the point of beating her, slapping 
her, and the more they molested her, the more loudly the Count praised 
and egged them on.


CHAPTER 30

Then Gernande turned to me; I was in front of him, my buttocks at the 
level of his face, and he paid his respects to his God; but he did not abuse 
me; nor do I know why he did not torment his Ganymedes; he chose to 
reserve all his unkindness for the Countess. Perhaps the honor of being 
allied to him established one's right to suffer mistreatment at his hands; 
perhaps he was moved to cruelty only by attachments which contributed 
energy to his outrages. One can imagine anything about such minds, and 
almost always safely wager that what seems most apt to be criminal is 
what will inflame them most. At last he places his young friends and me 
beside his wife and enlaces our bodies; here a man, there a woman, etc., 
all four dressing their behinds; he takes his stand some distance away 
and muses upon the panorama, then he comes near, touches, feels, 
compares, caresses; the youths and I were not persecuted, but each time 
he came to his wife, he fussed and bothered and vexed her in some way 
or other.
Again the scene changes: he has the Countess lie belly down upon a 
divan and taking each boy in turn, he introduces each of them into the 
narrow avenue Madame's posture exposes: he allows them to become 
aroused, but it is nowhere but in his mouth the sacrifice is to be 
consummated; as one after another they emerge he sucks each. While 
one acts, he has himself sucked by the other, and his tongue wanders to 
the throne of voluptuousness the agent presents to him. This activity 
continues a long time, it irritates the Count, he gets to his feet and wishes 
me to take the Countess' place; I instantly beg him not to require it of 
me, but he insists. He lays his wife upon her back, has me superimpose 
myself upon her with my flanks raised in his direction and thereupon he 
orders his aides to plumb me by the forbidden passage: he brings them 
up, his hands guide their introduction; meanwhile, I have got to 
stimulate the Countess with my fingers and kiss her mouth; as for the 
Count, his offertory is still the same; as each of the boys cannot act 
without exhibiting to him one of the sweetest objects of his veneration, 
he turns it all to his profit and, as with the Countess, he who has just 
perforated me is obliged to go, after a few lunges and retreats, and spill 
into his mouth the incense I have warmed.
When the boys are finished, seemingly inclined to replace them, the 
Count glues himself to my buttocks. "Superfluous efforts," he cries, "this 
is not what I must have... to the business... the business... however 
pitiable my state... I can hold back no longer... come, Countess, your 
arms!" He seizes her ferociously, places her as I was placed, arms 
suspended by two black straps; mine is the task of securing the bands; he 
inspects the knots: finding them too loose, he tightens them, "So that," 
he says, "the blood will spurt out under greater pressure"; he feels the 
veins, and lances them, on each arm, at almost the same moment. Blood 
leaps far: he is in an ecstasy; and adjusting himself so that he has a clear 
view of these two fountains, he has me kneel between his legs so I can 
suck him; he does as much for first one and then the other of his little 
friends, incessantly eyeing the jets of blood which inflame him. For my 
part, certain the instant at which the hoped for crisis occurs will bring a 
conclusion to the Countess' torments, I bring all my efforts to bear upon 
precipitating this denouement, and I become, as, Madame, you observe, 
I become a whore from kindness, a libertine through virtue. The much 
awaited moment arrives at last; I am not familiar with its dangers or 
violence, for the last time it had taken place I had been unconscious... 
Oh, Madame! what extravagance!
Gernande remained delirious for ten minutes, flailing his arms, 
staggering, reeling like one falling in a fit of epilepsy, and uttering 
screams which must have been audible for a league around; his oaths 
were excessive; lashing out at everyone at hand, his strugglings were 
dreadful. The two little ones are sent tumbling head over heels; he 
wishes to fly at his wife, I restrain him: I pump the last drop from him, 
his need of me makes him respect me; at last I bring him to his senses by 
ridding him of that fiery liquid, whose heat, whose viscosity, and above 
all whose abundance puts him in such a frenzy I believe he is going to 
expire; seven or eight tablespoons would scarcely have contained the 
discharge, and the thickest gruel would hardly give a notion of its 
consistency; and with all that, no appearance of an erection at all, rather, 
the limp look and feel of exhaustion: there you have the contrarieties 
which, better than might I, explain artists of the Count's breed. The 
Count ate excessively and only dissipated each time he bled his wife, 
every four days, that is to say.
Would this be the cause of the phenomenon? I have no idea, and not 
daring to ascribe a reason to what I do not understand, I will be content 
to relate what I saw. However, I rush to the Countess, I stanch her blood, 
untie her, and deposit her upon a couch in a state of extreme weakness; 
but the Count, totally indifferent to her, without condescending to cast 
even a glance at this victim stricken by his rage, abruptly goes out with 
his aides, leaving me to put things in whatever order I please. Such is the 
fatal apathy which better than all else characterizes the true libertine 
soul: if he is merely carried away by passion's heat, limned with remorse 
will be his face when, calmed again, he beholds the baleful effects of 
delirium; but if his soul is utterly corrupt? then such consequences will 
affright him not: he will observe them with as little trouble as regret, 
perhaps even with some of the emotion of those infamous lusts which 
produced them.
I put Madame de Gernande to bed. She had, so she said, lost much more 
this time than she ordinarily did; but such good care and so many 
restoratives were lavished upon her, that she appeared well two days 
later. That same evening, when I had completed all my chores in the 
Countess' apartment, word arrived that the Count desired to speak to 
me; Gernande was taking supper; I was obliged to wait upon him while 
he fed with a much greater intemperance than at dinner; four of his 
pretty little friends were seated round the table with him and there, every 
evening, he regularly drank himself into drunkenness; but to that end, 
twenty bottles of the most excellent wine were scarcely sufficient and I 
often saw him empty thirty. And every evening, propped up by his 
minions, the debauchee went to bed, and took one or two of the boys 
with him; these were nothing but vehicles which disposed him for the 
great scene. But I had discovered the secret of winning this man's very 
highest esteem: he frankly avowed to me that few women had pleased 
him so much; and thereby I acquired the right to his confidence, which I 
only exploited in order to serve my mistress.
One morning Gernande called me to his room to inform me of some new 
libertine schemes; after having listened closely and approved 
enthusiastically, and seeing him in a relatively calm state, I undertook to 
persuade him to mitigate his poor wife's fate. "Is it possible, Monsieur," I 
said to him, "that one may treat a woman in this manner, even setting 
aside all the ties which bind you to her? Condescend to reflect upon her 
sex's touching graces." "Oh Therese!" the Count answered with alacrity, 
"why in order to pacify me do you bring me arguments which could not 
more positively arouse me? Listen to me, my dear girl," he continued, 
having me take a place beside him, "and whatever the invectives you may 
hear me utter against your sex, don't lose your temper; no, a reasoned 
discussion; I'll yield to your arguments if they're logically sound.
"How are you justified, pray tell me, Therese, in asserting that a husband 
lies under the obligation to make his wife happy? and what titles dares 
this woman cite in order to extort this happiness from her husband? The 
necessity mutually to render one another happy cannot legitimately exist 
save between two persons equally furnished with the capacity to do one 
another hurt and, consequently, between two persons of commensurate 
strength: such an association can never come into being unless a 
contract is immediately formed between these two persons, which 
obligates each to employ against the other no kind of force but what will 
not be injurious to either; but this ridiculous convention assuredly can 
never obtain between two persons one of whom is strong and the other 
weak.
What entitles the latter to require the former to treat kindly with him? 
and what sort of a fool would the stronger have to be in order to 
subscribe to such an agreement? I can agree not to employ force against 
him whose own strength makes him to be feared; but what could 
motivate me to moderate the effects of my strength upon the being 
Nature subordinates to me? Pity, do you say? That sentiment is fitting 
for no one but the person who resembles me and as he is an egoist too, 
pity's effects only occur under the tacit circumstances in which the 
individual who inspires my commiseration has sympathy for me in his 
turn; but if my superiority assures me a constant ascendancy over him, 
his sympathy becoming valueless to me, I need never, in order to excite 
it, consent to any sacrifice. Would I not be a fool to feel pity for the 
chicken they slaughtered for my dinner?
That object, too inferior to me, lacking any relation to me, can never 
excite any feelings in me; well, the relationships of a wife to her husband 
and that of the chicken to myself are of identical consequence, the one 
and the other are household chattels which one must use, which one 
must employ for the purpose indicated by Nature, without any 
differentiation whatsoever. But, I ask, had it been Nature's intention to 
create your sex for the happiness of ours and vice versa, would this blind 
Nature have caused the existence of so many ineptitudes in the 
construction of the one and the other of those sexes? Would she have 
implanted faults so grave in each that mutual estrangement and 
antipathy were bound infallibly to be their result? Without going any 
further in search of examples, be so good as to tell me, Therese, knowing 
my organization to be what it is, what woman could I render happy? and, 
reversibly, to what man can the enjoyment of a woman be sweet when he 
is not endowed with the gigantic proportions necessary to satisfy her? In 
your opinion, will they be moral qualities which will compensate his 
physical shortcomings?
And what thinking being, upon knowing a woman to her depths, will not 
cry with Euripides: 'That one amongst the Gods who brought women 
into the world may boast of having produced the worst of all creatures 
and the most afflicting to man.' If then it is demonstrated that the two 
sexes do not at all sort agreeably with each other and that there is not 
one well-founded grievance of the one which could not equally and 
immediately be voiced by the other, it is therefore false, from this 
moment, to say that Nature created them for their reciprocal happiness. 
She may have permitted them the desire to attain each other's vicinity in 
order to conjugate in the interests of propagation, but in no wise in order 
to form attachments with the design of discovering a mutual felicity.
The weaker therefore having no right to mouth complaints with the 
object of wresting pity from the stronger and no longer being able to 
raise the objection that the stronger depends for his happiness upon her, 
the weaker, I say, has no alternative but to submit; and as, despite the 
difficulty of achieving that bilateral happiness, it is natural that 
individuals of both sexes labor at nothing but to procure it for 
themselves, the weaker must reconcile herself to distilling from her 
submissiveness the only dose of happiness she can possibly hope to cull, 
and the stronger must strive after his by whatever oppressive methods he 
is pleased to employ, since it is proven that the mighty's sole happiness is 
yielded him by the exercise of his strong faculties, by, that is to say, the 
most thorough-going tyranny; thus, that happiness the two sexes cannot 
find with each other they will find, one in blind obedience, the other in 
the most energetic expression of his domination.
Why! were it not Nature's intention that one of the sexes tyrannize the 
other, would she not have created them equally strong? By rendering one 
in every particular inferior to the other, has she not adequately indicated 
that she wills the mightier to exploit the rights she has given him? the 
more the latter broadens his authority, the more, by means of his 
preponderance, he worsens the misery of the woman enthralled by her 
destiny, the better he answers Nature's intentions; the frail being's 
complaints do not provide a correct basis for analyzing the process; 
judgments thus come by would be nothing if not vicious, since, to reach 
them, you would have to appropriate none but the feeble's ideas: the suit 
must be judged upon the stronger party's power, upon the scope he has 
given to his power, and when this power's effects are brought to bear 
upon a woman, one must examine the question,
What is a woman? and how has this contemptible sex been viewed in 
ancient times and in our own by seventy-five per cent of the peoples of 
this earth? "Now, what do I observe upon coolly proceeding to this 
investigation? A puny creature, always inferior to man, infinitely less 
attractive than he, less ingenious, less wise, constructed in a disgusting 
manner entirely opposite to what is capable of pleasing a man, to what is 
able to delight him... a being three-quarters of her life untouchable, 
unwholesome, unable to satisfy her mate throughout the entire period 
Nature constrains her to childbearing, of a sharp turn of humor, shrill, 
shrewish, bitter, and thwart; a tyrant if you allow her privileges, mean, 
vile, and a sneak in bondage; always false, forever mischievous, 
constantly dangerous; in short, a being so perverse that during several 
convocations the question was very soberly agitated at the Council of 
Macon whether or not this peculiar creature, as distinct from man as is 
man from the ape, had any reasonably legitimate pretensions to 
classification as a human; but this quandary might be merely an error of 
the times; were women more favorably viewed in earlier ages?
Did the Persians, the Medes, the Babylonians, the Greeks, the Romans 
honor this odious sex we are able to dare make our idol today? Alas! I see 
it oppressed everywhere, everywhere rigorously banished from affairs, 
condemned everywhere, vilified, sequestered, locked up; women treated, 
in a word, like beasts one stables in the barn and puts to use when the 
need arises. Do I pause a moment at Rome? then I hear the wise Cato 
exclaim from the heart of the ancient world's capital: 'Were women 
lacking to men, they would yet hold conversation with the Gods.' I hear a 
Roman censor begin his harangue with these words: 'Gentlemen, were 
we ever to find a means to live without women, thereupon unto us 
should true happiness be known.' I hear the Greek theater resound to 
these lines intoned: 'O Zeus! what reason was it obliged thee to create 
women? couldst not have given being to humankind by better devices 
and wiser, by schemes which in a word would have spared us this female 
pestilence?'
I see this same Greek race hold that sex in such high contempt legislation 
was needed to oblige a Spartan to reproduce, and one of the penalties 
decreed in those enlightened republics was to compel a malefactor to 
garb himself in a woman's attire, that is to say, to wear the raiments of 
the vilest and most scorned creature of which man had acquaintance. 
"But without inquiring for examples in ages at such a great remove from 
ours, with what sort of an eye is this wretched sex still viewed upon the 
earth's surface? How is it dealt with? I behold it imprisoned throughout 
Asia and serving there as slave to the barbarous whims of a despot who 
molests it, torments it, and turns its sufferings into a game. In America I 
find a naturally humane race, the Eskimos, practicing all possible acts of 
beneficence amongst men and treating women with all imaginable 
severity: I see them humiliated, prostituted to strangers in one part of 
the world, used as currency in another. In Africa, where without doubt 
their station is yet further degraded, I notice them toiling in the manner 
of beasts of burden, tilling the soil, fertilizing it and sowing seed, and 
serving their husbands on their knees only.
Will I follow Captain Cook in his newest discoveries? Is the charming isle 
of Tahiti, where pregnancy is a crime sometimes meriting death for the 
mother and almost always for the child, to offer me women enjoying a 
happier lot? In the other islands this same mariner charted, I find them 
beaten, harassed by their own offspring, and bullied by the husband 
himself who collaborates with his family to torment them with additional 
rigor. "Oh, Therese I let not all this astonish you, nor be more surprised 
by the general preeminence accorded men over their wives in all epochs: 
the more a people is in harmony with Nature, the better will be its use of 
her laws; the wife can have no relation to her husband but that of a slave 
to his master; very decidedly she has no right to pretend to more 
cherished titles. One must not mistake for a prerogative the ridiculous 
abuses which, by degrading our sex, momentarily elevates yours: the 
cause for these travesties must be sought out, enunciated, and afterward 
one must only the more constantly return to reason's sagacious counsels.
Well, Therese, here is the cause of the temporary respect your sex once 
upon a time enjoyed and which it still misuses today while they who 
perpetuate it are unaware of what they are doing. "In the Gaul of long 
ago, that is to say, in that one part of the world where women were not 
totally treated as slaves, women had the habit of prophesying, of 
predicting the happy event: the people fancied they plied their trade 
successfully only because of the intimate commerce they doubtless had 
with the Gods; whence they were, so to speak, associated with the 
sacerdotal and enjoyed a measure of the consideration lavished upon 
priests.
French chivalry was founded upon these inanities and finding them 
favorable to its spirit, adopted them: but what happened next was what 
happens always: the causes became extinct, the effects were preserved; 
chivalry vanished, the prejudices it nourished persevered. This ancient 
veneration accorded for no sound reason could not itself be annihilated 
when what founded the illusion had dissipated: we no longer stand in 
awe of witches, but we reverence whores and, what is worse, we continue 
to kill each other for them. 
May such platitudes cease to influence these our philosophers' minds, 
and restoring women to their true position, may the intelligent spirit 
conceive them, as Nature indicates, as the wisest peoples acknowledge, 
to be nothing but individuals created for their pleasures, submitted to 
their caprices, objects whose frailty and wickedness make them 
deserving of naught but contempt. "But not only, Therese, did all the 
peoples of the earth enjoy the most extensive rights over their women, 
there were even to be found certain races which condemned women to 
death immediately they were born into the world, and of their numbers 
retained only those few necessary to the race's reproduction. 
The Arabs known as Koreish interred their daughters at the age of seven 
upon a mountain near Mecca, because, said they, so vile a sex appeared 
to them unworthy of seeing the light; in the seraglio of the King of 
Achem, the most appalling tortures are applied as punishment for the 
mere suspicion of infidelity, for the slightest disobedience in the service 
of the prince's lusts, or as soon as his women inspire his distaste; upon 
the banks of the River Ganges they are obliged to immolate themselves 
over their husbands' ashes, for they are esteemed of no further purpose 
in the world once their lords are able to enjoy them no more; in other 
regions they are hunted like wild beasts, 'tis an honor to kill a quantity of 
them; in Egypt they are sacrificed to the Gods; they are trampled under 
foot in Formosa if they become pregnant; German law condemned the 
man who killed a foreign woman to pay a fine of about ten crowns, 
nothing at all if the woman was his own or a courtesan; everywhere, to 
be brief, everywhere, I repeat, I see women humiliated, molested, 
everywhere sacrificed to the superstition of priests, to the savagery of 
husbands, to the playfulness of libertines. And because I have the 
misfortune to live amidst a people still so uncouth as not to dare abolish 
the most ludicrous of prejudices, I should deprive myself of the rights 
Nature has granted me! I should forgo all the pleasures to which these 
privileges give birth...
Come, come, Therese, that's not just, no, 'tis unfair: I will conceal my 
behavior because I must, but I will be compensated, in the retreat where 
I have exiled myself, and silently, for the absurd chains to which I am 
condemned by legislation, and here I will treat my wife as I like, for I find 
my right to do so lettered in all the universe's codes, graved in my heart, 
and sealed in Nature." "Oh Monsieur," said I, "your conversion is 
impossible." "And I advise you not to attempt it, Therese," Gernande 
answered; "the tree is too long out of the nursery; at my age one can 
advance a few steps in the career of evil, but not one toward good. My 
principles and my tastes have brought me joy since childhood, they have 
always been the unique bases of my conduct and actions: I will, who 
knows? go further, I have the feeling it could be done, but return? never; 
I have too great a horror for mankind's prejudices, I too sincerely hate 
their civilization, their virtue and their Gods ever to sacrifice my 
penchants to them." 
From this moment I saw very clearly that nothing remained for me, in 
order either to extricate myself from this house or to save the Countess, 
but the employment of strategems and joint action with her.


