Gothic Tales E-Book

MARQUIS DE SADE

• Herausgeber: Pushkin Press Classics
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 324

Beschreibung

A collection of witty, transgressive tales from the great Enlightenment thinker, best known for his inimitable blend of philosophy and scandalous sexuality __________ 'A bawdy burlesque' Guardian 'A wonderful introduction to Sade's diversity...among the most accessible of his fiction.' Literary Review 'Sade, who seemed to represent nothing throughout the nineteenth century, may well dominate the twentieth.' Guillaume Apollinaire __________ The Marquis de Sade is one of the select group of authors whose name has become an adjective, inspiring the word 'sadism' with his shocking works of philosophical fiction. But for all his scandalous reputation, Sade was a moralist and a philosopher above all, and the stories collected here show him in his full range, using his kinky imagination to poke fun at convention and decry social ills. In the longer stories, 'Florville and Courval' and 'Eugénie de Franval', we see one of the greatest taboos of all - incest - employed to criticise the corrupt social order of the time. Shorter pieces such as 'The Horse-Chestnut Flower' and 'The Husband Who Played Priest', meanwhile, show Sade's sharp sense of humour at play. This collection reveals France's most infamous libertine as an author whose literary range and psychological insight can still astonish, centuries after he first shocked polite society.

Leseprobe

1

‘Sade, who seemed to represent nothing throughout the nineteenth century, may well dominate the twentieth’

GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE

GOTHIC TALES

MARQUIS DE SADE

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY MARGARET CROSLAND

PUSHKIN PRESS CLASSICS

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Contents

Title PageIntroductionEugénie de FranvalThe Horse-Chestnut FlowerThe Chastised HusbandFlorville and CourvalThe Husband Who Played PriestEmilie de TourvilleRoom for TwoThe Self-Made CuckoldAvailable and Coming Soon From Pushkin Press ClassicsAbout the AuthorsCopyright

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Introduction

Over the centuries the titles of some books have become household words, but only a very few authors have given their names to nouns, adjectives and adverbs in several languages, terms for which there is no simple equivalent or alternative. The Marquis de Sade, who lived from 1740 to 1814 was one such writer. He became Comte on the death of his father in 1767 but has always been known in his native France and beyond by his earlier title. His major works were written, and some of them published, between the 1780s and 1800 while many others, including his letters, did not reach the public until after his death, in some cases having been discovered only in the twentieth century. The group of words to which he gave his name has needed explanations which go beyond etymology. ‘Infamous for his crimes and the character of his writings’, says the ShorterOxfordDictionary(1973), adding that the word ‘sadism’ was first used in 1888 and means ‘a form of sexual perversion marked by a love of cruelty’. Chambers20thCenturyDictionary(1983) records that Sade died insane, a fact disputed by scholars and biographers, even if, after many years in prison, he spent his last eleven years in the madhouse of Charenton, a few miles outside Paris.

During the nineteenth century Sade, if read, or indeed if known at all, was regarded as no more than a sexual pervert, unmentionable in civilised society, a writer of obscenities which exceeded even those fashionable in his day. His work was useful to 8a few unscrupulous publishers and booksellers who were delighted to make money by selling his ‘forbidden’ books in secret. When, in the early twentieth century, the poet Guillaume Apollinaire also tried to earn money by writing erotic novels,* he studied Sade and wrote about him, rescuing him from a shadowy life as a mere pornographer. Apollinaire has remained one of his most perceptive interpreters. As he looked beyond the catalogues of perversions and crimes in Sade’s most outspoken books the poet realised that here was one of the most misunderstood writers of the eighteenth century, condemned by critics who had failed to see him in a social, psychological and political context. Later, in Britain, Aldous Huxley noted that the works of the Marquis contained ‘more philosophy than pornography’. Readers who first come to Sade in search of sexual excitement soon realise that he was not writing only for that purpose. He did not compose lengthy descriptions of unthinkable cruelties merely to titillate or corrupt his readers: he was anxious to attract their attention because he wanted to communicate, with a kind of desperate intensity, all that he felt about human behaviour, about morality, about individual and social problems. He wanted to write about the unlimited potential of human beings, but he was writing long before anyone had established a scientific system for doing so. He was often limited to using physiology, not psychology, as his starting point, for he knew no other way of analysing behaviour or expressing his findings.

