EUGÉNIE—What you say so thrills my heart that my mind can take no exception to it.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—These precepts are grounded in Nature, Eugénie; the proof is that you approve them; freshly hatched from her womb, how could what you sense be the fruit of corruption?
EUGÉNIE—But if all the errors you speak of are in Nature, why do our laws oppose them?
DOLMANCÉ—Those laws, being forged for universal application, are in perpetual conflict with personal interest, just as personal interest is always in contradiction with the general interest. Good for society, our laws are very bad for the individuals whereof it is composed; for, if they one time protect the individual, they hinder, trouble, fetter him for three quarters of his life; and so the wise man, the man full of contempt for them, will be wary of them, as he is of reptiles and vipers which, although they wound or kill, are nevertheless sometimes useful to medicine; he will safeguard himself against the laws as he would against noxious beasts; he will shelter himself behind precautions, behind mysteries, the which, for prudence, is easily done. Should the fancy to execute a few crimes inflame your spirit, Eugénie, be very certain you may commit them peacefully in the company of your friend and me.
EUGÉNIE—Ah, the fancy is already in my heart!
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—What caprice agitates you, Eugénie? you may report it to us in confidence.
EUGÉNIE, wild-eyed—I want a victim.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—And of what sex would you desire her to be?
EUGÉNIE—Of mine!
DOLMANCÉ—Well, Madame, are you content with your student? does she make sufficiently rapid progress?
EUGÉNIE, as above—A victim, my dearest, a victim! . . . Oh, God, that would cause my life’s happiness! . . .
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—And what would you do with her?
EUGÉNIE—Everything! . . . everything! . . . all that could render her the most wretched of creatures. Oh, my dearest, my dearest, have pity on me! I can stand it no longer!
DOLMANCÉ—By God, what an imagination! . . . Come, Eugénie, you are delicious . . . come, let me bestow a thousand kisses upon you! (He takes her in his arms.) Look, Madame, do you see it? Do you see this libertine discharge mentally, without anyone having touched her? I must absolutely embugger her once again.
EUGÉNIE—And afterward will I have what I request?
DOLMANCÉ—Yes, mad creature! . . . yes, we assure you, you shall! . . .
EUGÉNIE—Oh, my friend, there is my ass! . . . do with it what you will! . . .
DOLMANCÉ—One moment, while I arrange this pleasure bout in a sufficiently lustful manner. (As Dolmancé gives his orders, each person executes them, taking his post.) Augustin, lie down on the bed; Eugénie, do you recline in his arms; while I sodomize her, I’ll frig her clitoris with the head of Augustin’s superb prick, and Augustin who must be sparing of his fuck will take good care not to discharge; the gentle Chevalier—who, without saying a word, softly frigs himself while listening to us—will have the kindness to arrange himself upon Eugénie’s shoulders so as to expose his fine buttocks to my kisses: I’ll frig him amain; so shall I have my engine in an ass and a prick in each hand, to pollute; and you, Madame, after having been your master, I want you to become mine: buckle on the most gigantic of your dildos. (Madame de Saint-Ange opens a chest filled with a store of them, and our hero selects the most massive.) Splendid! This, according to the label, is fourteen by ten; fit it about your loins, Madame, and spare me not.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Indeed, Dolmancé, you had best reconsider. I will cripple you with this device.
DOLMANCÉ—Fear not; push, my angel, penetrate: I’ll not enter your dear Eugénie’s ass until your enormous member is well advanced into mine . . . and it is! it is! oh, little Jesus! . . . You propel me heavenward! . . . No pity, my lovely one . . . I tell you I am going to fuck your ass without preparations . . . oh, sweet God! magnificent ass! . . .
EUGÉNIE—Oh, my friend, you are tearing me. . . . at least prepare the way.
DOLMANCÉ—I’ll do nothing of the sort, by God: half the pleasure’s lost by these stupid attentions. Put yourself in mind of our principles, Eugénie: I labor in my behalf only: now victim for a moment, my lovely angel, soon you’ll persecute in your turn. . . . Ah, holy God, it enters! . . .
EUGÉNIE—You are putting me to death!
DOLMANCÉ—Ah God! I touch bottom! . . .
EUGÉNIE—Ah, do what you will, ’tis arrived . . . I feel nothing but pleasure! . . .
