Letters From Prison

by Marquis de Sade

  4. If on the contrary my request is granted, that is, a fortnight in Paris in my wife’s home in order to see my children, and thence to leave for my estates, whether exiled or not, then I give my most solemn word of honor that I shall do nothing that will make anyone other than completely satisfied with my conduct. And I end by swearing to you, Mademoiselle, that they who dispose of my fate will have every reason to be pleased and satisfied by granting what I desire, and every reason to sorely regret it if they refuse.

  Were I to write twenty letters, I would say the same thing over and over again, of that I feel certain; ’tis therefore a complete waste of time to speak further about it. On Wednesday, and surely not later than Thursday, I shall send my manuscript15 to Madame de Sade. If between now and then I think of something further, I shall include it in what I have to instruct her regarding the manuscript. If on the contrary I do not think of anything further to offer, I shall simply put at the bottom of the letter that I base my position on the contents of my letter to you, and from that moment on I shall not utter another word on the subject. That will be proof that I have no intention of changing my mind: therefore ‘twill be absolutely pointless to speak to me about it again. In which case, one can come whenever one chooses, I shall be ready; I shall leave peacefully, without so much as a word about it, but we shall see how things proceed thereafter. I embrace you tenderly, my dear Mademoiselle, and only hope that before I leave this most accursed of countries, I may have the pleasure of embracing you one more time other than by letters.

  1. Sade is referring to the several attempts by the police, funded by Madame de Montreuil, to arrest him at La Coste.

  2. One of Sade’s Provençal stewards, specifically in charge of Saumane.

  3. Sade was doubtless paranoid, but sometimes not without good reason; Chauvin was surely profiting from his absence.

  4. Sade has long suspected, not without reason, that Madame de Montreuil has been conniving with Gaufridy behind his back. In this instance, Sade insinuates Gaufridy’s involvement in his rearrest at La Coste was not passive but active.

  5. The Marseilles affair, which he blames for his by now four-plus years in prison, even though the sentence was overturned in appeal. But by “affair” he is lumping together all the so-called scandals that had landed him in Vincennes.

  6. Antoine de Sartine, the lieutenant-general of all Paris police, who was instrumental in getting Sade arrested and keeping him in prison.

  7. The Rose Keller affair.

  8. Sade, writing paternalistically, doubtless means himself.

  9. Madame de Montreuil.

  10. Madame de Montreuil.

  11. One can only surmise what other country Sade had in mind, but the most logical would be Italy, which Sade knew and liked. (See Letter 61.)

  12. Sade seems to have adored his father much more after Jean-Baptiste’s death than he did before.

  13. For Montélimar.

  14. Under the monarchy, aristocrats being brought to prison, or being transferred from one prison to another under police escort, had the added indignity of having to pay for their guards.

  15. In all probability, his five-act comedy L’Inconstant, which later was retitled Le Capricieux.

  43. To Madame de Sade

  [April 30, 1781]

  It would appear, from your sublime letter of April 26th, received the 30th, that Milli Rousset is not the only one whose mind is growing, by God! What an expenditure you have just made! At least take care, for nothing is more debilitating than those efforts; one is surprised to ramble on incoherently at the age of forty, and then upon further reflection one sees that that is where it comes from!

  I shall send you the manuscript tomorrow or the day after. I wanted to send with it a short dissertation, which I am working on—for my mind, too, is growing with the springtime—a dissertation on the dangers of solitude and the deadly effects of prisons where solitude is the order of the day. But it will not be ready in time. ’Tis perhaps the only composition for which I did not need to consult a single reference work; my experience alone was sufficient, and since it is written with a great deal of moderation, and without a trace of ill humor, I have no compunction, in forwarding it to you, about submitting it to the authorities for their inspection.1

  I have already replied concerning the paper, the various things I need, the presumed departure, etc., those that are necessary, since I am still here, the departure not yet having taken place. The same applies for the great coats, the clothing, etc., and since all that was in very simple, straightforward letters, I am sure you must have received them. Thus if you turn a deaf ear to what I request, so be it, in return for which I shall simply say that it matters little to me. If you send, I shall receive; if you do not, I shall do without; you know very well what I need; that is enough, and I shall not make mention of it again.

  Do you realize that you were at great risk in becoming involved in these wretched matters? I knew them like the back of my hand, and it bothered me to know you were amongst them but it was pointless to tell you; you would have responded with idle chatter.”2 Alas! I am no more than the lowest of the low, and I have never had the least inkling about how to run a state, much less a city; but since I do believe in metempsychosis, if ever I were to be reborn in the body of some municipal or state administrator, I would promulgate a law whereby men could do whatever they so pleased with whores, and I would also dictate that ‘twas forbidden the authorities to try to ferret out dirt and thereby risk the lives of seven or eight thousand citizens, especially since I would have striking examples to back me up, including that of 1778.3 But I repeat, that is because I am nothing more than the lowest of the low.