Sade’s range was much wider than is usually thought. In addition to his major works, Justine, Juliette, La Philosophie dans le Boudoir,Les120JournéesdeSodome, to name his most famous or infamous titles, he wrote historical novels, plays, an anti-Bonaparte satire, 9Zoloé(although some dispute his authorship), and the vast fiction AlineetValcour, a romanàtiroirswhich includes shorter novels within the main novel. For the late twentieth-century reader his most accessible fiction can be found in the stories entitled LesCrimesdel’Amour(1800 and later), which were prefaced by an essay on the novel. Some of these stories were published during Sade’s lifetime, some as late as 1927. There were fifty in all, the full title of the collection being Historiettes,contesetfabliauxd’untroubadourduXVIIIesiècle. Some are comic anecdotes, some are examples of eighteenth century galanterieand occasionally illustrate Sade’s taste for irony. The longer ones, like EugéniedeFranvaland FlorvilleetCourval, are best described as Gothic, written possibly under the influence of English writers such as Horace Walpole, whose TheCastleofOtrantowas translated in 1767.

The ‘Gothic’ stories have a quality of suspense, for the reader does not know what will happen to the incestuous Franval and his daughter. It is equally hard to guess why Florville does not want to marry Courval – and who was the unknown murderess in the aubergeat Nancy? If Franval’s defence of incest seems to be related in tone to some of the more outrageous speeches in LaPhilosophiedansleBoudoir, vice is punished and, in the end, virtue triumphs.

In many of Sade’s serious tales women, such as the wretched Justine, are the principal victims. If they attempt to take control of their own lives they are usually defeated by men. Sade himself treated most women badly, but unexpectedly this forward-looking writer had some notion of their potential. In AlineetValcourhe described an ideal country, Tamoé, where women would enjoy equality with men; this was part of his grandiose plan for individual liberty. If, thought Sade, so many women were forced into a life of deceit and treachery before they could earn any minor 10personal success, whose fault was that? In the story LeCocudelui-même(TheSelf-MadeCuckold), the author attempted to explain: men treated women so badly that they had only themselves to blame for the behaviour of their wives and mistresses.

Apollinaire suggested that Sade chose heroines rather than heroes for his two major novels because he considered women to be superior to men. Nearly two centuries after his death Sade continues to produce surprises, even for the feminists. The leading French feminist of the twentieth century, Simone de Beauvoir, wrote her challenging study MustWeBurndeSade? in 1952 and three years later it was published with two other essays in a volume aptly entitled Privilèges. In eighteenth-century France few people enjoyed greater privileges than Sade, for as a member of an old-established aristocratic family he was free to behave more or less as he wished; but when he eloped with his wife’s sister he had forgotten one thing: his wife’s mother, the Marquise de Montreuil, was just as privileged as he was, and richer. If Sade spent so much time in prison or on the run it was not so much because he was a law-breaker, it was because he had infuriated a middle-aged woman. If he had not behaved so unconventionally, even in eighteenth-century terms, the Marquise could not have forced his imprisonment without trial under the autocratic system of the lettredecachet. And the imprisoned Marquis would probably not have written all he did in the way he did.

The Gothic framework which Sade used in his longer stories, and the horseplay he included in his anecdotal fiction, allowed him to entertain his contemporaries and half-concealed his main purpose: he was a moralist. In 1909 Apollinaire prophesied that Sade might well dominate the twentieth century and in some ways he was proved right: scientific and technological progress has not been matched by any reduction in cruel, ‘sadistic’ behaviour 11on an individual or national scale. Incest and child abuse may even be on the increase, marriages crumble, women still have no equality with men. Sade anticipated the extremes of human behaviour which are now exposed, but rarely mitigated, every day throughout the world. He made a concentrated effort to describe them. He even attempted, remembering his own problems, to give latter-day readers some advice, usually ironic, on the perennial problems of marital behaviour. Simone de Beauvoir was surely right when she said of Sade in 1952, ‘The supreme value of his testimony is that it disturbs us.’