DOLMANCÉ—How I love to frig this huge prick on a virgin’s clitoris! . . . You, Chevalier, show me a good ass. . . . Do I frig you well, libertine? . . . And you, Madame, do fuck me, fuck your slut . . . yes, I am she and wish to be . . . Eugénie, discharge, my angel, yes, discharge! . . . Despite himself, Augustin fills me with his fuck. . . . I receive the Chevalier’s, mine goes to join him. . . . I resist no more. . . . Eugénie, wiggle your buttocks and grip my prick: I am going to jet a blazing fuck-stream deep into your entrails. . . . Ah! fucking bugger of a God! I die! (He withdraws, the circle breaks.) Behold, Madame, here’s your little libertine full of fuck again; the entrance to her cunt is soaked with it; frig her, vigorously smite her clitoris all wet with sperm: ’tis one of the most delicious things that may be done.
EUGÉNIE, palpitating—Oh, my blessed one, what pleasure you give me! Ah, dear love, I burn with lubricity! (The posture is assumed.)
DOLMANCÉ—Chevalier, as ’tis you who’ll deflower this lovely child, add your ministrations to those of your sister, that she may swoon in your arms, and strike the sodomite’s attitude: I am going to embugger you while Augustin does the same to me. (The disposition is effected.)
LE CHEVALIER—Is my position satisfactory?
DOLMANCÉ—Your ass ever so gently raised, up with it, a fraction of an inch, my love; there, just so . . . without lubrication, Chevalier?
LE CHEVALIER—Why, bless my soul! as you damned well please; can I feel anything but pleasure in this delicious girl’s womb! (He kisses her, frigs her, burying a finger in her cunt while Madame de Saint-Ange strums Eugénie’s clitoris.)
DOLMANCÉ—As for myself, my dear, I, be assured of it, I take far more pleasure with you than with Eugénie; there is an immense difference between a boy’s and girl’s ass. . . . So bugger me, Augustin! what a bloody effort is required to get you to move!
AUGUSTIN—B’damn, Sir, it’s because it’s just been running and dripping a moment ago into this pretty little turtledove here and now you’re wanting it to get right up for your bum there which really ain’t so pretty.
DOLMANCÉ—Idiot! But why complain? ’Tis Mother Nature. Well, go on, trusty Augustin, go on with your indiscriminate penetrating, and when one day you have a little more experience, you will tell me whether one ass isn’t worth thirty cunts. . . . Eugénie, deal fairly with the Chevalier; you are thoughtless of everyone but yourself; well, libertine, you are right; but in your own pleasure’s interest, frig him, since he is to gather your first fruits.
EUGÉNIE—But I am frigging him, I do kiss him, I am going out of my head. . . . Aië! aië! aië! my friends, I can stand no more . . . pity my condition . . . I am dying . . . I discharge! Oh, God! I am in ecstasy! . . .
DOLMANCÉ—Now, as for myself, I have elected prudence and restraint: I wish merely to have this fine ass put me in form; the fuck that’s being fired in me I am saving for Madame de Saint-Ange: ’tis wonderfully amusing to commence in one ass the operation one wishes to conclude in another. I say there, Chevalier, you seem nicely got up . . . shall we to the deflowering? . . .
EUGÉNIE—Oh, heavens! no, not by him, I’d perish from it; yours is smaller, Dolmancé: may it be you to whom I owe thanks for the operation, I beg of you!
DOLMANCÉ—’Tis out of the question, my angel; I’ve never fucked a cunt in my life and one cannot begin at my age. Your hymen belongs to the Chevalier: of us all here, he alone is worthy of its capture: do you not rob him of his just prize.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Refuse a maidenhead . . . as fresh, as pretty as this—for I defy anyone to say my Eugénie is not the loveliest girl in France—oh, Monsieur! Monsieur, indeed, that’s what I call holding too closely to one’s principles!
DOLMANCÉ—You say I am too scrupulous, Madame? ’Tis unkind. For there are multitudes of my colleagues, stricter in their worship than I, who most assuredly would not bugger you. . . . I, I’ve done it, and would do it again: it is not, thus, as you suspect, a question of carrying my worship to the point of fanaticism.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Well then Chevalier, the task is yours, proceed; but have a little care what you do; consider the narrowness of the channel you are going to navigate: what of the proportion between the contents and the container?
EUGÉNIE—Oh, ’twill kill me, I’m sure of it, ’tis inevitable. . . . But my furious desire to be fucked makes me chance it fearlessly. . . . Go on, penetrate, my dear, I abandon myself to you.
