Jacques the Fatalist: And His Master

by Denis Diderot

  The letter which she gave the Marquis to read had been composed between the three women. It came as if from the daughter following her mother’s instructions and they had contrived to make it honest, sweet, touching, elegant and witty – in short everything that would touch the Marquis’ heart. So, on reading it he exclaimed at every word. There was not a sentence he didn’t read twice. He was crying with joy and said to Mme de La Pommeraye: ‘Admit it, Madame, one could not have written a letter better than that.’

  ‘I admit it.’

  ‘Every line fills me with admiration and respect for women of such character.’

  ‘That is as it should be.’

  ‘I will give you my word, only I beg you not to fail me on yours.’

  MME DE LA POMMERAYE: In all truth, Marquis, I am as foolish as you are. You must have retained terrible powers over me. That frightens me.

  MARQUIS: When will I see her?

  MME DE LA POMMERAYE: I don’t know. I must first find a way of arranging things without arousing suspicion. They can hardly be ignorant of your feelings.

  Imagine how my complicity would appear in their eyes if they thought I was acting in concert with you… Marquis, between you and me, do I need to saddle myself with these problems? Does it matter to me whether you are in love or you are not in love, or whether you are delirious? Get out of your mess by yourself. The role you are asking me to play is too bizarre.

  MARQUIS: My friend, if you abandon me I am lost! I will not speak to you about myself since that will offend you. But I entreat you on behalf of those touching and worthy creatures who are so dear to you. You know me: spare them from the follies of which I am capable. I will go to their house, yes, I will go there, I warn you of it. I will break down their door, and force my way past them. I will sit down and I don’t know what I will say or do because I could do anything in the violent state I am in.

  HOSTESS: You will have noticed, Messieurs, that from the beginning of this story, up to this point, the Marquis des Arcis has not said one word which was not like a knife thrust into the heart of Mme de La Pommeraye. She was bursting with indignation and rage and when she replied it was in a trembling, broken voice:

  MME DE LA POMMERAYE: You are right. Ah! If only I had been loved like that, perhaps… But let’s not speak of that… It is not for you that I will do this thing, but I flatter myself, Monsieur le Marquis, that you will at least allow me time.

  MARQUIS: The least I can.

  JACQUES: Ah! Madame! What a devil of a woman! Lucifer himself cannot be worse. I am trembling. I’d better have a drink to steady me… You will not leave me to drink alone?

  HOSTESS: Well, I am not afraid… Madame de La Pommeraye said to herself: ‘I am suffering, but I will not suffer alone. Cruel man. I do not know how long my torments will last but I will make yours last for ever…’

  She kept the Marquis waiting more than a month for the encounter she had promised. She left him all this time to suffer, to become more obsessed, and under the pretence of making the length of his waiting more tolerable she allowed him to speak to her of his passion.

  MASTER: And strengthen it in talking about it.

  JACQUES: What a woman! What a devil of a woman! Madame, my fears are mounting.

  HOSTESS: And so every day the Marquis would come and speak to Mme de La Pommeraye, who with her artful speeches succeeded in driving him to a peak of irritation, resolution and perdition. He found out about the birthplace, the education, the fortune and the misfortune of these two women. He came back to this all the time and never thought himself well enough informed or touched enough by the story. The Marquise pointed out how his feelings were becoming deeper and stronger and under the pretext of frightening him gradually got him used to considering what would be the final outcome of this process.

  ‘Marquis,’ she said to him, ‘take great care for yourself. This passion will take you to great lengths. There may well come a day when my friendship which you now abuse so strangely, will not excuse me in your eyes, or in those of others. It is not as though even greater follies are not a daily occurrence. Marquis, I have grave suspicions that you will only obtain this girl on conditions which up to now have not been to your liking.’

  When Mme de La Pommeraye believed the Marquis to be well set up for the successful completion of her plan, she arranged for the two women to come and have lunch at her house. She also arranged with the Marquis that he should come dressed for the country to put them off the scent. This was done.

  They were on the second course when the Marquis was announced. The Marquis, Mme de La Pommeraye and the two d’Aisnons gave a convincing display of embarrassment.

  ‘Madame, I have just returned from my estates. It is too late for me to return to my home and I am not expected there until this evening. I flattered myself that you would not refuse to invite me to luncheon.’

  While he was speaking he had taken a chair and sat down to table. The table had been set in such a way that he found himself next to the mother and opposite the daughter. He thanked Mme de La Pommeraye for this thoughtful gesture with a wink. After the confusion of the first moment the two devout ladies became more relaxed. They talked and even laughed. The Marquis was full of attention for the mother and maintained an attitude of very reserved politeness with the daughter. The scrupulousness of the Marquis to say and do nothing which might frighten them away gave the three women a great deal of secret amusement. They were inhuman enough to make him speak for three whole hours on matters of devotion. Madame de La Pommeraye said to him: ‘What you have been saying there is a marvellous tribute to your parents. One’s first lessons are never forgotten. You understand all the subtleties of divine love as if you had never read anything other than the writings of Saint Francis of Sales. You haven’t dabbled in quietism at some stage, have you?’

