The 120 Days of Sodom and Other Writings

by Marquis de Sade

  But while all this was taking place at Madame Scholtz’s, Herman was at the feet of his beloved Ernestine.

  “See now! Was it not exactly as I said, Ernestine?” he cried, tears streaming down his face, “did I not foresee that this accursed ball would cause us untold sorrow? Each compliment he paid you, each word of praise he offered you was another dagger thrust into my wounded heart. Do you still doubt that he adores you? Has he already declared his love to you?”

  “What do I care, unjust man,” Ernestine replied, doing her best to calm the sole object of her affections, “what do I care about the fulsome praise this man enjoys showering upon me, so long as my heart belongs to you alone? Did you believe I was flattered by the attention he paid me?”

  “Yes, Ernestine, I did believe you were, and was not mistaken. Your eyes shone with pride at the knowledge you pleased him, all you did or said was intended for him alone.”

  “I resent these reproaches, Herman; coming from you they grieve me sorely. I thought you discerning enough, and possessed of sufficient tact, not to yield so easily to your fears. Very well, confess your concern to my father, and let us celebrate our marriage tomorrow, I have no objection.”

  Herman wasted no time taking advantage of her suggestion. He went straightway to Colonel Sanders, together with Ernestine, and throwing himself in the Colonel’s arms, made him swear upon everything he held holy that Sanders would raise no further objections to the consummation of their happiness.

  But pride had already wormed its way much further into Sanders’ heart than into his daughter’s, and in his there were fewer sentiments to counterbalance its effects. The Colonel, a man of honor and candor, was not in the least inclined to fail to keep the commitments he had made to Herman, but the thought of Oxtiern’s protection dazzled him. He had been quick to remark upon his daughter’s triumph over the Senator’s heart. His friends had insinuated to him that, if that passion resulted in the legitimate consequences he had every right to expect it would, his fortune would inevitably be made. These thoughts had preoccupied him throughout the night; in his mind he had made plans, had indulged in fantasies wherein his ambitions were realized. The timing was, in one word, bad; in fact, Herman could not have chosen a worse moment. None the less, Sanders was careful not to refuse the young man’s request; such conduct was alien to his nature. Moreover, might he not have built all his dreams upon a foundation of sand? What guarantee did he have of the reality of the fantasies wherewith he had been toying? Thus he fell back upon the selfsame reasons he had been in the habit of employing in the past: his daughter’s youth; the inheritance expected from her Aunt Plorman; the fear of provoking, against both Ernestine and himself, the full fury of Madame Scholtz who, now supported by the Senator, was all the more to be feared. Moreover, would it be wisest to choose the very moment when the Count was in town? It seemed pointless to make a spectacle of oneself, and if Madame Scholtz were truly going to be upset by this match, the very moment when she found herself buttressed by the Count’s favor and influence would surely be the moment when she risked to be most dangerous. Ernestine was more insistent than ever; her conscience was slightly guilty because of her conduct the evening before, and she was most anxious to prove to her friend that a chilling of her sentiments toward him could not be counted among her wrongs. The Colonel, uncertain as to the better course of action, and little accustomed to resisting his daughter’s entreaties, asked merely that she await the Senator’s departure, promising that he would then be the first to eliminate any remaining obstacles, even to the extent of going to see Madame Scholtz, if that became necessary, in order to calm her wrath, or to get her agreement to audit the accounts, for without a rendering of their accounts Herman could not properly effect a separation from his patroness.

  Herman left without feeling fully satisfied. He none the less felt reassured concerning his mistress’ sentiments, but he was consumed by a dark feeling of despair which he could not manage to dispel.

  No sooner had he left the Sanderses’ house than the Senator appeared. He had been brought hither by Madame Scholtz and had come, he declared, in order to pay his respects to the worthy soldier whom it had been his great privilege to encounter in the course of his visit, and at the same time requested permission to pay his respects as well to the charming Ernestine.

