Fate of the présidente de Montreuil’s minions over the nine years she has been bribing them to do me in. A word to the wise.
Chancellor Maupeou: completely dishonored, and lucky to get away with his head;
The Due de la Vrillière:3 dead;
Madame Langeac: died insane;
Monsieur de Mende, Royal Procurator in Marseilles:4 removed from his position, execrated throughout his province, and today without house or home;
The foreign monarch she implored to serve her vengeance:5 dead;
The commandant of the Savoy fortress: stripped of his post;6
The turnkey: hanged;7
The only one of my relatives she won over to her cause, the only one who served her: dead;8
The police lackey she sent to arrest me: behind bars for the rest of his life;9
The man who managed my business in Provence and whom she paid to have me arrested: dishonored in his province, thought of by one and all a rogue, a man who had lost his best clients;10
The postilion who brought her to make her infamous capitulation to Maupeou at Compiègne: crushed beneath the wheels of his carriage.11
Not to mention whatever happened beyond my ken, plus what I am leaving out.
And is not all this a sign of God’s grace? And is it not the hand of God gradually bearing down upon her, He who in His infinite goodness converts her to Him before He crushes her completely? O justice of the Eternal, woe unto him who shuts his eyes to You!
1. Jean-Baptiste Massillon (1663-1742), prominent French cleric, author, and member of the French Academy.
2. That is, the Protestants. The Cévennes mountains in central France had long been a Protestant stronghold. But millions? Sade exaggerates.
3. A minister under Louis XV, the Due de la Vrillière was reappointed minister by Louis XVI in 1774. It was to him the présidente turned that year to make sure the lettre de cachet under which Sade was imprisoned would be properly renewed.
4. As noted, Charles-Augustin de Maupeou, a famous jurist and chief adviser to Louis XV during the later years of his reign, was an archenemy of the Montreuils and largely responsible for Sade’s arrest after Arceuil. He was dismissed and dishonored by Louis XVI.
5. Presumably the king of Sardinia-Piedmont, who at the instigation of the présidente issued the order, on December 8, 1773, to have Sade arrested while he was holed up in Chambéry.
6. Monsieur de Launay, who had been commander of the Savoy fortress of Miolans at the time of Sade’s arrest.
7. Name unknown: Sade tried on several occasions to bribe turnkeys while he was at Miolans.
8. Sade is referring to the abbe, his uncle.
9. Probably Inspector Goupil of the Paris police, with whom Madame de Montreuil connived.
10. Gaufridy.
11. Name unknown. The “her” Sade mentions is Madame de Montreuil.
37. To Madame de Sade
Evening of the 1st of April [1781]
Though it be the simplest thing in the world, the easiest, the least praiseworthy to fool a prisoner, though it be a most mean-spirited pastime, which necessarily proves a most mean and most vile soul, though when all is said and done this can be nothing more than the foolish and ridiculous pastime of a very old woman and of an exceedingly imbecilic creature, you have derived no glory from it, nor have I been taken in by it; it took me roughly half an hour to see through this business, I must confess.
Always an element of nobility in the tiny pleasures of the most high and all-powerful Lady de Montreuil! Lackeys and numskulls are tricked on April First, we’ll fool our son-in-law, too. My God, what nobleness of character, what loftiness of spirit, what grandeur of feelings! Ah! never, never does the spring become tainted! By one feat of gallantry was a bastard of the great Turenne revealed from amongst a whole army! The purity of our origins always comes out, and the blood never betrays.
What the devil do you mean with your Montélimar fortress?1 There has never been any fortress in Montélimar. If there were, its general staff would be mentioned in the Military Almanac; and under the article on Montélimar only the Marquis de Chabrillant is mentioned, and he certainly has no prison under his command. I went through my three Almanacs: in all of them Montélimar is merely mentioned, while under all the other towns where there are forts or citadels there is, next to the name of the town, the mention such and such a fort or such and such a citadel. Besides, I am familiar enough with Montélimar and the surrounding area (having spent an entire month there with the Marquis de Chabrillant, whose castle is adjacent to the city gates) to be quite certain that there has never been a fortress at Montélimar. It may have some old tower inhabited by a few bats or owls, but as for a royal keep for prisoners there is certainly nothing. I would swear to that on a stack of Bibles. Still, let us for a minute take the matter under serious consideration. Near Montélimar there is a tower for prisoners called the Crest Tower, and perhaps you misunderstand, perhaps that’s the one they talked to you about and you were referring to. Going on that assumption, please be so kind as to excuse me from writing Madame de Sorans2 this fine thank-you letter, whose style, which I am so obliged to you for mimicking for me, is absolutely what her manservant might use if she had thrown him out and he were trying to worm his way back into her service.
