As for mine, he only sucked and chewed them. At length, he placed Suzanne on her knees at the edge of the sofa, he made her bend her head and in this attitude he enjoyed her according to the frightful manner natural to him; awakened by new pains, Suzanne struggles and Roland, who simply wishes to skirmish, is content with a brisk passage of arms, and comes to take refuge in me at the same shrine at which he has sacrificed in my companion whom he does not cease to vex and molest the while.
“There’s a whore who excites me cruelly,” he says to me, “I don’t know what to do with her.”
“Oh, Monsieur,” say I, “have pity upon her; her sufferings could not be more intense.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong!” the villain replies, “one might . . . ah I if only I had with me that celebrated Emperor Kie, one of the greatest scoundrels ever to have sat on the Chinese throne,’ (Kie, the Emperor of China, had a wife as cruel and debauched as he; bloodshed was as naught to them, and for their exclusive pleasure they spilled rivers of it every day; Within their palace they had a secret chamber where victims were put to death before their eyes and while they enjoyed themselves. Theo, one of this Prince’s successors had, like him, a very bloodthirsty wife; they invented a brass column and this great cylinder they would heat red hot; unlucky persons were bound to it while the royal couple looked on: “The Princess,” writes the historian from whom we have borrowed these touches, “was infinitely entertained by these melancholy victims’ contortions and screams; she was not content unless her husband gave her this spectacle frequently.” Hist. des Conj. vol. 7, page 43.) . . . with Kie we’d really be able to perform wonders. Both he and his wife, they say, immolated victims daily and would have them live twenty-four hours in death’s cruelest agonies, and in such a state of suffering that they were constantly on the verge of expiring but never quite able to die, for those monsters administered that kind of aid which made them flutter between relief and torture and only brought them back to life for one minute in order to kill them the next. . . . I, Thérèse, I am too gentle, I know nothing of those arts, I’m a mere apprentice.”
Roland retires without completing the sacrifice and hurts me almost as much by this precipitous withdrawal as he had upon inserting himself. He throws himself into Suzanne’s arms, and joining sarcasm to outrage:
“Amiable creature,” he apostrophizes, “with such delight I remember the first instants of our union; never had woman given me such thrilling pleasures, never had I loved one as I did you . . . let us embrace, Suzanne, for we’re going to part, perhaps the season of our separation will be long.”
“Monster!” my companion retorts, thrusting him away with horror, “begone; to the torments you inflict upon me, join not the despair of hearing your terrible remarks; sate your rage, tigerish one, but at least respect my sufferings.”
Roland laid hands on her, stretched her upon the couch, her legs widespread, and the workshop of generation ideally within range.
“Temple of my ancient pleasures,” the infamous creature intoned, “you who procured me delights so sweet when I plucked your first roses, I must indeed address to you my farewells. . . .”
The villain! he drove his fingernails into it and, rummaging about inside for a few minutes while screams burst from Suzanne’s mouth, he did not withdraw them until they were covered with blood. Glutted and wearied by these horrors, and feeling, indeed, he could restrain himself no longer:
“Come, Thérèse, come,” he said, “let’s conclude all this with a little scene of funambulism: it’ll be cut-the-cord, dear girl.” (This game, described above, was in great use amongst the Celts from whom we are descended (see Monsieur Peloutier’s ‘Histoire d’u Celts’); virtually all these extravagances of debauchery, these extraordinary libertine passions some part of which are described in this book and which,—how ridiculously! today awaken the law’s attention, were, in days bygone, either our ancestors’ sports, games far superior to our contemporary amusement, or legalized customs, or again, religious ceremonies; currently, they are transformed into crimes. In how many pious rituals did not the pagans employ flagellation! Several people used these identical tortures, or passions, to initiate their warriors; this was known as huscanaver (viz., the religious ceremonies of every race on earth). These pleasantries, whose maximum inconvenience may be at the very most the death of a slut, are capital crimes at the moment. Three cheers for the progress of civilization! How it conspires to the happiness of man, and how much more fortunate than our forebears we are!) . . .