  The Colonel and his daughter received these compliments with the becoming modesty expected of them. Madame Scholtz, concealing her rage and jealousy because she began to perceive a whole host of possible means whereby she might implement the cruel designs concealed in her heart, showered fulsome praise upon the Colonel and endless compliments upon Ernestine, and the conversation was thus as pleasant as it could be under the circumstances.

  Several days passed in this manner, during which Sanders and his daughter, and the Count and Madame Scholtz, paid each other visits, dined together now at one house, now at another, all of which occurred without Herman’s ever participating in any of these pleasure-parties.

  During this period of several days, Oxtiern lost no opportunity to speak of his love, and it became impossible for Mademoiselle Sanders any longer to doubt that the Count was consumed with the most ardent passion for her; but Ernestine’s heart had protected her, and her boundless love for Herman prevented her from falling into the trap of pride a second time; she dismissed everything, demurred to everything, appeared restrained and dreamy at all the festive occasions to which she was invited, and she never came away from any without begging her father not to take her to any others. It was too late: Sanders, who as I have said did not have the same reasons to resist the bait tendered by Oxtiern, was an easy prey. There had been a number of secret conversations among Madame Scholtz, the Senator, and the Colonel, which had succeeded finally in dazzling poor Sanders, and the artful Oxtiern, without ever compromising himself overmuch, without ever once revealing his hand, simply persuading the Colonel that sooner or later ’twas the inevitable course of fate that things would work out the way he predicted, Oxtiern, I say, had so beguiled Sanders that not only had he extracted from him the promise not to honor his commitments to Herman, but also had convinced him to forsake his solitary existence in Norrköping and come to Stockholm, in order to take advantage of the influence he promised to exert in his behalf and the favors wherewith it was his intention to shower him.

  Ernestine, who in the course of all this activity had less of an opportunity to see her lover, none the less continued to write him, but as she knew he was full capable of an outburst of temper and wished to avoid any scene, she did her best to disguise all that was happening. Furthermore, she was far from reassured as to her father’s weakness. Before making any false promises to Herman, she resolved to clarify the situation.

  One morning she went into the Colonel’s room.

  “Father,” she said respectfully, “ ’twould appear the Senator intends to spend considerable time in Norrköping. Yet you have made a solemn promise to Herman that we would soon be wed. May I be so bold as to ask you whether you are still of the same mind? And why, pray tell, is’t necessary to wait for the Count’s departure before celebrating a marriage which we all desire with equal ardor?”

  “Ernestine,” said the Colonel, “sit down and listen to me. As long as I believed, my dear child,” he went on, “that your fortune and happiness could be found with young Herman, far from standing in the way I did everything in my power, as you have seen, to hasten your wishes to a happy conclusion. But when a happier fate awaits you, Ernestine, why do you wish me to sacrifice you?”

  “A happier fate, you say? If ’tis my happiness you care about, Father, never for one moment imagine that it might lie with anyone save my beloved Herman: ’tis only with him it can be assured. Never mind . . . I think I detect your plans . . . they appall me. . . . Ah! vouchsafe not to make me their victim.”

  “But, my child, my career depends upon these plans.”

  “Oh! Father, if the Count takes it upon himself to advance your fortune only at
the price of obtaining my hand in marriage . . . so be it, then the honors he promises you will be yours to enjoy, that I acknowledge, but he who sells them to you will not enjoy the prize he hopes for; I shall die before yielding to him.”

  “Ernestine, I judged your soul more tender . . . I thought you loved your father better.”

  “Ah! beloved author of my days, I thought your daughter was more precious to you, that . . . Wretched voyage! . . . vile seducer! . . . We were all happy before that man appeared here . . . we were faced with but a single obstacle, which we would have overcome. So long as my father was on my side, I feared nothing; when he abandons my camp, there is naught left for me to do but die. . . .”

  And the poor unhappy Ernestine, plunged into deep despair, was racked with sighs that would have moved even the hardest hearts to pity.