  I have never known anything quite like the fact that you have turned a deaf ear to the copy of the letter I asked you to pass on to Monsieur Le Noir. Alas! Good Lord, if that letter was not up to snuff, then what kind of letter, I pray, must one write these days? I can make neither head nor tail of it. You seem intent on driving me to distraction. The inconsistency of what you are doing is only exceeded by its stupidity. ’Tis becoming increasingly clear that la présidente is growing old; of late her machinations no longer have the freshness, the brilliance, the ingenious force they once had! Oh! no, verily, these days her works are scarcely recognizable; they were far more sublime in earlier days! Above all, do not forget to send a large trunk full of provisions the day before I am due to be transferred, because as you recall that is precisely what she did at Pierre-Encize; we must at least make a show of staying true to our old selves.

  Do you know who used to own that house across from the Luxembourg Gardens? Oh! I’m sure you know as well as I. It was the old Maillé mansion. My grandparents lived there during the reign of Louis XIII. A huge number of Mailés lived there, and today ‘twould surprise me if even a tenant farmer would want to hang his hat there.

  But what is the point of your seeing me once a final decision has been made regarding my fate? At that time I must leave, and you with me, that is absolutely essential; and if that request is denied me, what they are doing is forcing me to commit yet another stupidity, whatever it may be, for you may be sure I shall come and fetch you, even if you are in the very depths of Hell. Is that the reason you refuse to let me know where you are lodged? Oh! that does not worry me, be assured, ‘twill take me no more than half an hour to search you out.

  Yet ’tis passing strange that people should keep it a secret from the husband the place where his wife is living! If I were spiteful or malicious, and if I wanted to rake over the old coals one day . . . what weapons would be available to me!

  I was going to return the six volumes to Mérigot. You may tell him for me that he will not receive a single one, even were I to be locked up here for another ten years, so long as he fails to send me another ten or twelve volumes for further reading. I cannot and will not read Main-tenon in the evening; at least buy me Bougainville,4 I’ve been asking you for it for a century. I’ve repeated to you a thousand times, ’tis un
speakable that I be reduced to begging for books. For the past fortnight I’ve been buying, book by book, a kind of bright candle for which they charge me one crown per book; and for the past fortnight you have been aware of it; therefore, send me a store of candles or I shall pack my trunk. I would not be taking any great risk in so doing: a month ago today Monsieur le Commandment de Rougemont told me that I should do so. But unfortunately, four years of experience have taught me that the truth and de Rougemont are the two most incompatible things on the face of the earth, and that he enjoys tricking the poor wretches under his command the same way others enjoy hunting or fishing. Thus his giving me notice that I should start packing was all the impetus I needed to begin making little preparations for spending the summer here, which I would not have dreamed of doing without his charitable act. Omnis homo mendax—the man is a complete liar. I do not believe any mortal more deserves that proverb than he. Be that as it may, I promise that next time we see each other I shall make you laugh. You are well aware of my great talent for making things up; you shall see how I made good use of it, whenever I have fasted, after dinner, etc.

  What is this latest nonsense, which I’ve heard an endless number of times? Ask to see Milli Rousset wherever I may be? Either I shall be at my estates or I shall be here, there is no middle ground. I have gone on about this far too long with Monsieur Le Noir; he felt so, too, and has talked to me on that subject like a judge, with what seemed to me utter honesty, wisdom, and I must say humanity. I can only commend him for it. I do believe that he is incapable of lying to me. In which wise, if I remain here, Mademoiselle Rousset knows full well that she cannot come and see me. And if I am at my estates, ‘twill be up to her to request permission, to come and try to woo me. And I shall grant her request, but only under certain conditions, which are pointless to lay out, since it’s of no concern to you. You have my permission to forewarn her of such.

  What I see all too clearly in all this is that you will not be coming with me. In which case, my angel, we shall do our best to replace you, which is all I can say.5 As I shall have absolutely naught to do—since without you ’tis quite impossible to even try to sort out my affairs— since I shall have nothing to do except rest, I shall sow a few little flowers on this peaceful repose with the help of Mademoiselle de Rousset on the one hand, and the pleasant surroundings on the other, and you can come whenever you please: you will find us holding our breath and in excellent spirits!

  Yes, I can well imagine that the rumors about my business manager6 may well have changed: up till now, he was thought of as no more than a plain rogue; now he must of necessity be thought of as a double-dealing crook and a traitor. And if the path upon which he has now clearly embarked is any indication, he may well be a worthy candidate for the gallows. That is how I view the matter in any event, and I embrace you.

  Please request, I beg of you, that the manuscript be given to you without delay, and above all read the Author’s Note before you begin the play. You can read it aloud with Mademoiselle Rousset, whom I ask to continue her efforts with the critics.7

  I embrace you.

  But I most urgently ask that you not show the play to anyone else except Mademoiselle de Rousset or to Amblet. Within a month at the very most I shall need to see a dentist. Remember, you promised you would see to it.

  1. That is, the prison censor.

  2. The French term Sade uses is “lanterne.” Interestingly, a decade later that term took on a sinister meaning: to hang people from a lamppost.

  3. Sade is referring to his arrest on August 25 of that year, when he was bound and summarily hustled out of La Coste.

  4. Bougainville’s four-year trip was documented in his multi-volume work Voyages autour du monde (Voyage around the World).

