One of my major consolations, I confess, was to receive at least once a year some proof, however passing, of your friendship. I deployed all the craftiness at my command to that end, for when it came to reciprocating, you may be assured that whatever I said or did was merely a ruse to make certain I had a word from you at year’s end. I considered that my New Year’s gift to myself, and I regaled myself with it much as children do their toys. But this monster, this infernal creature that no expression can ever properly depict, like a viper that blights everything it touches, wants to spew her venom even upon our long-standing friendship; she is well on her way to succeeding, ‘twould seem, at least to all outward appearances, for nothing will ever erase from my heart my feelings for you. But I shall learn how to do without the pleasure of hearing from you, or of asking you for tangible proof of your feelings for me. You may inform her of her victory by showing her the most earnest request that I hereby make that you not write me further. I shall withdraw into myself, I shall dwell upon those happy days when innocence and peace formed, with flowers, the links of friendship that today they would have me break, and I shall write, with Dante:
Nussun maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice nella miseria.
—Dante, Inferno, canto 5
[There is no greater pain than to remember,
In our present grief, past happiness.]
56. To Mademoiselle de Rousset
From my country house, this April 17, 1782
The eagle, Mademoiselle, is sometimes obliged to leave the seventh region of the air to swoop down and light upon the summit of Mount Olympus, upon the ancient pines of the Caucasus, upon the cold larch trees of the Jura, upon the snow-bedecked brow of Taurus, and even, upon occasion, near the quarries of Montmartre.
We know from history (for history is a lovely thing) that Cato, the great Cato, cultivated his field with his own hands, that Cicero himself planted trees in even rows along the beautiful avenues of Formies (I don’t know whether or not they are still standing), that Diogenes was wont to sleep in a wine cask, that Abraham was known to craft statues out of clay, that the illustrious author of Telemachus composed some touching little verses for Madame Guyon, that Piron1 sometimes forsook his sublime brushes of The Metromania in order to drink some Champagne and compose the Ode to Priapus (do you by any chance know this poetic trifle, so popular with today’s young ladies and so truly appropriate to be integrated into any plan of education, the goal of which is to shape the mind and heart of those demoiselles destined for the fashionable world?). Haven’t we seen the great Voltaire build a church to Our Lord with the same hand with which he wrote, speaking of the Holy Birth of our Redeemer:
Joseph-the-panther and Mary-the-dark,
Unknowingly wrought their pious work.
PUCELLE
And in our own time, Mademoiselle, in our very own majestic days, have we not seen the renowned Madame de Montreuil set aside her Euclides and her Barrême2 to come and discuss salad and olive oil with her cook?
All of which should go to prove beyond all shadow of doubt, Mademoiselle, that however hard man tries, however much he tries to raise himself to a special plane, there are two inevitable moments in the day that, despite all his efforts to the contrary, cannot fail but remind him of the unfortunate condition of all other animals save himself, which as you know, according to my way of thinking (perhaps to judge unfairly, in my opinion), according to my way of thinking, I say, bring him back closer to reality. And these two cruel moments are (excuse the expressions, Mademoiselle, they are not noble but they are nonetheless true), those two frightful moments, therefore, are: first when he intakes food and the second when he expels it. To those one could add the moment when a person learns that his inheritance is being eaten away, and again when one is told of the death of his faithful servants. Such is the situation in which I find myself, my saintly one, and that ‘twill therefore be the subject of this sad epistle.
I regret the passing of Gothon. She doubtless had her faults, but she more than made up for them by her virtues and qualities; and there are many people in this world about whom one cannot say as much. Gothon loved men. But, Mademoiselle, are men not made for women, and women for men? ’Tis that not the will of nature? Gothon, as Madame de Sade has been wont to say with a show of great humor, married because she was with child. Well, now, Mademoiselle, a bit of philosophy here! What is the great harm in that? As for myself, I see nothing therein but virtues. In so doing, she was desirous of giving her child a father; she wanted to make sure the babe would have its daily bread; by so doing she was making an effort to see that the child might have a chance to rise above that abject class that leaves it little recourse but to descend into poverty or into crime. But she was also, on several occasions, unfaithful to her husband . . . Ah! there is where I have to draw the line! Adultery on the part of women is a subject fraught with such dire harm, the consequences thereof are so catastrophic and so deadly that I have never been able to tolerate it. Look high and low at my principles, rummage as deeply as you like into the history of my licentious affairs and you will find that rarely did I become involved in such affairs, and for every dozen virgins, or so-called virgins, that I tried to seduce you will be hard-pressed to find as many as three married women. On this point, Gothon was therefore in her wrong. Gothon was responsible for my arrest,3 I’m aware of that, but in my eyes death effaces all her offenses, and my unhappy heart is heavy with tears, even for my greatest enemies.