  “Listen, my child, listen to what I have to say before you give way to such distress,” said the Colonel, wiping away with a gentle caress the tears wherewith his daughter’s face was covered. “The Count wishes to make me happy, and although he has not positively said to me that he would demand your hand in return, ’tis easy enough to understand that such is his sole objective. He is sure, or so he pretends, that he can reinstate me into active military service; he requests that we go to live in Stockholm, he promises us the most flattering prospects if we do, and as soon as I arrive there he personally wishes to offer me, he says, a commission of a thousand ducats’ pension for my own past services and those of my father . . . a pension the Court, the Count hastens to add, would have granted long ago if we had had the least friend in the capital who would have spoken in our behalf. Ernestine . . . do you want to forgo all these favors? Do you mean you would turn your back on your own fortune, and upon mine?”

  “No, Father,” Sanders’ daughter replied firmly, “no I do not. But I ask one favor of you, and that is to put the Count to a test which I am sure he will fail. If he is serious in his intent to help you, as he says, and if he is honest, his friendship must be as steadfast as it is disinterested. If he imposes conditions upon it, his conduct is greatly to be feared: ’twould prove it is motivated by personal feelings, ’twould from that moment onward prove ’twas doubtless false. ’Tis no longer a friend you are involved with, but my seducer.”

  “He will marry you.”

  “He will do no such thing. And furthermore, Father, mark well my words: if his sentiments with what regards you are real, they should be independent of those he may have conceived for me. He cannot wish to please you if, in so doing, he is certain to make me suffer. He must, if he is virtuous and sensitive, exert his influence in your behalf as he has promised, without demanding me in return as his reward. In order to test the true manner of his thinking, tell him that you accept all his promises, but that you request, as an initial show of his generosity with what regards me, that he personally arrange for the marriage of your daughter with the only man in the world she can ever love. If the Count is loyal, if he is frank, if he is disinterested, he will agree; if his intention is but to sacrifice me by serving you, then he will reveal his hand. He has to reply to your proposition, and that proposition on your part should not surprise him, since, you say, he has not openly asked you for my hand. If his reply is to ask for it in return for his good works in your behalf, then he reveals he is more interested in serving his own ends than he is in serving yours, since he will know I am engaged and that, despite my heart’s commitment, he will still attempt to coerce me. In which case, the man’s soul is dishonest, and you should distrust his every offer, no matter in what glowing terms he describes it. A man of honor cannot aspire to the hand of a woman whose heart he knows will never be his. ’Tis not at the expense of the daughter that he must render service to her father. The test cannot fail, I beg you to try it. . . . If it succeeds . . . I mean if we become convinced that the Count’s intentions are legitimate, then we must consent to all he proposes: he will have furthered your advancement without in any wise infringing upon my felicity, and we shall all be happy. . . . We shall all be, Father, and you will have no regrets.”

  “Ernestine,” said the Colonel, “ ’tis very possible that the Count is an honest man, even though he may wish to help me only upon condition that you become his wife.”

  “Yes, were it not for the fact he knows I am engaged. But when you remind him of this fact, if he persists in desiring to serve you only in return for gaining his ends with what regards me, then his schemes are motivated by egoism alone, he shows himself to be wholly lacking in refinement. Consequently we must judge all his promises as extremely dubious. . . .”

  And Ernestine, casting herself in the Colonel’s arms:

  “O Father,” she cried, tears bathing her face, “grant me the test I demand, do not refuse me this one request, Father, I beseech you, do not sacrifice so cruelly a daughter whom you adore and who cannot live without you. Poor Herman would die of a broken heart, he would die hating us, I would soon follow him to the grave, and you would have lost the two souls your heart cherishes most deeply.”

  The Colonel loved his daughter; he was a generous and noble man. All one might reproach him for was that sort of good faith which, though it makes the honest man such an easy target for knaves, none the less reveals the full candor and frankness of a beautiful soul. He promised his daughter to do everything she asked, and the following day he spoke to the Senator.

  Oxtiern, more perfidious than Mademoiselle Sanders was delicate and discriminate, and who together with Madame Scholtz had doubtless foreseen every eventuality and prepared for it, replied to the Colonel in the manner most likely to give him entire satisfaction.

