EUGÉNIE, to Dolmancé—Now, it strikes me as a very solidly composed document, that one, and it seems to me in such close agreement with your principles, at least with many of them, that I should be tempted to believe you its author.
DOLMANCÉ—Indeed my thinking does correspond with some part of these reflections, and my discourses—they’ve proven it to you—even lend to what has just been read to us the appearance of a repetition. . . .
EUGÉNIE—That I did not notice; wise and good words cannot be too often uttered; however, I find several amongst these principles a trifle dangerous.
DOLMANCÉ—In this world there is nothing dangerous but pity and beneficence; goodness is never but a weakness of which the ingratitude and impertinence of the feeble always force honest folk to repent. Let a keen observer calculate all of pity’s dangers, and let him compare them with those of a staunch, resolute severity, and he will see whether the former are not the greater. But we are straying, Eugénie; in the interests of your education, let’s compress all that has just been said into this single word of advice: Never listen to your heart, my child; it is the most untrustworthy guide we have received from Nature; with greatest care close it up to misfortune’s fallacious accents; far better for you to refuse a person whose wretchedness is genuine than to run the great risk of giving to a bandit, to an intriguer, or to a caballer: the one is of a very slight importance, the other may be of the highest disadvantage.
LE CHEVALIER—May I be allowed to cast a glance upon the foundations of Dolmancé’s principles? for I would like to try to annihilate them, and may be able to. Ah, how different they would be, cruel man, if, stripped of the immense fortune which continually provides you with the means to gratify your passions, you were to languish a few years in that crushing misfortune out of which your ferocious mind dares to fashion knouts wherewith to lash the wretched! Cast a pitying look upon them, and stifle not your soul to the point where the piercing cries of need shall never more be heard by you; when your frame, weary from naught but pleasure, languorously reposes upon swansdown couches, look ye at those others wasted by the drudgeries that support your existence, and at their bed, scarcely more than a straw or two for protection against the rude earth whereof, like beasts, they have nothing but the chill crust to lie down upon; cast a glance at them while surrounded by succulent meats wherewith every day twenty of Comus’ students awake your sensuality, cast a glance, I say, at those wretches in yonder wood, disputing with wolves the dry soil’s bitter root; when the most affecting objects of Cythera’s temple are with games, charms, laughter led to your impure bed, consider that poor luckless fellow stretched out near his grieving wife: content with the pleasures he reaps at the breast of tears, he does not even suspect the existence of others; look ye at him when you are denying yourself nothing, when you are swimming in the midst of glut, in a sea of surfeit; behold him, I say, doggedly lacking even the basic necessities of life; regard his disconsolate family, his trembling wife who tenderly divides herself between the cares she owes her husband, languishing near her, and those Nature enjoins for love’s offspring, deprived of the possibility to fulfill any of those duties so sacred unto her sensitive heart; if you can do it, without a tremor hear her beg of you the leavings your cruelty refuses her!
Barbaric one, are these not at all human beings like you? and if they are of your kind, why should you enjoy yourself when they lie dying? Eugénie, Eugénie, never slay the sacred voice of Nature in your breast: it is to benevolence it will direct you despite yourself when you extricate from out of the fire of passions that absorb it the clear tenor of Nature. Leave religious principles far behind you—very well, I approve it; but abandon not the virtues sensibility inspires in us; ’twill never be but by practicing them we will taste the sweetest, the most exquisite of the soul’s delights. A good deed will buy pardon for all your mind’s depravities, it will soothe the remorse your misconduct will bring to birth and, forming in the depths of your conscience a sacred asylum whereunto you will sometimes repair, you will find there consolation for the excesses into which your errors will have dragged you. Sister, I am young, yes, I am libertine, impious, I am capable of every mental obscenity, but my heart remains to me, it is pure and, my friends, it is with it I am consoled for the irregularities of this my age.
