The 120 Days of Sodom and Other Writings

by Marquis de Sade

  Though Lely does not rank Ernestine with Eugénie de Franval and Florville and Courval—which he considers the two masterpieces of Les Crimes de l’Amour —in some respects it is the superior work. Each of the three principal characters—and even the two villains, Oxtiern and Madame Scholtz—are finely-drawn personages, not of pure black or white but of varying shades of gray. Colonel Sanders, a well-meaning man who has the best interests of his daughter at heart, is none the less weak and vacillating, susceptible to the blandishments of a scoundrel such as Oxtiern. Ernestine herself, though essentially a good and virtuous girl, is far from as steadfast as Justine, and allows her head to be turned by the dazzle of wealth and the temptation of high estate. And in the worthy Herman, Ernestine’s betrothed, Sade has painted a splendid portrait of a man who, by the oppressive nature of his goodness and his stifling lack of imagination, helps drive Ernestine into Oxtiern’s careful trap. In this tale, Sade has given the characters a psychological basis for their acts. Oxtiern, as Sadean man, is still very much the manipulator of their fate, but his three victims—Ernestine, Colonel Sanders, and Herman—are more than mere pawns, or the incarnations of a principle: they are, to a far greater degree than most of Sade’s characters, responsible for their own fate.

  Oxtiern

  OR

  THE MISFORTUNES OF LIBERTINAGE

  PROSE DRAMA IN THREE ACTS

  by D.-A.-F. S.

  Staged at the Théâtre de Molière, in Paris, in 1791; and at Versailles, on the stage of the Société Dramatique, on 22 Frimaire, Year 8 of the Republic.

  * * *

  Woe unto scoundrels whom remorse does not check!

  Oxtiern, Act Three, Scene III

  * * *

  VERSAILLES

  Published by Blaizot, Bookseller, rue Satory

  YEAR EIGHT

  Act One

  The setting for the first two acts is the sitting room of an inn, which opens into several private rooms; on one side of the stage is a writing table, with an armchair near the table.

  SCENE I

  FABRICE, CASIMIR.

  FABRICE.

  Monsieur Casimir, do you think these chambers will be suitable for the young lady your master is bringing here with him today?

  CASIMIR.

  I do indeed, Monsieur Fabrice. Is there a room close by for Amélie, her maid, and another bedroom for Mademoiselle Ernestine?

  FABRICE.

  Yes, there are two bedrooms adjoining this room; one key locks all three. They will be quite comfortable here, I can assure you. . . . ’Tis a quiet district . . . the rooms face the garden: they will not hear the least sound of the other travelers.

  CASIMIR.

  Excellent! (Taking Fabrice aside, and with an air of mystery.) Monsieur Fabrice?

  FABRICE.

  Yes, what is it?

  CASIMIR.

  A most extraordinary man, my master, you must confess. You have known him since he was a young man.

  FABRICE.

  I’ve known Oxtiern for a long time; and ’tis for that reason I would venture to say there’s no man in all the provinces of Sweden more dangerous than he.

  CASIMIR.

  Yes; but he pays well.

  FABRICE.

  And therefore is all the more to be feared: there is nothing so pernicious as gold in the hands of wicked men. . . . Who can resist him who possesses the surest means of corruption? . . . My friend, if I had my way I would see to it that the world’s wealth was controlled by honest and decent people. . . . But, pray tell me, what is this latest adventure all about?

  CASIMIR.

  A charming girl! . . . Ah! Monsieur Fabrice, more’s the pity. Great God! you mean you allowed it! Is’t possible for such a creature to be the pawn of deceit and debauchery!

  FABRICE, much surprised.

  What do you mean? Has the crime already been committed?

  CASIMIR.

  It has, Monsieur Fabrice, it has. . . . And yet she’s the daughter of Colonel Falkenheim, the grandnephew of Charles XII’s favorite. He has abducted her . . . and dishonored her. I tell you, Monsieur Fabrice, the poor girl is lost!

  FABRICE, as above.