M.C.

* e.g., LesOnzeMilleVerges(Peter Owen, 1976)

13

Eugénie de Franval

ATragic Story

Our only motive in writing this story is the instruction of mankind and the betterment of their way of life. May all readers become fully aware of the great peril that always dogs those who do as they wish in order to satisfy their desires. May they be convinced that good upbringing, riches, talents and the gifts bestowed by nature are only likely to lead people astray when restraint, good conduct, wisdom and modesty are not there to support them or turn them to good account: these are the truths that we are going to put into action. May we be forgiven the unnatural details of the horrible crime of which we are forced to speak; is it possible to make such deviations detestable if one has not the courage to present them openly?

Rarely does everything harmonise in the same being to lead him to prosperity; if he is favoured by nature then fortune refuses him her gifts; if fortune is liberal with her favours then nature treats him badly; it appears that the hand of Heaven wishes to show us that in each individual, as in its most sublime operations, the laws of equilibrium are the first laws of the Universe, the ones which simultaneously regulate everything 14that happens, everything that vegetates and everything that breathes.

Franval, who lived in Paris, where he was born, possessed, along with an income of 400,000 livres, the finest figure, the most pleasant face and the most varied talents; but beneath this attractive exterior lay hidden every vice, and unfortunately those of which the adoption and habitual indulgence lead so rapidly to crime. An imagination more unbridled than anything one can depict was Franval’s prime defect; men of this type do not mend their ways, the decline of power makes them worse; the less they can do, the more they undertake; the less they achieve, the more they invent; each age brings new ideas, and satiety, far from cooling their ardour, only prepares the way for more fatal refinements.

As we said, Franval possessed in profusion all the amenities of youth, all the talents which enhance it; but since he was full of disdain for moral and religious duties it had become impossible for his tutors to make him adopt any of them.

In a century when the most dangerous books are in the hands of children, as in those of their fathers and teachers, when the temerity of obstinacy passes for philosophy, unbelief for strength and licentiousness for imagination, the young Franval’s wit was greeted with laughter, a moment later perhaps he was scolded for it, then he was praised. Franval’s father, a great supporter of the fashionable sophistries, was the first to encourage his son to think seriously about all these matters; he himself lent him all the works which could corrupt him more rapidly; what teacher would have dared, after that, to inculcate principles different from those of the household where he was obliged to please?

In any case, Franval lost his parents when he was still very young, and at the age of nineteen, an old uncle, who himself died 15shortly afterwards, assigned him, while arranging his marriage, all the possessions that were to belong to him one day.

Monsieur de Franval, with such a fortune, should easily have found a wife; an infinite number of candidates presented themselves, but since he had begged his uncle to give him only a girl younger than himself, and with as few people around her as possible, the old relative, in order to satisfy his nephew, let his choice fall upon a certain Mademoiselle de Farneille, the daughter of a financier, possessing now only a mother, still young in fact, but with 60,000 livres of very real income; the girl was fifteen, and had the most delightful physiognomy to be found in Paris at that time … one of those virginal faces, in which innocence and charm are depicted together, in the delicate features of love and the graces … fine blonde hair floating below her waist, large blue eyes expressing tenderness and modesty, a slender, supple and slight figure, with a lily-white skin and the freshness of roses, full of talents, a very lively imagination, but with a touch of sadness, a little of that gentle melancholy which leads to a love of books and solitude; attributes which nature seems to grant only to the individuals whom her hand destines to misfortunes, as though to make them less bitter, through that sober and touching voluptuousness that they enjoy in feeling them, and which makes them prefer tears to the frivolous joy of happiness, much less effective and much less penetrating.

Madame de Farneille, who was thirty-two when her daughter was married, was also witty and attractive, but perhaps slightly too reserved and severe; since she desired the happiness of her only child, she had consulted the whole of Paris about this match; and since she no longer had any relatives and her only advisers were some of those cold friends to whom everything is indifferent, people convinced her that the young man who was 16being offered to her daughter was without any doubt the best she could find in Paris, and that she would commit an unforgivable folly if she failed to agree to this match, it therefore took place: and the young people, who were rich enough to take their own house, settled in it at once.

