A second would perch a seven-month-pregnant woman upon an isolated pedestal at least fifteen feet high. She was obliged to keep her balance, and her mind on what she was about, for if by mischance she were to have grown dizzy, she and her issue would have been definitively ruined. The libertine I speak of, very little affected by the situation of the poor creature he paid for her acrobatic skill, kept her where she was until he had discharged, and frigged himself before her while exclaiming: “Ah, the lovely statue, the beautiful ornament, the empress upon her dais!”
“Well, Curval, you’d have shaken that column, wouldn’t you, eh?” said the Duc.
“Ah, not at all, you’re mistaken; I have too much respect for Nature and her works. Is not the most interesting of them all the propagation of our species? is it not a kind of miracle we ought to adore incessantly, and ought we not to have the warmest interest in those who perform it? For my part, I never see a pregnant woman without being melted; think for a moment what a marvelous thing is a woman who, just like an oven, can make a little snot hatch deep in her vagina. Is there anything more beautiful, anything quite as fetching as that? Constance, dear girl, come hither, I beseech you, come let me kiss the sanctuary wherein, at this very moment, such a profound mystery is in progress.”
And as he found her right there in his alcove, he was not long searching after the temple he wished to minister to. But there is reason to suppose Constance took a somewhat different view of his intentions, or, at least, that she only half believed his professions, for an instant later she was heard to vent a scream which bore no relationship at all to the consequences of a reverence or an homage. Then silence closed again; observing that all lay quiet, Duclos concluded her narrations with the following little tale:
I knew a man, said she, whose passion consisted in hearing children wail and cry; he had to have a mother with a child of no more than three or four. He required this mother to give her offspring a sound thrashing; it had to be done before him, and when the little creature, aroused by this treatment, began to bawl, the mother had next to catch hold of the rogue’s prick and frig it industriously, directing the glans at the child, in whose face he would discharge when the little one was singing his loudest.
“Now, I wager,” the Bishop said to Curval, “that fellow was no more a friend of increase than you are.”
“I dare say not,” Curval conceded. “He must be, according to the argument of a lady reputed to possess a great fund of wit, he must be, I say, a great scoundrel; for, in keeping with the development of her thought, any man who loves neither animals, nor children, nor swollen-bellied women, is a monster fit to be put on the rack. Well, by that agreeable old fool’s judgment, my case is heard and decided and writ off the agenda,” said the Président, “for I certainly have no affection for any one of those three things.”
And as it was late, and as interruptions had consumed a sizable portion of the séance, they went straight to supper. At table, they debated the following questions: what need has man for sensibility? and is it or is it not useful to his happiness? Curval proved that it was nothing if not dangerous, and that it was the first sentiment, this one of human kindness, one had to extirpate from children, by early making them grow accustomed to the most ferocious spectacles. Each of them having differently approached the problem, by many and long detours they all finally ended up agreeing with Curval. Supper over, the Duc and he were of the opinion the women and youngsters should be sent to bed, and they proposed the orgies be made an entirely masculine tournament; everyone concurred, the idea was adopted, Messieurs enchambered themselves with the eight fuckers and spent almost all the night having themselves fucked and drinking liqueurs. They stumbled to bed two hours before dawn, and the morrow brought with it both events and stories the reader will perhaps find entertaining if he will give himself the trouble to read what follows.
THE TWENTY-NINTH DAY
There is a proverb—and what splendid things proverbs are—there is one, I say, which maintains that the appetite is restored by eating. This proverb, coarse, nay, vulgar though it be, has none the less a very extensive significance: to wit, that, by dint of performing horrors, one’s desire to commit additional ones is whetted, and that the more of them one commits, the more of them one desires.