  He hasn’t married her? ’Tis a virtuous girl he is bringing here, a girl he has seduced, deceived, and ravished? . . . Casimir, fly to your master in all haste; tell him the inn is full . . . say I cannot receive him. I have already had more than my share of the liberties he thinks he can take when he’s beneath my roof—since he does me the honor of considering me his protégé. I greatly prefer to forgo a nobleman’s protection when the sole result, as it usually turns out, is my complicity in his licentious ways. (He exits.)

  CASIMIR, running after him to stop him.

  One moment, my friend, one moment. You would lose everything, and no wrong would be righted. Open your house to him, offer him your hospitality, and if the occasion presents itself, try secretly to render the lady some service. (What follows must be stressed.) Stockholm is but a league away . . . ’tis not late. . . . They will be retiring early . . . they are in need of rest. You have friends in the capital. . . . Do you understand my words, Monsieur Fabrice?

  FABRICE, after a moment’s reflection.

  Friends I . . . yes, I do have friends; but there are other means . . . surer means, which I trust may prove successful. Tell me now . . .

  (We hear the sound of the Count’s carriage.)

  CASIMIR.

  Let us save our words for later. . . . I hear a carriage coming. . . . I shall meet you shortly in your room, and there shall instruct you in greater detail. . . . What a frightful din! No question, ’tis the Count: should vice be permitted to strut so boldly?

  FABRICE.

  I only wish your Count would go and lodge with the devil! ’Tis a terrible trade to be an innkeeper and obliged to open your doors to all kinds of people. . . . ’Tis the only aspect of my profession I find distasteful.

  SCENE II

  FABRICE, CASIMIR, CHARLES.

  CHARLES, to Fabrice.

  Monsieur, two ladies sent by Count Oxtiern have just arrived and desire lodgings. The Count himself will be here shortly. He and his friend Monsieur Derbac have stopped off a short distance from here, and have sent instructions to offer the ladies your best chambers. There are, in truth, more than twenty guards escorting the carriage.

  FABRICE, curtly.

  All right, I shall receive them; ’tis here they will lodge. . . . Not a word, Casimir; and when the occasion arises, let us try and help the poor girl: the rewards are such, my friend, that we should never waste the least opportunity to perform a good deed whenever we can. . . . Come with me, Charles.

  SCENE III

  CASIMIR, alone.

  A worthy man! ’Tis there, none the less, one finds virtue. . . . In an anonymous creature . . . without any background or breeding. While those born to wealth often have naught to offer—their riches notwithstanding—save corruption and a whole host of vices. . . . But why did the Count not come with Ernestine? . . . Ah! he is doubtless off hatching some plot with Derbac, that most worthy accomplice of his debaucheries. But Derbac, less dissolute than the Count, will perhaps raise some objections to this latest and vilest adventure.

  SCENE IV

  CASIMIR, FABRICE, ERNESTINE, AMÉLIE.

  FABRICE, to Ernestine.

  I trust, Mademoiselle, you will find these lodgings comfortable. I have been at great pains to ready them for you, as the Count has instructed me to, and as Mademoiselle deserves.

  ERNESTINE, in deep despair.

  Thank you, Monsieur, thank you. ’Tis much too good for me; the most profound solitude, ’tis that and only that would really suit me.

  FABRICE.

  Since Mademoiselle wishes to be alone, I shall withdraw and attend to other matters which may help make my lodgings more bearable for her.

  CASIMIR, to Ernestine.

  Shall I bring the Count to Mademoiselle’s chambers when he arrives?

  ERNESTINE.

&nb
sp; Is he not the lord and master of them? . . . The master of my entire existence? . . . Leave us, Monsieur, pray do. We wish to be alone.

  SCENE V

  ERNESTINE, AMÉLIE.

  AMÉLIE.

  This melancholy state of mind wherein I find you worries me, Mademoiselle. How pleased I’d be to see you rest a while.

  ERNESTINE.

  Rest? . . . I rest? Great God, no! . . . Oh, no! . . . there can be no further rest upon this earth for poor Ernestine.

  AMÉLIE.

  What! You mean to say the barbarous author of your misfortunes can do nothing to make amends?

  ERNESTINE.