In young Franval’s heart were none of those vices of frivolity, restlessness or foolishness which prevent a man from being fully developed before thirty; understanding himself very well, liking order, perfectly capable of running a house, Franval possessed all the necessary qualities for this aspect of the enjoyment of life. His vices, of a totally different kind, were indeed rather the faults of maturity than the inconsistencies of youth … artfulness, intrigue, … malice, baseness, selfishness, much diplomacy and trickery, while all this was concealed not only by the graces and talents already mentioned but even by eloquence and infinite wit and by the most seductive external appearance. Such was the man whom we have to depict.

Mademoiselle de Farneille, who, in accordance with custom, had known her husband for a month at the most before allying herself to him, deceived by this false brilliance, had been taken in by him; the days were not long enough for the pleasure of contemplating him, she idolised him, and things had even reached the point when people would have feared for this young person if any obstacle had upset the delights of a marriage in which she found, she said, the only happiness of her life.

As for Franval, who was philosophical about women as about all other things in life, he had considered this delightful person with utter coolness.

‘The wife who belongs to us,’ he would say, ‘is a kind of individual whom custom has made subservient to us; she must be gentle, submissive … very demure, not that I am concerned 17with the prejudices of dishonour which a wife can bring upon us when she imitates our licentiousness; but one does not like the idea that someone else is contemplating the removal of our rights; all the rest is immaterial and adds nothing to happiness.’

When a husband feels this way it is easy to prophesy that there are no roses in store for the unfortunate girl who is allied to him. Madame de Franval, who was honourable, sensitive, well brought up and anticipated through love the wishes of the only man in the world who occupied her, wore her chains for the first few years without suspecting her enslavement; it was easy for her to see that she was only gleaning the fields of marriage, but she was still too happy with what was left to her and her only care, her closest attention was directed to the fact that during those brief moments granted to her affection, Franval could at least encounter all that she believed to be necessary to the happiness of this beloved husband.

The best proof of all, however, which Franval still did not exclude from his duties, was that during the first year of his marriage his wife, then aged sixteen and a half, gave birth to a daughter even more beautiful than her mother, and whom the father at once named Eugénie … Eugénie, both the horror and the miracle of nature.

Monsieur de Franval, who, as soon as this child was born, no doubt formed the most detestable designs on her, immediately separated her from her mother. Until the age of seven, Eugénie was entrusted to women of whom Franval was sure and who, limiting their endeavours to forming a good constitution and teaching her to read, took care not to give her any knowledge of religious or moral principles, about which a girl of her age should normally be instructed.18

Madame de Farneille and her daughter, who were very shocked by this conduct, reproached Monsieur de Franval about it; he replied phlegmatically that since his plan was to make his daughter happy, he did not want to force upon her fantasies which were only likely to frighten people without ever becoming useful to them; that a girl whose only need was to learn how to please could at best be unaware of this nonsense, of which the imaginary existence, in disturbing the calm of her life, would give her no additional moral truth and no additional physical grace. Such remarks caused immediate displeasure to Madame de Farneille who, as she moved away from the pleasures of this world, was going closer to thoughts of heaven. Piety is a weakness dependent on age or health. When the passions are at their height a future which one believes to be very distant usually causes little uneasiness, but when their language is less lively, as we near the end … when finally everything leaves us, we cast ourselves again into the bosom of the God whom we heave heard mentioned in childhood, and if according to the philosophers these later illusions are as fantastic as the others, they are at least not so dangerous.

Since Franval’s mother-in-law had no longer any relatives, little credit on her own, and at the most, as we have said, a few of those casual friends … who avoid responsibility if we put them to the test, having to struggle against a likeable, young and well-placed son-in-law, imagined very sensibly that it was simpler to keep to representations rather than to undertake stringent measures, with a man who would ruin the mother and have the daughter locked up, if they dared to stand up to him; in the meantime Madame de Farneille merely hazarded a few remonstrances and became silent as soon as she saw that this was achieving nothing.