Crest Tower is most decidedly a more frightful prison than Vincennes, and extremely unwholesome to boot; the only people they put in there are those they expect to be rid of in short order. ’Tis an abominable cloaca, where daylight is rarely seen, and it lies in the midst of pestilential swamp. If that is the place you have in mind for me, and for which favor I am supposed most humbly to thank Madame de Sorans, I shall take the liberty of declining both, and I entreat you, on the contrary, to use both her and all your own influence to request most urgently that I finish out the rest of my pain and suffering right here where I am: I am now used to this place, and I prefer to be in here than in some other prison. Believe me, we have already provided both Dauphiné and Provence with quite enough spectacles.3 Valence has me in its archives next to Mandrin: Vienne, Grenoble, etc., have me in gold letters. Let’s keep it at that. And however much your divine and witty mother delights in making public scenes, blunders, mistakes, and burlesques, do make her promise, for the sake of your children’s honor, not to indulge in them so frequently. By constantly adding fuel to the fire this way it will never go out. And you may be sure that the public, which never sees the thing on the bright side, will someday make those innocent little creatures feel the full weight of their grandmother’s absurd foolishness. Here again, let’s keep it at that, believe me. We’ve already had more than enough. Did Monsieur Le Noir come up with that idea, in keeping with the practice of all police lieutenants, to give his henchmen some extra money? Propose the sum as a gift, and let them leave us alone. Offer it, pay it, I give you a free hand to do so, and will give you my power of attorney if you like. I most decidedly do not want to be transferred anywhere except to my estates, and when I go there I want to go alone, with no guard, or with you alone, but not escorted. No matter what they may offer you in this regard, propose either money, to buy ourselves out of the clutches of all these savages, or my word of honor that I prefer to pay off the debt right here. I assure you most emphatically that that is what I shall tell Monsieur Le Noir if he comes. So you can tell him the same thing.
Furthermore, you promised me that I shall see my children when I get out of here. For me not to see them will be a terrible knife-thrust. I warn you of that. Know that there is nothing in the world that could cause me greater grief. I beseech you, whatever arrangements are made for me, to see to it that I have twenty-four hours to spend with them, wherever you like, to hold them in my arms. Otherwise, I swear that I shall conceive an undying dislike for them, and shall refuse to see them for the rest of my life. The news of Monsieur Le Noir’s visit strikes me as the best thing in your letter, and yet . . . Be that as it may, if ’tis to take place, let it be as soon as possible, I beg of you, so
that I may get a clear picture of all this, which makes me worry myself to death for no good reason and prevents me from spending my time in a manner which, however frivolous it may be, is still infinitely better than that of steeping me as you have been doing for four years in all your odious mother’s bile and ill-temper.
Summing Up
1. I beg that I not be transferred, no matter where, and, above all, without mounted escort. I shall sacrifice up to ten thousand francs to buy myself out of any such transfer. This, I think, gives a fair idea of how much both ideas are anathema to me.
2. I consent and prefer to remain here the entire time of my punishment, however long that may be, preferring this place, dreadful though it be, to anything else that might be offered to me, even were it an entire fortress to myself, the only exception being my estate, to which I am ready to repair whenever they like, even if it were to be in exile, however painful I would find that, but in any case without escort.
3. I shall write whatever decorum calls for to Madame de Sorans when she has got me back on my lands and not into another prison, because, once again, prison for prison, I prefer this one rather than another; and to make yet another spectacle of oneself in these provinces would be an odious thing and is to be avoided at any cost.
4. You will note that, although I do indicate my preference and my conditions, I am not, however, laying down the law, knowing all too well that I am in no position to do so. But I say that I prefer Vincennes and ask that I remain here rather than anywhere else, the sole exception being my own estate.
I beg of you, to avoid upsetting me, to notify me twenty-four hours in advance when you want to come and see me with Monsieur Le Noir. The paper4 is very ordinary stuff, that’s not at all what I asked for. No matter, ‘twill do for my manuscripts. If you cannot rent Bougainville’s Voyages,5 buy all the volumes for me, I absolutely want to have them. Here is the shopping list which was drawn up before this latest prank. I send it to you as is; it doesn’t strike me that anything needs changing.
1. For some time Sade has been beseeching his wife to have him transferred out of Vincennes, at any cost. In checking other possibilities, Renée-Pélagie hit upon the possibility of Montélimar. Sade’s reaction to the idea follows.
2. The Marquise de Sorans, lady-in-waiting to the king’s sister Elizabeth de France, and a friend of Renée-Pélagie. It was through Madame de Sorans’s influence that Madame de Sade obtained a royal decree to have her husband transferred to Montélimar.
3. Sade is referring to provinces where he had been escorted under police guard. The spectacle of his anticipated arrival was attended by hundreds, sometimes thousands, of spectators eager to catch a glimpse of this satanic monster.