Well, such exactly was the case with our insatiable libertines. Through unpardonable harshness, through a detestable refinement of debauchery, they, as we know, had condemned their wives to render them the vilest and most unclean services upon their emergence from the privy. They were not content with that, and on the 29th of November they proclaimed a new law (which appeared to have been inspired by the previous night’s sodomistical libertinage), a new law, I say, which ruled that, as of the 1st of December, those wives would serve as the only pots to their masters’ needs, and that the said needs, both the greater and the lesser, would never be executed anywhere save in their wives’ mouths; that whenever Messieurs were moved to satisfy these fundamental urges, they would be followed about by four sultanas who would, once the urge had been satisfied, render them the service which heretofore the wives had rendered them and which the said wives would hereafter be unable to render them, since they were going to have graver employment; that the four officiating sultanas would be Colombe for Curval, Hébé for the Duc, Rosette for the Bishop, and Michette for Durcet; and that the least error or failure committed in the course of either of these operations, whether in the course of that involving the wives or in that other involving the four little girls, would be punished with prodigious severity.
The poor women had no sooner learned of this new regulation than they wept and wrung their hands, unfortunately, it was all but in vain. It was however ordained that each wife would serve her husband, and Aline the Bishop, and that for this one operation Messieurs would not be allowed to exchange them. Two of the duennas were ordered to take turns presenting themselves for the same service, and the time for their rendering it was unalterably fixed at the hour Messieurs would depart the evening orgies; it was decided that Messieurs would at all times proceed to this ritual in each other’s company, that while the elders were operating, the four sultanas, while waiting to give the service required of them, would make conspicuous display of their asses, and that the elders would move from one anus to the next, to press it, open it, and encourage it generally to function. This regulation promulgated, the friends proceeded that morning to administer the punishments which had not been distributed the night before because of the decision to perform the orgies with the assistance of men only.
The operation was undertaken in the sultanas’ quarters; they were all eight taken care of, and after them came Adelaide, Aline, and Cupidon, who also were included upon the fatal list; the ceremony, with the details and all the protocol observed under such circumstances, dragged on for nearly four hours, at the end of which their Lordships descended to dinner, their heads swimming, especially Curval’s head, for he, prodigiously cherishing these exercises, never took part in them without the most definite erection. As for the Duc, he had discharged in the thick of the fray, and so had Durcet. This latter, who was beginning to develop a very mischievous libertine testiness toward his dear wife Adelaide, was unable to discipline her without shudders of pleasure which ultimately loosened his seed.
Dinner was, as usual, followed by coffee; Messieurs, disposed to have some neat little asses on hand, had appointed Zéphyr and Giton to serve the cups, and to these two might have added a large number of others; but there was not one sultana whose ass was in anything like an appropriate state. In accordance with schedule, the coffee-serving team was rounded out by Colombe and Michette. Curval, examining Colombe’s ass, the bedaubed condition whereof, in part the Président’s own work, generated some singular desires in him, thrust his prick between her thighs from behind, while so doing fondling her buttocks vivaciously; now and again, as it moved to and fro, his engine, as if through maladdress, nudged up against the dear little hole he would have given a kingdom
to perforate. For a moment he studied it attentively.
“O sacred God,” he said, turning to his friends, “I’ll pay the society two hundred louis on the spot for leave to fuck this ass.”
Reason prevailed, however, he kept a grip upon himself and did not even discharge. But the Bishop had Zéphyr discharge into his mouth and yielded up his own sanctified fuck as he swallowed that delicious child’s; Durcet had himself kicked in the ass by Giton, then had Giton shit, and remained chaste. Messieurs removed to the auditorium, where each father, by an arrangement which was encountered rather frequently, had his daughter on his couch beside him; breeches lowered, they listened to our talented storyteller’s five tales.
It seemed as though, since the day I had so exactly executed Fournier’s pious will, happiness smiled ever more warmly upon my house, said that distinguished whore. Never had I had so many wealthy acquaintances.
