Later, when we had finished our meal, Delbène asked me to settle myself in a chair beside her. “You are surprised to find me so calm in the midst of crime? Let me then say a few words apropos. I fain would have you become as apathetic as I—and I think you soon shall. I noticed yesterday that you were struck, even startled, by my equanimity in the thick of the horrors we were committing and I seem to remember that you accused me of lacking pity for that poor Laurette our debauchery sacrificed.
“Oh, Juliette, banish all doubt thereof: Nature has arranged everything, informed everything, hers is the responsibility for all you see and all there is. Has she given equal strength, equal beauty, equal grace to all the creatures wrought by her hand? Of course not. Since she desires that each particular thing or constitution have its particular contour or hue, so also she wills that fates and fortunes be not alike. The luckless ones chance puts in our clutches, or who excite our passions, have their place in Nature’s scheme as do the stars in the firmament and the sun that gives us light; and ’tis as certain an evil one commits in meddling with this wise economy as ’twould be were one to confound cosmic operations, were that crime within the scope of our possibilities….”
“But,” I interrupted, “were you in distress, Delbène, would you not yearn for succor and kindness?”
“I? I’d know how to suffer uncomplainingly,” the stoical thinker gave me answer, “and I’d implore the aid of no one.
“If indeed I am Nature’s favorite, if I have no misery to dread, have I still not fever and pestilence and war and famine and the disruptions of an unforeseen revolution and all the other plagues that blight mankind and mankind’s ease, do not these threaten me too? Well, let them all occur, come what may, I’ll bear it dauntlessly. Believe me, Juliette, oh yes, be firmly persuaded that when I consent to let others suffer and when I refrain from interfering with their sufferings, it is because I myself have learned to suffer, to endure suffering, and alone. Resistance is foolhardy and fruitless; so let’s abandon ourselves to Nature’s keeping, that is to say, to our fate; it’s not to a career of mercifulness Nature appoints us; her voice cries to us only this, that it is for us to develop the strength necessary to withstand the trials she holds in store for us. And commiseration, far from steeling our soul for what is to come, shakes it, unreadies it, softens it, definitively robs it of the courage that is no longer there when, later, it needs courage to cope with its own afflictions. He who learns how to be insensible to the ills that besiege others soon becomes impassive in the face of his own woes, and it is far more necessary to know oneself how to suffer than to accustom oneself to shedding tears in others’ behalf. Oh, Juliette, the less one is sensitive, the less one is affected, and the nearer one draws to veritable autonomy; we are never prey save to two things: the evil which befalls others, or that which befalls us: toughen ourselves in the face of the first, and the second will touch us no more, and from then on nothing will have the power to disturb our peace.”
“Yet,” I pointed out, “the inevitable consequence of this apathy will be crimes.”
“And so? ’tis neither to crime nor to its virtuous contrary we ought to become especially attached, but rather to whatever renders us happy; and were I to discover that my only possibility of happiness lay in excessive perpetration of the most atrocious crimes, without a qualm I’d enact every last one of them this very instant, certain, as I have already told you, that the foremost of the laws Nature decrees to me is to enjoy myself, no matter at whose expense. If Nature has constituted my intimate structure in such a way that it is only from the infelicity of my fellows that voluptuous sensations can flower in me, then ’tis so because Nature would have me participate in the destruction she desires—and she desires destruction, an end quite as essential to her as any other aim; if she made me wicked, ’twas because she has pressing need of wickedness and of beings like me to serve her policy.”
“Arguments of that kind can lead far….”
“And one should keep in step with them,” Delbène rejoined. “Take them as far as you like and I defy you to show me the point at which they become dangerous; one has enjoyed oneself the whole way along the journey, and that’s all, one cannot ask for more.”
“May one take enjoyment at the expense of others?”
“The thing that interests me least in this world is what happens to others; I haven’t the slightest germ of belief in that bond of fraternity I hear fools prate about unendingly, and it’s not without having closely analyzed these ties of brotherhood that I reject the lot of them.”