  ‘I really don’t remember any more.’

  Needless to say, our two pious ladies made their conversation as graceful, witty, charming and sophisticated as they could. They touched in passing upon the subject of the passions and Mlle Duquênoi (for that was her family name) maintained that there was only one dangerous passion. The Marquis was of the same opinion. Between six and seven o’clock the two ladies retired in spite of all efforts to make them stay. Madame de La Pommeraye maintained with Mme Duquênoi that one should always place duty first, otherwise one would hardly spend a day whose sweetness was not embittered by remorse. Eventually, to the great regret of the Marquis, they were gone, leaving the Marquis alone with Mme de La Pommeraye.

  MME DE LA POMMERAYE: Well, Marquis, you must admit that I am kind to you. Show me another woman in Paris who would have done as much for you.

  MARQUIS (throwing himself on his knees): I admit it. There is no one like you. Your kindness leaves me speechless. You are my only true friend in the whole world.

  MME DE LA POMMERAYE: Are you sure that you will always appreciate what I am doing for you as greatly?

  MARQUIS: I would be a monster of ingratitude were that not the case.

  MME DE LA POMMERAYE: Well, let’s change the subject. What is the state of your feelings?

  MARQUIS: The simple truth?… I must have that girl or I will die.

  MME DE LA POMMERAYE: You will have her without doubt. The question is, on what basis?

  MARQUIS: We will see.

  MME DE LA POMMERAYE: Marquis! Marquis! I know you and I know them. It is obvious.

  The Marquis did not show himself at Mme de La Pommeraye’s for about two months and this is what he did in the meantime. He got to know the confessor of the mother and daughter. He was a friend of the little priest of whom I’ve already spoken. This confessor, after having brought up every hypocritical objection that might be raised against a dishonest intrigue, and after having sold for the highest possible price the sanctity of his ministry, finally agreed to everything the Marquis wanted.

  The first villainy of this man of God was to alienate the benevolence of the parish priest and convince him that the two
protégées of Mme de La Pommeraye were depriving other parishioners who were more needy than themselves of the alms they were obtaining from the parish. His aim was to force them to do what he wanted through poverty.

  Next he sought, through the confessional, to sow discord between the mother and the daughter. When he heard the mother criticize the daughter he exaggerated the faults of the daughter and increased the resentment of the mother. If the daughter complained of her mother he suggested that the power of fathers and mothers over their children was limited and that if the persecution of the mother went beyond a certain point it would not be impossible to withdraw the daughter from such tyrannical authority, and for her penance he would order her to come back to confession.

  Another time he spoke to her of her charms, but in a frivolous manner. These were, he said, the most dangerous presents which God had given to a woman. He spoke of the great impression they had made on an honest man whose identity he did not reveal but which was easy to guess. From there he passed on to the infinite mercy of heaven and its indulgence for faults which certain circumstances made inevitable. He spoke of the weakness of human nature for which each of us finds excuse in himself. He spoke of the violence and the universality of certain feelings from which even the most saintly of men were not free. He asked her if she had ever experienced any desires, if her feelings ever spoke to her in dreams, if the presence of men did not trouble her. Next he brought up the question of whether a woman should give way to an impassioned man or resist him and so doom to death and damnation one for whom Christ’s blood was spilled. And he did not dare decide for her. Then he sighed deeply several times, raised his eyes to heaven and prayed for peace to be brought to troubled souls. The young girl let him carry on. Her mother and Mme de La Pommeraye, to whom she faithfully reported all of the advice of her spiritual director, suggested fresh revelations she might make to him which were all designed to lead him on further.

  JACQUES: Your Mme de La Pommeraye is a really wicked woman.

  MASTER: That is easily said, Jacques. But where does her wickedness come from? From the Marquis des Arcis. Let him be what he swore he would be and what he should have been; then find fault with Mme de La Pommeraye. When we are on our way again, you will accuse her, but I will make it my business to defend her. As for this priest, this vile seducer… I won’t attempt to defend him.

  JACQUES: The priest is such a wicked man that this whole business will put me off going to confession ever again. And you, Madame Hostess?

  HOSTESS: I shall continue my visits to my old parish priest who isn’t the least bit curious and only ever hears what people say to him.

  JACQUES: Perhaps if we drink to the health of your old parish priest?

  HOSTESS: I’ll take you up on that for he’s a good man, who allows the boys and girls to dance on Sundays and feast days and lets the men and the women come here provided they don’t come out drunk. To my parish priest!

  JACQUES: To your parish priest!

  HOSTESS: The three women were certain that very soon the man of God would risk giving a letter to his penitent, and this he did. But what a performance he made of it! He didn’t know who it came from. He was certain, however, that it had come from some well-meaning charitable soul who had discovered how badly off the two ladies were and was offering help. He often passed on similar letters. He advised that since the girl was wise and her mother prudent she should open the letter only in her mother’s presence. Mademoiselle Duquênoi accepted the letter and gave it to her mother, who straight away sent it to Mme de La Pommeraye. She, armed with the letter, summoned the priest, overwhelmed him with the reproaches he deserved and threatened to report him to his superiors if he caused any more trouble.