CHAPTER 31

During the year I had spent in the house, what I had allowed her to read 
in my heart was more than sufficient to dispel any doubts she might have 
of my desire to serve her, and now she could not fail to divine what had 
at first prompted me to act differently. I became less guarded, then 
spoke; she assented; we settled upon a plan: it was to inform her mother, 
to expose the Count's infamies to her eyes. Madame de Gernande was 
certain that unfortunate lady would hasten with all expedition to sever 
her daughter's bonds; but how were we to approach her? for we were so 
securely imprisoned, so closely watched! Accustomed to coping with 
ramparts, I gauged those upon which the terrace was raised: their height 
was scarcely thirty feet; there was no other enclosure in sight; once at the 
foot of the wall I thought one would find oneself already on the road 
through the forest; but the Countess, having been brought to this 
apartment at night and never having left it since, was unable to confirm 
my ideas. I agreed to attempt the descent; the letter Madame de 
Gernande wrote to her mother could not have been better phrased to 
melt and persuade her to come to the rescue of her most unhappy 
daughter; I slipped the letter into my bosom, I embraced that dear and 
attractive woman, then, as soon as night had fallen, aided by our bed 
linen, I slid to the ground outside the fortress. What had become of me, 
O Heaven? I discovered that instead of being outside the enclosure I was 
simply in a park, and in a park girt by walls which the quantity and dense 
foliage of trees had camouflaged from sight: these battlements were 
more than forty feet high, all of them garnished at the top with broken 
glass, and of a prodigious thickness... what was to become of me? Dawn 
was not far off: what would they think when I was found in a place into 
which I could not have come without a certain plan of escape?
Would I be able to keep the Count's fury at bay? Was it not very likely 
that ogre would drink my blood to punish such an offense? To return was 
out of the question, the Countess had drawn back the sheets; to knock at 
the door would be still more certainly to betray myself; a little more and I 
would have lost my head altogether and ceded to the violent effects of my 
despair. Had I been able to recognize some pity in the Count's soul, I 
might perhaps have been lulled into hopefulness, but a tyrant, a 
barbarian, a man who detested women and who, he said, had long been 
seeking the occasion to immolate one by draining away her blood drop 
by drop in order to find out how many hours she would be able to last... 
No doubt about it, he was going to put me to the test. Knowing not what 
would happen or what to do, discovering dangers everywhere, I threw 
myself down beside a tree, determined to await my fate and silently 
resigning myself to the Eternal's will.... The sun rose at last; merciful 
Heaven! the first object to present itself to me... is the Count himself: it 
had been frightfully warm during the night, he had stepped out to take a 
breath of air. He believes he is in error, he supposes this a specter, he 
recoils, rarely is courage a traitor's virtue: I get trembling to my feet, I 
fling myself at his knees.
"Therese! What are you doing here?" he demands. "Oh, Monsieur, 
punish me," I reply, "I am guilty and have nothing to answer you." 
Unhappily, in my fright I had forgotten to destroy the Countess' letter: he 
suspects its existence, asks for it, I wish to deny I have it; but Gernande 
sees the fatal letter protruding above my kerchief, snatches, it, reads it, 
and orders me to follow him. We enter the chateau, descend a hidden 
stairway leading down to the vaults: the most profound stillness reigns 
there below ground; after several detours, the Count opens a dungeon 
and casts me into it. "Impudent girl," says he, "I gave you warning that 
the crime you have just committed is punished here by death: therefore 
prepare yourself to undergo the penalty you have been pleased to incur. 
When tomorrow I rise from dinner I am going to dispatch you."
Once again I fall prostrate before him but, seizing me by the hair, he 
drags me along the ground, pulls me several times around my prison, 
and ends by hurling me against the wall in such a manner I am nigh to 
having my brains dashed out. "You deserve to have me open your four 
veins this instant," says he as he closes the door, "and if I postpone your 
death, be very sure it is only in order to render it the more horrible." He 
has left; I am in a state of the most violent agitation; I shall not describe 
the night I passed: my tormented imagination together with the physical 
hurt done me by the monster's initial cruelties made it one of the most 
dreadful I had ever gone through. One has no conception of what 
anguish is suffered by the wretch who from hour to hour awaits his 
ordeal, from whom hope has fled, and who knows not whether this 
breath he draws may not be his last. Uncertain of the torture, he pictures 
it in a thousand forms, one more frightful than the other; the least noise 
he hears may be that of his approaching assassins; the blood freezes in 
his veins, his heart grows faint, and the blade which is to put a period to 
his days is less cruel than those terrible instants swollen with the menace 
of death. In all likelihood the Count began by revenging himself upon his 
wife: you will be as convinced of it as I by the event which saved me.
For thirty-six hours I lingered in the critical condition I have just 
described; during that time I was brought no relief; and then my door 
was opened and the Count appeared: he was alone, fury glittered in his 
eyes. "You must be fully cognizant of the death you are going to undergo: 
this perverse blood has got to be made to seep out of you: you will be 
bled three times a day, I want to see how long you can survive the 
treatment. 'Tis an experiment I have been all afire to make, you know; 
my thanks to you for furnishing me the means." And, for the time being 
occupying himself with no passion but his vengeance, the monster made 
me stretch forth an arm, pricked it and stopped the wound after he had 
drawn two bowls of blood. He had scarcely finished when cries were 
heard.
"Oh, my Lord, my Lord !" exclaimed one of the servants who came 
running up to him, "come as quick as ever you can, Madame is dying, she 
wishes to speak to you before she gives up her soul." And the old woman 
turned and flew back to her mistress. However habituated one may be to 
crime, it is rarely that news of its accomplishment does not strike terror 
into him who has committed it; this fear avenges Virtue: Virtue resumes 
possession of its rights: Gernande goes out in alarm, he forgets to secure 
the dungeon's doors; although enfeebled by a forty hours' fast and the 
blood I have lost, I exploit my opportunity, leap from my cell, find my 
way unimpeded, traverse the court, the park, and reach the forest 
without having been perceived.
Walk, I say to myself, walk, walk, be courageous; if the mighty scorn the 
weak, there is an omnipotent God Who shields the latter and Who never 
abandons them. My head crowded with these ideas, I advance with a 
stout heart and before night closes I find myself in a cottage four leagues 
from the chateau. Some money remained to me, my needs were attended 
to, in a few hours I was rested. I left at daybreak and, renouncing all 
plans to register old or new complaints with the authorities, I asked to be 
directed toward Lyon; the road was pointed out to me and on the eighth 
day I reached that city, very weak, suffering much, but happy and 
unpursued; once arrived, I turned all my thoughts to recovery before 
striking out for Grenoble where, according to one of my persistent 
notions, happiness awaited me. One day my eye fell upon a gazette 
printed in some distant place; what was my surprise to behold crime 
crowned once again and to see one of the principal authors of my 
miseries arrived at the pinnacle of success.
Rodin, the surgeon of Saint-Michel, that infamous wretch who had 
punished me with such cruelty for having wished to spare him the 
murder of his daughter, had just, the news-paper declared, been named 
First Surgeon to the Empress of Russia with the considerable 
emoluments accompanying that post. May he prosper, the villain, I 
muttered to myself, may he be so whilst Providence so wills it; and thou, 
unhappy creature, suffer, suffer uncomplainingly, since it is decreed that 
tribulations and pain must be Virtue's frightful share; no matter, I shall 
never lose my taste for it.
But I was far from done with these striking examples of the triumph of 
vice, examples so disheartening for Virtue, and the flourishing condition 
of the personage whose acquaintance I was about to renew was surely to 
exasperate and amaze me more than any other, since it was that of one of 
the men at whose hands I had endured the bloodiest outrages. I was 
exclusively busied with preparing my departure when one evening a 
lackey clad in gray and completely unknown to me brought me a note; 
upon presenting it, he said his master had charged him to obtain my 
response without fail. The missive was worded this way: "A man who has 
somewhat wronged you, who believes he recognized you in the Place de 
Belle-cour, is most desirous to see you and to make amends for his 
conduct: hasten to come to meet him; he has things to tell you which 
may help liquidate his entire indebtedness to you."
The message carried no signature and the lackey offered no 
explanations. Having declared I was resolved to make no answer at all 
lest I was informed of who his master was: "He is Monsieur de SaintFlorent, 
Mademoiselle," the lackey said; "he has had the honor to know 
you formerly in the neighbor-hood of Paris; you rendered him, he
maintains, services for which he burns to attest his gratitude. Presently 
risen to a position of undisputed eminence in this city's commercial 
circles, he at once enjoys the consideration and the means which put him 
in a position to prove his regard for you. He awaits you." My 
deliberations were soon completed.
If this man had other than good intentions, I said to myself, would he be 
apt to write to me, to have me spoken to in this fashion? He repented his 
past infamies, was covered with remorse, it was with horror he 
remembered having torn from me what I cherished most and, by 
inaugurating a sequence of nightmares, having reduced me to the 
cruelest circumstances a woman may know... yes, yes, no doubt of it, this 
is repentance, I should be culpable before the Supreme Being were I not 
to consent to assuage his sufferings. Am I in a position, furthermore, to 
spurn the support that is proposed here? Rather, ought I not eagerly 
snatch at all that is offered to relieve me? This man wishes to see me in 
his town house: his prosperity must surround him with servants before 
whom he will have to act with enough dignity to prevent him from daring 
to fail me again, and in my state, Great God! can I inspire anything but 
sympathy in him? Therefore I assured Saint-Florent's lackey that upon 
the morrow at eleven o'clock I would take the privilege of going to salute 
his master; that I congratulated him upon his good fortune, and added 
that luck had treated me in nothing approaching the same manner. I 
returned to my room, but I was so preoccupied with what this man might 
wish to say to me that I slept not a wink all night; the next day I arrived 
at the indicated address: a superb mansion, a throng of domestics, that 
insolent canaille's contemptuous glances at the poverty it scorned, 
everything afflicts me and I am about ready to retreat when up comes the 
same liveryman who had spoken to me the previous evening, and, 
reassuring me, he conducts me into a sumptuous drawing room where, 
although it is nine years since I have set eyes on him, I perfectly 
recognize my butcher who has now reached the age of forty-five.
He does not rise upon my entrance, but gives the order we be left alone, 
and gestures me to come and seat myself near the vast armchair where 
he is enthroned. "I wanted to see you again, my child," says he with a 
humiliating tone of superiority, "not that I thought I had much wronged 
you, not that a troublesome recollection bids me make restitutions from 
which I believe my position exempts me; but I remember that, however 
brief was our acquaintance, you exhibited some parts during it: wit and 
character are needed for what I have to propose to you and if you accept, 
the need I will then have of you will insure your discovery of the 
resources which are necessary to you, and upon which it should be in 
vain you were to count without signifying your agreement."
I wished to reply with some reproaches for the levity of this beginning, 
but Saint-Florent imposed silence upon me. " 'Tis water under the 
bridge," says he, "a purely emotional episode, and my principles support 
the belief I have, that no brake should be applied to passion; when the 
appetites speak, they must be heard: that's my law. When I was captured 
by the thieves with whom you were, did you see me burst into tears? 
Swallow the bitter pill and act with diligence if one is weak, enjoy all 
one's rights if powerful: that's my doctrine. You were young and pretty, 
Therese, we found ourselves in the middle of a forest, nothing so arouses 
me sensually as the rape of a young virgin girl; such you were, I raped 
you; I might perhaps have done worse had what I attempted not met 
with success and had you put up any resistance. But I raped you, then 
left you naked and robbed in the middle of the night, upon a perilous 
road: two motives gave rise to that further villainy: I needed money and 
had none; as for the other reason which drove me to do this, 'twould be 
in vain were I to explain it, Therese, it would surpass your 
understanding. Only those spirits who are deep-learned in the heart of 
man, who have studied its innermost recesses, gained access to the most 
impenetrable nooks of this dim-lit labyrinth, they alone might be able to 
account for this consequence of an aberration." "What, Monsieur! the 
money I gave you... the service I had just rendered you... to be paid for 
what I did in your behalf by the blackest treachery... that may, you think, 
be understood, justified?"
"Why yes, Therese! yes indeed! the proof an explanation exists for all I 
did is that, having just pillaged you, molested you... (for, Therese, I did 
beat you, you know), why! having taken twenty steps, I stopped and, 
meditating upon the state in which I had left you, I at once found 
strength in these ideas, enough to perpetrate additional outrages I might 
not have committed had it not been for that: you had lost but one 
maidenhead.... I turned, retraced my steps, and made short work of the 
other.... And so it is true that in certain souls lust may be born from the 
womb of crime! What do I say? it is thus true that only crime awakes and 
stiffens lust and that there is not a single voluptuous pleasure it does not 
inflame and improve...." "Oh Monsieur! what horror is this?" "Could I 
not have acquitted myself of a still greater? I was close enough to it, I 
confess, but I was amply sure you were going to be reduced to the last 
extremities: the thought satisfied me, I left you. Well, Therese, let's leave 
the subject and continue to my reason for desiring to see you.
"My incredible appetite for both of a little girl's maidenheads has not 
deserted me, Therese," Saint-Florent pursued; "with this it is as with all 
libertinage's other extravagances: the older you grow, the more deeply 
they take root; from former misdeeds fresh desires are born, and new 
crimes from these desires. There would be nothing to the matter, my 
dear, were not the means one employs to succeed exceedingly culpable. 
But as the desire of evil is the primum mobile of our caprices, the more 
criminal the thing we are led to do, the better our irritation. When one 
arrives at this stage, one merely complains of the mediocrity of the 
means: the more encompassing their atrociousness, the more piquant 
our joy becomes, and thus one sinks in the quagmire without the 
slightest desire to emerge. "That, Therese, is my own history: two young 
children are necessary for my daily sacrifices; having once enjoyed them, 
- not only do I never again set eyes upon these objects, but it even 
becomes essential to my fantasies' entire satisfaction that they instantly 
leave the city: I should not at all savor the following day's pleasures were 
I to imagine that yesterday's victims still breathed the same air I inhale; 
the method for being rid of them is not complicated. Would you believe 
it, Therese? They are my debauches which populate Languedoc and 
Provence with the multitude of objects of libertinage with which those 
regions are teeming: (Let this not be mistaken for a fable: this wretched 
figure existed in this same Lyon. What is herein related of his maneuvers 
is exact and authentic: he cost the honor of between fifteen and twenty 
thousand unhappy little creatures: upon the completion of each 
operation, the victim was embarked on the Rhone, and for thirty years 
the above-mentioned cities were peopled with the objects of this villain's 
debauchery, with girls undone by him.
There is nothing fictitious about this episode but the gentleman's name.) 
...one hour after these little girls have served me, reliable emissaries pack 
them off and sell them to the matchmakers of Montpellier, Toulouse, 
Nimes, Aix, and Marseilles: this trade, two-thirds of whose net profits go 
to me, amply recompenses the outlay required to procure my subjects, 
and thus I satisfy two of my most cherished passions, lust and greed; but 
reconnoitering and seduction are bothersome. Furthermore, the kind of 
subject is of infinite importance to my lubricity: I must have them all 
procured from those asylums of misery where the need to live and the 
impossibility of managing to do so eat away courage, pride, delicacy, 
finally rot the soul, and, in the hope of an indispensable subsistence, 
steel a person to undertake whatever appears likely to provide it. I have 
all these nests ransacked, all these dungheaps combed pitilessly: you've 
no idea what they yield; I would even go further, Therese: I say that civil 
activity, industry, a little social ease would defeat my subornations and 
divest me of a great proportion of my subjects: I combat these perils with 
the influence I enjoy in this city, I promote commercial and economic 
fluctuations or instigate the rise of prices which, enlarging the poverty
stricken class, depriving it, on the one hand, of possibilities of work and 
on the other rendering difficult those of survival, increases according to a 
predictable ratio the total number of the subjects misery puts into my 
clutches.
The strategy is a familiar one, Therese: these scarcities of firewood, 
dearths of wheat and of other edibles where-from Paris has been 
trembling for so many years, have been created for the identical 
purposes which animate me: avarice, libertinage: such are the passions 
which, from the gilded halls of the rich, extend a multitude of nets to 
ensnare the poor in their humble dwellings. But whatever skill I employ 
to press hard in this sector, if dexterous hands do not pluck nimbly in 
another, I get nothing for my troubles, and the machine goes quite as 
badly as if I were to cease to exhaust my imagination in devising and my 
credit in operating. And so I need a clever woman, young and intelligent, 
who, having herself found her way through misery's thorny pathways, is 
more familiar than anyone else with the methods for debauching those 
who are in the toils; a woman whose keen eyes will descry adversity in its 
darkest caves and attics, whose suborning intelligence will determine
destitution's victims to extricate themselves from oppression by the 
means I make available; a spirited woman, in a word, unscrupulous and 
ruthless, who will stop at nothing in order to succeed, who will even go to 
the point of cutting away the scanty reserves which, still bolstering up 
those wretches' hopes, inhibit them from taking the final step. I had an 
excellent woman and trustworthy, she has just died: it cannot be 
imagined to what lengths that brilliant creature carried effrontery; not 
only did she use to isolate these wretches until they would be forced to 
come begging on their knees, but if these devices did not succeed in 
accelerating their fall, the impatient villain would hasten matters by 
kidnaping them.
She was a treasure; I need but two subjects a day, she would have got me 
ten had I wanted them. The result was I used to be able to make better 
selections, and the superabundance of raw material consumed by my 
operations reimbursed me for inflated labor costs. That's the woman I 
have got to replace, my dear, you'll have four people under your 
command and ten thousand crowns wages for your trouble; I have had 
my say, Therese; give me your answer, and above all do not let your 
illusions prevent you from accepting happiness when chance and my 
hand offer it to you."


CHAPTER 32

"Oh Monsieur," I say to this dishonest man, shuddering at his speech, "is 
it possible you have been able to conceive such joys and that you dare 
propose that I serve them? What horrors you have just uttered in my 
hearing! Cruel man, were you to be miserable for but two days, you 
would see these doctrines upon humanity swiftly obliterated from your 
heart: it is prosperity blinds and hardens you: mightily blase you are 
before the spectacle of the evils whence you suppose yourself sheltered, 
and because you hope never to suffer them, you consider you have the 
right to inflict them; may happiness never come nigh unto me if it can 
produce this degree of corruption! O Just Heaven! not merely to be 
content to abuse the misfortunate! To drive audacity and ferocity to the 
point of increasing it, of prolonging it for the unique gratification of one's 
desires! What cruelty, Monsieur! the wildest animals do not give us the 
example of a comparable barbarity."
"You are mistaken, Therese, there is no roguery the wolf will not invent 
to draw the lamb into his clutches: these are natural ruses, while 
benevolence has nothing to do with Nature: charity is but an 
appurtenance of the weakness recommended by the slave who would 
propitiate his master and dispose him to leniency; it never proclaimed 
itself in man save in two cases: in the event he is weak, or in the event he 
fears he will become weak; that this alleged virtue is not natural is 
proven by the fact it is unknown to the man who lives in a state of 
Nature. The savage expresses his contempt for charity when pitilessly he 
massacres his brethren from motives of either revenge or cupidity... 
would he not respect that virtue were it etched in his heart? but never 
does it appear there, never will it be found wherever men are equal. 
Civilization, by weeding certain individuals out of society, by establishing 
rank and class, by giving the rich man a glimpse of the poor, by making 
the former dread any change of circumstances which might precipitate 
him into the latter's misery, civilization immediately puts the desire into 
his head to relieve the poor in order that he may be helped in his turn 
should he chance to lose his wealth; and thus was benevolence born, the 
fruit of civilization and fear: hence it is merely a circumstantial virtue, 
but nowise a sentiment originating in Nature, who never inserted any 
other desire in us but that of satisfying ourselves at no matter what the 
price. It is thus by confounding every sentiment, it is by continually 
refusing to analyze a single one of them that these people are able to 
linger in total darkness about them all and deprive themselves of every 
pleasurable enjoyment."
"Ah, Monsieur," I interrupted with great emotion, "may there be one any 
sweeter than the succoring of misfortune? Leaving aside the dread lest 
someday one have to endure suffering oneself, is there any more 
substantial satisfaction than that to be had from obliging others?... from 
relishing gratitude's tearful thanks, from partaking of the well-being you 
have just distributed like manna to the downtrodden who, your own 
fellow creatures, nevertheless want those things which you take airily for 
granted; oh! to hear them sing your praise and call you their father, to 
restore serenity to brows clouded by failure, destitution, and despair; no, 
Monsieur, not one of this world's lewd pleasures can equal this: it is that 
of the Divinity Himself, and the happiness He promises to those who on 
earth will serve Him, is naught other than the possibility to behold or 
make happy creatures in Heaven. All virtues stem directly from that one, 
Monsieur; one is a better father, a better son, a better husband when one 
knows the charm of alleviating misfortune's lot. One might say that like 
unto the sun's rays, the charitable man's presence sheds fertility, 
sweetness, and joy everywhere about and upon all, and the miracle of 
Nature, after this source of celestial light, is the honest, delicate, and 
sensitive soul whose supreme felicity consists in laboring in behalf of 
that of others."
"Feeble Phoebus stuff, Therese," Saint-Florent smiled; "the character of 
man's enjoyment is determined by the kind of organs he has received 
from Nature; a weak individual's, and hence every woman's, incline in 
the direction of procuring moral ecstasies which are more keenly felt 
than any other by these persons whose physical constitution happens to 
be entirely devoid of energy; quite the opposite is the case for vigorous 
spirits who are far more delighted by powerful shocks imparted to what 
surround them than they would be by the delicate impressions the feeble 
creatures by whom they are surrounded inevitably prefer, as befits their 
constitution; similarly the vigorous spirits delight more in what affects 
others painfully than in what affects them agreeably: such is the only 
difference between the cruel and the meek; both groups are endowed 
with sensibility, but each is endowed with it in a special manner.
"I do not deny that each class knows its pleasures, but I, together with a 
host of philosophers, maintain of course that those of the individual 
constructed in the more vigorous fashion are incontestably more lively 
than all his adversary's; and, these axioms established, there may and 
there must be men of one sort who take as much joy in everything cruelty 
suggests, as the other category of persons tastes delight in benevolence; 
but the pleasures of the latter will be mild, those of the former keen and 
strong: these will be the most sure, the most reliable, and doubtless the 
most authentic, since they characterize the penchants of every man who 
is still a creature of Nature, and indeed of all children before they have 
fallen under the sway of civilization; the others will merely be the eff 
civilization and, consequently, of deceiving and vapid delights.
"Well, my child, since we are met not so much in order to philosophize as 
to conclude a bargain, be so kind as to give me your final decision... do 
you or do you not accept the post I propose to you?" "I very decidedly 
reject it, Monsieur," I replied, getting to my feet, "... indeed I am poor... 
oh yes! very poor, Monsieur; but richer in my heart's sentiments than I 
could be in all fortune's blessings; never will I sacrifice the one in order 
to possess the other; I may die in indigence, but I will not betray Virtue." 
"Get out," the detestable man said to me, "and, above all, should I have 
anything to fear from your indiscretion, you will be promptly conveyed 
to a place where I need dread it no longer." Nothing heartens Virtue like 
the fear of vice; a good deal less timorous than I should have thought, I 
dared, upon promising he would have nothing to dread at my hands, 
remind him of what he had from me in the forest of Bondy and apprise 
him of my present circumstances which, I said, made this money 
indispensable to me. The monster gave me harsh answer, declaring it 
was up to me to earn it and that I had refused.
"No Monsieur, no," I replied firmly, "no, I repeat, I would rather perish a 
thousand times over than preserve my life at that price." "And as for 
myself," Saint-Florent rejoined, "there is in the same way nothing I 
would not prefer to the chagrin of disbursing unearned money: despite 
the refusal you have the insolence to give me, I should relish passing 
another fifteen minutes in your company; and so if you please, we will 
move into my boudoir and a few moments of obedience will go far to 
straighten out your pecuniary difficulties." "I am no more eager to serve 
your debauches in one sense than in another, Monsieur," I proudly 
retorted; "it is not charity I ask, cruel man; no, I should not procure you 
the pleasure of it; what I demand is simply most infamous manner.... 
Keep it, cruel wretch, keep it if you see fit: unpityingly observe my tears; 
hear, if you are able, hear without emotion need's sorrowing accents, but 
bear in mind that if you commit this newest outrage, I will have bought, 
for the price it costs me, the right to scorn you forever." Furious, 
SaintFlorent ordered me to leave and I was able to read in his dreadful 
countenance that, had it not been for what he had confided in me and 
were he not afraid lest it get abroad, my bold plain speaking might 
perhaps have been repaid by some brutality.... I left. At the same instant 
they were bringing the debauchee one of the luckless victims of his 
sordid profligacy. One of those women whose horrible state he had 
suggested I share was leading into the house a poor little girl of about 
nine who displayed every attribute of wretchedness and dereliction: she 
scarcely seemed to have enough strength to keep er is it conceivable that 
such objects can inspire any feelings but those of pity?
Woe unto the depraved one who will be able to suspect pleasures in the 
womb want consumes, who will seek to gather kisses from lips withered 
by hunger and which open only to curse him! Tears spilled from my eyes; 
I should have liked to snatch that victim from the tiger awaiting her; I 
dared not. Could I have done it? I returned directly to my hotel, quite as 
humiliated by the misfortune which attracted such proposals as revolted 
by the opulence which ventured to make them. The following day I left 
Lyon by way of the road to Dauphine, still filled with the mad faith which 
allowed me to believe happiness awaited me in that province.
Traveling afoot as usual, with a pair of blouses and some handkerchiefs 
in my pockets, I had not proceeded two leagues when I met an old 
woman; she approached me with a look of suffering and implored alms. 
Far from I had just received such cruel examples, and knowing no 
greater worldly happiness than what comes of obliging a poor person, I 
instantly drew forth my purse with the intention of selecting a crown and 
giving it to this woman; but the unworthy creature, much quicker than I, 
although I had at first judged her aged and crippled, leaps nimbly at my 
purse, seizes it, aims a powerful blow of her fist at my stomach, topples 
me, and the next I see of her, she has put a hundred yards betwixt us; 
there she is, surrounded by four rascals who gesture threateningly and 
warn me not to come near.
"Great God!" I cried with much bitterness, "then it is Impossible for my 
soul to give vent to any virtuous impulse without my being instantly and 
very severely punished for it!" At this fatal moment all my courage 
deserted me; today I beg Heaven's forgiveness in all sincerity, for I 
faltered; but I was blinded by despair. I felt myself ready to give up a 
career bese two alternatives: that of going to join the scoundrels who had 
just robbed me, or that of returning to Lyon to accept Saint-Florent's 
offer. God had mercy upon me; I did not succumb, and though the fresh 
hope He quickened in me was misleading, since so many adversities yet 
lay in store for me, I nevertheless thank Him for having held me upright: 
the unlucky star which guides me, although innocent, to the gallows, will 
never lead me to worse than death; other supervision might have 
brought me to infamy, and the one is far less cruel than the other. I 
continue to direct my steps toward Vienne, having decided to sell what 
remains to me in order to get on to Grenoble: I was walking along sadly 
when, at a quarter league's distance from this city, I spied a plain to the 
right of the highway, and in the fields were two riders busily trampling a 
man beneath their horses' hooves; after having left him for dead, the pair 
rode off at a gallop. Th an unluckier person than I; health and strength at 
least remain to me, I can earn my living, and if that poor fellow is not 
rich, what is to become of him?"
However much I ought to have forbidden myself the self-indulgence of 
sympathy, however perilous it was for me to surrender to the impulse, I 
could not vanquish my extreme desire to approach the man and to lavish 
upon him what care I could offer. I rush to his side, I aid him to inhale 
some spirits I had kept about me: at last he opens his eyes and his first 
accents are those of gratitude. Still more eager to be of use to him, I tear 
up one of my blouses in order to bandage his wounds, to stanch his 
blood: I sacrificed for this wretched man one of the few belongings I still 
owned. These first attentions completed, I give him a little wine to drink: 
the unlucky one has completely come back to his senses, I cast an eye 
upon him a him more closely. Although traveling on foot and without 
baggage, he had some valuable effects Ä rings, a watch, a snuff box Ä but 
the latter two have been badly damaged during his encounter. As soon as 
he is able to speak he asks me what angel of charity has come to his 
rescue and what he can do to express his gratitude.
Still having the simplicity to believe that a soul enchained by 
indebtedness ought to be eternally beholden to me, I judge it safe to 
enjoy the sweet pleasure of sharing my tears with him who has just shed 
some in my arms: I instruct him of my numerous reverses, he listens 
with interest, and when I have concluded with the latest catastrophe that 
has befallen me, the recital provides him with a glimpse of my poverty. 
"How happy I am," he exclaims, "to be able at least to acknowledge all
you have just done for me; my name is Roland," the adventurer 
continues, "I am the owner of an exceedingly fine chateau in the 
mountains fifteen leagues hence, I that this proposal cause your delicacy 
no alarm, I am going to explain immediately in what way you will be of 
service to me. I am unwedded, but I have a sister I love passionately: she 
has dedicated herself to sharing my solitude; I need someone to wait 
upon her; we have recently lost the person who held that office until 
now, I offer her post to you." 
I thanked my protector and took the liberty to ask him how it chanced 
that a man such as he exposed himself to the dangers of journeying 
alone, and, as had just occurred, to being molested by bandits. "A stout, 
youthful, and vigorous fellow, for several years," said Roland, "I have 
been in the habit of traveling this way between the place where I reside 
and Vienne. My health and pocketbook benefit from walking. It is not 
that I need avoid the expense of a coach, for I am wealthy, and you will 
soon see proof of it if you are good enough to return home with me; but 
thriftiness never hurts. men who insulted me a short while ago, they are 
two would-be gentlemen of this canton from whom I won a hundred 
louis last week in a gaming house at Vienne; I was content to accept their 
word of honor, then I met them today, asked for what they owe me, and 
you witnessed in what coin they paid me." Together with this man I was 
deploring the double misfortune of which he was the victim when he 
proposed we continue our way. "Thanks to your attentions I feel a little 
better," said Roland; "night is approaching, let's get on to a house which 
should be two leagues away; by means of the horses we will secure 
tomorrow, we might be able to arrive at my chateau the same afternoon."
Absolutely resolved to profit from the aid Heaven seemed to have sent 
me, I help Roland to get up, I give him my arm while we walk, and 
indeed, after progressing two leagues we find the inn he had mentioned. 
We take supper together, 'tis very proper and nice; after our meal Roland 
en following day we set off on two mules we have rented and which are 
led by a boy from the inn; we reach the frontier of Dauphine, ever 
heading into the highlands. We were not yet at our destination when the 
day ended, so we stopped at Virieu, where my patron showed me the 
same consideration and provided me with the same care; the next 
morning we resumed our way toward the mountains. We arrived at their 
foot toward four in the afternoon; there, the road becoming almost 
impassable, Roland requested my muleteer not to leave me for fear of an 
accident, and we penetrated into the gorges. We did but turn, wind, 
climb for the space of more than four leagues, and by then we had left all 
habitations and all traveled roads so far behind us I thought myself come 
to the end of the world; despite myself, I was seized by a twinge of 
uneasiness; Roland could not avoid seeing it, but he said nothing, and I 
was made yet more uncomfortable by his to a castle perched upon the 
crest of a mountain; it beetled over a dreadful precipice into which it 
seemed ready to plunge: no road seemed to lead up to it; the one we had 
followed, frequently by goats only, strewn with pebbles and stones, 
however did at last take us to this awful eyrie which much more 
resembled the hideaway of thieves than the dwelling place of virtuous 
folk.
"That is where I live," said Roland, noticing I was gazing up at his castle. 
I confessed my astonishment to see that he lived in such isolation. "It 
suits me," was his abrupt reply. This response redoubled my 
forebodings. Not a syllable is lost upon the miserable; a word, a shift of 
inflection and, when 'tis a question of the speech of the person upon 
whom one depends, 'tis enough to stifle hope or revive it; but, being 
completely unable to do anything, I held my tongue and waited. We 
mounted by zigzags; the strange pile suddenly loomed up before us: 
roughly a quart separated it from us: Roland dismounted and having 
told me to do likewise, he returned both mules to the boy, paid him and 
ordered him to return. This latest maneuver was even more displeasing 
to me; Roland observed my anxiety.
"What is the trouble, Therese?" he demanded, urging me on toward his 
fortress; "you are not out of France; we are on the Dauphine border and 
within the bishopric of Grenoble." "Very well, Monsieur," I answered; 
"but why did it ever occur to you to take up your abode in a place 
befitting brigands and robbers?" "Because they who inhabit it are not 
very honest people," said Roland; "it might be altogether possible you 
will not be edified by their conduct." "Ah, Monsieur I" said I with a 
shudder, "you make me tremble; where then are you leading me?" "I am 
leading you into the service of the counterfeiters of whom I am the 
chief," said Roland, grasping my arm and driving me over a little 
drawbridge that was lowered at our immediately we had traversed it; "do 
you see that well?" he continued when we had entered; he was pointing 
to a large and deep grotto situated toward the back of the courtyard, 
where four women, nude and manacled, were turning a wheel; "there are 
your companions and there your task, which involves the rotation of that 
wheel for ten hours each day, and which also involves the satisfaction of 
all the caprices I am pleased to submit you and the other ladies to; for 
which you will be granted six ounces of black bread and a plate of kidney 
beans without fail each day; as for your freedom, forget it; you will never 
recover it.
When you are dead from overwork, you will be flung into that hole you 
notice beside the well, where the remains of between sixty and eighty 
other rascals of your breed await yours, and your place will be taken by 
somebody else." "Oh, Great God!" I exclaimed, casting myself at Roland's 
feet, "deign to remember, Monsieur, that I saved you gratitude for an 
instant, you seemed to offer me happiness and that it is by precipitating 
me into an eternal abyss of evils you reward my services. Is what you are 
doing just? and has not remorse already begun to avenge me in the 
depths of your heart?"
"What, pray tell, do you mean by this feeling of gratitude with which you 
fancy you have captivated me?" Roland inquired. "Be more reasonable, 
wretched creature; what were you doing when you came to my rescue? 
Between the two possibilities, of continuing on your way and of coming 
up to me, did you not choose the latter as an impulse dictated by your 
heart? You therefore gave yourself up to a pleasure? How in the devil's 
name can you maintain I am obliged to recompense you for the joys in 
which you indulge yourself?
And how did you ever get it into your head that a man like myself, who is 
swimming in gold and opulence, should condescend to lower himself to 
owing something to a wretch of your species? you nothing immediately it 
were plain you had acted out of selfishness only: to work, slave, to work; 
learn that though civilization may overthrow the principles of Nature, it 
cannot however divest her of her rights; in the beginning she wrought 
strong beings and weak and intended that the lowly should be forever 
subordinated to the great; human skill and intelligence made various the 
positions of individuals, it was no longer physical force alone that 
determined rank, 'twas gold; the richest became the mightiest man, the 
most penurious the weakest; if the causes which establish power are not 
to be found in Nature's ordinations, the priority of the mighty has always 
been inscribed therein, and to Nature it made no difference whether the 
weak danced at the end of a leash held by the richest or the most 
energetic, and little she cared whether the yoke crushed the poorest or 
the most enfeebled; but these grateful impulses out of which you them 
not; it has never been one of her laws that the pleasure whereunto 
someone surrenders when he acts obligingly must become a cause for the 
recipient of his gratuitous kindness to renounce his rights over the 
donor; do you detect these sentiments you demand in the animals which 
serve us as examples?
When I dominate you by my wealth or might is it natural for me to 
abandon my rights to you, either because you have enjoyed yourself 
while obliging me or because, being unhappy, you fancied you had 
something to gain from your action? 
Even were service to be rendered by one equal to another, never would a 
lofty spirit's pride allow him to stoop to acknowledge it; is not he who 
receives always humiliated? And is this humiliation not sufficient 
payment for the benefactor who, by this alone, finds himself superior to 
the other? Is it not pride's delight to be raised above one's fellow? Is any 
other necessary to the person whose obligation, by causing humiliation 
to him who receives, becomes a burden to him, by what right is he to be 
forced to continue to shoulder it? Why must I consent to let myself be 
humiliated every time my eyes fall upon him who has obliged me? 
Instead of being a vice, ingratitude is as certainly a virtue in proud spirits 
as gratitude is one in humble; let them do what they will for me if doing 
it gives them pleasure, but let them expect nothing from me simply 
because they have enjoyed themselves."