“What! do you doubt this, the most primary of Nature’s laws?”
“Listen to me, Juliette … oh, truly, ’tis astounding the need this girl has of instruction … of guidance….”
We were at this stage in our conversation when a lackey, sent by my mother, arrived to inform Madame the Abbess of the dreadful state of affairs at our home and the grave illness of my father; my sister and I were requested to return at once.
“Great heavens!” exclaimed Madame Delbène. “But I’ve entirely forgotten your maidenhead, which needs repair. One instant, my angel, here, this jar contains an extract of myrtle, rub yourself with it in the morning and before retiring at night, nine days of that ought to suffice. On the tenth you’ll find yourself as much a virgin as you were emerging from the womb of your mother.”
Then, sending someone in search of Justine, she entrusted us both to the servant who’d come to fetch us away, and she besought us to return as soon as we could. We embraced her, and left.
My father died. You know what disasters ensued upon his passing: my mother’s death a month later, and the destitution and abandonment we found ourselves in. Justine, who knew nothing of my secret liaisons with the Abbess, knew nothing either of the visit I paid her several days after our ruin, and as the behavior and sentiments she then exhibited reveal what remained to be discovered of this original woman’s character, it were well, my friends, that I recount that interview. Delbène was short with me that day. She began by refusing to open the gate to me, and only consented to talk for a moment through the grillwork dividing us.
When, surprised by this chilly reception, I reminded her of our at least carnal attachments, she said:
“My child, all that grubby nonsense is over and done with when two persons cease to dwell together; so my advice to you is to forget it. For my part, I must assure you that I cannot recall a single one of the facts and circumstances you allude to. As for the indigence threatening you, recollect the fate of Euphrosine: she didn’t even wait to be beckoned by necessity, but of her free will leaped into a career of libertinage. Since now you have no choice, imitate her. There’s nothing else for you to do. I therefore confine my suggestions to that one; but once you’ve made the choice, refrain from calling upon me: the role may, after all, not suit you, may not bring you success, you might need money, credit, and I shall not be able to supply you the one or the other.”
So saying, Delbène turned on her heel and walked away, leaving me in a state of bewilderment … a state which, of course, would have been less distressing had I been more philosophical; my meditations were cruel….
I left immediately, firmly resolved to follow the wicked creature’s advice, perilous though it was. Luckily, I remembered the name and address of the woman Euphrosine had mentioned to us long ago, at a time when, alas! I never dreamed I would someday have to avail myself of her: an hour later I stood at her door.
Madame Duvergier gave me a heart-warming welcome. Her connoisseur’s eye deceived by the wonder Delbène’s most excellent remedy had wrought, Duvergier came to a conclusion that was to allow her to deceive many another. ’Twas two or three days before assuming a post in this house that I took leave of my sister in order to pursue a calling very different from the one she elected.
After the reverses I had sustained, my existence depended solely upon my new hostess, I confided myself entirely into her hands and accepted the conditions she imposed; but n
o sooner was I alone and given opportunity to ponder events than I began to dwell anew upon Madame Delbène’s desertion of me and upon her ingratitude. Alas! said I to myself, why did her heart harden before my misfortune? Juliette poor, Juliette rich—are these two different creatures? What then is this curious capriciousness that leads one to love opulence and fly from misery? Ah, I was still to comprehend that poverty must necessarily be distasteful, abhorrent to wealth, at the time I was still unaware of how much prosperity dreads misery, of how it loathes misery, I was still to learn that from this fear of relieving suffering results prosperity’s hatred for it. But, I went on to wonder, but how can it be that this libertine woman—this criminal, how is it that she does not fear the indiscretion of those whom she treats so cavalierly?—further childishness on my part; I as yet knew nothing of the insolence and the effrontery that characterize vice when seated upon foundations of wealth and reputation. Madame Delbène was the Mother Superior of one of the most renowned convents in the He de France, her annuities came to sixty thousand pounds, she had the most powerful friends at the Court, no one in the City was more admired: how she must have detested a poor girl like me who, orphaned and without a penny to her name, to oppose her injustices could only submit appeals which would soon be dismissed with a laugh if ever they were heard or which, more probably, would be immediately branded as calumnies and could well earn the plaintiff impudent enough to demand her rights the indefinite loss of her liberty.
