I answered him with complete candor, and we struck up a conversation as we took two full turns around the garden. Monsieur de refused to let me leave before I told him who it was he had had the honor of helping the previous day. I saw no reason not to give him my name, and he in turn introduced himself, after which we went our separate ways.
For almost a month, Monsieur, we saw each other in this manner every single day, and as you can well imagine, before the month was out we had confessed to each other our true feelings, without going so far, however, as to swear to our undying love.
Ultimately, Monsieur de *** beseeched me to let him see me someplace less crowded than a public garden.
“I don’t dare call on you at your father’s, dear Emilie,” he said to me, “since I’ve never had the honor of being properly introduced to him, and he might well suspect the motives of my visit. Such a step, rather than helping further our plans, might do just the opposite. But if you are really kind and caring enough not to let me die of a broken heart by refusing to grant me what I dare ask of you, then I shall tell you how it can be arranged.”
At first I turned a deaf ear to any such proposal, but I soon weakened and asked him just what he had in mind. What he proposed, Sir, was that we meet three times a week at the house of one Madame Berceil, a milliner whose shop was on the rue des Arcis.2 He added that he could vouch for the woman’s discretion and honesty, which he said were on a par with those of his own mother.
“Since your father gives you permission to visit your aunt, who you have told me lives not far from Madame Berceil, you need only announce that you are going to pay her a visit, which indeed you shall for a short time, then spend the rest of the time that you would have spent with your aunt at Madame Berceil’s. If anyone ever inquires of your aunt whether you had indeed come to see her on the day you had announced you would, she will respond in the affirmative. Therefore, it is only a matter of timing the length of your visits carefully, and you may be sure that so long as you are trusted no one will ever think to query her on that score.”
I shall spare you, Sir, the details of the many objections I raised to his proposal, to convince him how unwise it was and all the dangers it posed. What would be the point of listing for you those objections, since in the end I did succumb? I promised Monsieur de *** whatever he wanted, and the twenty louts he slipped to Julie without my knowledge won her over completely to his cause, while I for my part was working assiduously to seal my own doom. To seal it even more securely, as well as to intoxicate myself even longer and at greater leisure with the sweet poison that was seeping into my heart, I told my aunt an out-and-out lie: I informed her that one of my young friends (a woman I had sworn to secrecy and who had promised to respond to anyone’s questions with appropriate reassurances), had been good enough to invite me to join her three times a week in her box at the National Theatre. I didn’t dare tell my father, I told her, for fear he might raise some objection, but what I would tell him is that I was visiting my aunt on those days, and I begged her to swear that what I said was true. She hesitated at first, but finally yielded to my pleas, and what we arranged was that Julie would come to see her in my place and that after the play I would stop by, pick her up, and go home together. I showered my aunt with grateful kisses. Oh, how passion can blind one completely! I was thanking her for helping contribute to my downfall, for helping me open the door to the transgressions that were about to bring me to the very edge of the grave!
And so at long last our meetings at Madame Berceil’s house began. Her store was impeccable, her house completely respectable. She was a woman of forty or so, in whom I thought I could confide without reservation. Alas, I placed far too much trust not only in her but also in my lover… perfidious man that he turned out to be. For it is time to confess, Monsieur, that in the course of my sixth visit to that accursed house, he had acquired such a hold over me, and was so totally seductive, that I became in his arms the idol of his passion and the victim of my own … Cruel pleasures, how many tears have you caused me to shed? With how much remorse have you broken my heart, and how much more is yet to come, till I draw my final breath?
A full year passed in this deadly illusion, Monsieur. I had just turned seventeen. Day after day my father spoke of finding me a proper husband, which made me shudder at the very prospect, when a fateful event finally occurred that hurled me into the eternal abyss into which I was plunged. It was doubtless with the sad permission of Providence that something of which I was completely innocent served to punish the sins of which I was indeed guilty, in order to show that we never escape from her clutches, that she follows whomsoever strays from the straight and narrow, and that it is from the event that one least suspects she fashions, little by little, her instrument of revenge.
Monsieur de *** had informed me one day that some indispensable business matter was going to detain him and prevent him from enjoying the pleasure of the full three hours of my company that we were wont to spend together. Still, he assured me, he would arrive for the last minutes of our allotted time, suggesting that, so as not to alter our normal procedure, I should nonetheless come at the usual time to Madame Berceil’s. Spending an hour or two with her and her shop girls, he reminded me, would still be more fun than if I were to spend that same time by myself at home. I had sufficient confidence in the good lady not to raise any objection to my lover’s proposal, so I promised to do as he said, only begging him not to keep me waiting too long. He assured me he would wind up his business with all due speed, and I arrived at Madame Berceil’s. O what a terrible day it would turn out to be for me!
Madame Berceil greeted me at the entrance of her shop, but did not allow me to go upstairs as was our custom.