The Benedictine prior, among my most faithful clients, one day came to tell me that, having heard of a quite remarkable fantasy and having subsequently observed it performed by one of his friends who was wild about it, he had a powerful desire to enact it himself, and hence he asked me for a girl well fledged with hair. I gave him a big creature of twenty-eight years who had veritable thickets both under the arms and upon her mound. “Splendid,” said the prior upon beholding the goods, “that’s just what I need.” And as he and I were very closely attached to each other, as we had taken many a gay tumble together, he made no objections when I requested leave to watch him at work. He had the girl undress and half recline upon a couch, her arms extended above her head, and, armed with a sharp pair of scissors he set to cropping the hair beneath her arms. Once he had clipped away every bit of it, he turned to her mound, and barbered it also, but so thoroughly that when he was done one would never have believed the least vestige of hair had ever grown on any of the areas he had worked over. The job done, he kissed the parts he’d shorn and spurted his fuck upon that hairless mound, in a perfect ecstasy over the fruit of his labor.
Another required a doubtless much more bizarre ceremony: I am thinking now of the Duc de Florville; I was advised to bring him one of the most beautiful women I could find. A manservant welcomed us at the Duc’s mansion, and we entered by a side door.
“We will now prepare this attractive creature,” the valet said to me; “for there are several adjustments to be made in order that she be in a state to amuse my Lord the Duc . . . come with me.”
By way of detours and corridors equally somber and immense, we finally reached a lugubrious suite of rooms, lighted only by six tapers placed on the floor around a mattress covered with black satin; the entire room was hung in funereal stuffs, and the sight, as we entered, woke the worst apprehensions in us.
“Calm your fears,” said our guide, “you will not suffer the least hurt; but be ready for anything,” he added, speaking to the girl, “and above all see to it that you do everything I tell you.”
He had her remove all her clothes, loosened her coiffure, and indicated she was to leave her hair, which was superb, to hang free. Next, he bade her lie down upon the mattress surrounded by tall candles, enjoined her to feign death and to be exceedingly careful, throughout the whole of the scene to follow, neither to stir nor breathe more deeply than she had to.
“For if unhappily my master, who is going to imagine you are really dead, perceives you are only pretending, he’ll be furious, will leave you at once, and surely will not pay you a sou.”
Directly he had placed the girl upon the pallet in the attitude of a corpse, he had her twist her mouth in such a way as to give the impression of pain, her eyes too were to suggest she had died in agony; he scattered her tresses over her naked breast, lay a dagger beside her, and near her heart smeared chicken’s blood, painting a wound the size of one’s hand.
“I repeat to you,” he said to the girl, “be not afraid, you have nothing to say, nothing to do, you have simply to remain absolutely still and to draw your breath at the moments when you see he is farthest from you. And now, Madame,” the valet said to me, “we may withdraw from the room. Come with me, please; that you not be worried about your girl, I am going to place you where you will be able to hear and watch the entire scene.”
We quit the room, leaving the girl, who was not without her misgivings, but whom the manservant’s speeches had reassured somewhat. He conducts me to a small chamber adjoining the apartment where the mystery is to be celebrated, and through a crack between two panels, over which the black material was hung, I could hear everything. To see was still easier, for the material was only crepe, I could distinguish objects on the other side quite as clearly as if I had been in the room itself.
The valet drew the cord that rang a bell, that was the signal, and a few minutes later we saw a tall, thin, wasted man of about sixty enter upon the stage. Beneath a loose-flowing dressing robe of India taffeta he was completely naked. He halted upon coming through the doorway; I had best tell you now that the Duc, supposing he was absolutely alone, had not the faintest idea his actions were being observed.
“Ah, what a beautiful corpse!” he exclaimed at once. “Death . . . ’tis beautiful to behold. . . . But, my God, what’s this!” said he upon catching sight of the blood, the knife. “It must have been an assassin . . . only a moment ago . . . ah, Great God, how stiff he must be now, the person who did that.”
And, frigging himself:
“How I would have loved to see him strike the blow!”
And fondling the corpse, moving his hand over its belly:
“Pregnant? . . . No, apparently not. What a pity.”
And continuing to explore with his hands:
“Superb flesh! It’s still warm . . . a lovely breast.”