Astonishingly corrupted already, this striking example of injustice, even though ’twas I who had to suffer from it, pleased rather than redirected me into better ways. So then! said I to myself, I have but to strive after wealth too; rich, I’ll soon be as impudent as that woman, I’ll enjoy the same rights and the same pleasures. Let’s beware of virtuousness, ’tis sure disaster; for vice is victorious always and everywhere; poverty’s to be avoided at all costs, since it’s the object of a universal scorn…. But, having nothing, how am I to elude misfortune? By criminal deeds, obviously. Crime? What’s that to me? Madame Delbène’s teachings have already rotted my heart and infected my brain; I see evil in no action, I am convinced that crime as nicely serves Nature’s ends as can goodness and decency; so let’s be off into this perverse world where success is the one mark of triumph; let no obstacle check us, no scruple hinder us, for misery is his who tarries by the wayside. Since society is composed exclusively of dupes and scoundrels, let’s decidedly play the latter: it’s thirty times more flattering to one’s amour-propre to gull others than to be made a gull oneself.
Fortified by these reflections—which may perhaps strike you as somewhat precocious at the age of fifteen, but which, granted the education I had had, will surely not seem unlikely to you—I set myself to waiting resignedly for whatever Providence might bring me, fully determined to exploit every opportunity to better my fortune at no matter what price to myself or to others.
To be sure, I had a rigorous apprenticeship to undergo; these often painful first steps were to complete the corruption of my morals and rather than alarm yours, my friends, it would perhaps be better were I to withhold details which, if laid out realistically, would only dazzle your eyes, for my performances were in all probability rather more wonderfully wicked than those you yourselves accomplish every day—
“Madame, I protest, that I am not entirely able to believe,” the Marquis broke in. “Knowing of us what you do, I declare, Madame, I declare that I am dumbfounded that you allow yourself for one single instant to harbor such a fear. Our performances, our behavior—”
“Forgive me,” said Madame la Comtesse de Lorsange, “but it is here a question of corruption manifest in both sexes—”
“Madame, Madame, say on—”
“—for Duvergier catered indiscriminately to the fancies of men and of women—”
“Indeed,” said the Marquis, “you cannot have intended to deprive us of descriptions which for being heteroclite and composite would only entertain us the more? We are acquainted with virtually all the extravagances whereof individuals of our sex are capable, and you can but delight us by instructing us in all those which individuals of yours are prone to essay.”
“So be it,” rejoined Madame la Comtesse. “I’ll nevertheless be careful to detail only the most unusual debauches and, to avoid monotony, I’ll omit any that strike me as too simple, too banal.”
“Marvelous,” said the Marquis, showing the company an already lust-swollen engine; “but are you bearing in mind the effect these narrations may produce in us? Behold the condition brought about by the mere promise of what is to come.”
“Well, my friend,” the charming Comtesse said, “am I not completely at your disposition? I’ll reap a twofold pleasure from my pains; and as self-esteem is always of much account with women, you’ll permit me to suppose that, regarding the general rise in temperature about to take place, while my speeches may be one cause therefor, my person shall also share in the responsibility?”
“But you are quite right, I must convince you this very instant,” the Marquis said. Very moved indeed, he drew Juliette into an adjoining chamber; there they remained long enough to taste gluttonously all the sweetest joys of unbridled lewdness.