CHAPTER 33

Having uttered these words, to which Roland gave me no opportunity to 
reply, he summoned two valets who upon his instructions seized me, 
despoiled me, and shackled me next to my companions, so was I set to 
work at once, without a moment's rest after the fatiguing journey I had 
just made. Then Roland approaches me, he brutally handles all those 
parts of me designation of which modesty forbids, heaps sarcasms upon 
me, makes impertinent reference to the damning a brand Rodin printed 
upon me, then, catching up a bull's pizzle always kept in readiness 
nearby, he applies twenty cuts to my behind. "That is how you will be 
treated, bitch," says he, "when you lag at the job; I'm not giving you this 
for anything you've already done, but only to show you how I cope with 
those who make mistakes."
I screamed, struggled against my manacles; my contortions, my cries, my 
tears, the cruel expressions of my pain merely entertained my 
executioner.... "Oh, little whore, you'll see other things," says Roland, 
"you're not by a long shot at the end of your troubles - and I want you to 
make the acquaintance of even the most barbaric refinements of misery." 
He leaves me. Located in a cave on the edge of that vast well were six 
dark kennels; they were barred like dungeons, and they served us as 
shelters for the night, which arrived not long after I was enlisted in this 
dreadful chain gang. They came to remove my fetters and my and dry 
bread Roland had mentioned, we were locked up. I was no sooner alone 
than, undistracted, I abandoned myself to contemplating my situation in 
all its horror. Is it possible, I wondered, can it be that there are men so 
hardened as to have stifled in themselves their capacity for gratitude? 
This virtue to which I surrender myself with such charm whenever an 
upright spirit gives me the chance to feel it... can this virtue be unknown 
to certain beings, can they be utter strangers to it? and may they who 
have suppressed it so inhumanly in themselves be anything but 
monsters?
I was absorbed in these musings when suddenly I heard the door to my 
cell open; 'tis Roland: the villain has come to complete his outraging of 
me by making me serve his odious eccentricities: you may well imagine, 
Madame, that they were to be as ferocious as his other proceedings and 
that such a man's love-makings are necessarily by his abhorrent 
character. But how can I abuse your patience by relating these new 
horrors? Have I not already more than soiled your imagination with 
infamous recitations? Dare I hazard additional ones? "Yes, Therese," 
Monsieur de Corville put in, "yes, we insist upon these details, you veil 
them with a decency that removes all their edge of horror; there remains 
only what is useful to whoever seeks to perfect his understanding of 
enigmatic man.
You may not fully apprehend how these tableaux help toward the 
development of the human spirit; our backwardness in this branch of 
learning may very well be due to the stupid restraint of those who 
venture to write upon such matters. Inhibited by absurd fears, they only 
discuss the puerilities with which every fool is familiar, and dare not, by 
addressing themselves boldly to the investigation of the human heart, 
offer its gigantic idiosyncrasies to our view." "Very well, Monsieur, I shall 
proceed," Therese resumed, affected, "and proceeding as I have done 
until this point, I will strive to offer my sketches in the least revolting 
colors."
Roland, with whose portrait I ought to begin, was a short, heavy-set man, 
thirty-five years old, incredibly vigorous and as hirsute as a bear, with a 
glowering mien and fierce eye; very dark, with masculine features, a long 
nose, bearded to the eyes, black, shaggy brows; and in him that part 
which differentiates men from our sex was of such length and exorbitant 
circumference, that not only had I never laid eyes upon anything 
comparable, but was even absolutely convinced Nature had never 
fashioned another as prodigious; I could scarcely surround it with both 
hands, and its length matched that of my forearm. To this physique 
Roland joined all the vices which may be the issue of a fiery 
temperament, of considerable imagination, and of a luxurious life 
undisturbed by anything likely to distract from one's leisure pursuits. 
From his father Roland very early on in life he had become surfeited by 
ordinary pleasures, and begun to resort to nothing but horrors; these 
alone were able to revive desires in a person jaded by excessive pleasure; 
the women who served him were all employed in his secret debauches 
and to satisfy appetites only slightly less dishonest within which, 
nevertheless, this libertine was able to find the criminal spice wherein 
above all his taste delighted; Roland kept his own sister as a mistress, 
and it was with her he brought to a climax the passions he ignited in our 
company.
He was virtually naked when he entered; his inflamed visage was 
evidence simultaneously of the epicurean intemperance to which he had 
just given himself over, and the abominable lust which consumed him; 
for an instant he considers me with eyes that unstring my limbs. "Get out 
of those clothes," says he, himself tearing off what I was wearing to cover 
me during the night... "yes, get rid of all that an follow me; a little while 
ago I made you sense what you risk by laziness; but should you desire to 
betray us, as that crime would be of greater magnitude, its punishment 
would have to be proportionally heavier; come along and see of what sort 
it would be."
I was in a state difficult to describe, but Roland, affording my spirit no 
time in which to burst forth, immediately grasped my arm and dragged 
me out; he pulls me along with his right hand, in his left he holds a little 
lantern that emits a feeble light; after winding this way and that, we 
reach a cellar door; he opens it, thrusts me ahead of him, tells me to 
descend while he closes this first barrier; I obey; a hundred paces 
further, a second door; he opens and shuts it in the same way; but after 
this one there is no stairway, only a narrow passage hewn in the rock, 
filled with sinuosities, whose downward slope is extremely abrupt. Not a 
word from Roland; the silence affrights me still more; he lights us along 
with his travel for about fifteen minutes; my frame of mind makes me yet 
more sensitive to these subterranean passages' terrible humidity.
At last, we had descended to such a depth that it is without fear of 
exaggeration I assure you the place at which we were to arrive must have 
been more than a furlong below the surface of the earth; on either side of 
the path we followed were occasional niches where I saw coffers 
containing those criminals' wealth: one last bronze door appeared, 
Roland unlocked it, and I nearly fell backward upon perceiving the 
dreadful place to which this evil man had brought me. Seeing me falter, 
he pushed me rudely ahead, and thus, without wishing to be there, I 
found myself in the middle of that appalling sepulcher. Imagine, 
Madame, a circular cavern, twenty-five feet in diameter, whose walls, 
hung in black, were decorated by none but the most lugubrious objects, 
skeletons of all sizes, crossed bones, several heads, bundles of whips and 
collecti cutlasses, poignards, firearms: such were the horrors one spied 
on the walls illuminated by a three-wicked oil lamp suspended in one 
corner of the vault; from a transverse beam dangled a rope which fell to 
within eight or ten feet of the ground in the center of this dungeon and 
which, as very soon you will see, was there for no other purpose than to 
facilitate dreadful expeditions: to the right was an open coffin wherein 
glinted an effigy of death brandishing a threatful scythe; a prayer stool 
was beside it; above it was visible a crucifix bracketed by candles of jet; 
to the left, the waxen dummy of a naked woman, so lifelike I was for a 
long time deceived by it; she was attached to a cross, posed with her 
chest facing it so that one had a full view of her posterior and cruelly 
molested parts; blood seemed to ooze from several wounds and to flow 
down her thighs; she had the most beautiful hair in all the world, her 
lovely head was turned toward us and plainly wrought upon her lovely 
face, and there were even tears flowing down her cheeks: the sight of this 
terrible image was again enough to make me think I would collapse; the 
further part of the cavern was filled by a vast black divan which 
eloquently bespoke all the atrocities which occurred in this infernal 
place.
"And here is where you will perish, Therese," quoth Roland, "if ever you 
conceive the fatal notion of leaving my establishment; yes, it is here I will 
myself put you to death, here I will make you reverberate to the 
anguishes inflicted by everything of the most appalling I can possibly 
devise." As he gave vent to this threat Roland became aroused; his 
agitation, his disorder made him resemble a tiger about to spring upon 
its prey: 'twas then he brought to light the formidable member 
wherewith he was outfitted; he had me touch it, asked me whether I had 
ever beheld its peer. "Such as you see has, however, got to be introduced 
into the narrowest part of your body even if I must split you in half; my 
sister, considerably your junior, manages it in the same sector; never do 
I enjoy women in any other fashion," and so as to leave me in no doubt of 
the locale he had in mind, he inserted into it three fingers armed with 
exceedingly long nails, the while saying:
"Yes, 'tis there, Therese, it will be shortly into this hole I will drive this 
member which affrights you; it will be run every inch of the way in, it will 
tear you, you'll bleed and I will be beside myself." Foam flecked his lips 
as he spoke these words interspersed with revolting oaths and 
blasphemies. The hand, which had been prying open the shrine he 
seemed to want to attack, now strayed over all the adjacent parts; he 
scratched them, he did as much to my breast, he clawed me so badly I 
was not to get over the pain for a fortnight. Next, he placed me on t 
mossy tonsure with which Nature ornaments the altar wherein our 
species finds regeneration; he set it afire and burned it.
His fingers closed upon the fleshy protuberance which surmounts this 
same altar, he snatched at it and scraped roughly, then he inserted his 
fingers within and his nails ripped the membrane which lines it. Losing 
all control over himself, he told me that, since he had me in his lair, I 
might just as well not leave it, for that would spare him the nuisance of 
bringing me back down again; I fell to my knees and dared remind him 
again of what I had done in his behalf.... I observed I but further excited 
him by harping again upon the rights to his pity I fancied were mine; he 
told me to be silent, bringing up his knee and giving me a tremendous 
blow in the pit of the stomach which sent me sprawling on the flagstones. 
He seized a handful of my hair and jerked me erect. "Very well!" he said, 
"come now! prepare yourself; it is a certainty, I am going to kill you...." 
"Oh, Monsieur!"
"No, no, you've got to die; I do not want to hear you reproach me with 
your good little deeds; I don't like owing anything to anybody, others 
have got to rely upon me for everything.... You're going to perish, I tell 
you, get into that coffin, let's see if it fits." He lifts me, thrusts me into it 
and shuts it, then quits the cavern and gives me the impression I have 
been left there. Never had I thought myself so near to death; alas! it was 
nonetheless to be presented to me under a yet more real aspect. Roland 
returns, he fetches me out of the coffin. "You'll be well off in there," says 
he, "one would say 'twas made for you; but to let you finish peacefully in 
that box would be a death too sweet; I'm going to expose you to one of a 
different variety which, all the same, will have its agreeable qualities; so 
implore your God, whore, pray to him to come posthaste and avenge you 
if h really has it in him...." I cast myself down upon the prie-dieu, and 
while aloud I open my heart to the Eternal, Roland in a still crueler 
manner intensifies, upon the hindquarters I expose to him, his vexations 
and his torments; with all his strength he flogs those parts with a steel
tipped martinet, each blow draws a gush of blood which springs to the 
walls. "Why," he continued with a curse, "he doesn't much aid you, your 
God, does he? and thus he allows unhappy virtue to suffer, he abandons 
it to villainy's hands; ah! what a bloody fine God you've got there, 
Therese, what a superb God he is! Come," he says, "come here, whore, 
your prayer should be done," and at the same time he places me upon 
the divan at the back of that cell; "I told you Therese, you have got to 
die!" He seizes my arms, binds them to my side, then he slips a black 
silken noose about my neck; he holds both ends of the cord and, by 
tightening, he can strangle and dispatch me to the other world ei quickly 
or slowly, depending upon his pleasure.
"This torture is sweeter than you may imagine, Therese," says Roland; 
"you will only approach death by way of unspeakably pleasurable 
sensations; the pressure this noose will bring to bear upon your nervous 
system will set fire to the organs of voluptuousness; the effect is certain; 
were all the people who are condemned to this torture to know in what 
an intoxication of joy it makes one die, less terrified by this retribution 
for their crimes, they would commit them more often and with much 
greater self-assurance; this delicious operation, Therese, by causing, as 
well, the contraction of the locale in which I am going to fit myself," he 
added as he presented himself to a criminal avenue so worthy of such a 
villain, "is also going to double my pleasure."
He thrusts, he sweats, 'tis in vain; he prepares the road, 'tis futile; he is 
too monstrously proportioned, his enterprises are repeatedly frustrated; 
and then his wrath nails, his hands, his feet fly to revenge him upon the 
opposition Nature puts up against him; he returns to the assault, the 
glowing blade slides to the edge of the neighboring canal and smiting 
vigorously, penetrates to nigh the midway mark; I utter a cry; Roland, 
enraged by his mistake, withdraws petulantly, and this time hammers at 
the other gate with such force the moistened dart plunges in, rending 
me.
Roland exploits this first sally's success; his efforts become more violent; 
he gains ground; as he advances, he gradually tightens the fatal cord he 
has passed round my neck, hideous screams burst from my lips; amused 
by them, the ferocious Roland urges me to redouble my howlings, - for 
he is but too confident of their insufficiency, he is perfectly able to put a 
stop to them when he wishes; their shrill sharp notes inflame him, the 
noose's pressure is modulated by his degrees of delight; little by little my 
voice waxes faint; the tightenings now become so intense that my senses 
weaken although I do not lose the power to feel; brutally shaken by the 
enormous instrument with which Roland is rending my entrails, despite 
my frightful circumstances, I feel myself flooded by his lust's jetted 
outpourings; I still hear the cries he mouths as he discharges; an instant 
of stupor followed, I knew not what had happened to me, but soon my 
eyes open again to the light, I find myself free, untied, and my sensory 
organs seem to come back to life.
"Well, Therese," says my butcher, "I dare swear that if you'll tell the truth 
you'll say you felt pleasure only?" "Only horror, Monsieur, only disgust, 
only anguish and despair." "You are Lying, I am fully acquainted with the 
effects you have just experienced, but what does it matter what they 
were? I fancy you already know me well enough to be damned certain 
that when I undertake something with you, the joy you reap from it 
concerns me infinitely less than my own, and this voluptuousness I seek 
has been so keen that in an instant I am going to procure some more of 
it. It is now upon yourself, Therese," declares this signal libertine, "it is 
upon you alone your life is going to depend."
Whereupon he hitches about my neck the rope that hangs from the 
ceiling; he has me stand upon a stool, pulls the rope taut, secures it, and 
to the stool he attaches a string whose end he keeps in his hand as he sits 
down in an armchair facing me; I am given a sickle which I am to use to 
sever the rope at the moment when, by means of the string, he jerks the 
stool from beneath my feet. 
"Notice, Therese," he says when all is ready, "that though you may miss 
your blow, I'll not miss mine; and so I am not mistaken when I say your 
life depends upon you." 
He excites himself; it is at his intoxication's critical moment he is to 
snatch away the stool which, removed, will leave me dangling from the 
beam; he does everything possible to pretend the instant has come; he 
would be beside himself were I to miss my cue; but do what he will, I 
divine the crisis, the violence of his ecstasy betrays him, I see him make 
the telltale movement, the stool flies away, I cut the rope and fall to the 
ground; there I am, completely detached, and although five yards divide 
us, would you believe it, Madame?
I feel my entire body drenched with the evidence of his delirium and his 
frenzy. 
Anyone but I, taking advantage of the weapon she clutched in her hand, 
would doubtless have leapt upon that monster; but what might I have 
gained by this brave feat? for I did not have the keys to those 
subterranean passages, I was ignorant of their scheme, I should have 
perished before being able to emerge from them; Roland, furthermore, 
was armed; and so I got up, leaving the sickle on the ground so that he 
might not conceive the slightest suspicion of my intentions, and indeed 
he had none, for he had savored the full extent of pleasure and, far more 
content with my tractability, with my resignation, than with my agility, 
he signaled to me and we left.