Franval, sure of his superiority, seeing clearly that he was feared, soon renounced all scruples concerning anything whatsoever, and 19contenting himself with some slight concealment, simply because of the public, went straight to his horrible goal.

As soon as Eugénie reached the age of seven, Franval took her to his wife; and this loving mother, who had not seen her child since she had brought her into the world, unable to have her fill of caresses, held her for two hours pressed against her bosom, covering her with kisses, bathing her with tears. She wanted to know what talents she possessed, but Eugénie had none beyond reading fluently, enjoying the most robust health and of being angelically beautiful. Madame de Franval was again in despair when she realised that it was only too true that her daughter was unaware of even the first principles of religion.

‘What is this, sir,’ she said to her husband, ‘are you therefore bringing her up only for this world? Will you not deign to reflect that she will only inhabit it for a moment like us, and afterwards will plunge into eternity, which will certainly be fatal if you deprive her of what can make her enjoy there a happy fate at the feet of the Being from whom she received life.’

‘If Eugénie knows nothing, madame,’ replied Franval, ‘if these maxims are carefully concealed from her, she could not be unhappy; for if they are true, the Supreme Being is too fair to punish her for her ignorance, and if they are false, why mention them to her? As regards the other needs of her education, have confidence in me, I beg you; from today I am to be her teacher, and I assure you that in a few years’ time your daughter will surpass all children of her age.’

Madame de Franval tried to insist, invoking the eloquence of the heart to assist that of reason, shedding some tears; but Franval, who was unmoved by them, did not even seem to notice them; he had Eugénie taken away, saying to his wife that if she considered opposing in any way the education which he hoped to 20give his daughter, or if she suggested to him principles different from those which he proposed to instil in her, she would deprive herself of the pleasure of seeing her, and that he would send his daughter to one of his châteaux from which she would never emerge again. Madame de Franval, who had become used to submission, was silent; she begged her husband not to separate her from such a treasured possession and promised, weeping, not to disturb in any way the education that was being prepared for her.

From this moment Mademoiselle de Franval was placed in a very fine apartment next to that of her father, with a highly intelligent governess, an undergoverness, a chambermaid and two little girls of her own age, who were there for the sole purpose of relaxation. She was given teachers for writing, drawing, poetry, natural history, declamation, geography, astronomy, anatomy, Greek, English, German, Italian, together with instructors for handling weapons, dancing, riding and music. Eugénie rose every day at seven o’clock, whatever the season she ran about the garden eating a large piece of rye bread, which formed her breakfast; she came in at eight o’clock, spent a few moments in her father’s apartment, while he played with her or taught her little society games; until nine o’clock she prepared her work; then the first teacher arrived and she received five of them until two o’clock. She took her meal separately with her two friends and her chief governess. The dinner consisted of vegetables, fish, pastries and fruit, never any meat, soup, wine, liqueurs or coffee. From three o’clock to four, Eugénie went back into the garden to play for an hour with her little companions; they played together at tennis, ball-games, skittles, battledore and shuttlecock, or at running races; they wore comfortable clothing according to the season; nothing constricted their waists; they were never fastened into those ridiculous whalebones, which are equally dangerous for the 21stomach and the chest and which, hindering a young person’s breathing, must necessarily harm the lungs. From four to six o’clock Mademoiselle de Franval received more teachers; and since they could not all appear in twenty-four hours, the remainder came during the next day. Three times a week Eugénie went to the theatre with her father, sitting in a little box with gratings, hired for her by the year. At nine o’clock she returned home and took supper, being served only with vegetables and fruit. From ten to eleven o’clock, four times a week, Eugénie played with her women, read a few novels and then went to bed. She spent the three other days, when Franval did not take supper away from home, alone in her father’s apartment, and this time was employed in what Franval called his ‘lectures’. During these he instilled into his daughter his maxims on morals and religion; on one side he showed her what some people thought about these matters and on the other he set out what he accepted himself.