“For my part,” said the Chevalier, whom the departure of the others had left encloseted with Justine, “I must confess I’m not yet stiff enough to have to lighten ballast, not yet. Never mind, come hither, my child, kneel down, there’s a good little girl, and suck me; but pray so do as to show me a lot more of your ass than of your cunt. ’Tis good, ’tis very good,” he said, seeing Justine, more than adequately trained in these turpitudes, grasp, most skillfully, howbeit with regret, the spirit of this one, “oh, yes, yes, she does it suitably enough.”
And the Chevalier, singularly well sucked, all sighs and gladness, was perhaps about to abandon himself to the gentle, honey-sweet sensations of a thus provoked discharge when the Marquis, returning with Juliette, besought her to take up the thread of her story again, and his confrere, if he could, to postpone until some later moment the crisis toward which the drama appeared to be hastening.
Quiet being restored and attentions fixed again upon Madame de Lorsange, she resumed her tale, and spoke as follows:
Madame Duvergier had but six women aboard; but these were seconded by reinforcements numbering three hundred, all at her beck and call; two strapping lackeys five feet and eight inches tall, membered each like Hercules, and two little grooms of fourteen and fifteen, heavenly to see, were likewise furnished to libertines who wanted a mixture of sexes or who preferred antiphysical antics to the enjoyment of women; and in cases where those limited masculine effectives would not have sufficed, Duvergier could increase them by drawing upon a reserve corps of over eighty individuals who were domiciled outside the house, all of them ready, at any hour, to present themselves anywhere their services were required.
Madame Duvergier’s house was cunning, it was delightful. Situated between courtyard and garden, and having two exits, one on either side, rendezvous took place there under conditions of secrecy which no other arrangements could have afforded; within, the furnishings were magnificent, the boudoirs voluptuous, lavishly decorated; the cook in the establishment was a master in his art, the wines were of quality, and the girls were charming. The use of these outstanding facilities was not to be had for nothing. And, indeed, nothing in Paris cost anything like what one paid for an evening’s rout in these divine surroundings; Duvergier never asked less than ten louis for the simplest kind of tête-à-tête. Without morals and without religion, enjoying the wholehearted and unfailing support of the police, panderess to the greatest lords of the realm, Madame Duvergier, having nothing and no one under the sun to fear, created new fashions, made new discoveries, specialized in things which none of her calling had ever attempted anywhere, things which would make tremble both Nature and mankind.
For six weeks in a row, that adroit rascal sold my maidenhead to above fifty buyers and, every evening, employ
ing a pomade in many respects similar to Madame Delbène’s, she scrupulously effaced the ravages wrought pitilessly all day long by the intemperance of those to whom her greed delivered me up. As those devirginizers without exception had a heavy hand and usually a beef’s wit to match a beef’s pizzle, I’ll spare you a good many tedious particulars, pausing only to give you an account of the Due de Stern, whose manic eccentricity I consider downright unusual.
The simplest apparel conformed best with the requirements of this libertine’s lubricity; I went to him got up as a little street girl. After traversing numerous sumptuous apartments I reached a mirrored room where the Due was waiting for me, his manservant at his side, a tall young man of eighteen he was, handsome as they come and with the most interesting face. Thoroughly coached in the role I was expected to play, I was taken aback by none of the questions the lewd dog posed me. I stood before him; he was seated on a sofa and was frigging his valet’s prick. The Due spoke to me in this wise:
“Is it true,” he demanded, “that you are in the most direly necessitous circumstances, and that in coming here your sole purpose and one hope is to earn means indispensable simply to keep body and soul together?”
“Aye, Sire, and the truth is that for three days neither I nor my mother has tasted bread.”
“Ho! Excellent then!” said the Due, taking his man’s hand to be himself frigged. “The thing is of importance, I’m hugely pleased that matters stand thus with you. And ’tis your mother who sells you?”
“Yes, alas!”
“Splendid! Eh … and have you any sisters?”
“One, my Lord.”
“And how is it she’s not been sent to me?”
“Sire, she has left home, misery made her flee. We don’t know what has become of her.”
“Eh, fuck my eyes! It’s got to be found, that! Where do you suppose she could be? What’s her age?”