  In the letter the Marquis exhausted almost his entire vocabulary in praise of himself, in praise of Mlle Duquênoi, painted his passion in all its violence, made drastic offers and even proposed a kidnapping.

  After her lecture to the priest Mme de La Pommeraye called the Marquis to her and pointed out to him in the strongest terms how his conduct was little worthy of a man of the world and how much it could compromise her. She showed him his letter and protested that in spite of the tender friendship which united them she could not promise to withhold it from the hands of the law or from Mme Duquênoi if the daughter were involved in any scandal.

  ‘Ah! Marquis,’ she said, ‘love has corrupted you. You were surely born under an evil sign since love, which inspires great actions, can only prompt you to such degrading ones. What have these poor women done to you that you should want to add ignominy to their poverty? Just because this girl is beautiful and wants to remain virtuous, do you have to become her persecutor? What right have you to make her hate heaven’s greatest gift? What have I deserved, to be your accomplice in this? Come, Marquis, down on your knees and ask me to forgive you and give me your oath that you will leave my poor friends in peace.’

  The Marquis promised her not to do anything without her permission but he had to have this girl, whatever the cost. The Marquis was anything but faithful to his word. The mother knew how things stood and he did not hesitate to address himself to her. He wrote admitting the wickedness of his plans and he offered a considerable sum of money by way of a token of what the future might bring. His letter was accompanied by a jewel box full of rich stones.

  The three women held counsel. The mother and the daughter were of a mind to accept but this was not what Mme de La Pommeraye wanted. She reminded them of the promise they had given her and threatened to reveal everything. And so, to the great regret of the two devout ladies, the younger woman had to take off the diamond ear-rings which suited her so well, and the jewel case and the letter were returned with a reply full of pride and indignation. Madame de La Pommeraye complained to the Marquis about the unreliability of his promises. The Marquis excused himself by pointing out that it was impossible for him to ask her to carry out such a dishonourable errand.

  ‘Marquis, Marquis,’ Mme de La Pommeraye replied, ‘I have already warned you and I repeat my warning. You have not got what you want but this is not the time to preach to you. That would be a waste of breath. There is nothing left to do.’

  The Marquis admitted that he thought as she did and asked her permission to make one last attempt. This was to settle a considerable sum on the two women, to share his fortune with them, and to settle on them for life one of his town houses and another in the country.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said the Marquise, ‘I forbid only violence. But believe me, my friend, when honour and virtue are real, their value to those who are fortunate enough to possess them is beyond price. Your new offers will not be any more successful than the previous ones. I know these women and I will stake my life on it.’

  The new propositions were made. The three women again held counsel together. The mother and daughter waited in silence for the decision of Mme de La Pommeraye. She paced up and down for a while without speaking: ‘No, no,’ she said, ‘it is not enough for my wounded heart.’ And as soon as she announced her refusal the two women burst into tears, threw themselves at her feet and protested how terrible it was for them to reject an immense fortune which they could accept without any awkward consequences.

  Madame de La Pommeraye replied harshly: ‘Do you imagine that I am doing what I do for you? Who are you? What do I owe you? Why should I not send the two of you back to your brothel? If what is being offered is too much for you, it is not enough for me. Write down the reply I dictate to you, Madame, and I want to see it go off.’

  The two women went away more frightened than sorrowful.

  JACQUES: This woman has the devil in her. What does she want? What! Isn’t the loss of half a great fortune punishment enough for the waning of love?

  MASTER: Jacques, you’ve never been a woman, still less a respectable one, and you are judging with reference to your own character, which is not that of Mme de La Pommeraye. Do you want to know what I think? I’m very much afraid that the marriage of the Marquis des A
rcis and a whore is written up above.

  JACQUES: If it is written up above it will be.

  HOSTESS: The Marquis soon visited Mme de La Pommeraye again: ‘Well,’ she asked him, ‘what about your new offers?’

  MARQUIS: Made and rejected. It has driven me to despair. I would like to tear this unfortunate passion from my heart. I would like to tear out my heart itself and I am not able to. Marquise, look at me. Do you not see certain similarities between me and this young girl?

  MME DE LA POMMERAYE: Although I have not said anything to you I had noticed. But that’s not the point. What have you decided to do?

  MARQUIS: I cannot come to any decision. One minute I am seized with the urge to leap into a post-chaise and travel to the ends of the earth. The next I am left completely helpless, I cannot think straight, I go into a daze and I do not know what to do with myself.

  MME DE LA POMMERAYE: I do not advise you to travel. It is not worth going as far as Villejuif just to come back again.40

  The next day the Marquis wrote to the Marquise that he was leaving for his estates, he would stay as long as he could and he begged her to look after his interests with her two friends if the opportunity arose. His absence was short. He came back resolved to marry.