Since she had much wit, wide knowledge, a lively intelligence and passions which were already aroused, it is easy to judge of the progress made by such ideas in Eugénie’s mind; but since the object of the unworthy Franval was not only to strengthen the mind, his lectures rarely ended without stirring up the emotions; and this horrible man had found so skilfully the means of pleasing his daughter, he seduced her with such art, he made himself so useful in her instruction and her relaxation, he anticipated with such ardour everything which could please her, that Eugénie, in the midst of the most brilliant circles, found no one as attractive as her father; and even before the latter explained himself, the innocent and weak creature had accumulated in her young heart all the feelings of love, gratitude and affection which must necessarily lead to the most ardent desire; Franval was the only man in the world to her; she could distinguish only him, she 22was revolted by the idea of everything that could separate him from her; she would have given him not her honour, not her charms—for all these sacrifices would have seemed too slight for the moving object of her idolatry—but her blood, her very life, if this tender companion of her soul had demanded it.

This was not the case as far as Mademoiselle de Franval’s feelings for her worthy and unfortunate mother were concerned. Her father skilfully told Eugénie that Madame de Franval, being his wife, demanded from him attention which often made him unable to do everything for his dear Eugénie that his feelings dictated; he had found the secret of instilling into this young person’s heart much more hate and jealousy than the kind of respectable and affectionate feelings which should have arisen for such a mother.

‘My friend, my brother,’ Eugénie would sometimes say to Franval, who did not want his daughter to use any other expressions with him … ‘this woman whom you call your wife, this creature who, according to you, brought me into the world, must therefore be very demanding, since in wanting you always with her, she deprives me of the happiness of spending my life with you … I see it clearly, you prefer her to your Eugénie. As far as I am concerned, I will never love anything which takes your heart away from me.’

‘My dear friend,’ replied Franval, ‘no, nobody whatsoever in the entire world will acquire such powerful rights as yours; the ties which exist between this woman and your best friend are the result of custom and social conventions; I regard them in a philosophical light, and they will never affect those which bind us together … you will always be the one preferred, Eugénie; you will be the angel and the light of my days, the focus of my soul and the purpose of my existence.’23

‘Oh, how sweet are these words!’ replied Eugénie, ‘repeat them often, my friend … If you knew how pleasing to me are the expressions of your tenderness.’

She took Franval’s hand and pressed it to her heart.

‘Yes, yes, I feel them all here,’ she went on.

‘How your tender caresses assure me of that,’ replied Franval, clasping her in his arms … And in this way, without any remorse, the traitor completed the seduction of the unfortunate girl.

However, Eugénie was reaching her fourteenth year, the moment when Franval wanted to consummate his crime. He did so. Let us shudder!

*Theverydaywhenshereachedthisage,orratherthatonwhichherfourteenthyearwascompleted,theybothfoundthemselvesinthecountry,withnorelativespresentandnoonetodisturbthem.OnthatdaytheCount,havingcausedhisdaughtertobedressedlikethevirginswhointhepastwereconsecratedinthetempleofVenus,ledher,ateleveno’clockinthemorning,intoavoluptuouslydecorateddrawing-roomwherethedaylightwassoftenedbygauzecurtainsandthefurniturestrewnwithflowers.Inthecentrestoodathroneofroses;Franvalledhisdaughtertowardsit.

‘Eugénie,’hetoldher,seatingheruponit,‘betodaythequeenofmyheart,andletmeadoreyouonmyknees.’

‘Letyouadoreme,mybrother,whenitisIwhooweyoueverything,whenyoucreatedmeandbroughtmeup!Ah,letmeratherfallatyourfeet;thisistheonlyplaceforme,andwithyouitistheonlyonetowhichIaspire.’

24‘Oh,mytenderEugénie,’saidtheCount,takinghisplacenearheronthe flower-strewn cushions which were to serve his triumph, ‘ifit is true thatyouowemesomething,ifinfactthefeelingsyouhaveformeareassincereasyousay,doyouknowhowtoconvincemeofit?’

‘How,mybrother?TellmequicklysothatIcanunderstandatonce.’

‘Allthesecharms,Eugénie,thatnaturehassoliberallybestowedupon you, all these attentions with which she has beautified you, must be sacrificedtomeimmediately.’