CHAPTER 34

The next day I cast an appraising eye upon my companions: those four 
girls ranged from twenty-five to thirty years of age; although bestialized 
and besotted by misery and warped by excessive drudgery, they still had 
the remnants of beauty; their figures were handsome, and the youngest, 
called Suzanne, still had, together with charming eyes, very fine hair; 
Roland had seized her in Lyon, he had deflowered her, and after having 
sworn to her family he would marry her, he had brought her to this 
frightful chateau, where she had been three years his slave, and during 
that period she had been especially singled out to be the object of the 
monster's ferocities: by dint of blows from the bull's pizzle, her buttocks 
had become as calloused and toughened as would be cow's hide dried in 
the sun; she had a cancer upon her left breast and an abscess in her 
matrix which caused her unspeakable suffering; all that was the 
perfidious Roland's achievement; each of those horrors was the fruit of 
his lecheries. It was she who informed me Roland was on the eve of 
departing for Venice if the considerable sums he had very recently 
shipped to Spain could be converted into letters of credit he needed for 
Italy, for he did not want to transport his gold east across the Alps; never 
did he send any in that direction: it was in a different country from the 
one he had decided to inhabit that he circulated his false coins; by this 
device, rich to be sure but only in the banknotes of another kingdom, his 
rascalities could never be detected in the land where he planned to take 
up his next abode.
But everything could be overthrown within the space of an instant and 
the retirement he envisioned wholly depended upon this latest 
transaction in which the bulk of his treasure was compromised. Were 
Cadiz to accept his false piasters, sequins, and louis, and against them 
send him letters negotiable in Venice, Roland would be established for 
the rest of his days; were the fraud to be detected, one single day would 
suffice to demolish the fragile edifice of his fortune. "Alas!" I remarked 
upon learning these details, "Providence will be just for once. It will not 
countenance the success of such a monster, and all of us will be 
revenged...."
Great God I in view of the experience I had acquired, how was I able thus 
to reason! Toward noon we were given a two-hour respite, which we 
always used to good advantage to go for a little individual rest and food 
in our cells; at two o'clock we were reattached to the wheel and were 
made to work till nightfall; never were we allowed to enter the chateau; if 
we were naked, 'twas not only because of the heat, but so as better to be 
able to receive the bull's pizzle beatings our savage master periodically 
came to inflict upon us; in winter we were given pantaloons and a light 
sweater which so closely hugged the skin that our bodies were not the 
less exposed to the blows of a villain whose unique pleasure was to beat
us halfsenseless. A week passed during which I saw no sign of Roland; on 
the ninth day he visited us at work and maintained Suzanne and I were 
improperly applying ourselves to our task; he distributed thirty cuts with 
the pizzle upon each of us, slashing us from back to calf. At midnight on 
that same day, the evil man came to get me in my kennel and, warmed by 
the sight of what his cruelties had produced, he once again introduced 
his terrible bludgeon into the shadowy lair I exposed by the posture he 
made me assume in order to inspect the vestiges of his rage.
When his hungers were appeased I thought to profit from his momentary 
calm to supplicate him to mitigate my lot. Alas! I was unaware that in 
such a genius, whereas the delirious interlude stimulates the penchant 
for cruelty into greater activity, the subsequent reflux does not by any 
means restore the honest man's pacific virtues to it; 'tis a fire more or 
less quickened by the fuel wherewith it is fed, but one whose embers, 
though covered with cinder, burn nonetheless. "And what right have 
you," Roland replied to me, "to expect me to sweeten your 
circumstances? Because of the fantasies I am pleased to put into 
execution with you? But am I to throw myself at your feet and implore 
you to accord favors for the granting of which you can implore some 
recompense? I ask nothing from you, I take, and I simply do not see that, 
because I exercise one right over you, it must result that I have to abstain 
from demanding a second; there is no love in what I do: love is a 
chivalric sentiment I hold in sovereign contempt and to whose assaults 
my heart is always impervious; I employ a woman out of necessity, as 
one employs a round and hollow vessel for a different purpose but an 
analogous need; but never according this individual, which my money 
and authority make subject to me, either esteem or tenderness, owing to 
myself what I get from her and never exacting from her anything but 
submission, I cannot be constrained, in the light of all this, to 
acknowledge any gratitude toward her.
I ask them who would like to compel me to be thankful whether a thief 
who snatches a man's purse in the woods because he, the thief, is the 
stronger of the two, owes this man any gratitude for the wrong he has 
just done him; the same holds true for an outrage committed against a 
woman: it may justify a repetition of the abuse, but never is it a sufficient 
reason to grant her compensation." "Oh, Monsieur," I said to him, "to 
what limits you do carry your villainy!" "To the ultimate periods," Roland 
answered; "there is not a single extravagance in the world in which I 
have not indulged, not a crime I have not committed, and not one that 
my doctrines do not excuse or legitimate; unceasingly, I have found in 
evil a kind of attractiveness which always redounds to my lust's 
advantage; crime ignites my appetites; the more frightful it is, the more 
it stimulates; in committing it, I enjoy the same sort of pleasure ordinary 
folk taste in naught but lubricity, and a hundred times I have discovered 
myself, while thinking of crime, while surrendering to it, or just after 
having executed it, in precisely the same state in which one is when 
confronted by a beautiful naked woman; it irritates my senses in the 
same way, and I have committed it in order to arouse myself as, when 
one is filled with impudicious designs, one approaches a beautiful 
object."
"Oh, Monsieur! 'tis frightful, what you say, but I have beheld examples of 
it." "There are a thousand, Therese. It must not be supposed that it is a 
woman's beauty which best stirs a libertine mind, it is rather the species 
of crime that the law has associated with possession of her: the proof of 
which is that the more criminal this possession the more one is inflamed 
by it; the man who enjoys a woman he steals from her husband, a 
daughter he snatches from her parents, knows a far greater delectation, 
no doubt of it, than does the husband who enjoys no one but his wife, 
and the more the ties one breaks appear to be respected, the more the 
voluptuousness is compounded. If 'tis one's mother, or one's daughter, 
so many additional charms to the pleasures experienced; when you've 
savored all this, then you truly would have interdictions further increase 
in order to give the violation of them added difficulty and greater charm; 
now, if pleasure-taking is seasoned by a criminal flavoring, crime, 
dissociated from this pleasure, may become a joy in itself; there will then 
be a certain delight in naked crime. Well, it is impossible that what 
contributes the saline tang not itself be very salty.
Thus, let me imagine, the abduction of a girl on one's own account will 
give a very lively pleasure, but abduction in the interests of someone else 
will give all that pleasure with which the enjoyment of this girl is 
improved by rape; the theft of a watch, the rape of a purse will also give 
the same pleasure, and if I have accustomed my senses to being moved 
by the rape of some girl qua rape, that same pleasure, that same delight 
will be found again in the seizing of the watch or of the purse, etc.; and 
that explains the eccentricity in so many honest folk who steal without 
needing to steal. Nothing more common; from this moment on, one both 
tastes the greatest pleasure in everything criminal, and, by every 
imaginable device, one renders simple enjoyments as criminal as they 
can possibly be rendered; by conducting oneself in this style, one but 
adds to enjoyment the dash of salt which was wanting and which became 
indispensable to happiness' perfection.
These doctrines lead far, I know; perhaps, Therese, I shall even show you 
how far before too long, but what matter? enjoyment's the thing. Was 
there, for example, dear girl, anything more ordinary or more natural 
than for me to enjoy you? But you oppose it, you ask that it stop; it would 
seem that, in the light of my obligations toward you, I ought to grant 
what you request; however, I surrender to nothing, I listen to nothing, I 
slash through all the knots that bind fools, I submit you to my desires, 
and out of the most elementary, the most monotonous enjoyment I 
evolve one that is really delicious; therefore submit, Therese, submit, and 
if ever you are reincarnated and return to the world in the guise of the 
mighty, exploit your privileges in the same way and you will know every 
one of the most lively and most piquant pleasures."
These words gone out of his mouth, Roland went away and left me to 
ponder thoughts which, as you may well believe, presented him in no 
favorable aspect. I had been six months in this household, from time to 
time serving the villain's disgraceful debauches, when one night I beheld 
him enter my prison with Suzanne. "Come, Therese," said he, " 'tis 
already a long time, I find, since I took you down to that cavern which 
impressed you so deeply; both of you are going to accompany me there, 
but don't expect to climb back together, for I absolutely must leave one of 
you behind; well, we'll see which one fate designates." I get to my feet, 
cast alarmed glances at my companion, I see tears rolling from her eyes... 
and we set off. When we were locked into the underground vault, Roland 
examined each of us with ferocious eyes, he amused himself by 
reiterating our sentence and persuading us both that one of the two 
would certainly remain there below. "Well," said he, seating himself and 
having us stand directly before him, "each of you take your turn and set 
to work exorcising this disabled object; there's a devil in it keeps it limp, 
and woe unto the one of you who restores its energy." " 'Tis an injustice," 
quoth Suzanne; "she who arouses you most should be the one to obtain 
your mercy."
"Not at all," Roland retorted, "once it is manifest which of you arouses 
me most, it is established which one's death will give me the greater 
pleasure... and I'm aiming at pleasure, nothing else. Moreover, by 
sparing her who inflames me the more rapidly, you would both proceed 
with such industry that you might perhaps plunge my senses into their 
ecstasy before the sacrifice were consummated, and that must not 
happen." " 'Tis to want evil for evil's sake, Monsieur," I said to Roland, 
"the completion of your ecstasy ought to be the only thing you desire, 
and if you attain it without crime, why do you want to commit one?" 
"Because I only deliciously reach the critical stage in this way, and 
because I only came down here in order to commit one. I know perfectly 
well I might succeed without it, but I want it in order to succeed." And, 
during this dialogue, having chosen me to begin, I start exciting his 
behind with one hand, his front with the other, while he touches at his 
leisure every part of my body offered him by my nakedness. "You've still 
a long way to go, Therese," said he, fingering my buttocks, "before this 
fine flesh is in the state of petrified callosity and mortification apparent 
in Suzanne's; one might light a fire under that dear girl's cheeks without 
her feeling a thing; but you, Therese, you... these are yet roses bound in 
lilies: we'll get to them in good time, in good time."
You simply have no idea, Madame, how much that threat set me at ease; 
Roland doubtless did not suspect, as he uttered it, the peace it sent 
flooding through me, for was it not clear that, since he planned to expose 
me to further cruelties, he was not yet eager to immolate me? I have told 
you, Madame, that everything the wretched hear drives home, and 
thenceforth I was reassured. Another increase of happiness! I was 
performing in vain, and that enormous mass telescoped into itself 
resisted all my shakings; Suzanne was in the same posture, she was 
palpated in the same areas, but as her flesh was toughened in a very 
different way, Roland treated it with much less consideration; however, 
Suzanne was younger. "I am convinced," our persecutor was saying, "that 
the most awesome whips would now fail to draw a drop of blood from 
that ass." He made each of us bend over and, our angle of inclination 
providing him with the four avenues of pleasure, his tongue danced 
wriggling into the two narrowest; the villain spat into the others; he 
turned us about, had us kneel between his thighs in such a manner our 
breasts found themselves at a level with what of him we were 
stimulating.
"Oh! as regards breasts," said Roland, "you've got to yield to Suzanne; 
never had you such fine teats; now then, let's take a look at this noble 
endowment." And with those words he pressed the poor girl's breasts till, 
beneath his fingers, they were covered with bruises. At this point it was 
no longer I who was exciting him, Suzanne had replaced me; scarcely 
had she fallen into his clutches when his dart, springing from its quiver, 
began to menace everything surrounding it. "Suzanne," said Roland, 
"behold an appalling triumph.... 'tis your death decreed, Suzanne; I 
feared as much," added that ferocious man as he nipped and clawed her 
breasts.
As for mine, he only sucked and chewed them. At length, he placed 
Suzanne on her knees at the edge of the sofa, he made her bend her head 
and in this attitude he enjoyed her according to the frightful manner 
natural to him; awakened by new pains, Suzanne struggles and Roland, 
who simply wishes to skirmish, is content with a brisk passage of arms, 
and comes to take refuge in me at the same shrine at which he has 
sacrificed in my companion whom he does not cease to vex and molest 
the while. "There's a whore who excites me cruelly," he says to me, "I 
don't know what to do with her." "Oh, Monsieur," say I, "have pity upon 
her; her sufferings could not be more intense." "Oh, but you're wrong!" 
the villain replies, "one might . . . ah I if only I had with me that 
celebrated Emperor Kie, one of the greatest scoundrels ever to have sat 
on the Chinese throne,' (Kie, the Emperor of China, had a wife as cruel 
and debauched as he; bloodshed was as naught to them, and for their 
exclusive pleasure they spilled rivers of it every day; Within their palace 
they had a secret chamber where victims were put to death before their 
eyes and while they enjoyed themselves. Theo, one of this Prince's 
successors had, like him, a very bloodthirsty wife; they invented a brass 
column and this great cylinder they would heat red hot; unlucky persons 
were bound to it while the royal couple looked on: "The Princess," writes 
the historian from whom we have borrowed these touches, "was 
infinitely entertained by these melancholy victims' contortions and 
screams; she was not content unless her husband gave her this spectacle 
frequently." Hist. des Conj. vol. 7, page 43.) ...with Kie we'd really be able 
to perform wonders.
Both he and his wife, they say, immolated victims daily and would have 
them live twenty-four hours in death's cruelest agonies, and in such a 
state of suffering that they were constantly on the verge of expiring but 
never quite able to die, for those monsters administered that kind of aid 
which made them flutter between relief and torture and only brought 
them back to life for one minute in order to kill them the next.... I, 
Therese, I am too gentle, I know nothing of those arts, I'm a mere 
apprentice." Roland retires without completing the sacrifice and hurts 
me almost as much by this precipitous withdrawal as he had upon 
inserting himself. He throws himself into Suzanne's arms, and joining 
sarcasm to outrage: "Amiable creature," he apostrophizes, "with such 
delight I remember the first instants of our union; never had woman 
given me such thrilling pleasures, never had I loved one as I did you... let 
us embrace, Suzanne, for we're going to part, perhaps the season of our 
separation will be long." "Monster!" my companion retorts, thrusting 
him away with horror, "begone; to the torments you inflict upon me, join 
not the despair of hearing your terrible remarks; sate your rage, tigerish 
one, but at least respect my sufferings." Roland laid hands on her, 
stretched her upon the couch, her legs widespread, and the workshop of 
generation ideally within range.
"Temple of my ancient pleasures," the infamous creature intoned, "you 
who procured me delights so sweet when I plucked your first roses, I 
must indeed address to you my farewells...." The villain! he drove his 
fingernails into it and, rummaging about inside for a few minutes while 
screams burst from Suzanne's mouth, he did not withdraw them until 
they were covered with blood. Glutted and wearied by these horrors, and 
feeling, indeed, he could restrain himself no longer: "Come, Therese, 
come," he said, "let's conclude all this with a little scene of funambulism: 
it'll be cut-the-cord, dear girl." (This game, described above, was in great 
use amongst the Celts from whom we are descended (see Monsieur 
Peloutier's ‘Histoire d'u Celts’); virtually all these extravagances of 
debauchery, these extraordinary libertine passions some part of which 
are described in this book and which, - how ridiculously! today awaken 
the law's attention, were, in days bygone, either our ancestors' sports, 
games far superior to our contemporary amusement, or legalized 
customs, or again, religious ceremonies; currently, they are transformed 
into crimes. In how many pious rituals did not the pagans employ 
flagellation!
Several people used these identical tortures, or passions, to initiate their 
warriors; this was known as huscanaver (viz., the religious ceremonies of 
every race on earth). These pleasantries, whose maximum inconvenience 
may be at the very most the death of a slut, are capital crimes at the 
moment. Three cheers for the progress of civilization! How it conspires 
to the happiness of man, and how much more fortunate than our 
forebears we are!) ...that was the name he gave that deadly legerdemain 
of which I gave you a description when I mentioned Roland's cavern for 
the first time. I mount the three-legged stool, the evil fellow fits the 
halter about my neck, he takes his place opposite me; although in a 
frightful state, Suzanne excites him manually; an instant passes, then he 
snaps the stool from beneath me, but equipped with the sickle, I sever 
the cord immediately and fall uninjured to the ground.
"Nicely done, very neat!" says Roland, "your turn, Suzanne, there it is, 
and I'll spare you, if you manage as cleverly." Suzanne takes my place. 
Oh, Madame, allow me to pass over that dreadful scene's details.... The 
poor thing did not recover from it. "And now off we go, Therese," says 
Roland, "you'll not return to this place until your time has come." 
"Whenever you like, Monsieur, whenever you like," I reply; "I prefer 
death to the frightful life you have me lead. Are there wretches such as 
we for whom life can be valuable?..."


CHAPTER 35

And Roland locked me into my cell. The next day my companions asked 
what had become of Suzanne and I told them; they were hardly 
surprised; all were awaiting the same fate and each, like me, seeing 
therein a term to their suffering, passionately longed for it. And thus two 
years went by, Roland indulging in his customary debauchery, I lingering 
on with the prospect of a cruel death, when one day the news went about 
the chateau that not only were our master's expectations satisfied, not 
only had he received the immense quantity of Venetian funds he had 
wished, but that he had even obtained a further order for another six 
millions in counterfeit coin for which he would be reimbursed in Italy 
when he arrived to claim payment; the scoundrel could not possibly have 
enjoyed better luck; he was going to leave with an income of two 
millions, not to mention his hopes of getting more: this was the new 
piece of evidence Providence had prepared for me.
This was the latest manner in which it wished to convince me that 
prosperity belongs to Crime only and indigence to Virtue. Matters were 
at this stage when Roland came to take me to his cavern a third time. I 
recollect what he threatened me with on my previous visit, I shudder.... 
"Rest assured," he says, "you've nothing to fear, 'tis a question of 
something which concerns me alone... an uncommon joy I'd like to taste 
and from which you will incur no risks." I follow him. When the doors 
are shut: "Therese," says Roland, "there's no one in the house but you to 
whom I dare confide the problem; I've got to have a woman of 
impeccable honesty.... I've no one about but you, I confess that I prefer 
you to my sister.... Taken aback, I entreat him to clarify himself.
"Then listen," says he; "my fortune is made, but whatever be the favors I 
have received from fate, it can desert me at any instant; I may be 
trapped, I could be caught while transporting my bullion, and if that 
misfortune occurs, Therese, it's the rope that's waiting for me: 'tis the 
same delight I am pleased to have women savor: that's the one will serve 
as my undoing; I am as firmly persuaded as I can possibly be that this 
death is infinitely sweeter than cruel; but as the women upon whom I 
have tested its initial anguishes have never really wished to tell me the 
truth, it is in person I wish to be made acquainted with the sensation. By 
way of the experience itself I want to find out whether it is not very 
certain this asphyxiation impels, in the individual who undergoes it, the 
erectory nerve to produce an ejaculation; once convinced this death is 
but a game,
I'll brave it with far greater courage, for it is not my existence's cessation 
terrifies me: my principles are determined upon that head and well 
persuaded matter can never become anything but matter again, I have 
no greater dread of Hell than I have expectation of Paradise; but a cruel 
death's torments make me apprehensive; I don't wish to suffer when I 
perish; so let's have a try. You will do to me everything I did to you; I'll 
strip; I'll mount the stool, you'll adjust the rope, I'll excite myself for a 
moment, then, as soon as you see things assume a certain consistency, 
you'll jerk the stool free and I'll remain hanging; you'll leave me there 
until you either discern my semen's emission or symptoms of death's 
throes; in the latter case, you'll cut me down at once; in the other, you'll 
allow Nature to take her course and you'll not detach me until afterward. 
You observe, Therese, I'm putting my life in your hands; your freedom, 
your fortune will be your good conduct's reward."
"Ah, Monsieur, there's folly in the proposition." "No, Therese, I insist the 
thing be done," he answered, undressing himself, "but behave yourself 
well; behold what proof I give you of my confidence and high regard !" 
What possibility of hesitation had I? Was he not my master? 
Furthermore, it seemed to me the evil I was going to do him would be 
immediately offset by the extreme care I would take to save his life: I was 
going to be mistress of that life, but whatever might be his intentions 
with respect to me, it would certainly only be in order to restore it to 
him. We take our stations; Roland is stimulated by a few of his usual 
caresses; he climbs upon the stool, I put the halter round his neck; he 
tells me he wants me to curse him during the process, I am to reproach 
him with all his life's horrors, I do so; his dart soon rises to menace 
Heaven, he himself gives me the sign to remove the stool, I obey; would 
you believe it, Madame? nothing more true than what Roland had 
conjectured: nothing but symptoms of pleasure ornament his 
countenance and at practically the same instant rapid jets of semen 
spring nigh to the vault. When 'tis all shot out without any assistance 
whatsoever from me, I rush to cut him down, he falls, unconscious, but 
thanks to my ministrations he quickly recovers his senses.
"Oh Therese !" he exclaims upon opening his eyes, "oh, those sensations 
are not to be described; they transcend all one can possibly say: let them 
now do what they wish with me, I stand unflinching before Themis' 
sword! "You're going to find me guilty yet another time, Therese," 
Roland went on, tying my hands behind my back, "no thanks for you, 
but, dear girl, what can one expect? a man doesn't correct himself at my 
age.... Beloved creature, you have just saved my life and never have I so 
powerfully conspired against yours; you lamented Suzanne's fate; ah 
well, I'll arrange for you to meet again; I'm going to plunge you alive into 
the dungeon where she expired." I will not describe my state of mind, 
Madame, you fancy what it was; in vain did I weep, groan, I was not 
heeded. Roland opened the fatal dungeon, he hangs out a lamp so that I 
can still better discern the multitude of corpses wherewith it is filled; 
next, he passes a cord under my arms which, as you know, are bound 
behind my back, and by means of this cord he lowers me thirty feet: I am 
twenty more from the bottom of the pit: in this position I suffer 
hideously, it is as if my arms are being torn from their sockets.
With what terror was I not seized I what a prospect confronted my eyes! 
Heaps of bodies in the midst of which I was going to finish my life and 
whose stench was already infecting me. Roland cinches the rope about a 
stick fitted above the hole then, brandishing a knife, I hear him exciting 
himself. "Well, Therese," he cries, "recommend your soul to God, the 
instant my delirium supervenes will be that when I plunge you into the 
eternal abyss awaiting you; ah... ah... Therese, ah..." and I feel my head 
covered with proof of his ecstasy; but, happily, he has not parted the 
rope: he lifts me out. "Ha," says he, "were you afraid?" "Oh, Monsieur -" " 
'Tis thus you'll die, be sure of it, Therese, be sure of it, and 'twas pleasant 
to familiarize you with your egress." We climb back to the light.... Was I 
to complain? or be thankful? What a reward for what I had just done for 
him! But had the monster not been in a position to do more? Could he 
not have killed me? Oh, what a man!
Roland prepared his departure; on the eve of setting out he pays me a 
visit; I fall before his feet, most urgently I beg him to free me and to give 
me whatever little sum of money he would like, that I might be able to 
reach Grenoble. "Grenoble! Certainly not, Therese, you'd denounce us 
when you got there." "Very well, Monsieur," I say, sprinkling his knees 
with my tears, "I swear to you I'll never go there and, to be sure of me, 
condescend to take me to Venice with you; I will perhaps find gentler 
hearts there than in my native land, and once you are so kind as to set 
me free, I swear to you by all that is holy I will never importune you." "I'll 
not aid you, not a pennyworth of aid will you get from me," that peerless 
rogue answered; "everything connected with pity, commiseration, 
gratitude is so alien to my heart that were I three times as rich as I am, 
they'd not see me give one crown to the poor; the spectacle of misery 
irritates me, amuses me, and when I am unable to do evil myself, I have a 
delicious time enjoying that accomplished by the hand of destiny.
Upon all this I have principles to which, Therese, I adhere faithfully; 
poverty is part of the natural order; by creating men of dissimilar 
strength, Nature has convinced us of her desire that inequality be 
preserved even in those modifications our culture might bring to 
Nature's laws. To relieve indigence is to violate the established order, to 
imperil it, it is to enter into revolt against that which Nature has decreed, 
it is to undermine the equilibrium that is fundamental to her sublimest 
arrangements; it is to strive to erect an equality very perilous to society, 
it is to encourage indolence and flatter drones, it is to teach the poor to 
rob the rich man when the latter is pleased to refuse the former alms, for 
it's a dangerous habit, and gratuities encourage it." "Oh, Monsieur, how 
harsh these principles are! Would you speak thus had you not always 
been wealthy?" "Who knows, Therese? everyone has a right to his 
opinion, that's mine, and I'll not change it.
They complain about beggars in France: if they wished to be rid of them, 
the thing could soon be done; hang seven or eight thousand of 'em and 
the infamous breed will vanish overnight. The Body Politic should be 
governed by the same rules that apply to the Body Physical. Would a 
man devoured by vermin allow them to feed upon him out of sympathy? 
In our gardens do we not uproot the parasitic plant which harms useful 
vegetation? Why then should one choose to act otherwise in this case?" 
"But Religion," I expostulated, "benevolence, Monsieur, humanity..." "... 
are the chopping blocks of all who pretend to happiness," said Roland; 
"if I have consolidated my own, it is only upon the debris of all those 
infamous prejudices of mankind; 'tis by mocking laws human and divine; 
'tis by constantly sacrificing the weak when I find them in my path, 'tis 
by abusing the public's good faith; 'tis by ruining the poor and stealing 
from the rich I have arrived at the summit of that precipice whereupon 
sits the temple sacred to the divinity I adore; why not imitate me?
The narrow road leading to that shrine is as plainly offered to your eyes 
as mine; the hallucinatory virtues you have preferred to it, have they 
consoled you for your sacrifices? 'Tis too late, luckless one, 'tis too late, 
weep for your sins, suffer, and strive to find in the depths of the 
phantoms you worship, if any finding there is to be done, what the 
reverence you have shown them has caused you to lose." With these 
words, the cruel Roland leaps upon me and I am again forced to serve 
the unworthy pleasures of a monster I had such good reason to abhor; 
this time I thought he would strangle me; when his passions were 
satisfied, he caught up the bull's pizzle and with it smote me above a 
hundred blows all over my body, the while assuring me I was fortunate 
he lacked the time to do more.