That was the name he gave that deadly legerdemain of which I gave you a description when I mentioned Roland’s cavern for the first time. I mount the three-legged stool, the evil fellow fits the halter about my neck, he takes his place opposite me; although in a frightful state, Suzanne excites him manually; an instant passes, then he snaps the stool from beneath me, but equipped with the sickle, I sever the cord immediately and fall uninjured to the ground.
“Nicely done, very neat!” says Roland, “your turn, Suzanne, there it is, and I’ll spare you, if you manage as cleverly.”
Suzanne takes my place. Oh, Madame, allow me to pass over that dreadful scene’s details. . . . The poor thing did not recover from it.
“And now off we go, Thérèse,” says Roland, “you’ll not return to this place until your time has come.”
“Whenever you like, Monsieur, whenever you like,” I reply; “I prefer death to the frightful life you have me lead. Are there wretches such as we for whom life can be valuable? . . .”
And Roland locked me into my cell. The next day my companions asked what had become of Suzanne and I told them; they were hardly surprised; all were awaiting the same fate and each, like me, seeing therein a term to their suffering, passionately longed for it.
And thus two years went by, Roland indulging in his customary debauchery, I lingering on with the prospect of a cruel death, when one day the news went about the château that not only were our master’s expectations satisfied, not only had he received the immense quantity of Venetian funds he had wished, but that he had even obtained a further order for another six millions in counterfeit coin for which he would be reimbursed in Italy when he arrived to claim payment; the scoundrel could not possibly have enjoyed better luck; he was going to leave with an income of two millions, not to mention his hopes of getting more: this was the new piece of evidence Providence had prepared for me. This was the latest manner in which it wished to convince me that prosperity belongs to Crime only and indigence to Virtue.
Matters were at this stage when Roland came to take me to his cavern a third time. I recollect what he threatened me with on my previous visit, I shudder. . . .
“Rest assured,” he says, “you’ve nothing to fear, ’tis a question of something which concerns me alone . . . an uncommon joy I’d like to taste and from which you will incur no risks.”
I follow him. When the doors are shut:
“Thérèse,” says Roland, “there’s no one in the house but you to whom I dare confide the problem; I’ve got to have a woman of impeccable honesty. . . . I’ve no one about but you, I confess that I prefer you to my sister. . . .
Taken aback, I entreat him to clarify himself.
“Then listen,” says he; “my fortune is made, but whatever be the favors I have received from fate, it can desert me at any instant; I may be trapped, I could be caught while transporting my bullion, and if that misfortune occurs, Thérèse, it’s the rope that’s waiting for me: ’tis the same delight I am pleased to have women savor: that’s the one will serve as my undoing; I am as firmly persuaded as I can possibly be that this death is infinitely sweeter than cruel; but as the women upon whom I have tested its initial anguishes have never really wished to tell me the truth, it is in person I wish to be made acquainted with the sensation. By way of the experience itself I want to find out whether it is not very certain this asphyxiation impels, in t
he individual who undergoes it, the erectory nerve to produce an ejaculation; once convinced this death is but a game, I’ll brave it with far greater courage, for it is not my existence’s cessation terrifies me: my principles are determined upon that head and well persuaded matter can never become anything but matter again, I have no greater dread of Hell than I have expectation of Paradise; but a cruel death’s torments make me apprehensive; I don’t wish to suffer when I perish; so let’s have a try. You will do to me everything I did to you; I’ll strip; I’ll mount the stool, you’ll adjust the rope, I’ll excite myself for a moment, then, as soon as you see things assume a certain consistency, you’ll jerk the stool free and I’ll remain hanging; you’ll leave me there until you either discern my semen’s emission or symptoms of death’s throes; in the latter case, you’ll cut me down at once; in the other, you’ll allow Nature to take her course and you’ll not detach me until afterward. You observe, Thérèse, I’m putting my life in your hands; your freedom, your fortune will be your good conduct’s reward.”