‘Butwhatareyouaskingme?Areyounotmasterofeverything?Doesnotyourcreationbelongtoyou,cananyoneelseenjoyyourhandiwork?’

‘Butyourealise the prejudices ofmen …’

‘You have in no way concealed them from me.’

‘I do not therefore want to go against them without your agreement.’

‘Do you not despise them as I do?’

‘Thatisso,butIdonotwanttotyranniseyou,muchlessseduceyou;IwanttoreceivethefavoursIseekfromlovealone.Youknowwhattheworldislike,Ihavehiddennoneofitsattractionsfromyou.Tohidemenfromyoursight,toletyouseenobodyexceptmyself,wouldhavebeenadeceptionunworthyofme;ifthereexistsintheuniverseabeingwhomyouprefertome,namehimatonce,Iwillgototheendsoftheearthtofindhimandwillleadhimtoyourarmsatonce.InfactitisyourhappinessthatIwant,myangel,yourhappinessmuchmorethanmine;thesweetpleasuresthatyoucangivemewouldbenothingtomeiftheywerenotthepriceofyourlove.Decide,therefore,Eugénie.Themomenthascomewhenyouaretobesacrificed,youmustbe.Butyouyourselfmustnamethemanwhowillcarryoutthesacrifice,IrenouncethepleasuresthatthistitleensuresformeifIdonotreceivethemfromyourheart;andifitisnotIwhomyouprefer,Ishallalwaysbeworthyofyourfeelingsinbringingyoutheonewhomyoucanlove.IfIhavenotbeenabletocaptivateyourheart,Iwillatleasthavedeservedyouraffection;andIshallbeEugénie’sfriend,havingfailedtobecomeherlover.’25

‘Youshallbeeverything,brother,youshallbeeverything,’saidEugénie,burningwithloveanddesire.‘Towhomdoyouwantmetosacrificemyself,ifitisnottotheonlymanwhomIadore?Whatbeingintheuniversecanbemoreworthythanyouofthesepoorcharmsthatyoudesire…andwhichyourburninghandsarealreadycaressingwithardour!DoyounotseefromthefirethatconsumesmethatIamasanxiousasyoutoexperiencethepleasureofwhichyoutellme?Ah,takeme,takeme,mylovingbrother,mybestfriend,makeEugénieyourvictim;sacrificedbyyourbelovedhandsshewillalwaysbetriumphant.’

TheardentFranval,who,inaccordancewithhischaracter,hadonlyarmedhimselfwithsomuchdelicacyinordertoseducewithmorefinesse,soontookadvantageofthisdaughter’scredulityand,withallobstaclesremoved,asmuchthroughtheprincipleswithwhichhehadnourishedthissoul that was open to all kinds ofimpressions, as through the art with whichhecaptivatedheratthelastmoment,hecompletedhisperfidiousconquest,andwithimpunitydestroyedthevirginitywhichbynatureandbyrightitwashisresponsibilitytodefend.

Severaldayspassedinmutualintoxication.Eugénie,whowasoldenoughtoknowthepleasuresoflove,wasencouragedbyhismethodsandabandonedherselftoitwithenthusiasm.Franvaltaughtheralllove’smysteriesandmappedoutallitsroutes;themoreheincreasedhisadorationthebetterheenslavedhisconquest.Shewouldhavelikedtoreceivehiminathousandtemplesatonce,accusinghimofnotallowinghisimaginationtostrayfarenough;shethoughthewasconcealingsomethingfromher.Shecomplainedofherageandofaningenuousnesswhichperhapsdidnotmakeherseductiveenough:andifshewantedmoreinstructionitwassothatnomeansofarousingherlovercouldremainunknowntoher.