CHAPTER 36

On the morrow, before setting out, the wretch presented us with a new 
scene of cruelty and of barbarity whereof no example is furnished by the 
annals of Andronicus, Nero, Tiberius, or Wenceslaus. Everyone at the 
chateau supposed Roland's sister would leave with him, and he had 
indeed told her to dress and ready herself for the journey; at the moment 
of mounting his horse, he leads her toward us. "There's your post, vile 
creature," says he, ordering her to take off her clothes, "I want my 
comrades to remember me by leaving them as a token the woman for 
whom they thought I had a fancy; but as we need only a certain number 
and as I am going to follow a dangerous road upon which my weapons 
will perhaps be useful, I must try my pistols upon one of these rascals." 
Whereupon he loads one of his guns, aims it at each of our breasts, and 
comes at last to his sister.
"Off you go, whore," says he, blasting out her brains, "go advise the devil 
that Roland, the richest villain on earth, is he who most insolently taunts 
the hand of Heaven and challenges Satan's own!" The poor girl did not 
expire at once: she writhed in her death throes for a considerable period: 
'twas a hideous spectacle: that infamous scoundrel calmly considered it 
and did not tear his eyes away until he had left us forever. Everything 
changed the day after Roland went away. His successor, a gentle and 
very reasonable man, had us released at once . "That is hardly fit work 
for a frail and delicate sex," he said to us with kindness; "animals should 
be employed at this machine; our trade is criminal enough without 
further offending the Supreme Being with gratuitous atrocities." He 
installed us in the chateau and, without requiring me to do so, suggested 
I assume possession of the duties Roland's sister had performed; the 
other women were busied cutting out counterfeit coins, a much less 
fatiguing task, no doubt, and one for which they were rewarded, as was I, 
with good lodgings and excellent food.
At the end of two months, Dalville, Roland's successor, informed us of 
his colleague's happy arrival at Venice; there he had established himself 
and there realized his fortune and there he enjoyed it in peace and quiet, 
wholly content, full of the felicity he had anticipated. The fate of the man 
who replaced him was of a distinctly different character. The unfortunate 
Dalville was honest in his profession, indeed, even more honest than was 
necessary in order to be destroyed. One day, while all was calm at the 
chateau, while, under the direction of that good master, the work, 
although criminal, was however being carried on with gaiety, one day the 
gates were stormed, the moats bridged and the house, before our men 
had a moment's opportunity to look to their defense, found itself invaded 
by soldiers of the constabulary, sixty strong. Surrender was our sole 
alternative; we were shackled like beasts; we were attached to the horses 
and marches down to Grenoble.
"O Heaven!" I said to myself as we entered, "'tis then the scaffold destiny 
holds for me in this city wherein I wildly fancied my happiness was to be 
born.... Oh! how deceived is man by his intuitions!" The court was not 
long tarrying over the counterfeiters' case; they were all sentenced to the 
gallows; when the mark that branded me was detected, they scarcely 
gave themselves the trouble of interrogating me and I was about to be 
hanged along with the others when I made a last effort to obtain some 
pity from that famous magistrate who proved to be an honor to his 
tribunal, a judge of integrity, a beloved citizen, an enlightened 
philosopher whose wisdom and benevolence will grave his name for all 
time in letters of gold upon Themis' temple. He listened to me; 
convinced of my good faith and the authenticity of my wretched plight, 
he deigned to give my case a little more attention than his cohorts saw fit 
to lavish upon it.... O great man, 'tis to thee I owe an homage: a 
miserable creature's gratitude would not sit onerously with thee and the 
tribute she offers thee, by publishing abroad thy goodness of heart, will 
always be her sweetest joy. Monsieur S*** himself became my advocate; 
my testimony was heard, and his male eloquence illumined the mind of 
the court.
The general depositions of the false coiners they were going to execute 
fortified the zeal of the man who had the kindness to take an interest in 
me: I was declared an unwilling party to crime, innocent, and fully 
acquitted of all charges, was set at complete liberty to become what I 
wished; to those services my protector added a collection he had taken 
for my relief, and it totaled more than fifty louis; I began to see a 
dawning of happiness at last; my presentiments seemed finally about to 
be realized and I thought I had reached an end of my tribulations when it 
pleased Providence to convince me they were still far from their 
definitive cessation.
Upon emerging from jail I took up lodgings at an inn facing the Isere 
bridge on the side of the faubourgs where, I had been assured, I might 
find proper quarters. My plan, suggested by the advice of Monsieur S***, 
was to stay there awhile in order to try to find a situation in the town; in 
the event the letters of recommendation Monsieur S*** had so kindly 
given me produced no results, I was to return to Lyon. On the second day 
I was dining at my inn - -'twas what is called table d'hote Ä when I 
noticed I was being closely scrutinized by a tall, very handsomely attired 
woman who went under a baroness' title; upon examining her in my 
turn, I believed I recognized her; we both rose and approached each 
other, we embraced like two people who once knew each other but 
cannot remember under what circumstances. Then the baroness drew 
me aside. "Therese," says she, "am I in error? are you not the person I 
saved from the Conciergerie ten years ago? have you entirely forgotten 
your Dubois?" Little flattered by this discovery, I however replied to it 
with politeness, but I was dealing with the most subtle, the most adroit 
woman in contemporary France; there was no way of eluding her. 
Dubois overwhelmed me with attentions, she said that she, like the 
entire town, had taken an interest in my fate but that had she known 
who I really was, she would have resorted to all sorts of measures and 
made many a representation to the magistrates, amongst whom, she 
declared, she had several friends.
As usual, I was weak, I permitted myself to be led to this woman's room 
and there I related my sufferings to her. "My dear friend," said she, 
renewing her embraces, "if I have desired to see you more intimately, it 
is to tell you I have made my fortune and that all I possess is at your 
disposal; look here," she said, opening some caskets brimming with gold 
and diamonds, "these are the fruits of my industry; had I worshiped 
Virtue like you, I should be in prison today, or hanged." "O Madame," I 
cried, "if you owe all that to naught but crime, Providence, which 
eventually is always just, will not suffer you to enjoy it for long." "An 
error," said Dubois; "do not imagine that Providence invariably favors 
Virtue; do not let a brief interlude of prosperity blind you to this point. It 
is as one to the maintenance of Providence's scheme whether 'tis Peter or 
Paul who follows the evil career while the other surrenders himself to 
good; Nature must have an equal quantity of each, and the exercise of 
crime rather than the commission of good is a matter of you've no idea
what indifference to her; listen Therese, pay a little attention to me," 
continued that corruptor, seating herself and bidding me take a nearby 
chair; "you have some wit, my child, and your intelligence will be 
speedily convinced. "'Tis not man's election of Virtue which brings him 
happiness, dear girl, for Virtue, like vice, is nothing beyond a scheme of 
getting along in the world; 'tis not, hence, a question of adopting one 
course rather than another; 'tis merely a matter of following the road 
generally taken; he who wanders away from it is always wrong; in an 
entirely virtuous world, I would recommend virtue to you, because 
worldly rewards being associated therewith, happiness would infallibly 
be connected with it too; in a totally corrupt world, I would never advise 
anything but vice.
He who does not walk along with others has inevitably to perish; 
everyone he encounters he collides with, and, as he is weak, he has 
necessarily to be crushed. It is in vain the law wishes to re-establish 
order and restore men to righteousness; too unjust to undertake the task, 
too insufficient to succeed in it, those laws will lure you away from the 
beaten path, but only temporarily; never will they make man abandon it. 
While the general interest of mankind drives it to corruption, he who 
does not wish to be corrupted with the rest will therefore be fighting 
against the general interest; well, what happiness can he expect who is in 
perpetual conflict with the interest of everyone else? Are you going to tell 
me it is vice which is at odds with mankind's welfare? I would grant this 
true in a world composed of equal proportions of good and bad people, 
because in this instance, the interest of the one category would be in 
clear contradiction with that of the other; however, that does not hold 
true in a completely corrupt society; in it, my vices outrage the vicious 
only and provoke in them other vices which they use to square matters: 
and thus all of us are happy: the vibration becomes general: we have a 
multitude of conflicts and mutual injuries whereby everyone, 
immediately recovering what he has just lost, incessantly discovers 
himself in a happy position.
Vice is dangerous to naught but Virtue which, frail and timorous, dares 
undertake nothing; but when it shall no longer exist on earth, when its 
wearisome reign shall reach its end, vice thereafter outraging no one but 
the vicious, will cause other vices to burgeon but will cause no further 
damage to the virtuous. How could you help but have foundered a 
thousand times over in the course of your life, Therese? for have you not 
continually driven up the one-way street all the world has crowded 
down? Had you turned and abandoned yourself to the tide you would 
have made a safe port as well as I. Will he who wishes to climb upstream 
cover as much distance in a day as he who moves with the current? You 
constantly talk about Providence; ha! what proves to you this Providence 
is a friend of order and consequently enamored of Virtue? Does It not 
give you uninterrupted examples of Its injustices and Its irregularities? 
Is it by sending mankind war, plagues, and famine, is it by having 
formed a universe vicious in every one of its particulars It manifests to 
your view Its extreme fondness of good?
Why would you have it that vicious individuals displease It since 
Providence Itself acts only through the intermediary of vices? since all is 
vice and corruption in Its works? since all is crime and disorder in what 
It wills? Moreover, whence do we derive those impulses which lead us to 
do evil? is it not Providence's hand which gives them to us? is there a 
single one of our sensations which does not come from It? one of our 
desires which is not Its artifact? is it then reasonable to say that It would 
allow us or give us penchants for something which might be harmful to It 
or useless? if then vices serve Providence, why should we wish to disown 
them, disclaim them, resist them? what would justify our labors to 
destroy them? and whence comes the right to stifle their voice? A little 
more philosophy in the world would soon restore all to order and would 
cause magistrates and legislators to see that the crimes they condemn 
and punish with such rigor sometimes have a far greater degree of utility 
than those virtues they preach without practicing and without ever 
rewarding."
"But when I become sufficiently enfeebled, Madame," I replied, "to be 
able to embrace your appalling doctrines, how will you manage to 
suppress the feelings of guilt in my heart whose birth they will cause at 
every instant?" "Guilt is an illusion," Dubois answered; "my dear 
Therese, it it naught but the idiotic murmuring of a soul too debilitated 
to dare annihilate it." "Annihilate it! May one?" "Nothing simpler; one 
repents only of what one is not in the habit of doing; frequently repeat 
what makes you remorseful and you'll quickly have done with the 
business; against your qualms oppose the torch of your passions and 
self-interest's potent laws: they'll be put to rout in a trice.
Remorse is no index of criminality; it merely denotes an easily 
subjugated spirit; let some absurd command be given you, which forbids 
you to leave this room, and you'll not depart without guilty feelings 
however certain it is your departure will cause no one any harm. And so 
it is not true that it is exclusively crime which excites remorse. By 
convincing yourself of crime's nullity, of its necessity with what regards 
Nature's universal scheme, it would therefore be as possible to vanquish 
the guilt one would sense after having committed it as it would be to 
throttle that which would be born from your leaving this room after 
having received the illegal order to stay here. One must begin with a 
precise analysis of everything mankind denominates as criminal; by 
convincing oneself that it is merely the infraction of its laws and national
manners they characterize thus, that what is called crime in France 
ceases to be crime two hundred leagues away, that there is no act really 
considered criminal everywhere upon earth, none which, vicious or 
criminal here, is not praiseworthy and virtuous a few miles hence, that it 
is all a matter of opinion and of geography and that it is therefore absurd 
to tie oneself down to practicing virtues which are only vices somewhere 
else, and to flying from crimes which are excellent deeds in another 
climate - I ask you now if, after these reflections, I can still retain any 
feelings of guilt for having committed, either for the sake of pleasure or 
of self-interest, a crime in France which is nothing but a virtue in China? 
or if I ought to make myself very miserable or be prodigiously troubled 
about practicing actions in France which would have me burned in 
Siam?
Now, if remorse exists only in reason of prohibition, if it is never but 
born of the wreckage of the inhibitory check and in no wise of the 
committed act, is it so very wise to allow the impulse in itself to subsist? 
is it not stupid not to extirpate it at once? Let one become accustomed to 
considering as inconsequential the act which has just excited remorse; 
let the scrupulously meditated study of the manners and customs of all 
the world's nations culminate in one's judging the act indifferent; as a 
result of this research, let one repeat this act, whatever it is, as often as 
possible; or, better still, let one commit more powerful versions of the act 
one is concerting so as better to habituate oneself to it, do this, and 
familiarity together with reason will soon destroy remorse for it; they 
will rapidly annihilate this shadowy, furtive impulse, issue of naught but 
ignorance and education. One will straightway feel that there being 
nothing really criminal in anything whatsoever, there is stupidity in 
repentance and pusillanimity in not daring to do everything that may be 
useful or agreeable to us, whatever be the dikes one must breach, the 
fences one must topple in order to do it.
I am forty-five, Therese; I committed my first crime at fourteen. That 
one emancipated me from all the bonds that hampered me; since then I 
have not ceased to chase fortune throughout a career sown with crimes, 
there's not a single one I've not done or had done... and never have I 
known any remorse. However that may be, I am reaching my term, yet 
another two or three neat strokes and I pass from the mediocre condition 
wherein I was to have spent my life, to an income of above fifty thousand 
a year. I repeat, my dear, never upon this happily traveled road has 
remorse made me feel its stings; a catastrophic miscarriage might this 
instant plunge me from the pinnacle into the abyss, I'd not feel remorse, 
no: I would lament my want of skill or accuse men, but I should always 
be at peace with my conscience."


CHAPTER 37

"Very well," I replied, "very well, Madame, but let's spend a moment 
reasoning in terms of your own principles: what right have you to require 
that my conscience be as impregnable as yours when since childhood it 
has not been accustomed to vanquishing the same prejudices? By what 
title do you require that my mind, which is not constituted like your own, 
be able to adopt the same systems? You acknowledge sums of good and 
evil in Nature, you admit that, in consequence, there must be a certain 
quantity of beings who practice good and another group which devotes 
itself to evil; the course I elect is hence natural; therefore, how would you 
be able to demand that I take leave of the rules Nature prescribes to me? 
You say you find happiness in the career you pursue; very well, Madame, 
why should it be that I do not also find it in the career I pursue? 
Do not suppose, furthermore, that the law's vigilance long leaves in 
peace him who violates its codes, you have just had a striking example of 
the contrary; of the fifteen scoundrels with whom I was living, fourteen 
perish ignominiously...." "And is that what you call a misfortune?" 
Dubois asked. "But what does this ignominy mean to him who has 
principles no longer? When one has trespassed every frontier, when in 
our eyes honor is no more than a hallucination, reputation of perfect 
indifference, religion an illusion, death a total annihilation; is it then not 
the same thing, to die on the scaffold or in bed? There are two varieties 
of rascals in the world, Therese: the one a powerful fortune or prodigious 
influence shelters from this tragic end; the other one who is unable to 
avoid it when taken. The latter, born unprovided with possessions, must 
have but one desire if he has any esprit: to become rich at no matter what 
price; if he succeeds, he obtains what he wanted and should be content; 
if he is put on the rack, what's he to regret since he has nothing to lose?
Those laws decreed against banditry are null if they are not extended to 
apply to the powerful bandit; that the law inspire any dread in the 
miserable is impossible, for the sword is the miserable man's only 
resource." "And do you believe," I broke in, "that in another world 
Celestial Justice does not await him whom crime has not affrighted in 
this one?" "I believe," this dangerous woman answered, "that if there 
were a God there would be less evil on earth; I believe that since evil 
exists, these disorders are either expressly ordained by this God, and 
there you have a barbarous fellow, or he is incapable of preventing them 
and right away you have a feeble God; in either case, an abominable 
being, a being whose lightning I should defy and whose laws contemn. 
Ah, Therese I is not atheism preferable to the one and the other of these 
extremes? that's my doctrine, dear lass, it's been mine since childhood 
and I'll surely not renounce it while I live."
"You make me shudder, Madame," I said, getting to my feet; "will you 
pardon me? for I am unable to listen any longer to your sophistries and 
blasphemies." "One moment, Therese," said Dubois, holding me back, "if 
I cannot conquer your reason, I may at least captivate your heart. I have 
need of you, do not refuse me your aid; here are a thousand louis: they 
will be yours as soon as the blow is struck." Heedless of all but my 
penchant for doing good, I immediately asked Dubois what was involved 
so as to forestall, if 'twere possible, the crime she was getting ready to 
commit.
"Here it is," she said: "have you noticed that young tradesman from Lyon 
who has been taking his meals here for the past four or five days?" 
"Who? Dubreuil?" "Precisely." "Well?" "He is in love with you, he told me 
so in confidence, your modest and gentle air pleases him infinitely, he 
adores your candor, your virtue enchants him; this romantic fellow has 
eight hundred thousand francs in gold or paper, it's all in a little coffer he 
keeps near his bed; let me give the man to understand you consent to 
hear him, whether that be true or not; for, does it matter? I'll get him to 
propose you a drive, you'll take a carriage out of the town, I'll persuade 
him he will advance matters with you during your promenade; you'll 
amuse him, you'll keep him away as long as possible, meanwhile I'll rob 
him, but I'll not flee; his belongings will reach Turin before I quit 
Grenoble, we will employ all imaginable art to dissuade him from 
settling his eyes upon us, we'll pretend to assist his searches; however, 
my departure will be announced, he'll not be surprised thereby, you'll 
follow me, and the thousand louis will be counted out to you 
immediately we get to the Piedmont."
"Agreed, Madame," I said to Dubois, fully determined to warn Dubreuil 
of the concerted theft, "but consider," I added in order more thoroughly 
to deceive this villain, "that if Dubreuil is fond of me, by revealing the 
business or by giving myself to him, I might get much more from him 
than you offer me to betray him." "Bravo," replied Dubois, "that's what I 
call an adept scholar, I'm beginning to believe Heaven gave you a greater 
talent for crime than you pretend: ah well," she continued, picking up a 
quill, "here's my note for twenty thousand crowns, now dare say no to 
me." "Not for the world, Madame," quoth I, taking her note, "but, at 
least, my weakness and my wrong in surrendering to your seductions are 
to be attributed only to my impecunious circumstances."
"I'd prefer to interpret it as a meritorious act of your intelligence," said 
Dubois, "but if you prefer me to blame your poverty, why then, as you 
like; serve me and you will always be content." Everything was arranged; 
the same evening I began in earnest to play my game with Dubreuil, and 
indeed I discovered he had some taste for me. Nothing could have been 
more embarrassing than my situation: I was without any doubt far from 
lending myself to the proposed crime even had it been worth ten 
thousand times as much gold; but the idea of denouncing this woman 
was also painful for me; I was exceedingly loath to expose to death a 
creature to whom I had owed my freedom ten years before.
I should have liked to have been able to find a way of preventing the 
crime without having it punished, and with anyone else but a 
consummate villain like Dubois I should have succeeded; here then is 
what I resolved to do, all the while unaware that this horrible woman's 
base maneuvers would not only topple the entire edifice of my honorable 
schemes but even punish me for having dreamt of them. Upon the day 
fixed for the projected outing, Dubois invites us both to dine in her room, 
we accept, and the meal over, Dubreuil and I descend to summon the 
carriage that has been prepared for us; Dubois does not accompany us, I 
find myself alone with Dubreuil the moment before we set out. 
"Monsieur," I say, speaking very rapidly, "listen closely to me, don't be 
alarmed, no noise, and above all pay strict attention to what I am going 
to recommend; have you a reliable friend at this hotel?" "Yes, I have a 
young associate upon whom I can count with absolute confidence." 
"Then, Monsieur, go promptly and order him not to leave your room for 
a second while we are on our drive." "But I have the key to the room; 
what does this excess of precaution signify"
"It is more essential than you believe, Monsieur, I beg you to employ it, 
or else I shall not go out with you; the woman with whom we dined is a 
bandit, she only arranged our outing in order more easily to rob you 
while we are gone; make haste, Monsieur, she is watching us, she is 
dangerous; quickly, turn your key over to your friend, have him go and 
install himself in your room and let him not budge until we're back. I'll 
explain the rest as soon as we are in the carriage." Dubreuil heeds me, 
presses my hand in token of thanks, flies to give orders relative to the 
warning he has received, and returns; we leave; when en route, I disclose 
the entire adventure to him, I recite mine and inform him of the 
unhappy circumstances in my life which have caused me to make the 
acquaintance of such a woman. This correct and sensible young man 
expresses the deepest gratitude for the service I have just so kindly 
rendered him, he takes an interest in my misfortunes, and proposes to 
alleviate them with the bestowal of his hand. "I am only too happy to be 
able to make you restitution for the wrongs fortune has done you, 
Mademoiselle," says he; "I am my own master, dependent upon no one, I 
am going on to Geneva to make a considerable investment with the funds 
your timely warning has saved me from losing; accompany me to 
Switzerland; when we arrive there I shall become your husband and you 
will not appear in Lyon under any other title, or, if you prefer, 
Mademoiselle, if you have any misgivings, it will only be in my own 
country I will give you my name."
Such an offer, so very flattering, was one I dared not refuse; but it did not 
on the other hand become me to accept it without making Dubreuil 
aware of all that might cause him to repent it; he was grateful for my 
delicacy and only insisted the more urgently... unhappy creature that I 
was! 'twas necessary that happiness be offered me only in order that I be 
more deeply penetrated with grief at never being able to seize it! it was 
then ordained that no virtue could be born in my heart without 
preparing torments for me! Our conversation had already taken us two 
leagues from the city, and we were about to dismount in order to enjoy 
the fresh air along the bank of the Isere, when all of a sudden Dubreuil 
told me he felt very ill.... He got down, he was seized by dreadful 
vomitings; I had him climb into the carriage at once and we flew back 
posthaste to Grenoble. Dubreuil is so sick he has to be borne to his room; 
his condition startles his associate whom we find there and who, in 
accordance with instructions, has not stirred from the chamber; a doctor 
comes, Just Heaven! Dubreuil has been poisoned! I no sooner learn the 
fatal news than I dash to Dubois' apartment; the infamous creature! 
she's gone; I rush to my room, my armoire has been forced open, the 
little money and odds and ends I possess have been removed; Dubois, 
they tell me, left three hours ago in the direction of Turin.
There was no doubt she was the author of this multitude of crimes; she 
had gone to Dubreuil's door; annoyed to find his room occupied, she 
revenged herself upon me and had envenomed Dubreuil at dinner so 
that upon our return, if she had succeeded with her theft, that unhappy 
young man would be more busied with his own failing life than 
concerned to pursue her who had made off with his fortune and would 
let her fly in safety; the accident of his death, occurring, so to speak, 
while he was in my arms, would make me appear more suspect than 
herself; nothing directly informed us of the scheme she had contrived, 
but could it have been different? And then I rush back to Dubreuil's 
room; I am not allowed to approach his bedside.
"But why?" I demand and am given the reason: the poor man is expiring 
and is no longer occupied with anyone save his God. However, he 
exonerates me, he gives assurance of my innocence; he expressly forbids 
that I be pursued; he dies. Hardly has he closed his eyes when his 
associate hastens to bring me the news and begs me to be easy. Alas I 
how could I be? how was I not to weep bitterly for the loss of a man who
had so generously offered to extricate me from misery! how was I not to 
deplore a theft which forced me back into the wretchedness whence I 
had only a moment before emerged! Frightful creature! I cried; if 'tis to 
this your principles lead you, is it any wonder they are abhorred and that 
honest folk punish them! But I was arguing from the injured party's 
viewpoint and Dubois, who had only reaped happiness therefrom and 
saw nothing but her interest in what she had undertaken, Dubois, I say, 
had doubtless reached a very different conclusion.
To Dubreuil's associate, whose name was Valbois, I divulged everything, 
both what had been concerted against the man we had lost and what had 
happened to me. He sympathized with me, most sincerely regretted 
Dubreuil and blamed the overly nice scruples which had prevented me 
from lodging a complaint instantly I had been advised of Dubois' 
schemes; we agreed that this monster who needed but four hours to get 
to another country and security would arrive there before we would be 
able to organize her pursuit, that to follow her would involve 
considerable expense, that the inn-keeper, heavily compromised by the 
proceedings we would launch, by defending himself with vehemence 
might perhaps end by having me crushed, I... who seemed to be living in 
Grenoble as one who had missed the gallows by a hairsbreadth.
These reasons convinced me and even terrified me to the point I resolved 
to leave the town without even saying farewell to my protector, Monsieur 
S * * *. Dubreuil's friend approved the idea; he did not conceal from me 
that if the entire adventure were to be revealed he would be obliged to 
make depositions which, his precautions notwithstanding, would involve 
me as much by my intimacy with Dubreuil as in reason of my last outing 
with his friend; in the light of which he urged me to leave at once without 
a word to anyone, and I could be perfectly sure that, on his side, he 
would never take steps against me, whom he believed innocent, and, in 
all that had just occurred, whom he could only accuse of weakness.