LE CHEVALIER, taking a firm grip upon his rampant prick— Fuck, yes! let it go in. . . . Sister, Dolmancé, each of you take one of her legs. . . . Ah, by God, what an enterprise! . . . Yes, yes, she must be split like a melon, halved, God and God again, yes, it’s got to enter!
EUGÉNIE—Gently, gently, the pain is great. . . . (She screams; tears roll down her cheeks.) Help me! my good friend. . . . (She struggles.) No, I don’t want him to do it! . . . I’ll cry for help if you persist! . . .
LE CHEVALIER—Cry away as much as you please, little chit, I tell you it must go in even were it to shiver you into small pieces.
EUGÉNIE—What barbarity!
DOLMANCÉ—Fuck! is one expected to be a gentleman when one is stiff?
LE CHEVALIER—Ha! look! it’s sunk . . . it’s in! by God! . . . Fuck! there’s the maidenhead blasted to the devil! . . . Look how it bleeds!
EUGÉNIE—Go on, tiger! . . . tear me to ribbons if you wish . . . I don’t care a damn! . . . kiss me, butcher, I adore you! . . . Oh, ’tis nothing when it’s inside: all the pains are forgot. . . . Woe unto girls who shy away from such an attack! . . . What tremendous pleasures they deny themselves at the cost of a little trouble! . . . Thrust! thrust! push! Chevalier, I am coming! . . . spray your fuck over the wounds and lacerations . . . drive it to the bottom of my womb . . . ah! suffering gives way to pleasure . . . I am ready to swoon! . . . (The Chevalier discharges; while he fucked, Dolmancé toyed with his ass and balls, and Madame de Saint-Ange tickled Eugénie’s clitoris. They dissolve their position.)
DOLMANCÉ—’Twould be my opinion that, while the avenue is open, the little bitch might instantly be fucked by Augustin!
EUGÉNIE—By Augustin! . . . a prick of those dimensions! . . . ah, immediately! . . . While I am still bleeding! . . . Do you then wish to kill me?
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Dear heart . . . kiss me, I sympathize with you . . . but sentence has been pronounced; there is no appeal, my dearest: you have got to submit to it.
AUGUSTIN—Ah, zounds! here I am, all ready: soon’s it means sticking this bonny girl and I’d come, by God, all the way from Rome, on foot.
LE CHEVALIER, grasping Augustin’s mammoth device—Look at it, Eugénie, look how it is erect . . . how worthy it is to replace me. . . .
EUGÉNIE—Oh merciful heaven, what a piece! . . . Oh, ’tis clear, you design my death! . . .
AUGUSTIN, seizing Eugénie—Oh no, Mam’selle, that’s never killed anybody.
DOLMANCÉ—One instant, my fine boy, one instant: she must present her ass to me while you fuck her . . . yes, that’s it, come hither, Madame; I promised to sodomize you, I’ll keep my word; but situate yourself in such a way that as I fuck you, I can be within reach of Eugénie’s fucker. And let the Chevalier flog me in the meantime. (All is arranged.)
EUGÉNIE—Oh fuck! he cracks me! . . . Go gently, great lout! . . . Ah, the bugger! he digs in! . . . there ’tis, the fucking-john! . . . he’s at the very bottom! . . . I’m dying! . . . Oh, Dolmancé, how you strike! . . . ’tis to ignite me before and behind; you’re setting my buttocks afire!
DOLMANCÉ, swinging his whip with all his strength—You’ll be afire . . . you’ll burn, little bitch! . . . and you’ll only discharge the more deliciously. How you frig her, Saint-Ange . . . let your deft fingers soothe the hurt that Augustin and I cause her! . . . But your anus contracts . . . I see it, Madame, I see it! we’re going to come together. . . . Oh, ’tis I know not how divine thus to be, ’twixt brother and sister!
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE, to Dolmancé—Fuck, my star, fuck! . . . Never do I believe I have had so much pleasure!
LE CHEVALIER—Dolmancé, let’s change hands; be nimble: pass from my sister’s ass to Eugénie’s, so as to acquaint her with the intermediary’s pleasures, and I will embugger my sister who meanwhile will shower upon your ass the very whip strokes wherewith you’ve just brought Eugénie’s behind to blood.
DOLMANCÉ, executing the proposal—Agreed . . . there, my friend, hast ever seen a shift more cunningly effected?