DOLMANCÉ—Yes, Chevalier, you are young, your speeches illustrate it; you are wanting in experience; the day will come, and I await it, when you will be seasoned; then, my dear, you will no longer speak so well of mankind, for you will have its acquaintance. ’Twas men’s ingratitude dried out my heart, their perfidy which destroyed in me those baleful virtues for which, perhaps, like you, I was also born. Now, if the vices of the one establish these dangerous virtues in the other, is it not then to render youth a great service when one throttles those virtues in youth at an early hour? Oh, my friend, how you do speak to me of remorse! Can remorse exist in the soul of him who recognizes crime in nothing? Let your principles weed it out of you if you dread its sting; will it be possible to repent of an action with whose indifference you are profoundly penetrated? When you no longer believe evil anywhere exists, of what evil will you be able to repent?
LE CHEVALIER—It is not from the mind remorse comes; rather, ’tis the heart’s issue, and never will the intellect’s sophistries blot out the soul’s impulsions.
DOLMANCÉ—However, the heart deceives, because it is never anything but the expression of the mind’s miscalculations; allow the latter to mature and the former will yield in good time; we are constantly led astray by false definitions when we wish to reason logically: I don’t know what the heart is, not I: I only use the word to denote the mind’s frailties. One single, one unique flame sheds its light in me: when I am whole and well, sound and sane, I am never misled by it; when I am old, hypochondriacal, or pusillanimous, it deceives me; in which case I tell myself I am sensible, but in truth I am merely weak and timid. Once again, Eugénie, I say it to you: be not abused by this perfidious sensibility; be well convinced of it, it is nothing but the mind’s weakness; one weeps not save when one is afraid, and that is why kings are tyrants. Reject, spurn the Chevalier’s insidious advice; in telling you to open your heart to all of misfortune’s imaginary ills, he seeks to fashion for you a host of troubles which, not being your own, would soon plunge you into an anguish and that for no purpose. Ah, Eugénie, believe me when I tell you that the delights born of apathy are worth much more than those you get of your sensibility; the latter can only touch the heart in one sense, the other titillates and overwhelms all of one’s being. In a word, is it possible to compare permissible pleasures with pleasures which, to far more piquant delights, join those inestimable joys that come of bursting socially imposed restraints and of the violation of every law?
EUGÉNIE—You triumph, Dolmancé, the laurel belongs to you! The Chevalier’s harangue did but barely brush my spirit, yours seduces and entirely wins it over. Ah, Chevalier, take my advice: speak rather to the passions than to the virtues when you wish to persuade a woman.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE, to the Chevalier—Yes, my friend, fuck us to be sure, but let us have no sermons from you: you’ll not convert us, and you might upset the lessons with which we desire to saturate this charming girl’s mind.
EUGÉNIE—Upset? Oh, no, no; your work is finished; what fools call corruption is by now firmly enough established in me to leave not even the hope of a return, and your principles are far too thoroughly riven into my heart ever to be destroyed by the Chevalier’s casuistries.
DOLMANCÉ—She is right, let us not discuss it any longer, Chevalier; you would come off poorly in this debate, and we wish nothing from you but excellence.
LE CHEVALIER—So be it; we are met here for a purpose very different, I know, from the one I wished to achieve; let’s go directly to that destination, I agree with you; I’ll save my ethics for others who, less besotted than you, will be in a better way to hear me.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Yes, dear brother, yes,
exactly, give us nothing but your fuck; we’ll forgo your morals; they are too gentle and mild for roués of our ilk.
EUGÉNIE—I greatly fear, Dolmancé, that this cruelty you recommend with such warmth may somewhat influence your pleasures; I believe I have already remarked something of the sort: you are hard when you take your pleasure; and I too might be able to confess to feeling a few dispositions to viciousness. . . . In order to clear my thoughts on the matter, please do tell me with what kind of an eye you view the object that serves your pleasures?
DOLMANCÉ—As absolutely null, that is how I view it, my dear; whether it does or does not share my enjoyment, whether it feels contentment or whether it doesn’t, whether apathy or even pain, provided I am happy, the rest is absolutely all the same to me.
EUGÉNIE—Why, it is even preferable to have the object experience pain, is it not?