CHAPTER 38

Upon pondering Valbois' opinions, I recognized they were that much 
better the more certain it appeared I would be beheld with suspicion; the 
less my guilt, the wiser his suggestions; the one thing that spoke in my 
behalf, the recommendation I had made to Dubreuil at the outset of our 
promenade, which had, so they told me, been unsatisfactorily explained 
by the article of his death, would not appear so conclusive as I might 
hope; whereupon I promptly made my decision; I imparted it to Valbois. 
"Would," said he, "that my friend had charged me with some 
dispositions favorable to you, I should carry out such requests with the 
greatest pleasure; I am sorry indeed he did not tell me 'twas to you he 
owed the advice to guard his room; but he said nothing of the sort, not a 
word did I have from him, and consequently I am obliged to limit myself 
to merely complying with his orders. What you have suffered by his loss 
would persuade me to do something in my own name were I able to, 
Mademoiselle, but I am just setting up in business, I am young, my 
fortune is not boundless, I am compelled to render an account of 
Dubreuil to his family and without delay; allow me then to confine 
myself to the one little service I beg you to accept: here are five louis and 
I have here as well an honest merchant from Chalon-surSaone, my 
native city; she is going to return there after a day and a night's stop at 
Lyon where she is called by business matters; I put you into her 
keeping." "Madame Bertrand," Valbois continued, "here is the young 
lady I spoke of; I recommend her to you, she wishes to procure herself a 
situation.
With the same earnestness which would apply were she my own sister, I 
beg you to take all possible steps to find something in our city which will 
be suitable to her person, her birth, and her upbringing; that until she is 
properly installed she incur no expense; do see to her requirements and I 
shall reimburse you immediately I am home." Valbois besought me leave 
to embrace me. "Adieu, Mademoiselle," he continued, "Madame 
Bertrand sets off tomorrow at daybreak; accompany her and may a little 
more happiness attend you in a city where I shall perhaps soon have the 
satisfaction of seeing you again." The courtesy of this young man, who 
was in no sort indebted to me, brought tears to my eyes. Kind treatment 
is sweet indeed when for so long one has experienced naught but the 
most odious. I accepted his gifts, at the same time swearing I was going 
to work at nothing but to put myself in a way to be able someday to 
reciprocate. Alas! I thought as I retired, though the exercise of yet 
another virtue has just flung me into destitution, at least, for the first 
time in my life, the hope of consolation looms out of this appalling pit of 
evil into which Virtue has cast me again. The hour was not advanced; I 
needed a breath of air and so went down to the Isere embankment, 
desiring to stroll there for several instants; and, as almost always 
happens under similar circumstances, my thoughts, absorbing me 
entirely, led me far. Finding myself, at length, in an isolated place, I sat 
down, more leisurely to ponder.
However, night descended before I thought to return; of a sudden I felt 
myself seized by three men: one clapped a hand over my mouth, the 
other two precipitated me into a carriage, climbed in, and for three full 
hours we sped along, during which time not one of these brigands 
deigned either to say a word to me or respond to any of my questions. 
The blinds were drawn down, I saw nothing; the carriage came to a halt 
before a house, gates swung wide, we entered, the gates clanged to 
immediately. My abductors pick me up, lead me through several unlit 
apartments, and finally leave me in one near which is a room wherein I 
perceive a light. "Stay here," says one of my ravishers as he withdraws 
with his companions, "you're soon going to see an old acquaintance." 
And they disappear, carefully shutting all the doors. At almost the same 
time, that leading into the room where I had spied illumination is 
opened, and carrying a candle in her hand, I see emerge... oh, Madame, 
fancy who it was... Dubois... Dubois herself, that frightful monster, 
devoured, no question of it, by the most ardent desire to be revenged. 
"Hither, charming girl," said she in an arrogant tone, "come here and 
receive the reward for the virtues in which you indulged yourself at my 
expense..." And angrily clutching my hand: "...ah, you wretch I I'll teach 
you to betray me!"
"No, Madame, no," I say in great haste, "I betrayed you not at all: inform 
yourself: I uttered not one word which could cause you any inquietude, 
no, I spoke not the least word which might compromise you." "But did 
you not offer resistance to the crime I meditated? have you not thwarted 
its execution, worthless creature! You've got to be chastened...."
And, as we were entering, she had no time to say more. The apartment 
into which I was made to pass was lit with equal sumptuousness and 
magnificence; at the further end, reclining upon an ottoman, was a man 
of about forty, wearing a billowing taffeta dressing robe. "Monseigneur," 
said Dubois, presenting me to him, "here is the young lady you wanted, 
she in whom all Grenoble has become interested... the celebrated 
Therese, to be brief, condemned to hang with the counterfeiters, then 
delivered thanks to her innocence and her virtue. Acknowledge that I 
serve you with skill, Monseigneur; not four days ago you evinced your 
extreme desire to immolate her to your passions; and today I put her into 
your hands; you will perhaps prefer her to that pretty little pensionnaire 
from the Benedictine convent at Lyon you also desired and who should 
be arriving any minute: the latter has her physical and moral integrity 
this one here has nothing but a sentimental chastity; but it is deep
grained in her being and nowhere will you find a creature more heavily 
ballasted with candor and honesty. They are both at your disposition, 
Monseigneur: you'll either dispatch each this evening, or one today and 
the other tomorrow.
As for myself, I am leaving you: your kindnesses in my regard engaged 
me to make you privy to my Grenoble adventure. One man dead, 
Monseigneur, one dead man; I must fly Ä" "Ah no, no, charming 
woman!" cried the master of the place; "no, stay, and fear nothing while 
you have my protection! You are as a soul unto my pleasures; you alone 
possess the art of exciting and satisfying them, and the more you 
multiply your crimes, the more the thought of you inflames my mind.... 
But this Therese is a pretty thing...." and addressing himself to me: "what 
is your age, my child?" "Twenty-six, Monseigneur," I replied, "and much 
grief." "Ha, yes, grief indeed, lots of distress, excellent, I'm familiar with 
all that, hugely amusing, just what I like; we're going to straighten 
everything out, we'll put a stop to these tumbles; I guarantee you that in 
twenty-four hours you'll be unhappy no longer, ha!..." and, with that, 
dreadful flights of laughter... " 'tis true, eh, Dubois? I've a sure method 
for ending a young girl's misfortunes, haven't I?" "Indeed you do," the 
odious creature replied; "and if Therese weren't a friend of mine, I'd 
never have brought her to you; but it is only fair I reward her for what 
she did for me. You'd never imagine how useful this dear thing was to me 
during my latest enterprise at Grenoble; you, Monseigneur, have had the 
kindness to accept my expression of gratitude, and, I pray you, repay 
what I owe her with interest." The opaque ambiguity of these phrases, 
what Dubois had said to me upon entering, the species of gentleman with 
whom I had to do, this other girl whose forthcoming appearance had 
been announced, all this instantly troubled my imagination to a degree it 
would be difficult to describe.
A cold sweat seeped from my pores and I was about to fall in a swoon Ä 
'twas at that instant this man's projects finally became clear to me. He 
calls me to him, begins with two or three kisses whereby our mouths are 
obliged to unite; he seeks my tongue, finds and sucks it and his, running 
deep into my throat, seems to be pumping the very breath from my 
lungs. He has me bend my head upon his chest, he lifts my hair and 
closely observes the nape of my neck. "Oh, 'tis delicious!" he cries, 
squeezing it vigorously; "I've never seen one so nicely attached; 'twill be 
divine to make it jump free." This last remark confirmed all my 
intimations; I saw very clearly I was once again in the clutches of one of 
those libertines moved by cruel passions, whose most cherished delights 
consist in enjoying the agonies or the death of the luckless victims 
procured them by money; I observed I was in danger of losing my life. 
And then a knock at the door; Dubois leaves and an instant later ushers 
in the young Lyonnaise she had mentioned shortly before. I'll now try to 
sketch the two personages in whose company you are going to see me for 
a while.
The Monseigneur, whose name and estate T never discovered, was, as I 
told you, a man of forty years, slender, indeed slight of frame, but 
vigorously constituted, sinewy, with his muscles almost constantly 
tensed, powerful biceps showing upon arms that were covered with a 
growth of thick black hair; everything about him proclaimed strength 
and good health; his face was animated, his gaze ardent, his eyes small, 
black, and wicked, there were splendid white teeth in his mouth, and 
liveliness in his every feature; his height was above average, and this 
man's amatory goad, which I was to have but too frequent occasion to 
see and feel, was roughly a foot long and above eight inches around.
This incisive, nervous, constantly alerted and oozing instrument, 
ribboned with great purple veins that rendered its aspect still more 
formidable, was levitated throughout the seance, which lasted five or six 
hours; never once did it sink or falter. I had never before or since found a 
more hirsute man: he resembled those fauns described in fables. His 
powerful hands ended in fingers whose strength was that of a vice; as for 
his character, it seemed to me harsh, abrupt, cruel, his mind was inclined 
to that sarcasm and teasing of a sort calculated to redouble the sufferings 
one was perfectly well able to see one had to expect such a man would 
strive to inflict. The little Lyonnaise was called Eulalie. A glimpse of her 
was enough to convince one of her distinguished birth and virtue: she 
was the daughter of one of the City's foremost families from whose house 
Dubois' criminal hirelings had abducted her under the pretext of 
conveying her to a rendezvous with the lover she idolized; together with 
an enchanting forthrightness and naivete, she possessed one of the most 
delightful countenances imaginable.
Barely sixteen years old, Eulalie had the face of a genuine Madonna; her 
features were embellished by an enviable innocence and modesty; she 
had little color but was only the more fetching for that; and the sparkle in 
her superb eyes endowed her pretty face with all the fire and warmth 
whereof, at first glance, this pallor seemed to deprive her; her rather 
generous mouth was filled with the prettiest teeth, her already fully 
matured breasts seemed yet whiter than her complexion; but she was no 
sense lacking in plumpness: her form was round and well furnished, all 
her flesh was firm, sweet, and succulent. Dubois asserted it were 
impossible to behold a more beautiful ass: little expert in these matters, 
you will permit me to abstain from judging here. A fine mossy growth 
shadowed her fore end; majestic blond hair floated about all those 
charms, rendering them still more piquant; and to complete the 
masterpiece, Nature, who seemed to have created it for pleasure, had 
endowed her with the sweetest and most lovable temperament. Tender 
and delicate flower, thus were you to grace the world for but an instant in 
order more swiftly to be withered! "Oh, Madame!" she said upon 
recognizing Dubois, "is it in this way you have deceived me !... Just 
Heaven! where have you brought me?"
"You shall see, my child," put in the master of the house, abruptly seizing 
Eulalie, drawing her to him and forthwith beginning his kisses while, 
upon his orders, I excited him with one hand. Eulalie sought to protect 
herself, but, thrusting the girl toward the libertine, Dubois eliminated all 
possibility of her escape. The sitting was long; for very fresh, new-blown 
was that flower, and the hornet's desire to drain its pollen was 
commensurately great. His iterated suckings were succeeded by an 
inspection of Eulalie's neck; betimes, I palpated his member and felt it 
throb with growing insistence. "Well," said Monseigneur, "here are two 
victims who shall fill my cup of joy to overflowing: Dubois, you shall be 
well paid, for I am well served. Let's move into my boudoir; follow us, 
dear woman, come," he continued as he led us away; "you'll leave 
tonight, but I need you for the party." Dubois resigns herself, and we 
pass into the debauchee's pleasure chamber, where we are stripped 
naked.
Oh, Madame, I shall not attempt to represent the infamies of which I was 
at once victim and witness. This monster's pleasures were those of the 
executioner; his unique joy consisted in decapitating. My luckless 
companion... oh, no! Madame... no! do not require me to finish... I was 
about to share her fate; spurred on by Dubois, the villain had decided to 
render my torture yet more horrible when both experienced a need to 
revive their strength; whereupon they sat down to eat.... What a 
debauch! But ought I complain? for did it not save my life? Besotted with 
wine, exhausted by overeating, both fell dead drunk and slumbered 
amidst the litter that remained from their feast. No sooner do I see them 
collapse than I leap to the skirt and mantle Dubois had just removed in 
order to appear more immodest in her patron's view; I snatch up a 
candle and spring toward the stairway: this house, divested, or nearly so, 
of servants, contains nothing to frustrate my escape, I do encounter 
someone, I put on a terrified air and cry to him to make all haste to 
relieve his master who is dying, and I reach the door without meeting 
further obstacles. I have no acquaintance with the roads, I'd not been 
allowed to see the one whereby we had come, I take the first I see... 'tis 
the one leading to Grenoble; there is nothing denied us when fortune 
deigns momentarily to smile upon us; at the inn everyone was still abed, 
I enter secretly and fly to Valbois' room, knock, Valbois wakes and 
scarcely recognizes me in my disordered state; he demands to know what 
has befallen me, I relate the horrors whereof I was simultaneously an 
observer and object. "You can have Dubois arrested," I tell him, "she's 
not far from here, I might even be able to point out the way.... Quite 
apart from all her other crimes, the wretch has taken both my clothing 
and the five louis you gave me." "O Therese," says Valbois, "there's no 
denying it, you are without doubt the unluckiest girl on earth, but, 
nevertheless, my honest creature, do you not perceive, amidst all these 
afflictions which beset you, a celestial arm that saves you? may that be 
unto you as one additional motive for perpetual virtuousness, for never 
do good deeds go unrewarded. We will not chase after Dubois, my 
reasons for letting her go in peace are the same you expounded 
yesterday, let us simply repair the harm she has done you: here, first of 
all, is the money she stole from you. In an hour's time I'll have a 
seamstress bring two complete outfits for you, and some linen. "But you 
have got to leave, Therese, you must leave this very day, Bertrand 
expects you, I've persuaded her to delay her departure a few hours more, 
join her...."
"O virtuous young man," I cried, falling into my benefactor's arms, "may 
Heaven someday repay you for the kindness you have done me." "Ah, 
Therese," said Valbois, embracing me, "the happiness you wish me... I've 
enjoyed it already, 'tis presently mine, since your own is my doing... fare 
thee well." And thus it was I left Grenoble, Madame, and though I had 
not found in that city all the felicity I had imagined was awaiting me 
there, at least I had never met in another so many kindly and 
goodhearted people assembled to sympathize with or assuage my woes. 
My conductress and I were in a small covered carriage drawn by one 
horse we drove from within; we had with us, beside Madame Bertrand's 
baggage, her baby girl of fifteen months whom she was still suckling and 
for whom I straightway, to my vast misfortune, formed an attachment 
quite as deep as was that of the mother who had brought the infant into 
the world. She was, this Bertrand, an unattractive person, suspicious, 
gossipy, noisy, monotonous, and dull-witted. Every night we regularly 
emptied the carriage and transported everything into our inn and then 
went to sleep in the same room.
Until Lyon, everything went along very smoothly, but during the three 
days this woman needed for her business dealings, I fell upon someone I 
was far from expecting to encounter in that city. Together with girls from 
the hotel whom I had got to accompany me, I would take walks on the 
Rhone quay; one day I all of a sudden espied the Reverend Father 
Antonin formerly of Saint Mary-in-the-Wood, now superior in charge of 
his order's establishment located in that city. That monk accosted me 
and after rebuking me in a very low and still sharper tone for my flight, 
and having given me to understand I would be running great risks of 
recapture were he to relay information to the Burgundian monastery, he 
added, softening his manner, that he would not breathe a word if I 
should be willing that very instant to come to visit him in his new 
quarters and to bring with me the girl I was with, who struck him as 
worth having; then repeating his proposal aloud, and to this other 
creature: "We shall reward you handsomely, both of you," quoth the 
monster; "there are ten of us in our house, and I promise you a 
minimum of one louis from each if your complacency is unlimited." I 
flush crimson upon hearing these words; I spend a moment trying to 
convince the monk he has made a mistake; failing at that, I attempt to 
use signs to induce him to be silent, but nothing prevails with this 
insolent fellow, and his solicitations become only the more heated; at last 
having received repeated refusals, he demands to know our address; in 
order to get rid of him, I immediately give a fictitious one, he writes it 
down, and leaves us with the assurance we will soon meet again.