EUGÉNIE—What! both of them on top of me, good heavens! . . . what will come next? I’ve really had enough of this oaf! . . . Ah, how much fuck this double pleasure is going to cost me! . . . it flows already. Without that sensual ejaculation, I believe I would be already dead. . . . Why, my dearest, you imitate me. . . . Oh, hear the bitch swear! . . . Discharge, Dolmancé, . . . discharge, my love . . . this fat peasant inundates me: he shoots to the depths of my entrails. . . . Oh, my good fuckers, what is this? Two at a time? Good Christ! . . . receive my fuck, dear companions, it conjoins itself with your own. . . . I am annihilated. . . . (The attitudes are dissolved.) Well, my dear, what think you of your scholar? . . . Am I enough of a whore now? . . . But what a state you do put me in . . . what an agitation! . . . Oh, yes, I swear, in my drunkenness, I swear I would have gone if necessary and got myself fucked in the middle of the street! . . .
DOLMANCÉ—How beautiful she is thus.
EUGÉNIE—You! I detest you: you refused me.
DOLMANCÉ—Could I contradict my dogmas?
EUGÉNIE—Very well, I forgive you, and I must respect the principles which lead us to wild conduct; how could I not acknowledge and adopt them, I who wish not to live save in crime? Let’s sit down and chat a little; I’m exhausted. Continue my instruction, Dolmancé, and say something that will console me for the excesses to which I have given myself over; stifle my remorse; encourage me.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—’Tis fair enough: as we say, a little theory must succeed practice: it is the means to make a perfect disciple.
DOLMANCÉ—Well then! Upon what subject, Eugénie, would you like to have a discussion?
EUGÉNIE—I should like to know whether manners are truly necessary in a governed society, whether their influence has any weight with the national genius.
DOLMANCÉ—Why, by God, I have something here with me. As I left home this morning I bought, outside the Palace of Equality, a little pamphlet, which if one can believe the title, ought surely to answer your question. . . . It’s come straight from the press.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Let me see it. (She reads:) “Yet Another Effort, Frenchmen, If You Would Become Republicans.” Upon my word, ’tis an unusual title: ’tis promising; Chevalier, you possess a fine organ, read it to us.
DOLMANCÉ—Unless I am mistaken, this should perfectly reply to Eugénie’s queries.
EUGÉNIE—Assuredly!
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Out with you, Augustin: this is not for you; but don’t go too far; we’ll ring when we want you back.
LE CHEVALIER—Well, I’ll begin.
YET ANOTHER EFFORT, FRENCHMEN, IF YOU WOULD BECOME REPUBLICANS
RELIGION
I am about to put forward some major ideas; they will be heard and pondered. If not all of them please, surely a few will; in some sort, then, I shall have contributed to the progress of our age, and shall be content. We near our goal, but haltingly: I confess that I am disturbed by the presentiment that we are on the ev
e of failing once again to arrive there. Is it thought that goal will be attained when at last we have been given laws? Abandon the notion; for what should we, who have no religion, do with laws? We must have a creed, a creed befitting the republican character, something far removed from ever being able to resume the worship of Rome. In this age, when we are convinced that morals must be the basis of religion, and not religion of morals, we need a body of beliefs in keeping with our customs and habits, something that would be their necessary consequence, and that could, by lifting up the spirit, maintain it perpetually at the high level of this precious liberty, which today the spirit has made its unique idol.
Well, I ask, is it thinkable that the doctrine of one of Titus’ slaves, of a clumsy histrionic from Judaea, be fitting to a free and warlike nation that has just regenerated itself? No, my fellow countrymen, no; you think nothing of the sort. If, to his misfortune, the Frenchman were to entomb himself in the grave of Christianity, then on one side the priests’ pride, their tyranny, their despotism, vices forever cropping up in that impure horde, on the other side the baseness, the narrowness, the platitudes of dogma and mystery of this infamous and fabulous religion, would, by blunting the fine edge of the republican spirit, rapidly put about the Frenchman’s neck the yoke which his vitality but yesterday shattered.
Let us not lose sight of the fact this puerile religion was among our tyrants’ best weapons: one of its key dogmas was to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s. However, we have dethroned Caesar, we are no longer disposed to render him anything. Frenchmen, it would be in vain were you to suppose that your oath-taking clergy today is in any essential manner different from yesterday’s non-juring clergy: there are inherent vices beyond all possibility of correction. Before ten years are out—utilizing the Christian religion, its superstitions, its prejudices—your priests, their pledges notwithstanding and though despoiled of their riches, are sure to reassert their empire over the souls they shall have undermined and captured; they shall restore the monarchy, because the power of kings has always reinforced that of the church; and your republican edifice, its foundations eaten away, shall collapse.
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