DOLMANCÉ—To be sure, ’tis by much to be preferred; I have given you my opinion on the matter; this being the case, the repercussion within us is much more pronounced, and much more energetically and much more promptly launches the animal spirits in the direction necessary to voluptuousness. Explore the seraglios of Africa, those of Asia, those others of southern Europe, and discover whether the masters of these celebrated harems are much concerned, when their pricks are in the air, about giving pleasure to the individuals they use; they give orders, and they are obeyed, they enjoy and no one dares make them answer; they are satisfied, and the others retire. Amongst them are those who would punish as a lack of respect the audacity of partaking of their pleasure. The king of Acahem pitilessly commands to be decapitated the woman who, in his presence, has dared forget herself to the point of sharing his pleasure, and not infrequently the king performs the beheading himself. This despot, one of Asia’s most interesting, is exclusively guarded by women; he never gives them orders save by signs; the cruelest death is the reward reserved for her who fails to understand him, and the tortures are always executed either by his hand or before his eyes.
All that, Eugénie, is founded entirely upon the principles I have already developed for you. What is it one desires when taking one’s pleasure? that everything around us be occupied with nothing but ourselves, think of naught but of us, care for us only. If the objects we employ know pleasure too, you can be very sure they are less concerned for us than they are for themselves, and lo! our own pleasure consequently disturbed. There is not a living man who does not wish to play the despot when he is stiff: it seems to him his joy is less when others appear to have as much as he; by an impulse of pride, very natural at this juncture, he would like to be the only one in the world capable of experiencing what he feels: the idea of seeing another enjoy as he enjoys reduces him to a kind of equality with that other, which impairs the unspeakable charm despotism causes him to feel.23 ’Tis false as well to say there is pleasure in affording pleasure to others; that is to serve them, and the man who is erect is far from desiring to be useful to anyone. On the contrary, by causing them hurt he experiences all the charms a nervous personality relishes in putting its strength to use; ’tis then he dominates, is a tyrant; and what a difference is there for the amour propre! Think not that it is silent during such episodes.
The act of enjoyment is a passion which, I confess, subordinates all others to it, but which simultaneously unites them. This desire to dominate at this moment is so powerful in Nature that one notices it even in animals. See whether those in captivity procreate as do those others that are free and wild; the camel carries the matter further still: he will engender no more if he does not suppose himself alone: surprise him and, consequently, show him a master, and he will fly, will instantly separate himself from his companion. Had it not been Nature’s intent that man possess this feeling of superiority, she would not have created him stronger than the beings she destines to belong to him at those moments. The debility to which Nature condemned woman incontestably proves that her design is for man, who then more than ever enjoys his strength, to exercise it in all the violent forms that suit him best, by means of tortures, if he be so inclined, or worse. Would pleasure’s climax be a kind of fury were it not the intention of this mother of humankind that behavior during copulation be the same as behavior in anger? What well-made man, in a word, what man endowed with vigorous organs does not desire, in one fashion or in another, to molest his partner during his enjoyment of her? I know perfectly well that whole armies of idiots, who are never conscious of their sensations, will have much trouble understanding the systems I am establishing; but what do I care for these fools? ’Tis not to them I am speaking; soft-headed women-worshipers, I leave them prostrate at their insolent Dulcineas’ feet, there let them wait for the sighs that will make them happy and, basely the slaves of the sex they ought to dominate, I abandon them to the vile delights of wearing the chains wherewith Nature has given them the right to overwhelm others! Let these beasts vegetate in the abjection which defiles them—’twould be in vain to preach to them!—, but let them not denigrate what they are incapable of understanding, and let them be persuaded that those who wish to establish their principles pertinent to this subject only upon the free outbursts of a vigorous and untrammeled imagination, as do we, you, Madame, and I, those like ourselves, I say, will always be the only ones who merit to be listened to, the only ones proper to prescribe laws unto them and to give lessons! . . .