Wherewith he bent over her and kissed her mouth with incredible emotion:
“Still drooling,” he said; “how I adore this saliva!”
And once again he drove his tongue almost into her gullet; no one could possibly have played the role more convincingly than did that girl, she lay stock-still, and whenever the Duc drew near she ceased entirely to breathe. Finally, he rolled her over upon her stomach:
“I must have a look at this lovely ass,” he murmured.
And after having scanned it:
“Jesus Christ! What matchless buttocks!”
And then he opened them, kissed them, and we distinctly saw him place his tongue in that cunning little hole.
“Oh, upon my word!” he cried, sweating with admiration, “this is certainly one of the most superb corpses I have ever seen in my life; happy he who took this girl’s life, oh, enviable person, what pleasure he must have known!”
The very idea made him discharge; he was lying beside her, squeezing her, his thighs glued against her buttocks, and he discharged upon her asshole, giving out unbelievable signs of pleasure, and, as he yielded his sperm, crying like a demon:
“Ah fuck, fuck, ah good God, if only I had killed her, if only I had been the one!”
Thus the operation ended, the libertine rose and disappeared; we entered the room to resurrect our brave little friend. She was exhausted, unable to budge: constraint, fright, everything had numbed her senses, she was about ready in all earnestness to become the character she had just personified so expertly. We departed with four louis the valet gave us; as you may well imagine, he doubtless surrendered no more than half of our pay.
“Ye living gods!” cried Curval, “now that is a passion! To say the least, the thing has flavor, aroma.”
“I’m as stiff as a mule,” said the Duc; “I’ll stake my fortune on it, that fellow had other tricks up his sleeve.”
“Right you are, my Lord,” said Martaine; “he now and again employed a greater realism. I think Madame Desgranges and I have evidence to prove it to you.”
“And what the devil are you going to do while waiting?” Curval asked the Duc.
“Don’t disturb me, don’t disturb me,” the Duc shouted, “I’m fucking my daughter, I’
m pretending she’s dead.”
“Rascal,” Curval rejoined, “that makes two crimes in your head.”
“Ah, by fuck,” said the Duc, “would that they were more real. . . .”
And his impure seed burst into Julie’s vagina.
“Well now, Duclos, what comes next? Go on with your stories,” said he as soon as he had finished his affair, “go on, my dear friend, don’t allow the Président to discharge, for I can hear him over there effecting an incestuous connection with his daughter; the funny little fellow is working up some evil ideas in his head; his parents have made me his tutor, they expect me to keep an eye on his behavior and I’d be distressed were it to become perverted.”
“Too late,” said Curval, “too late, old man, I’m discharging; ah, Christ be doublefucked, ’tis a pretty death.”
And while encunting Adelaide, the scoundrel fancied to himself, as had the Duc, that he was fucking his murdered daughter; O incredible distraction of the mind of a libertine, who can naught hear, naught see, but he would imitate it that instant!
“Duclos, you must indeed continue,” said the Bishop, “else I’ll be seduced by those bawdy fellows’ example, and in my present state I might carry things a good deal further than they.”
Some time after that last adventure I went alone to the home of another libertine, said Duclos, whose mania, more humiliating perhaps, was not however so saturnine. He receives me in a drawing room whose floor was covered with a very handsome rug. He bids me remove all I am wearing and then, having me get down on my hands and knees:
“Let’s see,” says he, stroking and patting the heads of two great Danes lying on either side of his chair, “let’s see whether you are as nimble and quick as my dogs. Ready? Go get it!”
And with that he tosses some large roasted chestnuts on the floor; speaking to me as if I were an animal, he says:
“Go fetch them!”
I run on all fours after a chestnut, thinking it best to play the game with good humor and enter into the spirit of his eccentricity; I run along, I say, and endeavor to bring back the chestnuts, but the two dogs, also springing forward, outrun me, seize the chestnuts, and take them back to their master.
The 120 Days of Sodom and Other Writings Page 61