  For such cruel desecrations there can never be amends, Amélie. Reflect for a moment how the man, resorting to the most arrant roguery, abducted me from my family . . . from my lover . . . from everything I hold dear in this world. And were you aware that he had this man, this worthy Herman whom I love, cast into irons? He has founded his case upon false accusations, resorted to the worst kind of calumnies, made use of informers and traitors. ’Tis they who have brought the poor man low; base gold, and Oxtiern’s crimes, have led to his undoing. Herman is a prisoner . . . perhaps he has already been sentenced . . . and ’tis upon the very chains of the man I love that this cowardly Oxtiern has come to sacrifice his wretched victim.

  AMÉLIE.

  Ah, Mademoiselle, your words make me tremble!

  ERNESTINE, in despair.

  What hope is there for me? . . . What have I to look forward to? Great God! What recourse is left to me?

  AMÉLIE.

  But what of your father? . . .

  ERNESTINE.

  You know that my father had been absent from Stockholm for some time when Oxtiern, resorting to cruel deceit, invited me to his house, pretending that, were I to come, I would be helping my lover’s cause and obtain not only his release but perhaps his hand as well; Oxtiern’s brother, the Senator, was to be there and could use his influence to help poor Herman, or so he declared. ’Twas a venture which, for me, was as guilty as ’twas foolhardy, I realize now. How could I ever have dreamt of a betrothal without my father’s consent? Heaven has punished me dearly for it. . . . Do you know whom I discovered there, instead of the protector I was expecting? Oxtiern, ravenous Oxtiern, a dagger in his hand, offering me the choice of death or dishonor, nor did he even give me the opportunity to make a choice. Had that choice been mine, Amélie, I swear I would not have hesitated for a single moment; the most frightful torments would have been for me sweeter than the loathsome deeds that perverted man had prepared for me; frightful bonds prevented me from defending myself. . . . The scoundrel! . . . and, as a crowning blow, Heaven has seen fit to let me live . . . the sun still casts its rays upon me, and I am lost! (She slumps into the chair which is near the table.)

  AMÉLIE, in tears, taking her mistress’ hands.

  O Mademoiselle! most miserable of women, please do not despair! . . . Your father has already been apprised of your departure; do you think he will waste a minute before flying to your defense?

  ERNESTINE.

  ’Tis not he I expect to avenge me and punish him who has tortured me.

  AMÉLIE.

  And what if the Count were to keep his word? He spoke, or so I was given to understand, of cherished ties, eternal bonds. . . .

  ERNESTINE.

  And even were Oxtiern to desire them, could I ever consent to spend my life in the arms of a man I loathe? . . . a man who has done me the most grievous wrong? Can you marry a man by whom you have been debased? . . . Can you ever learn to love what you deem to be beneath contempt? Ah, Amélie, I am lost, irrevocably lost. . . . All that remain for me are sorrow and tears; my only hope is in death: one does not recover from the loss of one’s honor. . . . From any other hurt, but never from that!

  AMÉLIE, glancing around her.

  Mademoiselle, there is no one here; who stands in our way, or stops us from fleeing? from going to beg the Court for its protection, a protection you not only merit but which it is your bounden duty to claim?

  ERNESTINE, proudly.

  Were Oxtiern a thousand leagues away, I would do everything in my power to shorten the distance between us, nor would I lift a finger to flee. The traitor has dishonored me; I must avenge myself. I shall not fly to any corruption-ridden Court to ask for a protection which would be denied me; you have no inkling, Amélie, to what extent wealth and influence debase the souls of those who dwell in that house of horror! Monsters! I perhaps would be merely one further morsel for their dreadful desires!

  SCENE VI

  THE ABOVE, AND FABRICE.

  FABRICE, seemingly sad, but with an interested air.

  The Count has sent word that an important affair has detained him not far from here, but that he will be here shortly. Is there anything Mademoiselle desires meanwhile?

  ERNESTINE, pointing to the room she thinks is hers.

  This is my room, is it not, Monsieur?

  FABRICE, as before.

  It is, Mademoiselle.

  ERNESTINE.

  Then I should like to retire to it. . . . Come, Amélie, come and let us ponder the important plans before us, plans which alone are capable of giving your poor mistress any respite from her torments.

  SCENE VII

  FABRICE, alone.