Whatever wrongs one may visit upon her, Gothon was a most caring person. She was always pleasant, prompt to serve, and with a light touch; she was a good brood mare who loved her master’s stables. That poor departed young woman, whose only helpmates were messieurs Pailet, Payan, Sambuc and company, would in twelve or fifteen years have become an impeccable staff. Verily, I do miss her greatly. Moreover, how can I refrain from telling you—yes, now that we have spoken of her virtues we can move on to mention her considerable qualities—Gothon, people were wont to say, Gothon had the most beautiful. . . Ah, damn it all! how can I express it? The dictionary has no synonym for that word, and decency does not allow me to write it out in so many letters, though it has only three . . . Well, verily, here ’tis then, mademoiselle: hers was the most beautiful a-that ever managed to escape from the mountains of Switzerland in over a century . . . its reputation was second to none. Even Monsieur le président de Montreuil, whom business of far greater import ten years ago brought to these parts (and which, most assuredly, he performed to perfection)4 was nonetheless unable, during one of his rare moments of leisure, not to feast his ravenous eyes upon that famous star. That momentary contemplation was what established the distinguished reputation that Gothon enjoyed for the rest of her life. And the magistrate5 in question, all the more an expert on that part of the anatomy for the simple reason that he was known for feasting his eyes on the divine beauties of the nation’s capital, was most assuredly in an excellent position to judge fairly and without prejudice the object in question. I realize that I’m forgetting here a most important proverb: One should not speak of rope in the house of the hanged; and that, consequently, I should refrain from focusing on these unchaste objects, the attachment whereto, or so people claim, has been the source of my misfortunes. But I was unable to refrain from indulging in this short apologia, and in a good and tender soul, whatever restrictions one may impose on oneself, the qualities of a person whose death one mourns come swarming back as soon as one dwells on her, and dictate the flow of the pen. But let us be serious once again, and for the convenience of the scribbler, let us put all that behind us, for I’ve always had a slight preference for vice, and have always thought that the greatest men were those who knew how to throw themselves into it completely and passionately. You see, there, all of a sudden, Jacques the Scribbler’s a great man! He wasn’t expecting it, and ’tis the first time anyone has ever labeled him that. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [The rest of the letter is missing.]
1. Alexis Piron, French writer and satirical dramatist whose most famous play was the one Sade mentions, The Metromania.
2. Probably Jean Nicolas Barrême, author of Traité des parties doubles, published in Paris in 1721.
3. Hardly. She did her best to forewarn Sade of the intruding constabulary the night of his arrest at La Coste on the night of August 26, 1778.
4. Visiting the magistrates and lawyers in Aix-en-Provence to assure his son-in-law’s arrest.
5. The president de Montreuil had for many years been a member of the Tax Court.
57. To Gaufridy
[April 17, 1782]
Cursed be the city of Apt! Cursed be the city of Bonnieux! Cursed be the lawyer Gaufridy!
—What, you! you, my dear lawyer! you, the strictest observer of the laws of decency, you, the most zealous defender of Christian virginity, you have been able to endure, you have been able to tolerate within the reaches of your jurisdiction, the terrible scandal of which I have just learned! You have found it in your heart to let the chaste children of Saint-François bend their efforts at something other than leading those who go astray back onto the straight and narrow, and you have further allowed these holy keepers of the altars to come and offer the Protestants the example of perversity! O tempora! o mores! What is this world coming to! No, virtue has fled the face of the earth, as has decency and propriety. ’Tis there for all eyes to see: we are fast approaching that catastrophe that will plunge the world once more into the void, and thus are we come to that fearful time of desolation and abomination that the prophet Daniel foresaw and predicted. O century of candor and amenity! What have you become, you once blessed century, wherein a poor Franciscan friar finds himself sufficiently restored by a novice so that the high-mettled desires of nature are thereby assuaged within himself? To what time of infamy and horror have you yielded your place? What! ’tis young women they now need? And not content with this intolerable scandal, to boot they have to make the young ladies pregnant, who in turn give birth, and the unfortunate fruit of this unchaste behavior is available for all to see in the local hospital? And you have condoned it? and you have allowed it? So be it: I have no choice but to don sackcloth, cover myself with ashes, and walk barefoot and bare-headed to make an effort, if indeed ’tis not too late, to avert the wrath of God from falling upon my people.
Actually, lawyer, in this affair, if the truth be known, ’tis not a question of any Franciscan friar! What I’m referring to is trees being cut down, and poachers.1 And what does a Franciscan friar who fathers children have to do with all that? —Ignoramuses! Don’t you see that this is an explanation, and that if you had let me have my say, I was going to proceed in my own good time to let the story of the destruction flow out of the story of the construction and, through well-tempered periods, well-rounded transitions, and seamlessly narrated episodes, I was brilliantly planning on emulating the eloquence of Isocrates by a few deft strokes of my pen. What is the point of interrupting me? And how now do you expect me to pick up the thread of my tale?
All right then, let us go straight to the point, since asides and flashes of wit are clearly lost on you, there’s no point in proving that one has read Demosthenes, expounded on Cicero, and learned Vadé2 by heart! Therefore, to the point.