“Ah, Monsieur, there’s folly in the proposition.”
“No, Thérèse, I insist the thing be done,” he answered, undressing himself, “but behave yourself well; behold what proof I give you of my confidence and high regard!”
What possibility of hesitation had I? Was he not my master? Furthermore, it seemed to me the evil I was going to do him would be immediately offset by the extreme care I would take to save his life: I was going to be mistress of that life, but whatever might be his intentions with respect to me, it would certainly only be in order to restore it to him.
We take our stations; Roland is stimulated by a few of his usual caresses; he climbs upon the stool, I put the halter round his neck; he tells me he wants me to curse him during the process, I am to reproach him with all his life’s horrors, I do so; his dart soon rises to menace Heaven, he himself gives me the sign to remove the stool, I obey; would you believe it, Madame? nothing more true than what Roland had conjectured: nothing but symptoms of pleasure ornament his countenance and at practically the same instant rapid jets of semen spring nigh to the vault. When ’tis all shot out without any assistance whatsoever from me, I rush to cut him down, he falls, unconscious, but thanks to my ministrations he quickly recovers his senses.
“Oh Thérèse!” he exclaims upon opening his eyes, “oh, those sensations are not to be described; they transcend all one can possibly say: let them now do what they wish with me, I stand unflinching before Themis’ sword!
“You’re going to find me guilty yet another time, Thérèse,” Roland went on, tying my hands behind my back, “no thanks for you, but, dear girl, what can one expect? a man doesn’t correct himself at my age. . . . Beloved creature, you have just saved my life and never have I so powerfully conspired against yours; you lamented Suzanne’s fate; ah well, I’ll arrange for you to meet again; I’m going to plunge you alive into the dungeon where she expired.”
I will not describe my state of mind, Madame, you fancy what it was; in vain did I weep, groan, I was not heeded. Roland opened the fatal dungeon, he hangs out a lamp so that I can still better discern the multitude of corpses wherewith it is filled; next, he passes a cord under my arms which, as you know, are bound behind my back, and by means of this cord he lowers me thirty feet: I am twenty more from the bottom of the pit: in this position I suffer hideously, it is as if my arms are being torn from their sockets. With what terror was I not seized I what a prospect confronted my eyes! Heaps of bodies in the midst of which I was going to finish my life and whose stench was already infecting me. Roland cinches the rope about a stick fitted above the hole then, brandishing a knife, I hear him exciting himself.
“Well, Thérèse,” he cries, “recommend your soul to God, the instant my delirium supervenes will be that when I plunge you into the eternal abyss awaiting you; ah . . . ah . . . Thérèse, ah . . .” and I feel my head covered with proof of his ecstasy; but, happily, he has not parted the rope: he lifts me out.
“Ha,” says he, “were you afraid?”
“Oh, Monsieur—”
“’Tis thus you’ll die, be sure of it, Thérèse, be sure of it, and ’twas pleasant to familiarize you with your egress.”
We climb back to the light. . . . Was I to complain? or be thankful? What a reward for what I had just done for him! But had the monster not been in a position to do more? Could he not have killed me? Oh, what a man!
Roland prepared his departure; on the eve of setting out he pays me a visit; I fall before his feet, most urgently I beg him to free me and to give me whatever little sum of money he would like, that I might be able to reach Grenoble.
“Grenoble! Certainly not, Thérèse, you’d denounce us when you got there.”
“Very well, Monsieur,” I say, sprinkling his knees with my tears, “I swear to you I’ll never go there and, to be sure of me, condescend to take me to Venice with you; I will perhaps find gentler hearts there than in my native land, and once you are so kind as to set me free, I swear to you by all that is holy I will never importune you.”