  Casimir was quite right, this girl is beautiful, she is charming. . . . Ah! Monsieur le Comte, how guilty you are to have been the instrument of this young lady’s destruction; should she, who so deserves to be the object of your affection, be turned into the object of your villainy and brutality? But here he comes; not another word. Traitors cannot bear the truth; they, more than any other kind, are receptive to flattery, and consciously desire it; even they find crime so repulsive that, in order to steel themselves to the necessity of being evil, they like to be thought of, and constantly painted, as paragons of virtue.

  SCENE VIII

  FABRICE, COUNT OXTIERN.

  OXTIERN.

  How can I ever thank you, my dear Fabrice! Your friendship, your affection of long standing, are ever more clearly in evidence. Words cannot express my gratitude.

  FABRICE, with a straightforward and affectionate air.

  A trifle more candor, Monsieur, and a trifle less gratitude. Pray spare me any gratitude which would be purchased at the cost of an ill deed, ’twould debase me. Be frank with me, Monsieur: who is the young lady you have brought here, and what do you intend to do with her?

  OXTIERN, quickly interrupting.

  My intentions are honorable, Monsieur. Ernestine is a seemly young lady, whom I am not keeping here by force. Perhaps I did allow myself to be carried away by an excess of love, and hasten the day which will join us forever; but she must be my wife, and indeed she will, my friend. Would I dare to consider her otherwise, and would I bring her here, ’neath your roof, if such was not my intention?

  FABRICE.

  ’Tis not the story people have been telling, Monsieur. Still, I must believe you. If you are deceiving me, however, I shall no longer be able to offer you my hospitality.

  OXTIERN.

  Given the virtuous motives which prompt them, Fabrice, I forgive you your suspicions. But set your mind at ease, my friend, let me say it again. My plans are as pure as she who inspires them in me.

  FABRICE.

  You are a noble lord, Count, I know. But please be convinced of this: that the moment your conduct renders you base in my eyes, I shall cease to regard you as anything but a man all the more contemptible because he was born to be honest; and, having been blessed, more than most men, with marks of distinction which ought to be deserving of esteem and respect, such a man is, at the same time, all the more guilty for not having profited from them.

  OXTIERN.

  Fabrice, why all this concern? What have I done to deserve such suspicion?

  FABRICE.

  Nothing yet, or so I am willing to believe. . . . Where do you plan to take this girl?

  OXTIERN.

 
To my estate near Norrköping, and there I shall marry her the moment we arrive.

  FABRICE.

  Why is her father not with her?

  OXTIERN.

  He was not in Stockholm when she left; and the force of my love did not allow me to tarry over formalities . . . with which I thought I could easily dispense: how strict you are, my friend . . . I have never seen you so stern before.

  FABRICE.

  ’Tis not a matter of being stern, Monsieur, ’tis a matter of justice; would you, were you a father, consent to see your daughter abducted?

  OXTIERN.

  I would not like to have her dishonored; but will Ernestine be dishonored when I marry her?

  SCENE IX

  THE ABOVE, AMÉLIE.

  AMÉLIE.

  Gentlemen, Mademoiselle requests that you move to another room; she’s resting at present, and would like . . .

  OXTIERN, warmly.

  Please assure her, my dear Amélie, that we shall comply with her request. Is there anything in the world I desire more than the peace and happiness of my mistress?

  AMÉLIE.

  Ah! Monsieur, and yet how far she is from either!

  OXTIERN, to Fabrice, without paying any attention to what Amélie has just said.

  Come, Fabrice, I wish to finish convincing you that my soul has never entertained any principles of a sort which might afflict yours. . . . Amélie, please tell Ernestine to let me know when she will receive me. (She exits. To Fabrice.) Come, my friend, let us go.

  FABRICE, alone.

  I shall follow shortly. . . . I, the friend of that man? Oh, no, never! . . . Were he to give me his entire fortune I should still not be his friend. . . . Through Casimir privy to the affair, I can now be of some use to Ernestine; let us hasten to Stockholm. He is not leaving until tomorrow; I still have time. I must save this poor girl or lose my life in the attempt: honor and probity make it my bounden duty; these are the most sacred laws of my heart.

  END OF ACT I

  Act Two

  SCENE I

  OXTIERN, DERBAC.

  OXTIERN.

  This creature is of a sensibility which is . . .