CHAPTER 39

Upon returning to our inn I explained as best I could the history of this 
unfortunate acquaintance; but whether my companion was not at all 
satisfied by what I told her, or whether she may perhaps have been 
exceedingly annoyed by my virtuous performance which deprived her of 
an adventure wherefrom she might have earned much, she waggled her 
tongue, the effects of which were only too plainly revealed by Bertrand's 
remarks upon the occasion of the deplorable catastrophe I am going to 
relate to you in a moment; however, the monk never did reappear, and 
we left Lyon. Having quit the city late, we could get no further than 
Villefranche that day, and there we stopped for the night; 'twas in that 
town, Madame, there took place the horrible event which today causes 
me to appear before you in a criminal guise, although I was no more a 
malefactor in that one of my life's fateful circumstances than in any other 
of those where you have observed me so unjustly assaulted by the blows 
of fate; and as in many another instance, so this time I was flung into the 
abyss by nothing other than the goodness of my heart and the 
wickedness of men. Having made Villefranche toward six o'clock in the 
evening, we supped in haste and retired directly, that we might be able to 
undertake a longer stage on the morrow; we had not been two hours in 
bed when a dreadful smell of smoke roused us from sleep; convinced the 
flames are near at hand, we get instantly from bed.
Just Heaven! the havoc wrought by the fire was already but too frightful; 
half-naked, we open our door and all around us hear nothing but the 
fracas of collapsing walls, the noise of burning timbers and woodwork 
and the shrieks of those who had fallen into the blaze; surrounded by 
devouring flames we have no idea in which direction to run; to escape 
their violence, we rush past them and soon find ourselves lost in a 
milling crush of wretches who, like ourselves, are seeking salvation in 
flight; at this point I remember that my conductress, more concerned for 
her own than for her child's safety, has not thought of preserving it from 
death; without a word to the woman, I fly to our chamber, having to pass 
through the conflagration and to sustain burns in several places: I snatch 
up the poor little creature, spring forward to restore her to her mother: I 
advance along a half-consumed beam, miss my footing, instinctively 
thrust out my hands, this natural reflex forces me to release the precious 
burden in my arms... it slips from my grasp and the unlucky child falls 
into the inferno before its own mother's eyes; at this instant I am myself 
seized... carried away; too upset to be able to distinguish anything, I am 
unaware whether 'tis aid or peril which surrounds me but, to my grief, I 
am but too fully enlightened when, flung into a post chaise, I discover 
myself beside Dubois who, clapping a pistol to my head, threatens to 
blow out my brains if I utter a syllable...
"Ah, little villain," says she, "I've got you now and this time for good." 
"Oh, Madame! you?" I exclaim. "Here?" "Everything that has just 
transpired is my doing," the monster replies, " 'twas by arson I saved 
your life; and by a fire you're going to lose it: in order to catch you I'd 
have followed you to Hell had it been necessary. Monseigneur was 
furious, believe me, when he found out you had escaped; I get two 
hundred louis for every girl I procure him, and not only did he not want 
to pay me for Eulalie, but he menaced me with all his anger could 
produce were I to fail to bring you back. I discovered I'd missed you by 
two hours at Lyon; yesterday I reached Villefranche an hour after your 
arrival, I had the hotel burned by the henchmen I always have in my 
employ, I wanted to incinerate you or get you back; I've got you, I m 
returning you to a house your flight has plunged into trouble and 
unquiet, and I'm taking you there, Therese, to be treated in a cruel 
manner.
Monseigneur swore he'd not have tortures terrible enough for you, and 
we'll not step from this carriage until we are at his seat. Well, Therese, 
what is your present opinion of Virtue?" "Oh, Madame! that it is very 
frequently crime's prey; that it is happy when triumphant; but that it 
ought to be the unique object of the Heavenly God's rewards even though 
human atrocities bring about its downfall upon earth." "You've not long 
to wait before you know, Therese, whether there is really a God who 
punishes or recompenses the deeds of mortals.... Ah! if, in the eternal 
inexistence you are shortly going to enter, if 'twere possible to cogitate in 
that state of annihilation, how much you would regret the fruitless 
sacrifices your inflexible stubbornness has forced you to make to 
phantoms who have never doled out any but the wages of sorrow....
Therese, there is yet time left to you: if you wish to be my accomplice I'll 
save you, for, I avow, 'tis more than I can bear to see you break down 
ever and ever again upon Virtue's routes all beset by perils. What? are 
you not yet sufficiently punished for your good behavior and false 
principles? What kind of misery do you have to know in order to be 
persuaded to mend your ways? What then are the examples you require 
in order to be convinced the attitude you have adopted is the worst of all 
and that, as I have told you a hundred times over, one must expect 
nothing but calamity when, breasting the crowd's headlong stampede, 
one wishes to be virtuous and alone in a completely corrupt society. You 
count upon an avenging God; cease to be a gull, Therese, disabuse 
yourself, the God you fabricate for yourself is but a fiction whose stupid
existence is never found elsewhere but in the heads of the crazed; 'tis a 
phantom invented by human wickedness; the solitary purpose of this 
illusion is to deceive mankind or to create armed divisions among men.
The service it were possible to render humankind would have been 
instantly to cut the throat of the first impostor who took it into his head 
to speak of God to men. How much blood that one murder would have 
spared the universe! Get on, get on with you, Therese, perpetually active 
Nature, Nature acting always, has no need of a master for her 
government. And if indeed this master did exist, after all the faults and 
sins with which he has stuffed creation, would he, think you, would he 
merit anything from us but scorn and outrage? Ah, if he exists, your God, 
how I do hate him! Therese, how I abhor him! Yes, were this existence 
authentic, I affirm that the mere pleasure of perpetually irritating 
whatever I found that bore his impress or bespoke his touch would 
become for me the most precious compensation for the necessity in 
which I would find myself to acknowledge some belief in him....
Once again, Therese, do you wish to become my confederate? A superb 
possibility presents itself, with courage we can execute the thing; I'll save 
your life if you'll undertake it. This Monseigneur to whose house we are 
going, and whom you know, lives alone in the country house where he 
gives his parties; their species, with which you are familiar, requires 
isolation; a single valet lives with him when he takes up residence there 
for the sake of his pleasures: the man riding ahead of the coach, you and 
I, dear girl, that's three of us against two; when that libertine is inflamed 
by his lecheries, I'll snatch away the saber with which he decapitates his
victims, you'll hold him, we'll kill him, and meanwhile my man will have 
done in the valet. There's money hidden in that house; more than eight 
hundred thousand francs, Therese, I'm sure of it, the thing's well worth 
the trouble...
Choose, clever creature, decide: death or an alliance; if you betray me, if 
you expose my plan to him, I'll accuse you of having contrived it alone, 
and don't doubt for a moment that the confidence he has always had in 
me will tip the balance my way... think carefully before you give me your 
answer: this man is a villain; hence, by assassinating him we merely aid 
the law whose rigorous treatment he deserves. A day does not go by, 
Therese, without this rascal murdering a girl; is it then to outrage Virtue 
by punishing Crime? And does the reasonable proposition I make you 
still alarm your wild principles?" "Be certain of it, Madame," I answered; 
"it is not with object of chastening crime you propose this deed, it is 
rather with the sole intention of committing one yourself; consequently 
there cannot be but great evil in doing what you suggest, and no 
semblance of legitimacy can appear thereupon; better still, even were 
you to intend to avenge humanity for this man's horrors, you would still 
be committing evil by doing so, for this is not a problem which concerns 
you: there are laws decreed to punish the guilty; let those laws take their 
course, it is not unto our feeble hands the Supreme Being has entrusted 
their sword, never might we wield that blade without affronting justice."
"Well, then you'll have to die, worthless creature," retorted the furious 
Dubois, "you'll die; don't tease yourself with hopes of escaping your fate."
"What matters it to me?" I calmly answered, "I shall be delivered of all 
the ills that assail me; death holds no terrors for me, 'tis life's last sleep, 
'tis the downtrodden's haven of repose...." And, upon these words, that 
savage beast sprang at me, I thought she was going to strangle me; she 
struck several blows upon my breast, but released me, however, 
immediately I cried out, for she feared lest the postilion hear me. We 
were moving along at a brisk pace; the man who was riding ahead 
arranged for new horses and we stopped only long enough to change 
teams. As the new pair was being harnessed, Dubois suddenly raised her 
weapon and clapped it to my heart... what was she about to do?...
Indeed, my exhaustion and my situation had beaten me down to the 
point of preferring death to the ordeal of keeping it at bay. We were then 
preparing to enter Dauphine, of a sudden six horsemen, galloping at top 
speed behind our coach, overtook it and, with drawn cutlasses, forced 
our driver to halt. Thirty feet off the highway was a cottage to which 
these cavaliers, whom we soon identified as constables, ordered the 
driver to lead the carriage; when we were alongside it, we were told to get 
out, and all three of us entered the peasant's dwelling. With an effrontery 
unthinkable in a woman soiled with unnumbered crimes, Dubois who 
found herself arrested, archly demanded of these officers whether she 
were known to them, and with what right they comported themselves 
thus with a woman of her rank. "We have not the honor of your 
acquaintance, Madame," replied the officer in charge of the squadron; 
"but we are certain you have in your carriage the wretch who yesterday 
set fire to the principal hotel in Villefranche"; then, eyeing me closely: 
"she answers the description, Madame, we are not in error - ; have the 
kindness to surrender her to us and to inform us how a person as 
respectable as you appear to be could have such a woman in your 
keeping."
"Why, 'tis very readily accounted for," replied Dubois with yet greater 
insolence, "and, I declare, I'll neither hide her from you nor take her side 
in the matter if 'tis certain she is guilty of the horrible crime you speak of. 
I too was staying at that hotel in Villefranche, I left in the midst of all the 
commotion and as I am getting into my coach, this girl runs up, begs my 
compassion, says she has just lost everything in the fire, and implores me 
to take her with me to Lyon where she hopes to be able to find a place. 
Far less attentive to my reason than to my heart's promptings, I 
acquiesced, consented to fetch her along; once in the carriage she offered 
herself as my servant; once again imprudence led me to agree to 
everything and I have been taking her to Dauphine where I have my 
properties and family: 'tis a lesson, assuredly, I presently recognize with 
utmost clarity all of pity's shortcomings; I shall not again be guilty of 
them. There she is, gentlemen, there she is; God forbid that I should be 
interested in such a monster, I abandon her to the law's severest 
penalties, and, I beseech you, take every step to prevent it from being 
known that I committed the unfortunate mistake of lending an instant's 
credence to a single word she uttered."
I wished to defend myself, I wanted to denounce the true villain; my 
speeches were interpreted as calumniatory recriminations to which 
Dubois opposed nothing but a contemptuous smile. O fatal effects of 
misery and biased prepossession, of wealth and of insolence! Were it 
thinkable that a woman who had herself called Madame la Baronne de 
Fulconis, who proclaimed a high degree and displayed opulence, who 
asserted she owned extensive holdings and arrogated a family to herself; 
were it to be conceived that such a personage could be guilty of a crime 
wherefrom she did not appear to have the slightest thing to gain? And, 
on the other hand, did not everything condemn me? I was unprotected, I 
was poor, 'twas a very sure thing I'd done a fell deed. The squadron 
officer read me the catalogue of Bertrand's deposed charges. 'Twas she 
had accused me; I'd set the inn afire to pillage her with greater ease, and 
she'd been robbed indeed to her last penny; I'd flung her infant into the 
flames in order that, blinded by the despair with which this event would 
overwhelm her, she'd forget all else and give not a thought to my 
maneuvers; and, furthermore, Bertrand had added, I was a girl of 
suspect virtue and bad habits who had escaped the gallows at Grenoble 
and whom she had only taken in charge, very foolishly, thanks to the 
excessive kindness she had shown a young man from her own district, 
my lover, no doubt. I had publicly and in broad daylight solicited monks 
in Lyon: in one word, there was nothing the unworthy creature had not 
exploited in order to seal my doom, nothing that calumny whetted by 
despair had not invented in order to besmirch me.
Upon the woman's insistence, a juridical examination had been 
conducted on the premises. The fire had begun in a hayloft into which 
several persons had taken oath I had entered the evening of that fatal 
day, and that was true. Searching for a water closet to which I had not 
been very clearly directed by a maid I had consulted, I had entered this 
loft having failed to locate the sought after place, and there I had 
remained long enough to make what I was accused of plausible, or at 
least to furnish probabilities of its truth; and 'tis well known: in this day 
and age those are proofs. And so, do what I could to defend myself, the 
officer's single response was to ready his manacles. "But, Monsieur," I 
expostulated before allowing him to put me in irons, "if I robbed my 
traveling companion at Villefranche, the money ought to be found upon 
my person; search me."
This ingenuous defense merely excited laughter; I was assured I'd not 
been alone, that they were certain I had accomplices to whom, as I fled, I 
had transferred the stolen funds. Then the malicious Dubois, who knew 
of the brand which to my misfortune Rodin had burned upon my flesh 
long ago, in one instant Dubois put all sympathy to rout. "Monsieur," 
said she to the officer, "so many mistakes are committed every day in 
affairs of this sort that you will forgive me for the idea that occurs to me: 
if this girl is guilty of the atrocity she is accused of it is surely not her 
first; the character required to execute crimes of this variety is not 
attained in a night: and so I beg you to examine this girl, Monsieur... 
were you to find, by chance, something upon her wretched body... but if 
nothing denounces her, allow me to defend and protect her." The officer 
agreed to the verification... it was about to be carried out... "One 
moment, Monsieur," said I, "stay; this search is to no purpose; Madame 
knows full well I bear the frightful mark; she also knows very well what 
misfortune caused it to be put on me: this subterfuge of hers is the 
crowning horror which will, together with all the rest, be revealed at 
Themis' own temple. Lead me away, Messieurs: here are my hands, load 
them with chains; only Crime blushes to carry them, stricken Virtue is 
made to groan thereby, but is not terrified."
"Truth to tell," quoth Dubois, "I'd never have dreamt my idea would have 
such success; but as this creature repays my kindness by insidious 
inculpations, I am willing to return with her if you deem it necessary." 
"There's no need whatsoever to do so, Madame la Baronne," rejoined the 
officer, "this girl is our quarry: her avowals, the mark branded on her 
body, it all condemns her; we need no one else, and we beg your pardon 
a thousand times over for having caused you this protracted 
inconvenience." I was handcuffed immediately, flung upon the crupper 
of one of the constables' mounts, and Dubois went off, not before she had 
completed her insults by giving a few crowns to my guards, which 
generously bestowed silver was to aid me during my melancholy sojourn 
while awaiting trial. O Virtue! I cried when I perceived myself brought to 
this dreadful humiliation; couldst thou suffer a more penetrating 
outrage? Were it possible that Crime might dare affront thee and 
vanquish thee with so much insolence and impunity!
We were soon come to Lyon; upon arrival I was cast into the keep 
reserved for criminals and there I was inscribed as an arsonist, harlot, 
child-murderer, and thief. Seven persons had been burned to death in 
the hotel; I had myself thought I might be; I had been on the verge of 
perishing; but she who had been the cause of this horror was eluding the 
law's vigilance and Heaven's justice: she was triumphant, she was flying 
on to new crimes whereas, innocent and unlucky, I had naught for 
prospect but dishonor, castigation, and death. For such a long time 
habituated to calumny, injustice, and wretchedness; destined, since 
childhood, to acquit myself of not a single virtuous deed or feel a single 
righteous sentiment without suffering instant retribution therefor, my 
anguish was rather mute and blunted than rending, and I shed fewer 
tears than I might have supposed... however, as 'tis instinctive in the 
distressed creature to seek after every possible device to extricate himself 
from the chasm into which his ill-fortune has plunged him, Father 
Antonin came to my mind; whatever the mediocre relief I could hope 
from him, I did not deny to myself I was anxious to see him: I asked for 
him, he appeared. He had not been informed of by whom he was desired; 
he affected not to recognize me; whereupon I told the turn-key that it 
was indeed possible he had forgotten me, having been my confessor only 
when I was very young, but, I continued, it was as my soul's director I 
solicited a private interview with him.
'Twas agreed by both parties. As soon as I was alone with this holy man I 
cast myself at his knees, rained tears upon them and besought him to 
save me from my cruel situation; I proved my innocence to him; I did not 
conceal that the culpable proposals he had made me some days before 
had provoked my young companion's enmity, and presently, said I, she 
accused me out of spite. The monk listened attentively. "Therese," said 
he when I was done, "don't lose control of yourself as you customarily do 
when someone contradicts your damnable prejudices; you notice to what 
a pass they've brought you, and you can at present readily convince 
yourself that it's a hundred times better to be a rascal and happy than 
well-behaved and unprosperous; your case is as bad as it possibly could 
be, dear girl, there's nothing to be gained by hiding the fact from you: 
this Dubois you speak of, having the largest benefits to reap from your 
doom, will unquestionably labor behind the scene to ruin you: Bertrand 
will accuse you, all appearances stand against you, and, these days, 
appearances are sufficient grounds for decreeing the death sentence: you 
are, hence, lost, 'tis plain: one single means might save you: I get on well 
with the bailiff, he has considerable influence with this city's 
magistrature; I'm going to tell him you are my niece, and that by this title 
I am claiming you: he'll dismiss the entire business: I'll ask to send you 
back to my family; I'll have you taken away, but 'twill be to our 
monastery and incarceration there, whence you'll never emerge... and 
there, why conceal it? you, Therese, will be the bounden slave of my 
caprices, you'll sate them all without a murmur; as well, you will submit 
yourself to my colleagues: in a word, you will be as utterly mine as the 
most subordinated of victims... you heed me: the task is hard; you know 
what are the passions of libertines of our variety; so make up your mind, 
and make me prompt answer." "Begone, Father," I replied, horrorstruck, 
"begone, you are a monster to dare so cruelly take advantage of 
my circumstances in order to force upon me the alternatives of death or 
infamy; I shall know how to die, if die I must, but 'twill be to die sinless." 
"As you like," quoth the cruel man as he prepared to withdraw; "I have 
never been one to impose happiness upon reluctant people.... Virtue has 
so handsomely served you until the present, Therese, you are quite right 
to worship at its altar... good-bye: above all, let it not occur to you to ask 
for me again."
He was leaving; an unconquerable impulse drew me to his knees yet 
another time. "Tiger!" I exclaimed through my tears, "open your granite 
heart, let my appalling misadventures melt it, and do not, in order to 
conclude them, do not impose conditions more dreadful to me than 
death itself...."
The violence of my movements had disturbed what veiled my breast, it 
was naked, my disheveled hair fell in cascades upon it, it was wetted 
thoroughly by my tears; I quicken desires in the dishonest man... desires 
he wants to satisfy on the spot; he dares discover to me to what point my 
state arouses them; he dares dream of pleasures lying in the middle of 
the chains binding me and beneath the sword which is poised to smite 
me... I was upon my knees... he flings me backward, leaps upon me, 
there we lie upon the wretched straw I use for a bed; I wish to cry out, he 
stuffs his handkerchief into my mouth; he ties my arms; master of me, 
the infamous creature examines me everywhere... everything becomes 
prey to his gaze, his fingerings, his perfidious caresses; at last, he 
appeases his desires.
"Listen to me," says he, untying me and readjusting his costume, "you do 
not want me to be helpful, all very well; I am leaving you; I'll neither aid 
nor harm you, but if it enters your head to breathe a word of what has 
just happened, I will, by charging you with yet more enormous crimes, 
instantly deprive you of all means of defending yourself; reflect carefully 
before jabbering... I am taken for your confessor... now hark: we are 
permitted to reveal anything and all when 'tis a question of a criminal; 
fully approve what I am going to say to your warden, or else I'll crush you 
like a fly." He knocks, the jailer appears. "Monsieur," says the traitor, 
"the nice young lady is in error; she wished to speak to a Father Antonin 
who is now in Bordeaux; I have no acquaintance of her, never have I 
even set eyes upon her: she besought me to hear her confession, I did so, 
I salute you and her and shall always be ready to present myself when my 
ministry is esteemed important."
Upon uttering these words, Antonin departs and leaves me as much 
bewildered by his fraudulence as revolted by his libertinage and 
insolence. My situation was so dreadful that, whatever it might be, I 
could ill afford not to employ every means at my disposal; I recollected 
Monsieur de Saint-Florent: in the light of my behavior toward him, I was 
incapable of believing this man could underestimate my character; once
long ago I had rendered him a most important service, he had dealt most 
cruelly with me, and therefore I imagined he could not, in my presently 
critical plight, very well refuse to make reparation for the wrongs he had 
done me; no, I was sure he would at least have to acknowledge, as best 
he were able, what I had so generously done in his behalf; passions' heat 
might have blinded him upon the two occasions I had held commerce 
with him; there had been some sort of excuse for his former horrors, but 
in this instance, it seemed to me, no feeling should prevent him from 
coming to my aid.... Would he renew his last proposals? to the assistance 
I was going to request from him would he attach the condition I must 
agree to the frightful employments he had outlined to me before? ah, 
very well! I'd accept and, once free, I should easily discover the means to 
extricate myself from the abominable kind of existence into which he 
might have the baseness to lure me. Full of these ideas, I write a letter to 
him, I describe my miseries, I beg him to visit me; but I had not devoted 
adequate thought to analyzing this man's soul when I supposed it 
susceptible of infiltration by beneficence; I either did not sufficiently 
remember his appalling theories, or my wretched weakness constantly 
forcing me to use my own heart as the standard by which to judge others, 
fancied this man was bound to comport himself toward me as I should 
certainly have done toward him.
He arrives; and, as I have asked to see him alone, he is freely introduced
into my cell. From the marks of respect showered profusely upon him it 
was easy to determine the eminent position he held in Lyon. "Why, it's 
you!" said he, casting scornful eyes upon me, "I was deceived by the 
letter; I thought it written by a woman more honest than you and whom 
I would have helped with all my heart; but what would you have me do 
for an imbecile of your breed? What! you're guilty of a hundred crimes 
one more shocking than the other, and when someone suggests a way for 
you to earn your livelihood you stubbornly reject the proposal? Never 
has stupidity been carried to these lengths." "Oh, Monsieur I" I cried, "I 
am not in the least guilty." "Then what the devil must one do in order to 
be?" the harsh creature sharply rejoined. "The first time in my life I 
clapped eyes on you, there you were, in the thick of a pack of bandits who 
wanted to assassinate me; and now it is in the municipal prison I 
discover you, accused of three or four new crimes and wearing, so they 
tell me, a mark on your shoulder which proclaims your former misdeeds. 
If that is what you designate by the word honest, do inform me of what it 
would require not to be." "Just Heaven, Monsieur!" I replied, "can you 
excoriate that period in my life when I knew you, and should it not rather 
be for me to make you blush at the memory of what passed then? You 
know very well, Monsieur, the bandits who captured you, and amongst 
whom you found me, kept me with them by force; they wanted to kill 
you, I saved your life by facilitating your escape while making mine; and 
what, cruel man, did you do to thank me for my aid? is it possible you 
can recall your actions without horror?
You yourself wanted to murder me; you dazed me by terrible blows and, 
profiting from my half-unconscious state, you snatched from me what I 
prized most highly; through an unexampled refinement of cruelty, you 
plundered me of the little money I possessed quite as if you had desired 
to summon humiliation and misery to complete your victim's 
obliteration! And great was your success, barbaric one! indeed, it has 
been entire; 'tis you who precipitated me into desolation; 'tis you who 
made the abyss to yawn, and 'tis thanks to you I fell into it and have not 
ceased to fall since that accursed moment. "Nevertheless, Monsieur, I 
would forget it all, yes, everything is effaced from my memory, I even ask 
your pardon for daring to upbraid you for what is past, but can you hide 
from yourself the fact that some recompense, some gratitude is owing to 
me? Ah, deign not to seal up your heart when the wing of death brushes 
its shadow over my unhappy days; 'tis not death I fear, but disgrace; save 
me from the dread horror of a criminal's end: all I demand from you 
comes to that single mercy, refuse me it not, and both Heaven and my 
heart will reward you someday."
I was weeping, I was upon my knees before this ferocious man and, far 
from reading upon his face the effect I thought I should be able to expect 
from the disturbances I flattered myself I was producing in his soul, I 
distinguished nothing but a muscular alteration caused by that sort of 
lust whose germinal origins are in cruelty. Saint-Florent was seated 
opposite me; his wicked dark eyes considered me in a dreadful manner, 
and I noticed his hand glide to a certain sector and his fingers begin to 
perform those certain motions which indicated I was putting him in a 
state which was by no means that of pity; he concealed himself withal, 
and, getting to his feet: "Look here," he said, "your case rests entirely in 
the hands of Monsieur de Cardoville; I need not tell you what official 
post he occupies; it suffices that you know your fate depends absolutely 
upon him; he and I have been intimate friends since childhood; I shall 
speak to him; if he agrees to a few arrangements, you will be called for at 
sunset and in order that he may see you, you'll be brought to either his 
home or mine; such an interrogation, wrapped in secrecy, will make it 
much simpler to turn matters in your favor, which could not possibly be 
done here.
If he consents to bestow the favor, justify yourself when you have your 
interview with him, prove your innocence to him in a persuasive 
manner; that is all I can do for you. Adieu, Therese, keep yourself ready 
for any eventuality and above all do not have me waste my time taking 
futile measures." Saint-Florent left. Nothing could have equaled my 
perplexity; there had been so little harmony between that man's 
remarks, the character I knew him to have, and his actual conduct, that I 
dreaded yet further pitfalls; but, Madame, pause a moment and decide 
whether I was right or wrong; was I in a position to hesitate? for my 
position was desperate; and was I not obliged to leap at everything which 
had the semblance of assistance? Hence I decided to accompany the 
persons who would come to fetch me; should I be compelled to 
prostitute myself, I would put up what defense I could; was it to death I 
was to be led? too bad; it would not, at least, be ignominious, and I 
would be rid of all my sufferings.
Nine o'clock strikes, the jailer appears, I tremble. "Follow me," that 
Cerberus says; "you are wanted by Messieurs Saint-Florent and de 
Cardoville; consider well and take advantage, as it befits you, of the favor 
Heaven offers you; there are many here who might desire such a blessing 
and who will never obtain it." Arrayed as best I am able, I follow the 
warden who puts me into the keeping of two strange tall fellows whose 
savage aspect doubles my fright; not a word do they utter; the carriage 
rolls off and we halt before an immense mansion I soon recognize as 
Saint-Florent's. Silence enshrouds everything; it augments my dread, 
however, my guides grasp my arms, hustle me along, and we climb to the 
fourth floor; there we discover a number of small decorated apartments; 
they seem to me very mysterious indeed. As we progress through them 
every door closes shut behind us, and thus we advance till we reach a 
remote room in which, I notice, there are no windows; Saint-Florent 
awaits me, and also the man I am told is Monsieur de Cardoville, in 
whose hands my case rests; this heavy-set, fleshy personage, provided 
with a somber and feral countenance, could have been about fifty years 
of age; although he was in lounging costume, 'twas readily to be seen he 
was a gentleman of the bar.
An air of severity seemed to distinguish his entire aspect; it made a deep 
impression upon me. O cruel injustice of Providence! 'tis then possible 
Virtue may be overawed by Crime. The two men who had led me hither, 
and whom I was better able to make out by the gleam of the twenty 
candles which lit this room, were not above twenty-five and thirty years 
old. The first, referred to as La Rose, was a dark handsome chap with 
Hercules' own figure; he seemed to me the elder; the other had more 
effeminate features, the loveliest chestnut locks and large brown eyes; he 
was at least five feet ten inches tall, a very Adonis, had the finest skin to 
be seen, and was called Julien. As for Saint-Florent, you are acquainted 
with him; as much of coarseness in his traits as in his character, yet, 
nevertheless, certain splendid features. "Everything is secured fast?" 
Saint-Florent asked Julien. "We're well shut in, yes, Monsieur," the 
young man replied; "your servants are off for the night in accordance 
with your orders and the gatekeeper, who alone is on watch, will follow 
his instructions to admit no one under any circumstances." These few 
words enlightened me, I shivered, but what could I have done, 
confronted as I was by four men? "Sit down over there, my friends," said 
Cardoville, kissing the two men, "we'll call for your co-operation when 
the need arises." Whereupon Saint-Florent spoke up: "Therese," said he, 
presenting me to Cardoville, "here is your judge, this is the man upon 
whom your fate depends; we have discussed your problem; but it 
appears to me that your crimes are of such a nature we will have much to 
do to come to terms about them."
"She has exactly forty-two witnesses against her," remarks Cardoville, 
who takes a seat upon Julien's knees, who kisses him upon the lips, and 
who permits his fingers to stray over the young man's body in the most 
immodest fashion; "it's a perfect age since we condemned anyone to die 
for crimes more conclusively established." "I? Conclusively established 
crimes?" "Conclusively established or inconclusively established," quoth 
Cardoville, getting to his feet and coming up to shout, with much 
effrontery, at my very nose, "you're going to burn pissing if you do not, 
with an entire resignation and the blindest obedience, instantly lend 
yourself to everything we are going to require of you." "Yet further 
horrors!" I cried; "ah indeed! 'tis then only by yielding to infamies 
innocence can escape the snares set for it by the wicked!" "That's it; 'tis 
ordained," Saint-Florent broke in; "you know, my dear: the weak yield to 
the strong's desires, or fall victims to their wickedness: that's all: that's 
your whole story, Therese, therefore obey."
And while he spoke the libertine nimbly pulled up my skirts. I recoiled, 
fended him off, horrified, but, having reeled backward into Cardoville's 
arms, the latter grasped my hands and thereupon exposed me, 
defenseless, to his colleague's assaults. The ribbons holding up my skirts 
were cut, my bodice torn away, my kerchief, my blouse, all were 
removed, and in no time I found myself before those monsters' eyes as 
naked as the day I came into the world. "Resistance..." said one. 
"Resistance," chimed in the other, both proceeding to despoil me, "the 
whore fancies she can resist us...." and not a garment was ripped from 
my body without my receiving a few blows.
When I was in the state they wished, they drew up their chairs, which 
were provided with protruding armrests; thus a narrow space between 
the chairs was left and into it I was deposited; and thus they were able to 
study me at their leisure: while one regarded my fore end, the other 
mused upon my behind; then they turned me round, and turned me 
again. In this way I was stared at, handled, kissed for thirty minutes and 
more; during this examination not one lubricious episode was neglected, 
and I thought it safe to conjecture, upon the basis of those preliminaries, 
that each had roughly the same Idiosyncrasies.
"Well, now," Saint-Florent said to his friend, "did I not tell you she had a 
splendid ass!" "Yes, by God! her behind is sublime," said the jurist who 
thereupon kissed it; "I've seen damned few buttocks molded like these: 
why! look ye! solid and fresh at the same time!... how d'ye suppose that 
fits with such a tempestuous career?" "Why, it's simply that she's never 
given herself of her own accord; I told you there's nothing as whimsical 
as this girl's exploits! She's never been had but by rape" Ä and then he 
drives his five fingers simultaneously into the peristyle of Love's temple 
Ä "but she's been had... unfortunately, for it's much too capacious for 
me: accustomed to virgins, I could never put up with this." Then, 
swinging me around, he repeated the same ceremony with my behind 
wherein he found the same flaws. "Ah well, you know our secret," said 
Cardoville. "And I'll employ it too," replied Saint-Florent; "and you who 
have no need of the same resource, you, who are content with a factitious 
activity which, although painful for the woman, nevertheless brings 
enjoyment of her to perfection, you, I hope, will not have her till I'm 
done." "Fair enough," Cardoville answered, "while watching you, I'll busy 
myself with those preludes so cherished by my lechery; I'll play the girl 
with Julien and La Rose while you masculinize Therese, and, so I think, 
the one's as good as the other." "Doubtless a thousand times better; for 
you've no idea how fed up I am with women !... do you suppose I would 
be capable of enjoying those whores without the help of the auxiliary 
episodes we both use to add a tart flavor to the business?"