“I’ll not aid you, not a pennyworth of aid will you get from me,” that peerless rogue answered; “everything connected with pity, commiseration, gratitude is so alien to my heart that were I three times as rich as I am, they’d not see me give one crown to the poor; the spectacle of misery irritates me, amuses me, and when I am unable to do evil myself, I have a delicious time enjoying that accomplished by the hand of destiny. Upon all this I have principles to which, Thérèse, I adhere faithfully; poverty is part of the natural order; by creating men of dissimilar strength, Nature has convinced us of her desire that inequality be preserved even in those modifications our culture might bring to Nature’s laws. To relieve indigence is to violate the established order, to imperil it, it is to enter into revolt against that which Nature has decreed, it is to undermine the equilibrium that is fundamental to her sublimest arrangements; it is to strive to erect an equality very perilous to society, it is to encourage indolence and flatter drones, it is to teach the poor to rob the rich man when the latter is pleased to refuse the former alms, for it’s a dangerous habit, and gratuities encourage it.”
“Oh, Monsieur, how harsh these principles are! Would you speak thus had you not always been wealthy?”
“Who knows, Thérèse? everyone has a right to his opinion, that’s mine, and I’ll not change it. They complain about beggars in France: if they wished to be rid of them, the thing could soon be done; hang seven or eight thousand of ’em and the infamous breed will vanish overnight. The Body Politic should be governed by the same rules that apply to the Body Physical. Would a man devoured by vermin allow them to feed upon him out of sympathy? In our gardens do we not uproot the parasitic plant which harms useful vegetation? Why then should one choose to act otherwise in this case?”
“But Religion,” I expostulated, “benevolence, Monsieur, humanity . . .”
“ . . . are the chopping blocks of all who pretend to happiness,” said Roland; “if I have consolidated my own, it is only upon the debris of all those infamous prejudices of mankind; ’tis by mocking laws human and divine; ’tis by constantly sacrificing the weak when I find them in my path, ’tis by abusing the public’s good faith; ’tis by ruining the poor and stealing from the rich I have arrived at the summit of that precipice whereupon sits the temple sacred to the divinity I adore; why not imitate me? The narrow road leading to that shrine is as plainly offered to your eyes as mine; the hallucinatory virtues you have preferred to it, have they consoled you for your sacrifices? ’Tis too late, luckless one, ’tis too late, weep for your sins, suffer, and strive to find in the depths of the phantoms you worship, if any finding there is to be done, what the reverence you have shown them has caused you to lose.”
With these words, the cruel Roland leaps upon me and I am again forced to serve the unworthy pleasures of a monster I had such good reason to abh
or; this time I thought he would strangle me; when his passions were satisfied, he caught up the bull’s pizzle and with it smote me above a hundred blows all over my body, the while assuring me I was fortunate he lacked the time to do more.
On the morrow, before setting out, the wretch presented us with a new scene of cruelty and of barbarity whereof no example is furnished by the annals of Andronicus, Nero, Tiberius, or Wenceslaus. Everyone at the château supposed Roland’s sister would leave with him, and he had indeed told her to dress and ready herself for the journey; at the moment of mounting his horse, he leads her toward us. “There’s your post, vile creature,” says he, ordering her to take off her clothes, “I want my comrades to remember me by leaving them as a token the woman for whom they thought I had a fancy; but as we need only a certain number and as I am going to follow a dangerous road upon which my weapons will perhaps be useful, I must try my pistols upon one of these rascals.” Whereupon he loads one of his guns, aims it at each of our breasts, and comes at last to his sister. “Off you go, whore,” says he, blasting out her brains, “go advise the devil that Roland, the richest villain on earth, is he who most insolently taunts the hand of Heaven and challenges Satan’s own!” The poor girl did not expire at once: she writhed in her death throes for a considerable period: ’twas a hideous spectacle: that infamous scoundrel calmly considered it and did not tear his eyes away until he had left us forever.
Erotic Classics I Page 71