They returned to Paris, but the criminal pleasures which had intoxicated this perverse man had given too much delectable 26enjoyment to his physical and moral faculties for the inconstancy which usually destroyed all his other intrigues to sever the ties of this one. He fell desperately in love, and this dangerous passion led inevitably to the most cruel abandonment of his wife … Alas, what a victim she was! Madame de Franval, then thirty-one years old, was at the height of her beauty; an air of sadness which was inevitable in view of the sorrows that consumed her, made her more intriguing still; bathed in tears, crushed by melancholy, her beautiful hair carelessly flowing loose over her alabaster bosom, her lips pressed amorously to the beloved portrait of her faithless tyrant, she resembled those beautiful virgins whom Michelangelo painted in the midst of sorrow: but she was still unaware of what was to complete her torment. The way in which Eugénie was being educated, the essential things of which she was left in ignorance, or which were only mentioned to her in order to make her hate them; her certainty that these duties, despised by Franval, would never be permitted to her daughter; the brief time she was allowed to see the girl, the fear that the unusual education she was receiving would sooner or later lead her to crime, the eccentricities of Franval in fact, his daily harshness towards her … she who was occupied only in anticipating his wishes, who knew no other charms except those which would interest or please him; until now these had been the only causes of her affliction. What sorrow was to pierce this loving and sensitive soul as soon as she learned everything!

However, Eugénie’s education continued; she herself had wished to continue with her teachers until the age of sixteen, and her talents, her extensive knowledge, the graces which were developing in her each day, everything enslaved Franval more strongly; it was easy to see that he had never loved anyone as he loved Eugénie.27

In Mademoiselle de Franval’s external life nothing had been changed except the times of the lectures; these intimate discussions with her father became much more frequent and lasted long into the night. Only Eugénie’s governess was informed of this intrigue and they trusted her enough not to fear any indiscretion on her part. There were also some changes in the arrangements for Eugénie’s meals, she now took them with her parents. In a house such as Franval’s this soon caused Eugénie to meet other people, and to be desired as a wife. Several people asked for her hand. Franval, who was certain of his daughter’s heart, had not thought it at all necessary to fear these approaches, but he had not realised sufficiently that this rush of proposals might perhaps succeed in revealing everything.

During a conversation with her daughter, a favour so desired by Madame de Franval, and one she obtained so rarely, this affectionate mother informed Eugénie that Monsieur de Colunce wished to marry her.

‘You know this man, my daughter,’ said Madame de Franval; ‘he loves you, he is young and likeable; he will be rich, he merely awaits your consent … your consent only, my daughter … how shall I reply?’

Eugénie, taken by surprise, blushed and replied that she felt no taste for marriage as yet, but that her father could be consulted; she would have no wishes other than his.

Madame de Franval saw this reply only as straightforward, waited patiently for some days and, finding at last an opportunity to mention it to her husband, she communicated to him the intentions of the young Colunce’s family and those that he had revealed himself, to which she added her daughter’s reply.

It can well be imagined that Franval knew everything; but he nevertheless succeeded in disguising this without showing too much self-control. 28

‘Madame,’ he said drily to his wife, ‘I ask you earnestly not to involve Eugénie in this; the care you have seen me take to remove her from you must have made it easy for you to recognise how much I wanted all that concerned her to have nothing to do with you. I renew my orders to you on this subject … you will not forget them, I imagine?’

‘But how should I reply, sir, since it is I whom they ask?’

‘You will say that I appreciate the honour they show me, and that my daughter has defects dating from birth which make marriage difficult.’

‘But sir, these defects are certainly not real; why do you want me to be upset by them and why deprive your only daughter of the happiness she can find in marriage?’

‘Have these ties made you very happy, madame?’

‘Not all women make the mistakes which I have no doubt made, in failing to captivate you (and with a sigh), or else all husbands do not resemble you.’

‘Wives … false, jealous, domineering, coquettish or pious … Husbands, treacherous, unfaithful, cruel or despotic, there in a nutshell are all the individuals in the world, madame; don’t hope to find a phoenix’.

‘And yet everyone gets married.’

‘Yes, the fools or the idlers; nobody ever marries, said one philosopher, except when they don’t know what they are doing, or when they don’t know what to do.’

‘Must one let the world come to an end, then?’

‘One might as well; it is never too early to exterminate a plant which yields nothing but poison.’

‘Eugénie will not be very grateful to you for this excessive severity towards her.’

‘Does this marriage appear to please her?’29

‘Your wishes are her commands, she said so.’

‘Very well, madame, my wishes are that you give up this marriage.’