Trees cut down, and fruit trees to boot! Lawyer, you are going to find me a trifle harsh, but misfortune tends not to soften one’s heart, on the contrary. Moreover, I am not at leisure to run on to my heart’s content; I am expected for dinner, which I have every reason to believe will be exquisite, and I’m most anxious to be off. Here, therefore, in two words, is my determination: if you fail to punish, with all the vigor of the law, the rogues who committed this crime, I swear to you by all that’s most holy in the world that the first thing I shall do once I am free will be to punish to the full extent of the law the former crimes committed. And further, you should know that I shall not consider them expiated, were I made to eat crow, till I have brought the entire community to its knees!
As for the poachers, I enclose a paper I ask you to pass on to the guard, and I beg of you to make certain the order contained therein is faithfully carried out, and that you help institute all the necessary legal proceedings, that you do everything in your power vigorously to prosecute the offending parties, and that you effect whatever disbursements are required to implement the said document.
That is all I had to say. You know the reasons that restrain me from bringing up matters of business; ’tis impossible for me to transgress them. If you thought my silence stemmed from anything else you were sadly mistaken and you should better learn to judge my heart.
Up, up, Rosny, they’ll think I am granting you pardon.
(Henry IV, Act 3)3
I am, my dear lawyer, with all the feelings you deserve, your most humble and obedient servant.
de Sade
I ask that you pay over one louis to Mademoiselle Rousset for a special task wherewith I have entrusted her.4
I ask you kindly to furnish and even offer my aunts all the game they may desire and that, whether it comes from my own land or is purchased at the market, that it be given them directly; they have made their needs known. I also charge you to make certain the pension monies due them be paid precisely on time, and I further entrust you to convey to them the assurance of my most profound respects, and to do the same for my cousins.
1. That is, cutting down fruit trees on Sade’s land.
2. Jean Joseph Vadé (1719-1757), French poet and dramatist. One can understand Sade’s attraction to Vadé, for it was he who brought into French literature and drama the language and mores of the French halles, Paris’s colorful street markets, which, alas, were moved to the suburbs in the 1960s.
3. It remains unclear if Sade is referring to Shakespeare (in which no Rosny appears) or a French drama involving King Henri IV.
4. To pay for the mass in Gothon’s memory at the local parish.
58. To Madame de Sade
April 26, 1782
Upon receipt of the present letter, I would be grateful, wife Sade, my spouse, if you would, without delay and without any deductions made therefrom, see to it that payment is made from the amount duly allotted to you by the family assembly for our communal upkeep, in money of good and valid tender in the kingdom, the sum of three hundred thirteen livres and twelve sous, said payment to be turned over to Monsieur Boucher, equerry, currently employed by the state department of prisons and head clerk of the lieutenant general both of the Paris police and of other sites and places. The intention of the aforesaid entire sum being to satisfy the debt to Monsieur Fonteillot, head surgeon residing at Vincennes Square, more specifically assigned to care for the prisoners whom the fair-minded minister is holding under lock and key in the forenamed prisons of the royal keep on the aforementioned square, as well as the care of the non-commissioned officers stationed therein, whose principal task is to guard and maintain the security of the said delinquents. Said payment having two aspects: first, honoring the tip customarily offered the said gentleman for his services in shaving the prisoner, under the permission and protection of the royal magistrate; second, full reimbursement for the milk regularly dispensed to me and emanating from the government’s horned beasts. Drawn up with the knowledge and approval of Monsieur de Rougemont, knight of the royal and military order of Saint-Louis, lieutenant acting on the king’s behalf as regards the Vincennes stronghold, and reversioner of other sites and fortresses of the monarchy. In testimony whereof, this twenty-sixth of April in the year of grace one thousand seven hundred eighty-two, it being precisely eleven in the morning and being in full possession of our health and reason, having drawn up and initialed the present document, the purpose whereof has been duly noted above.
Prisoner Sade
59. Evening Prayer
[April, 1782]
O my god, I have but one favor to ask you and you refuse to
grant it to me no matter how earnest and fervent my prayers; that favor, that kindness, o my god, would be to refrain from choosing as my correctors men even more wicked than I, to keep from delivering over him who is but guilty of the most commonplace and minor offenses to scoundrels already hardened in crime, who, making a mockery of your laws, think nothing of transgressing them at every moment of the day. Put, o my god, my fate in the hands of virtue, for virtue is your image here below, and ’tis only in the hands of them who respect it that vice can hope to be reformed. O ye the highest of the high, I devoutly ask that you not choose as my masters a monopolist, a thief of the poor, a man who has declared bankruptcy—a sodomite—a cheat and rogue—alguazil of the Madrid Inquisition, a defrocked Jesuit, and a female pimp, since ’tis foreordained that I be sacrificed, o my god, since ’tis written in your great book that you have brought me into this world in order to serve as the sustenance of bitches and the swill of pigs, and that you know better than anyone that the only fruits I can cull from such a situation is to become worse than I already was, because of the excess of hate that I shall be compelled to feel toward my fellow men; at least let my example, through your holy power, redound to the benefit of my compatriots, and that the base scoundrels I have just mentioned, seeing by the total lack of success their so-called remedies have had upon me, will come to understand the impossibility of concealing their horrors any longer beneath the mask of such fanciful fair-mindedness, and will at long last dream up some other means to subjugate their fellow creatures to the outlandish and reckless excesses of their vengeance and cupidity.