4. The writing paper Sade asked his wife to send.
5. Louis-Antoine de Bougainville (1729-1811), a French explorer and writer who spent four years circumnavigating the globe, from 1766-1769.
38. To Madame de Sade
[April 11, 1781]
I earnestly beseech you, dear friend, busy as you are with all your little April Fool’s Day jests, not to forget that the list of errands requested for the 14th of this month is so indispensable to me that even if I were called to fulfill my duties as a father and a citizen at the Montélimar barracks two weeks after the 14th, the date when I require these provisions, I’d need them all the same. My linen is quite literally lying on the floor for lack of boxes to put it in, those I have are already destined for other purposes and cannot serve to hold any linen. As for candles, I am using my last today; the same goes for the rest of my list. Therefore, do keep them coming, I beg of you, and do bear in mind that not having them will prevent me from doing any packing at all. Besides, would it really matter or do any harm if I were to leave some boxes and a few pounds of candles behind for the man who waits on me? The poor devil has in all honesty earned them. And so send, send. Do send, send, I beg of you, and especially secondary reading material, I have not a single trashy book left. You will be receiving an enormous package, which will be enclosed with the manuscript.
When I reread your last letter, I truly do believe you are mad to think that I refuse. If you had even the slightest bit of common sense and humanity, wouldn’t you feel that I am here like a blind man, that I neither see anything nor hear anything, that having grown used to being deceived in everything for ten years now by a monster who seems to enjoy indulging in all the most disgusting and the meanest vices, namely lying, deceit, imposture, etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., etc., everything puts me in a state of fear and trembling.
If what you are doing is for my own best interest, do you need to consult me or believe what I say? Does one ask a sick man for his opinion about leeching when it is indispensable to his recovery? I didn’t want any journey to Aix, either. It was, so you said, necessary—although I am still not yet fully convinced it was; did that stop you from going through with it despite me and my complaints? If this move is no more advantageous, surely you will be well advised not to undertake it. But if it is—and you should know that better than I—go right ahead and pay no heed to me. Look to the future, look to your children, and do not put me in a position where I feel I have to reproach you, as I am doing today on so many subjects; nor should you put the children in a position where they will later put the blame on you. That is my last word on the matter. I put myself in your hands. Proceed as you will, and let’s not discuss it any further.
Reproaches include:
Having had me arrested at the Hotel de Danemark.
Having involved yourself in your mother’s twisted plots and infamies.
Having written me thirty letters in invisible ink, simply to tell me nothing but idle gossip.
Having involved and compromised the innocent hands of your children in all those infamies.
Having had me rescued at Aix for the sole and unique pleasure of having me rearrested at La Coste.
Having told me nothing during my stay there, despite the fact you had such a perfect occasion to do so through the intermediary of Chauvin, who had seen you in private for several months in a row and who also saw me tete-a-tete for several days in a row; at the very least you ought to have taken advantage of the opportunity to let me know of the length of my term, which was the one thing you knew I most desired.
Making me desire and wait here for everything I have asked from you, as though I were asking for charity, as though you were not paying for it out of my own pocket, etc.
’Tis time to make your own confession just as precisely as that. Join unto it your repentance, then promise to sin no more, and you will go straight to Paradise.
Let this serve notice that the manuscript1 will most assuredly be awaiting you in the office on the evening of the 19th or in the morning of the 20th of this month.
1. In all probability his play L’Inconstant—The Fickle Fellow—a five-act comedy in alexandrines completed in late January 1781 and then reworked for several weeks, producing a clean copy on April 14, three days after this letter was written and roughly a week before he expected to have it in the marquise’s hands.
39. To Monsieur Le Noir
[April 12, 1781]
Sir:
Although Madame de Sade assures me most tenderly that ’tis the most useless thing in the world to lodge the slightest complaint about the infamies of which her odious mother makes me the victim, I nonetheless venture to offer on this entire matter a few reflections, which I beseech you to read and which I shall try to make as brief as possible.
When children have been as cruelly wronged as mine have been at this time, as a result of the latest dishonor into which I have been plunged yet again, and as they will be in the future because of the hatred I shall necessarily feel toward them because of my absolute conviction that I am being sacrificed through false maneuvers, the fatal consequences of which no one can foresee; when, I say, a whole host of like misfortunes are poised to overwhelm us all, should you not, Sir, use your good influence to set things right?
Who better than I has a true sense of my situation? And how deeply does it have to penetrate my being, to what degree must I dread the fifth scene1 of frightful dishonor to which I am about to be subjected, simply because I, for one brief moment, preferred the hateful sojourn where I am to the cruel snub of this even greater misfortune?
Letters From Prison Page 27