“Mademoiselle,” she said as soon as she saw me, “I’m actually delighted that Monsieur de cannot make it today at the appointed hour. I have something I must tell you in utter confidence, something I daren’t tell him. It requires both of us to leave these premises for a brief moment, which we couldn’t do if he were here.”
“But what exactly are you referring to?” I asked, a bit taken aback by her words of greeting.
“Nothing serious, Mademoiselle, a mere trifle,” she went on. “Do set your mind at rest, it’s a matter of no importance. My mother has become aware of your affair with Monsieur de *** She’s an old shrew, as straitlaced as any priest of the Church. I indulge her because she has money. Anyway, she’s made it very clear she doesn’t want you to meet here anymore, which somehow I couldn’t bring myself to tell Monsieur de *** In any case, here’s what I thought we might do. I’m going to take you straightaway to a lady friend of mine, a woman my own age and fully as discreet. I’ll introduce you, and if you like her you’ll inform Monsieur de *** that I’ve taken you there, that this woman is decent and honorable and you’re perfectly comfortable with the notion that your meetings will henceforth take place at her house. If she doesn’t make a good impression on you, which I seriously doubt, then there’s no point in even mentioning it to him, since we’ll only have stayed there for a few moments. In which case, I’ll take it upon myself to inform him that I can no longer lend him my premises, and you two can work it out together where you should meet in the future.”
Madame Berceil’s words were so straightforward, her manner and tone so natural, my trust in her so complete and my innocence so unequivocal, that I hadn’t the slightest problem agreeing to her proposal. My only regret was that it would be henceforth impossible, for the reasons she had explained, for us to enjoy her hospitality. I thanked her for all her generosity to date, and together we left the house. The place to which she took me was on the same street as hers, only sixty or eighty steps away From the outside, the house looked completely respectable: a coach door, lovely casement window looking onto the street: the whole place exuded an air of decency and propriety. And yet a secret voice deep within my heart seemed to cry out to me that some untoward event would befall me in that ill-fated house. With every step I took up the st
airs I felt an increasing repugnance; everything seemed to be saying to me: “Where are you going, you poor girl? Run, run away as fast as you can from this abominable place …”
We reached the top of the stairs and entered a rather handsome antechamber, which was empty, and from there proceeded into a drawing room, the door to which immediately closed, as if someone had been lurking behind it. I began to shake like a leaf. The room was dark, so dark in fact it was hard to make one’s way through it. Barely had we taken three or four steps than I felt myself seized from behind by two women, at which point the door to a small side room opened, revealing a man about fifty years old flanked by two other women.
“Off with her clothes,” these two woman shouted at the two who had grabbed me, “take off all her clothes and don’t bring her over here till she is stark naked.”
When the first two women had taken me by surprise it was as if I had lost my wits. Regaining them, I realized that my possible salvation lay not in giving in to fright but in raising my voice as loud and long as possible. My shouts would have awakened the dead, and Madame Berceil did her best to calm me down.
“This will take but a minute, Mademoiselle,” she said. “Just relax, I beg of you, and I’ll be fifty louts the richer for it.”
“You horrible creature!” I shouted, “don’t think for a moment that my honor is for sale. If you don’t let me go this minute, I swear I’ll jump out the window!”
“Silly child,” responded one of the female scoundrels, “if you did you’d only land in the courtyard of this house and you’d be quickly recaptured.” Saying which she ripped off my clothes, adding: “If you want my advice, the quickest way for you to leave here is to relax and let happen what will.”
Oh, Monsieur, spare me the rest of the frightful details. I was stripped naked in a trice, my shouts were stifled by methods I can only say were barbaric, and I was dragged toward this vile man who made sport of my tears and obviously was enjoying my efforts to wrest free, giving his full attention to making use of this miserable victim whose heart he was breaking. The two women continued to keep a tight grip on me and deliver me over to this monster, who, having me completely in his power, could do with me what he would. And yet he doused the fires of his guilty ardor with but some impure probing and equally odious kisses, which nonetheless left my honor intact…
They quickly helped me on with my clothes and turned me back over to Madame Berceil. Barely conscious, my mind clouded and bewildered, filled with a kind of dark and bitter anger that froze the tears deep within my heart, I looked at that women with uncontrolled fury.
“Mademoiselle,” she began even before we had left the antechamber, and even in my state of rage I could see that she was terribly upset, “I sense the full horror of what I have just done, but I beg you to forgive me … as well as think long and hard before you contemplate creating a scandal. If you tell Monsieur de what has happened, there is no point in trying to convince him that you were brought here against your will. The ‘sin’ of which you are guilty is one he will never forgive, and to inform him of it will mean the end of your relationship with the man you most want to spare, since you no longer have any way of restoring the honor which he has taken from you except by his agreeing to marry you. And you may be sure that if you tell him what happened today he will never consent to ask for your hand.”
“You vile woman,” I said, “why have you plunged me into this abyss, why have you placed me in such a situation where my choices are either to deceive my lover or lose both my honor and him?”