  5. Sade is trying to make his wife jealous by implying he was, or will be, having an affair with Milli Rousset.

  6. Again, Gaufridy. Sade has heard rumors that his once-trusted notary has been bought off by Madame de Montreuil.

  7. Among her other devoted services, Milli Rousset was trying to see if she could interest drama critics in Sade’s plays and get them performed.

  44. To Madame de Sade

  [May 21, 1781]

  There is nothing so charming as your little plan, but you reveal therein an excess of malice: such in any case is how I view it. Without the malice, it would be utterly delightful. Let us examine it closely. You (or yours) are desirous of bettering my lot or of bringing my punishment to an end; the only thing is, you’re not quite sure how this plan will turn out in the end. It may turn out well, it may not: why then even talk to me about it? You should have left me as I was and gone about your business. —Was your plan carried out? You should have informed me of such at the same time you gave the news that it was a success. Did it fail? So I remained right where I was before. The point is, if everything you said you had done had been true—which common sense dictates in such cases—that is certainly what you should have done: let me know the outcome. To have done the contrary only reveals all too clearly the twisted double-dealing behind it and shows that all this was no more than an out-and-out jibe, which fortunately I figured out from the very start. As early as April 3 or 4, I asked you about it, and I repeated that same request many times thereafter, without significant variation. Yet Monsieur Le Noir’s visit was intended to produce that effect. A magistrate that you have every reason to believe is respectable, who comes to see you, saying: Your punishment is over, you have paid the penalty for your misdeeds, seems as if he ought to be taken at his word. He betrayed me. So where does that leave us? He demeaned himself far more than I, for between the dupe and the rogue the difference is indeed great, and it is surely not in favor of the rogue.

  And yet in all this there is one thread that runs through this entire business. Magistrates, relatives, business associates, friends, knaves or the commanding officer (which comes to the same thing), all agree to speak as one; the instrument had but one string: it is plucked by one and all in the same manner. Some (I refer to those whom I have underlined above) like the bloated louts they are, the others slightly less bluntly, but they all speak as one, their agreement is total: he must be lied to, and lied to villainously. And here is the result: I keep coming back to the letter from the Count de La Tour1 which I came upon quite by chance in the Commandant de Miolans’s quarters:

  The intent of la présidente de Montreuil, who has obtained from the minister the proper authorization whereby she shall be in charge of all matters concerning Monsieur de Sade, is that she mislead him at every turn, from dawn till dusk; in consequence whereof, you may keep telling him that his affair will soon be over.

  It is therefore clear, given these fatal arrangements, that the plan for my punishment has been, or still is, to lie to me and mock me over a period of ten or twelve years, more or less. Well, to that I respond by asserting that there is and can only be one person responsible for that state of affairs, a hypocrite, a rogue, and an infamous scoundrel by the name of Monsieur S[artine]; only he could have counseled such a horror, only a rogue such as he could have been capable of sending more than two hundred innocent people to perish in chains or otherwise (and I shall prove it one day), only from him can such advice have emanated. The odious monster was not content to have undone me when I was in the full blush of youth;2 no, he desires that the end of my life resemble its beginning, so that he can congratulate himself on having been, to the very end, my torturer; he who deserved to suffer the tortures of Damiens because he, through a well-known trait, thought he could topple the entire State, he who sentenced to perish on the wheel a poor wretch whom everyone knew was innocent, who could not possibly have been guilty of the crimes whereof he was charged, and whose last words before he expired were: “I shall relate in full detail the infamy of him whose lies brought me to this pass, before the tribunal of God, who alone shall be my judge”—remarkable words that, were I king, I would have engraved on a man’s carriage, if ever he took it into his head to acquire one,
and thus distinguish himself from his ancestors, who were only too happy to earn a few meager pennies by caning the poor wretches incarcerated in the prisons of Madrid during the Inquisition. So there you have the unspeakable creature I have to deal with, the abominable character to whom we had recourse and to whom your odious mother was all the more delighted to appeal because she was well aware that he was my enemy, that he had shown himself to be many times over, and because she knew that he would give her only such advice that would indulge her revenge.

  Any punishment that does not cure, that can only revolt him upon whom it is visited, is a gratuitous infamy that renders those who impose it guiltier in the eyes of humanity, of common sense, and of reason, a thousand times more than he upon whom it is inflicted. That truth is too obvious to be refuted. Well, then, what are you hoping for? And what do you dare hope to accomplish from everything you are doing, unless ’tis to make certain you rid me of every last vestige of character, render me ill-humored, turn me into a rogue, an ill-tempered wretch, and an out-and-out scoundrel like all the rest of you? For when all is said and done, whether the comparison is wholly accurate or not, you must admit ’tis essentially on the mark: but what you are doing to me is precisely what they do to dogs to make them more vicious. —Oh! we shall always bring you to heel again, whenever we want to! all we have to do is mention setting you free, and that’s what we wanted to see when we sent Monsieur Le Noir. You’ve been as meek as a sheep, because he came to flatter you. That’s your system, isn’t it? Well then, all I have to say is, I hope you’re proud of it!