CHAPTER 40

With these words, having afforded me clear evidence their state called 
for more substantial pleasures, the impudicious creatures rose and made 
me mount upon a large chair, my forearms leaning upon its back, my 
knees propped upon its arms, and my behind arched so that it was 
prominently thrust toward them. I was no sooner placed in this attitude 
than they stepped out of their breeches, tucked up their shirts, and save 
for their shoes, they thus discovered themselves completely naked from 
the waist down; they exhibited themselves to me, passed several times to 
and fro before my eyes, making boastful display of their behinds of which 
they were overweeningly proud, for, they declared, they had parts far 
superior to anything I could offer; indeed, each was womanishly made in 
this region: 'twas especially Cardoville who was possessed of elegant 
lines and majestic form, snowy white color and enviable plumpness; they 
whiled away a minute or two polluting themselves in full view of me, but 
did not ejaculate: about Cardoville, nothing that was not of the most 
ordinary; as for Saint Florent, 'twas monstrous: I shuddered to think that 
such was the dart which had immolated me.
Oh Just Heaven! what need of maidenheads had a man of those 
dimensions? Could it be anything other than ferocity which governed 
such caprices? But what, alas I were the other weapons I was going to be 
confronted by! Julien and La Rose, plainly aroused by these exhibitions, 
also ridded themselves of their clothes and advanced pike in hand.... Oh, 
Madame! never had anything similar soiled my gaze, and whatever may 
have been my previous representations, what now I beheld surpassed 
everything I have been able to describe until the present: 'tis like unto 
the ascendancy the imperious eagle enjoys over the dove. Our two 
debauchees soon laid hands upon those menacing spears: they caressed 
them, polluted them, drew them to their mouths, and the combat 
straightway became more in earnest. SaintFlorent crouches upon the 
armchair supporting me; he is so adjusted my widespread buttocks are 
on an exact level with his mouth; he kisses them, his tongue penetrates 
into first one then the other temple. Saint-Florent provided Cardoville 
with amusement, the latter offers himself to the pleasures of La Rose 
whose terrific member instantly vanishes into the redoubt dressed before 
him, and Julien, situated beneath Saint-Florent, excites him with his 
mouth the while grasping his haunches and modulating them before the 
resolute blows of Cardoville who, treating his friend with intransigent 
rudeness, does not quit him before having wetted the sanctuary with his 
incense.
Nothing could equal Cardoville's transports when the crisis deprives him 
of his senses; softly abandoning himself to the man who is serving as 
husband to him, but pressing hard after him of whom he is making a 
wife, this dastardly libertine, with hoarse gasps like unto those of a dying 
man, thereupon pronounces indescribable blasphemies; as for SaintFlorent, 
measure governs his evolutions, he restrains himself, and the 
tableau is dissolved without his having performed his beau geste.
"Truly," Cardoville says to his comrade, "you still give me as much 
pleasure as you did when you were fifteen.... Indeed," he continues, 
turning and kissing La Rose, " 'tis true this fine lad knows how to arouse 
me too.... Have you not found me rather gulfy this evening, angelic 
boy?... would you believe it, Saint-Florent? 'tis the thirty-sixth time I've 
had it today... only natural that the thing be somewhat dilated; I'm all 
yours, dear friend," the abominable man pursues, fitting himself into 
Julien's mouth, his nose glued to my behind, and his own offered to 
Saint-Florent, "I'm yours for the thirty-seventh." Saint-Florent takes his 
pleasure with Cardoville, La Rose his with Saint-Florent, and after a 
quick skirmish the latter burns in his friend the same offering his friend 
had burned in him.
If Saint-Florent's ecstasy was of briefer duration, it was no less intense, 
less noisy, less criminal than Cardoville's; the one shouted, roared out 
everything that came to his mouth, the other restricted his transports' 
scope without their being the less energetic for that; Saint-Florent chose 
his words with care, but they were simply yet filthier and more impure: 
distraction and rage, to select precise terms, seemed to characterize the 
delirium of the one, wickedness and ferocity were the eminent qualities 
announced in the other's. "To work, Therese, revive us," says Cardoville; 
"you see the lamps are extinguished, they've got to be lit again." While 
Julien enjoyed Cardoville and La Rose Saint-Florent, the two libertines 
inclined over me and one after the other inserted their languishing 
instruments into my mouth; while I pumped one, I was obliged to go to 
the rescue of the other and pollute it with my hands, then I had to anoint 
the member itself and the adjacent parts with an alcoholic liquid I had 
been given; but I was not to limit myself to sucking, I had to revolve my 
tongue about the heads and I was required to nibble them with my teeth 
while my lips squeezed tightly about them.
However, our two patients were being vigorously thumped and jolted; 
Julien and La Rose shifted in order to increase the sensations produced 
by entrances and exits. When at length two or three homages had flowed 
into those impure temples I began to perceive a degree of firmness; 
although the elder of the two, Cardoville's was the first to manifest 
solidity; he swung his hand and with all the strength at his command 
slapped one of my titties: that was my reward. Saint-Florent was not far 
behind him; he repaid my efforts by nearly tearing one of my ears from 
my head. They backed away, reviewed the situation, and then warned me 
to prepare to receive the treatment I richly deserved. An analysis of these 
libertines' appalling language allowed to me to conclude that vexations 
were about to descend like a hailstorm upon me. To have besought 
mercy in the state to which they had just reduced me would have been to 
have further aroused them: and so they placed me, completely naked as I 
was, in the center of the circle they formed by all four drawing up chairs. 
I was obliged to parade from one to the next and to receive the penance 
each in his turn chose to order me to do; I had no more compassion from 
the youths than from the older men, but 'twas above all Cardoville who 
distinguished himself by refined teasings which Saint-Florent, cruel as 
he was, was unable to duplicate without an effort.
A brief respite succeeded these vicious orgies, I was given a few instants 
to catch my breath; I had been beaten black and blue, but what surprised 
me was that they doctored and healed the damage done me in less time 
than it had taken to inflict it, whereof not the slightest trace remained. 
The lubricities were resumed. There were moments when all those 
bodies seemed to form but one and when SaintFlorent, lover and 
mistress, received copious quantities of what the impotent Cardoville 
doled out with sparing economy: the next instant, no longer active but 
lending himself in every manner, both his mouth and hindquarters 
served as altars to frightful homages. Cardoville cannot resist such a 
profusion of libertine scenes.
Seeing his friend brilliantly elevated, he comes up to offer himself to 
Saint-Florent's lust, and the tradesman enjoys him; I sharpen the spears, 
I steer them in the direction they are to thrust, and my exposed buttocks 
provide a perspective to the lubricity of some, a target for the bestiality of 
others. As all this wears on our two libertines become more circumspect, 
for considerable efforts are the price of reanimation; they emerge 
unscathed from their joustings and their new state is such to terrify me 
even more. "Very well, La Rose," says Saint-Florent, "take the bitch; we'll 
tighten her up: it's time for the stricturing." I am not familiar with the 
expression: a cruel experiment soon reveals its meaning.
La Rose seizes me, he places my flanks upon a small circular repentance 
stool not a foot in diameter: once there, lacking any other support, my 
legs fall on one side, my head and arms on the other; my four limbs, 
stretched as far apart as possible, are tied to the floor; the executioner 
who is going to perform the stricturing catches up a long needle through 
whose eye he passes a stout waxed thread, and with complete unconcern 
for either the blood he is to shed or the sufferings he is going to cause 
me, the monster, directly before the two colleagues whom the spectacle 
amuses, sews shut the entrance to the temple of Love; when finished, he 
turns me over, now my belly rests upon the repentance stool; my limbs 
hang free, they are attached as before, and the indecent shrine of Sodom 
is barricaded in the same manner: I do not speak of my agonies, 
Madame, you must yourself fancy what they were, I was on the verge of 
losing consciousness. "Splendid, that's how I must have them," quoth 
Saint-Florent when I had been turned over again and was lying on my 
buttocks, and when, in this posture, he spied well within striking range 
the fortress he wanted to invade.
"Accustomed to reaping nothing but the first fruits, how, without this 
ceremony, should I be able to harvest any pleasures from this creature?" 
Saint-Florent had the most violent erection, they were currying and 
drubbing his device to keep it rampant; grasping that pike, he advances: 
in order to excite him further, Julien enjoys Cardoville before his eyes; 
Saint-Florent opens the attack, maddened by the resistance he 
encounters, he presses ahead with incredible vigor, the threads are 
strained, some snap. Hell's tortures are as naught to mine; the keener my 
agonies, the more piquant seem to be my tormenter's delights. At length, 
everything capitulates before his efforts, I am ripped asunder, the 
glittering dart sinks to the ultimate depths, but Saint-Florent, anxious to 
husband his strength, merely touches bottom and withdraws; I am 
turned over; the same obstacles: the savage one scouts them as he stands 
heating his engine and with his ferocious hands he molests the environs 
in order to put the place in fit condition for assault. He presents himself, 
the natural smallness of the locale renders his campaign more arduous 
to wage, my redoubtable vanquisher soon storms the gates, clears the 
entry; I am bleeding; but what does it matter to the conquering hero?
Two vigorous heaves carry him into the sanctuary and there the villain 
consummates a dreadful sacrifice whose racking pains I should not have 
been able to endure another second. "My turn," cries up Cardoville, 
causing me to be untied, "I'll have no tailoring done, but I'm going to 
place the dear girl upon a camping bed which should restore her 
circulation, and bring out all the warmth and mobility her temperament 
or her virtue refuse us." Upon the spot La Rose opens a closet and draws 
out a cross made of gnarled, thorny, spiny wood. 'Tis thereon the 
infamous debauchee wishes to place me, but by means of what episode 
will he improve his cruel enjoyment?
Before attaching me, Cardoville inserts into my behind a silver-colored 
ball the size of an egg; he lubricates it and drives it home: it disappears. 
Immediately it is in my body I feel it enlarge and begin to burn; without 
heeding my complaints, I am lashed securely to this thorn-studded 
frame; Cardoville penetrates as he fastens himself to me: he presses my 
back, my flanks, my buttocks on the protuberances upon which they are 
suspended.
Julien fits himself into Cardoville; obliged to bear the weight of these two 
bodies, and having nothing to support myself upon but these accursed 
knots and knurs which gouge into my flesh, you may easily conceive 
what I suffered; the more I thrust up against those who press down upon 
me, the more I am driven upon the irregularities which stab and lacerate 
me.
Meanwhile the terrible globe has worked its way deep into my bowels 
and is cramping them, burning them, tearing them; I scream again and 
again: no words exist which can describe what I am undergoing; all the 
same and all the while, my murderer frolics joyfully, his mouth glued to 
mine, he seems to inhale my pain in order that it may magnify his 
pleasures: his intoxication is not to be rendered; but, as in his friend's 
instance, he feels his forces about to desert him, and like Saint-Florent 
wants to taste everything before they are gone entirely. I am turned over 
again, am made to eject the ardent sphere, and it is set to producing in 
the vagina itself, the same conflagration it ignited in the place whence it 
has just been flushed; the ball enters, sears, scorches the matrix to its 
depths; I am not spared, they fasten me belly-down upon the perfidious 
cross, and far more delicate parts of me are exposed to molestation by 
the thorny excrescences awaiting them.
Cardoville penetrates into the forbidden passage; he perforates it while 
another enjoys him in similar wise: and at last delirium holds my 
persecutor in its grasp, his appalling shrieks announce the crime's 
completion; I am inundated, then untied. "Off you go, dear friends," 
Cardoville says to the pair of young men, "get your hands on this whore 
and amuse yourselves in whatever way your whims advise: she's yours, 
we're done with her." The two youthful libertines seize me. While one 
entertains himself with the front, the other buries himself in the rear; 
they change places and change again; I am more gravely torn by their 
prodigious thickness than I have been by Saint-Florent's artificial 
barricadings; both he and Cardoville toy with the young men while they 
occupy themselves with me. SaintFlorent sodomizes La Rose who deals 
in like manner with me, and Cardoville does as much to Julien who 
employs a more decent place to excite himself in me. I am the focal point 
of these execrable orgies, their absolute center and mainspring; La Rose 
and Julien have each four times done reverence at my altars, whilst 
Cardoville and Saint-Florent, less vigorous or more enervated, are 
content with one sacrifice offered to each of my lovers. And then the last 
measure of seed is sown by La Rose Ä 'twas high time, for I was ready to 
swoon.
"My comrade has certainly hurt you, Therese," says Julien, "and I am 
going to repair all the damage." He picks up a flask of spirits and several 
times rubs all my wounds. The traces of my executioners' atrocities 
vanish, but nothing assuages my pain, and never had I experienced any 
as sharp. "What with our skill at making the evidence of our cruelties 
disappear, the ladies who would like to lodge complaints against us must 
have the devil's own time getting themselves believed, eh, Therese?" says 
Cardoville. "What proofs do you fancy could be presented to support an 
accusation?" "Oh," Saint-Florent interrupts, "the charming Therese is in 
no condition to level charges; on the eve of being immolated herself, we 
ought to expect nothing but prayers from her."
"Well, she'd be ill-advised to undertake the one or the other," Cardoville 
replies; "she might inculpate us; but would she be heard? I doubt it; our 
consequence and eminent stations in this city would scarcely allow 
anyone to notice suits which, anyhow, always come before us and 
whereof we are at all times the masters. Her final torture would simply 
be made crueler and more prolonged. Therese must surely sense we have 
amused ourselves with her person for the natural, common, and 
uncomplex reason which engages might to abuse feebleness; she must 
surely sense she can-not escape her sentence, that it must be undergone, 
that she will undergo it, that it would be in vain she might divulge this 
evening's absence from jail; she'd not be believed; the jailer Ä for he's 
ours Ä would deny it at once. And so may this lovely and gentle girl, so 
penetrated with the grandeur of Providence, peacefully offer up to 
Heaven all she has just suffered and all that yet awaits her; these will be 
as so many expiations for the frightful crimes which deliver her into the 
hands of the law; put on your clothes, Therese, day is not yet come, the 
two men who brought you hither are going to conduct you back to your 
prison."
I wanted to say a word, I wanted to cast myself a suppliant at these ogres' 
feet, either to unbend their hearts, or ask that their hands smite away my 
life. But I am dragged off, pitched into a cab, and my two guides climb in 
after me; we had hardly started off when infamous desires inflamed 
them again. "Hold her for me," quoth Julien to La Rose, "I simply must 
sodomize her; I have never laid eyes on a behind which could squeeze me 
so voluptuously; I'll render you the same service."
There is nothing I can do to defend myself, the project is executed, Julien 
triumphs, and it is not without atrocious agonies I sustain this newest 
attack: the assailant's exorbitant bulk, the lacerated condition of those 
parts, the fire with which that accursed ball had devoured my intestines, 
everything combined to make me suffer tortures which La Rose renewed 
immediately his companion was finished. Before arriving I was thus yet 
another time victim of those wretched valets' criminal libertinage; we 
reached our destination at last. The jailer greeted us, he was alone, it was 
still night, no one saw me enter. "Go to sleep, Therese," said he, restoring 
me to my cell, "and if ever you wish to tell, it makes no difference whom, 
that on this night you left prison, remember that I will contradict you, 
and that this useless accusation will get you nowhere...."
And, said I to myself when I was left alone, I should regret departing this 
world! I should dread to leave a universe freighted with such monsters! 
Ah! were the hand of God to snatch me from their clutches at whatever 
instant and in whatever manner He sees fit! why! I'd complain no more; 
the unique consolation which may remain to the luckless one bred up in 
this den of savage beasts, his one comfort is the hope of leaving it soon.
The next day I heard nothing and resolved to abandon myself to 
Providence, I languished and would touch no food. The day after that, 
Cardoville came to question me; I could not repress a shudder upon 
beholding the nonchalance wherewith that scoundrel walked in to 
execute his judiciary duties Ä he, Cardoville, the most villainous of 
mortals, he who, contrary to every article of the justice in which he was 
cloaked, had just so cruelly abused my innocence and exploited my 
misery; it was in vain I pled my cause, the dishonest man's artfulness 
devised more crimes than I could invent defenses; when all the charges 
had been well established in the view of this iniquitous judge, and when 
the case was made, he had the impudence to ask me whether I knew in 
Lyon one Monsieur de Saint-Florent, a wealthy and estimable citizen; I 
answered that I knew him, yes. "Excellent," said Cardoville, "no more is 
needed. This Monsieur de Saint-Florent, whom you declare you know, 
also has a perfect knowledge of you; he has deposed that he saw you in a 
band of thieves, that you were the first to steal his money and his pocket
book. He further deposes that your comrades wished to spare his life, 
that you recommended they take it from him; nevertheless, he managed 
to escape.
Saint-Florent adds that, several years later, having recognized you in 
Lyon, he yielded to your importunings and permitted you to come to pay 
him a call at his home upon condition you would give him your word to 
behave well in future and that, while he was delivering a lecture on 
manners to you, while he was seeking to persuade you to persist along 
the paths of righteousness, you carried insolence and crime to the point 
of choosing these moments of kindness to steal a watch and one hundred 
louis he had left lying upon the mantel...." And, profiting from the 
resentment and anger such atrocious calumnies provoked in me, 
Cardoville ordered the court clerk to write that my silence and my facial 
expressions were ample acknowledgment of my guilt and were 
tantamount to a confession. I threw myself upon the ground, I made the 
walls resound with my cries, I struck my head against the stone floor, 
hoping to obtain a speedier death, unable to find vehicles to give 
expression to my rage: "Villain!" I screamed, "I put my faith in the God 
of Justice who will revenge me for your crimes; He shall cry out 
innocence, He shall make you repent your disgraceful abuse of the 
authority vested in you!" Cardoville rings and tells the jailer to take me 
away, I appear, says he, to be unsettled by despair and remorse and, at 
any rate, in no state to follow the interrogation; "But, on the other hand, 
what remains to be asked or said?
The dossier is complete; she has confessed to all her crimes." And the 
villain leaves peacefully I And divine lightning strikes him not! The case 
was tried in short order; motivated and directed by hatred, vengeance, 
and lust, the court promptly condemned me and I was dispatched to 
Paris for the confirmation of my sentence. While on this fatal journey, 
which, though guiltless, I made in the character of the last of criminals, 
the most bitter and the most dolorous thoughts gathered in my head and 
completed the desolation of my heart.
Under what doom-spelling star must I have been born, I wondered, in 
order that I be utterly incapable of conceiving a single generous 
sentiment without immediately being drowned in a sea of misfortunes! 
And why is it that this enlightened Providence whose justice I am 
pleased to worship, the while punishing me for my virtues, 
simultaneously shows me those who crush me with their crimes carried 
to the pinnacle of happiness! During my childhood I meet a usurer; he
seeks to induce me to commit a theft, I refuse, he becomes rich. I fall 
amongst a band of thieves, I escape from them with a man whose life I 
save; by way of thanks, he rapes me. I reach the property of an 
aristocratic debauchee who has me set upon and devoured by his dogs 
for not having wanted to poison his aunt.
From there I go to the home of a murderous and incestuous surgeon 
whom I strive to spare from doing a horrible deed: the butcher brands 
me for a criminal; he doubtless consummates his atrocities, makes his 
fortune, whilst I am obliged to beg for my bread. I wish to have the 
sacraments made available to me, I wish fervently to implore the 
Supreme Being whence howbeit I receive so many ills, and the august 
tribunal, at which I hope to find purification in our most holy mysteries, 
becomes the bloody theater of my ignominy: the monster who abuses 
and plunders me is elevated to his order's highest honors and I fall back 
into the appalling abyss of misery. I attempt to preserve a woman from 
her husband's fury, the cruel one wishes to put me to death by draining 
away my blood drop by drop. I wish to relieve a poor woman, she robs 
me. I give aid to a man whom adversaries have struck down and left 
unconscious, the thankless creature makes me turn a wheel like an 
animal; he hangs me for his pleasure's sake; all fortune's blessings accrue 
to him, and I come within an ace of dying on the gallows for having been 
compelled to work for him. An unworthy woman seeks to seduce me for 
a new crime, a second time I lose the little I own in order to rescue her 
victim's treasure.
A gentleman, a kind spirit wishes to compensate me for all my sufferings 
by the offer of his hand, he dies in my arms before being able to do 
anything for me. I risk my life in a fire in order to snatch a child, who 
does not belong to me, from the flames; the infant's mother accuses and 
launches legal proceedings against me. I fall into my most mortal 
enemy's hands; she wishes to carry me off by force and take me to a man 
whose passion is to cut off heads: if I avoid that villain's sword it is so 
that I can trip and fall under Themis'. I implore the protection of a man 
whose life and fortune I once saved; I dare expect gratitude from him, he 
lures me to his house, he submits me to horrors, and there I find the 
iniquitous judge upon whom my case depends; both abuse me, both 
outrage me, both accelerate my doom; fortune overwhelms them with 
favors, I hasten on to death. That is what I have received from mankind, 
that is what I have learned of the danger of trafficking with men; is it any 
wonder that my soul, stung, whipsawed by unhappiness, revolted by 
outrage and injustice, aspires to nothing more than bursting from its 
mortal confines?
A thousand pardons, Madame, said this unlucky girl, terminating her
adventures at this point; a thousand times over I ask to be forgiven for 
having sullied your spirit with such a host of obscenities, for having, in a 
word, so long abused your patience. I have, perhaps, offended Heaven 
with impure recitals, I have laid open my old wounds, I have disturbed 
your ease and rest; farewell, Madame, Godspeed; the Star rises above the 
horizon, I hear my guards summon me to come, let me run on to meet 
my destiny, I fear it no more, 'twill abridge my torment: this last mortal 
instant is dreaded only by the favored being whose days have passed 
unclouded; but the wretched creature who has breathed naught but the 
venomous effluvia of reptiles, whose tottering feet have trod only upon 
nettles, who has never beheld the torch of dawn save with feelings like 
unto those of the lost traveler who, trembling, perceives the 
thunderbolt's forked track; she from whom cruel accident has snatched 
away parents, all kin, friends, fortune, protection, aid; she who in all this 
world has nothing more than tears to quench her thirst and for 
sustenance her tribulations; she, I say, undismayed sees death advance, 
she even yearns for it as for a safe haven, a port wherein tranquillity will 
be born again unto her when she is clasped to the breast of a God too just 
to permit that innocence, defiled and ground under the heel on earth, 
may not find recompense for so many evils in another world.
The honest Monsieur de Corville had not heard this tale without 
profound emotion; as for Madame de Lorsange in whom, as we have 
said, the monstrous errors of her youth had not by any means 
extinguished sensibility, as for Madame de Lorsange, she was ready to 
swoon.
"Mademoiselle," said she to Justine, "it is difficult to listen to you 
without taking the keenest interest in you; but, and I must avow it! an 
inexplicable sentiment, one far more tender than this I describe, draws 
me invincibly toward you and does make of your ills my very own. You 
have disguised your name, you have concealed your birth, I beg you to 
disclose your secret to me; think not that it is a vain curiosity which bids 
me speak thus to you... Great God! may what I suspect be true?... O 
Therese! were you Justine?... were it that you would be my sister !" 
"Justine ! Madame ! 'tis a strange name." "She would have been your age 
-" "Juliette! is it you I hear?" cried the unhappy prisoner, casting herself 
into Madame de Lorsange's arms; "... you... my sister!... ah, I shall die far 
less miserable, for I have been able to embrace you again!..." And the two 
sisters, clasped in each other's arms, were prevented by their sobs from 
hearing one another, and found expression in naught but tears.
Monsieur de Corville was unable to hold back his own; aware of the 
overpowering significance of this affair and sensing his involvement in it, 
he moves into an adjoining room, sits down and writes a letter to the 
Lord Chancellor, with fiery strokes, in ardent ciphers he paints in all its 
horror the fate of poor Justine, whom we shall continue to call Therese; 
he takes upon himself responsibility for her innocence, he will guarantee 
it under oath; he asks that, until the time her case has been finally 
clarified, the allegedly guilty party be confined to no other prison but his 
chateau, and Corville gives his word he will produce her in court the 
instant the Chief Justice signals his desire to have her appear there; he 
makes himself known unto Therese's two guards, entrusts his 
correspondence to them, makes himself answerable for their prisoner; he 
is obeyed, Therese is confided to him; a carriage is called for. "Come, my 
too unfortunate creature," Monsieur de Corville says to Madame de 
Lorsange's interesting sister, "come hither; all is going to be changed; it 
shall not be said your virtues ever remained unrewarded and that the 
beautiful soul you had from Nature ever encountered but steel; follow us, 
'tis upon me you depend henceforth...."
And Monsieur de Corville gave a brief account of what he had just done. 
"Dearly beloved and respectable man," said Madame de Lorsange, 
casting herself down before her lover, "this is the most splendid gesture 
you have performed in your life, it is such as comes from one who has 
true acquaintance with the human heart and the spirit of the law which is 
the avenger of oppressed innocence. There she stands, Monsieur, behold, 
there is your captive; go, Therese, go, run, fly at once and kneel down 
before this equitable protector who will not, as have all others, abandon 
you. O, Monsieur, if those attachments of love which have bound me to 
you have been cherished, how much more so are they to become now 
that they are strengthened by the most tender esteem...."
And one after the other the two women embraced the knees of a so 
generous friend, and upon him they did shed their tears. A few hours 
later they arrived at the chateau; once there, Monsieur de Corville and 
Madame de Lorsange both strove with might and main to raise Therese 
from the ultimate deeps of unhappiness to the pure sunshine of 
contentment and well-being. They took greatest joy in giving her to eat of
the most succulent foods, they laid her to sleep in the finest of beds, they 
did urge her to command and they made her will to be done, and into 
their hospitable proceedings they introduced all the gentility and 
understanding it were possible to expect from two sensitive souls. She 
was given medicines for several days, she was bathed, dressed, arrayed in 
elegant attire, embellished, the two lovers worshiped her, each labored at 
nothing but to make her forget her sorrows as quickly as might be.
An excellent surgeon was fetched; he undertook to make the 
ignominious mark disappear, and soon the cruel result of Rodin's 
villainy was effectively gone; and everything responded to the cares her 
benefactors lavished upon Therese: the shadowed memories of misery 
were already effaced from that amiable girl's brow; already the Graces 
had re-established their empire thereupon. For the livid tints on her 
cheeks of alabaster were substituted the rosy hue appropriate to her 
years; what had been withered by such a multitude of griefs was called 
back to fresh new life. Laughter, for so many years banished from her 
lips, reappeared again under the wings of Pleasure. The very best news 
came from the Court; Monsieur de Corville had put all of France in 
action, he had reanimated the zeal of Monsieur S* * *, who collaborated 
with him to publicize Therese's illtreatment and to restore her to a 
tranquillity to which she was so heavily entitled.
At length letters came from the King, they nullified all the legal 
proceedings unjustly initiated against her, they gave her back the name 
of an honest citizen, imposed silence upon all the realm's tribunals 
before which efforts had been made to defame her, and accorded her a 
thousand crowns a year, interest realized upon the gold seized in the 
counterfeiters' Dauphine workshop. They wished to make Cardoville and 
Saint-Florent answer for their misdeeds but, in accordance with the 
fatality of the star intending upon all of Therese's persecutors, one of 
them, Cardoville, had just, before his crimes were made known, been 
named to the administration of the Province of * * *, and the other to 
general supervision of Colonial Trade; each had already reached his 
destination, the edicts affected no one but the powerful families who 
soon found means to quiet the storm and, pacifically installed in 
Fortune's sanctuary, those monsters' depredations were quickly 
forgotten.
(As for the monks of Saint Mary-in-the-Wood, suppression of the 
religious orders will expose the atrocious crimes of that horrible crew.)
With what regards Therese, as soon as she learned of so many agreeable 
developments she came well-nigh to expiring from joy; for several days 
on end the sweetest tears flowed from her eyes and she rejoiced upon her 
guardians' breasts, and then, all of a sudden, her humor altered, and 
'twas impossible to ferret out the cause. She became somber, uneasy, 
troubled, was given to dreaming, sometimes she burst into weeping 
before her friends, and was not herself able to explain what was the 
subject of her woe. "I was not born for such felicity," said she to Madame 
de Lorsange, "... oh, dear sister, 'tis impossible it last much longer." She 
was assured all her troubles were over, none remained, said they, no 
more inquietude for her; 'twas all in vain, nothing would quiet her; one 
might have said that this melancholy creature, uniquely destined for 
sorrow, and feeling the hand of misery forever raised above her head, 
already foresaw the final blow whereby she was going to be smitten 
down.
Monsieur de Corville was still residing on his country estate; 'twas 
toward summer's end, they had planned an outing when the approach of 
a dreadful storm obliged them to postpone their promenade; the 
excessive heat had constrained them to leave all the windows open. 
Lightning glitters, shakes, hail slashes down, winds blow wrathfully, 
heaven's fire convulses the clouds, in the most hideous manner makes 
them to seethe; it seems as if Nature were wearied out of patience with 
what she has wrought, as if she were ready to confound all the elements 
that she might wrench new forms from them.
Terrified, Madame de Lorsange begs her sister to make all haste and 
close the shutters; anxious to calm her, Therese dashes to the windows 
which are already being broken; she would do battle with the wind, she 
gives a minute's fight, is driven back and at that instant a blazing 
thunderbolt reaches her where she stands in the middle of the room... 
transfixes her. Madame de Lorsange emits a terrible cry and falls in a 
faint; Monsieur de Corville calls for help, attentions are given each 
woman, Madame de Lorsange is revived, but the unhappy Therese has 
been struck in such wise hope itself can no longer subsist for her; the 
lightning entered her right breast, found the heart, and after having 
consumed her chest and face, burst out through her belly.
The miserable thing was hideous to look upon; Monsieur de Corville 
orders that she be borne away.... "No," says Madame de Lorsange, 
getting to her feet with the utmost calm; "no, leave her here before my 
eyes, Monsieur, I have got to contemplate her in order to be confirmed in 
the resolves I have just taken. Listen to me, Corville, and above all do not 
oppose the decision I am adopting; for the present, nothing in the world 
could swerve my designs. "The unheard of sufferings this luckless 
creature has experienced although she has always respected her duties, 
have something about them which is too extraordinary for me not to 
open my eyes upon my own self; think not I am blinded by that false
gleaming felicity which, in the course of Therese's adventures, we have 
seen enjoyed by the villains who battened upon her. These caprices of 
Heaven's hand are enigmas it is not for us to sound, but which ought 
never seduce us. O thou my friend!
The prosperity of Crime is but an ordeal to which Providence would 
expose Virtue, it is like unto the lightning, whose traitorous brilliancies 
but for an instant embellish the atmosphere, in order to hurl into death's 
very deeps the luckless one they have dazzled. And there, before our 
eyes, is the example of it; that charming girl's incredible calamities, her 
terrifying reversals and uninterrupted disasters are a warning issued me 
by the Eternal, Who would that I heed the voice of mine guilt and cast 
myself into His arms.
Ah, what must be the punishment I have got to fear from Him, I, whose 
libertinage, irreligion, and abandon of every principle have stamped 
every instant of my life I What must I not expect if 'tis thus He has 
treated her who in all her days had not a single sin whereof to repent I 
Let us separate, Corville, the time has come, no chain binds us one to the 
other, forget me, and approve that I go and by an eternal penance abjure, 
at the Supreme Being's feet, the infamies wherewith I am soiled 
absolutely. That appalling stroke was necessary to my conversion in this 
life, it was needed for the happiness I dare hope for in another.
Farewell, Monsieur; the last mark of your friendship I ask is that you 
institute no perquisitions to discover what shall have become of me. Oh, 
Corville! I await you in a better world, your virtues should lead you unto 
it; may the atonements I make, to expiate my crimes, in this place where 
I go to spend the unhappy years that remain to me, permit me to 
encounter you again someday." Madame de Lorsange leaves the house 
immediately; she takes some money with her, leaps into a carriage, to 
Monsieur de Corville abandons the rest of her ownings after having 
recommended that they be turned into a pious legacy, and flies to Paris, 
where she takes a Carmelite's veil; not many years go by before she 
becomes the example of her order and the edification, as much by her 
great piety as by the wisdom of her mind and the regularity of her 
manners. Monsieur de Corville, worthy of his country's highest posts, 
attained to them, and, whatever were his honors, he employed them for 
no end but to bring happiness to the people, glory to his master, whom, 
"although a minister," he served well, and fortune to his friends.
O you who have wept tears upon hearing of Virtue's miseries; you who 
have been moved to sympathy for the woe-ridden Justine; the while 
forgiving the perhaps too heavy brushstrokes we have found ourselves 
compelled to employ, may you at least extract from this story the same 
moral which determined Madame de Lorsange! May you be convinced, 
with her, that true happiness is to be found nowhere but in Virtue's 
womb, and that if, in keeping with designs it is not for us to fathom, God 
permits that it be persecuted on Earth, it is so that Virtue may be 
compensated by Heaven's most dazzling rewards.