“Not so fast, young lady. Let’s not waste any more time talking about what is done. We haven’t much time: let’s focus on what needs to be done. If you speak out you are lost. If on the other hand you don’t say a word, then my house will always be open to you, no one will ever betray you, and you will keep your lover. Think about it: if you decide to take revenge on me—and I couldn’t give a fig if you decided to, since I hold the key to your little secret and will always have Monsieur de to fall back on—if, I say, you think it will give you some little pleasure to try to avenge yourself, dwell for a moment on all the frightful repercussions that would result…”
Realizing fully at that point what a terrible woman I was dealing with, and overwhelmed by the force of her reasonings, however frightful they were, I said:
“Let us leave this house, Madame, I don’t want to linger here another instant. I shall say nothing of all this, as will you. I shall continue to use your services, since I cannot break off our relations without the most dire consequences, which I most eagerly desire not be revealed. But know full well that in my heart of hearts I hate and despise you as thoroughly as you deserve to be.”
We made our way back to Madame de Berceil’s. Good Lord! As if I had not had my share of trouble for one day, I was greeted by the news that Monsieur de had already been there, that he had been told that Madame was out on some urgent business and that Mademoiselle had not yet arrived. At the same time, one of the shop girls handed me a note that he had hastily penned for me. All it said was: “I did not find you here. I imagine that you were detained from coming at the usual hour. I cannot see you today, since I cannot wait. I’ll see you two days hence, without fail.”
I was not reassured by the note, the cold tone of which did not seem to augur well. Couldn’t wait, so little patience … All that upset me more than I can describe. Was it possible he knew all about what had happened, that he had followed us? In which case was I not lost, a poor dishonored creature? Berceil was just as worried as I, and checking with her shop girls she learned that Monsieur de *** had arrived no more than three minutes after we had left the premises, that he had seemed quite upset, and that he had left but come back perhaps half an hour later to scribble the note. More upset than ever, I sent someone to fetch me a carriage. But would you believe, Monsieur, the impudence of that woman Berceil, the degree to which she was steeped in vice?
“Mademoiselle,” she said to me, seeing I was about to leave, “remember, your lips are sealed. I trust a word to the wise is sufficient. But if you and Monsieur de *** should ever break off relations, believe me, you ought to think about taking advantage of your newfound freedom and participate in these little pleasure parties. Far better than having a single lover. I know, I know you’re a proper lady and all that, but you are young, and I’m sure your family doesn’t give you much spending money. You’re such a pretty young thing, I could help you make as much money as you like … Come, come now, you’re not the only one. There are endless numbers of fine ladies, many from the best families, who end up marrying marquises and counts, who either of their own accord or through the intermediary of their governesses, have passed through our hands as you have today. We have special customers who are ready and waiting for little dolls like you, as you have seen for yourself.3 These gentlemen use them as they would a rose: they enjoy the fragrance but make sure the flower itself is not withered. Farewell, my pet, and in any event let there be no bad blood between us. As you can see, I may yet be useful to you.”
I cast a look of horror upon this vile creature and quickly left without responding. I picked Julie up at my aunt’s as was my custom, and returned home.
I had no way of contacting Monsieur de *** Since we saw each other three times a week we were not in the habit of writing. Thus I would have to wait until our next assignation … What was he going to say to me?… What would I answer? Should I keep the whole thing a secret? Wasn’t there a danger in that, namely that it might come to light anyway? Wouldn’t it therefore be wiser to make a full confession?… All these different possibilities kept me in a state of indescribable anxiety. Finally I made up my mind to follow Berceil’s advice. It was in her self-interest to keep the secret, and so I decided to follow her lead and keep my own lips sealed as well. Good heavens! What was the point of endlessly mulling all these possible courses of action, since I was never to see my lover again and because the lightning bolt that was about to strike me was already fla
shing its warning signs on all sides.
The day following that frightful incident, my eldest brother asked me why it was I took it upon myself to leave the house so many days each week and at such odd hours.
“I spend the afternoons with our aunt,” I replied.
“That’s not true, Emilie,” he said. “You haven’t set foot there in a month.”
Trembling now, I said to him: “The fact is, my dear brother, that one of my lady friends—you know her, Madame de St. Clair—has been kind enough to invite me to join her three times a week in her box at the National Theatre. I didn’t dare tell Father about it for fear he would disapprove. But Auntie knows all about it.”
“Ah, so you’re going to the theatre,” my brother said. “You should have told me, I would have been happy to escort you there and bring you home. That would have been so much simpler. But to go there alone, with someone to whom you’re not even related and who is almost as young as you …”
“Come, come now, my friend,” said my other brother, who had come into the room while we were talking, “Mademoiselle has her little pleasures, and far be it for us to interfere with them … She’s doubtless out looking for a husband, and with that kind of behavior chances are she is honey to all those buzzing bees …”
The Mystified Magistrate Page 11