  “You mean you thought I was offering to help you out of my own selfish interest, my dear fellow? I would that you knew my heart better: ’tis filled with naught but the desire to be useful to you, quite apart from any other considerations. Assuredly, I love your daughter. ’Twould serve no purpose to conceal the fact from you. But the moment she deems I am incapable of making her happy, far be it from me to exert the least pressure to dissuade her. I shall not undertake to help her tie the bonds of hymen here, as you seem to desire: ’twould be too painful to my wounded heart. If I am to be sacrificed, allow me at least the privilege of not participating in the sacrifice myself. But the marriage shall take place; I shall contribute in some way to it and delegate my authority in the matter to Madame Scholtz. Since your daughter prefers to become the wife of a bookkeeper rather than of one of the foremost senators of Sweden, let the choice be hers. Have no fears that her choice prove harmful in any wise to the services I wish to render you. I intend to leave shortly. As soon as I have put a few urgent affairs in order, a carriage of mine will come to fetch you and your daughter. You and Ernestine will come to Stockholm; Herman can follow close behind and wed her there, or, if you prefer, wait here until I have succeeded in placing you in the post I have in mind for you, which would enhance the marriage.”

  “Worthy man!” said Sanders, clasping the Count’s hands in his own, “how grateful I am to you! The favors you vouchsafe to perform in our behalf will become all the more precious for being disinterested, and for having been done at the cost of a great personal sacrifice. . . . Ah! Senator, ’tis the ultimate degree of human generosity. In a century when virtue is so rare indeed, so noble an act should be rewarded by temples built to commemorate it.”

  “My friend,” said the Count in reply to the Colonel’s compliments, “an honest man is the first to benefit from the good he does. Are good deeds not the sustenance of his happiness?”

  The Colonel wasted no time in relating to his daughter the crucial conversation he had just had with Oxtiern. Ernestine was touched to tears by it, and was completely taken in by everything he said. Noble souls are unsuspecting, and easily convince themselves of the good in others of which they see themselves capable. Herman was not quite so credulous. A few rash remarks that Madame Scholtz had let slip, doubtless because of her joy at seeing her revenge all but assured, gave rise to
certain suspicions which he communicated to his mistress; this tender girl reassured him; she insinuated that a man of Oxtiern’s birth and station must perforce be incapable of duplicity. . . . The innocent creature, little did she know that vice, buttressed by noble birth and high station, and emboldened by impunity, becomes all the more dangerous.

  Herman said that he would like to have the matter out personally with the Count; Ernestine forbade him to resort to violence; the young man declared that such was not his intention. But essentially heeding naught but the dictates of his pride, his courage, and his love, he loaded two pistols. The following morning he slipped into the Count’s bedchamber, and surprising him while he was still abed, he said to him boldly:

  “Monsieur, I believe you to be a man of honor. Your name, your station, your wealth, all these persuade me that this is so. I therefore demand your word, Monsieur, your written word that you renounce all claims, the attentions you have displayed notwithstanding, to the affections of Ernestine. If you refuse, I shall expect you to accept one of these two weapons and engage me in a duel to the death.”

  The Senator, taken slightly aback by the compliment, began by asking Herman whether he had reflected seriously about what he was suggesting, and whether he believed a man of his high station was required to make any amends to a subaltern such as himself?

  “Spare me your insults, Monsieur,” Herman replied, “ ’tis not to hear your invectives I have come here, but, on the contrary, to ask that you give me satisfaction for the outrage you have done me in trying to seduce my mistress. A subaltern, you say, Senator! Every man has the right to demand redress for something that has been taken from him, or for an offense he has suffered. The prejudice which makes a distinction among the classes is pure fantasy. Nature has created all men equal; there is not a single one amongst us who has not issued from his mother’s womb naked and poor, not one whom she preserves or whom she annihilates differently from any other. The sole distinction among them I recognize is that which virtue confers upon them. The only man who is born to be the object of our contempt is he who uses the rights granted unto him by false conventions merely to indulge with greater impunity in vice. On your feet, Count! Were you a prince of royal blood, I would still demand from you the satisfaction which is due me. Get up, I say, and prepare to defend yourself forthwith, or I shall blow your brains out there where you lie.”