Goddamn! I’ve an erection! . . . Get Augustin to come back here, if you please. (They ring; he reappears.) ’Tis amazing how this fine lad’s superb ass does preoccupy my mind while I talk! All my ideas seem involuntarily to relate themselves to it. . . . Show my eyes that masterpiece, Augustin . . . let me kiss it and caress it, oh! for a quarter of an hour. Hither, my love, come, that I may, in your lovely ass, render myself worthy of the flames with which Sodom sets me aglow. Ah, he has the most beautiful buttocks . . . the whitest! I’d like to have Eugénie on her knees; she will suck his prick while I advance; in this manner, she will expose her ass to the Chevalier, who’ll plunge into it, and Madame de Saint-Ange, astride Augustin’s back, will present her buttocks to me: I’ll kiss them; armed with the cat-o’-nine-tails, she might surely, it should seem to me, by bending a little, be able to flog the Chevalier who, thanks to this stimulating ritual, might resolve not to spare our student. (The position is arranged.) Yes, that’s it; let’s do our best, my friends; indeed, it is a great pleasure to commission you to execute tableaux; in all the world, there’s not an artist fitter than you to realize them! . . . This rascal does have a nipping tight ass! . . . ’tis all I can do to get a foothold in it. Would you do me the great kindness, Madame, of allowing me to bite and pinch your lovely flesh while I’m at my fuckery?
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—As much as you like, my friend; but, I warn you, I am ready to take my revenge: I swear that, for every vexation you give me, I’ll blow a fart into your mouth.
DOLMANCÉ—By God, now! that is a threat! . . . quite enough to drive me to offend you, my dear. (He bites her.) Well! Let’s see if you’ll keep your word. (He receives a fart.) Ah, fuck, delicious! delicious! . . . (He slaps her and immediately receives another fart.) Oh, ’tis divine, my angel! Save me a few for the critical moment . . . and, be sure of it, I’ll then treat you with the extremest cruelty . . . most barbarously I’ll use you. . . . Fuck! I can tolerate this no longer . . . I discharge! . . . (He bites her, strikes her, and she farts uninterruptedly.) Dost see how I deal with you, my fine fair bitch! . . . how I dominate you . . . once again here . . . and there . . . and let the final insult be to the very idol at which I sacrificed! (He bites her asshole; the circle of debauchees is broken.) And the rest of you—what have you been up to, my friends?
EUGÉNIE, spewing forth the fuck from her mouth and her ass—Alas! dear master . . . you see how your disciples have accommodated me! I have a mouthful of fuck and half a pint in my ass, ’tis all I am disgorging on both ends.
DOLMANCÉ, sharply—Hold there! I want you to deposit in my mouth what the Chevalier introduc
ed into your behind.
EUGÉNIE, assuming a proper position—What an extravagance!
DOLMANCÉ—Ah, there’s nothing that can match fuck drained out of the depths of a pretty behind . . . ’tis a food fit for the gods. (He swallows some.) Behold, ’tis neatly wiped up, eh? (Moving to Augustin’s ass, which he kisses.) Mesdames, I am going to ask your permission to spend a few moments in a nearby room with this young man.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—But can’t you do here all you wish to do with him?
DOLMANCÉ, in a low and mysterious tone—No; there are certain things which strictly require to be veiled.
EUGÉNIE—Ah, by God, tell us what you’d be about!
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—I’ll not allow him to leave if he does not.
DOLMANCÉ—You then wish to know?
EUGÉNIE—Absolutely.
DOLMANCÉ, dragging Augustin—Very well, Mesdames, I am going . . . but, indeed, it cannot be said.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Is there, do you think, any conceivable infamy we are not worthy to hear of and execute?
LE CHEVALIER—Wait, sister. I’ll tell you. (He whispers to the two women.)
EUGÉNIE, with a look of revulsion—You are right, ’tis hideous.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Why, I suspected as much.
DOLMANCÉ—You see very well I had to be silent upon this caprice; and you grasp now that one must be alone and in the deepest shadow in order to give oneself over to such turpitudes.
EUGÉNIE—Do you want me to accompany you? I’ll frig you while you amuse yourself with Augustin.
DOLMANCÉ—No, no, this is an affaire d’honneur and should take place between men only; a woman would only disturb us. . . . At your service in a moment, dear ladies. (He goes out, taking Augustin with him.)
Justine, Philosophy in the Bedroom, and Other Writings Page 37
