Jacques the Fatalist: And His Master

by Denis Diderot

  JACQUES: My master, my master, I can see that your mind is corrupted and on your death bed the devil will probably appear to you in the same form as to Ferragus.56

  MASTER: Well, perhaps he will. But I bet you were deflowered by some dreadful old bag from your village.

  JACQUES: Don’t bet on it – you’d lose.

  MASTER: Was it your parish priest’s housekeeper?

  JACQUES: Don’t bet on it – you’d still lose.

  MASTER: It was his niece then?

  JACQUES: His niece was seething with bad temper and piety, which are two qualities that go very well together but do not suit me.

  MASTER: This time I think I’ve got it.

  JACQUES: I don’t think anything of the sort.

  MASTER: It was one day when the fair was in town – or perhaps it was market day.

  JACQUES: There wasn’t any fair and it wasn’t market day.

  MASTER: You went to town.

  JACQUES: I didn’t go to town.

  MASTER: And it was written up above that in some tavern you would meet one of those obliging young ladies, that you would get drunk and…

  JACQUES: Actually I hadn’t eaten and what has been written up above is that at the present moment you will tire yourself out with false conjecture. And that you will pick up a bad habit which you have corrected me of – a mania for guessing, and always wrongly.

  As I stand before you now, Monsieur, I was once baptized…

  MASTER: If you intend to start the loss of your virginity with your emergence from the font we’re not going to get there very quickly.

  JACQUES: But I had a godfather and a godmother just like anyone else. Master Bugger – the most famous cartwright in our village – had a son. Bugger the Father was my godfather and Bugger the Son was my friend. When we were about eighteen or nineteen we both of us at the same time fell for a little seamstress called Justine. She wasn’t supposed to be particularly unyielding but she thought it right to establish her reputation by a first act of rejection and her choice for this fell on me.

  MASTER: That is one of the strange things about women one can never understand.

  JACQUES: The total living arrangements of the cartwright, Master Bugger my godfather, consisted of a workshop and a garret. His bed was at the back of the shop and Bugger the Son, my friend, used to sleep up in the loft which you got up to by a little ladder placed about half-way between his father’s bed and the door of the workshop.

  When Bugger my godfather was fast asleep Bugger my friend used to open the door of the shop and Justine would slip up the little ladder into the loft. The following morning at daybreak, before Bugger the Father was awake, Bugger the Son would come down from the loft, open the door again and Justine would slip out the way she had entered.

  MASTER: To go off and visit some other bugger’s loft, yours or another’s.

  JACQUES: Why not? Bugger and Justine got along quite well really, but their relationship had to run into trouble. That was written up above. And so it did.

  MASTER: Because of the father?

  JACQUES: No.

  MASTER: Because of the mother?

  JACQUES: No, she was dead.

  MASTER: A rival, then?

  JACQUES: No! No! And by all the devils that ever were, No! My Master, it is written up above that you will suffer from this for the rest of your days. For the rest of your life, I’m telling you, you’ll try to guess things and guess wrong…

  One morning while my friend Bugger – who was more tired than usual, either from the previous day’s work or the previous night’s pleasure – was sleeping softly in Justine’s arms, a loud roar bellowed up from the foot of the little ladder.

  ‘Bugger? Bugger? You lazy swine! The angelus has sounded. It’s nearly half past five already, and there you are still up in your loft! Have you decided to stay there till noon? Do you want me to come up there and throw you down? Bugger! Bugger!’

  ‘Yes, father.’

  ‘And what about the axle that old bear of a farmer is waiting for? Do you want him to come ranting back here again?’

  ‘His axle is ready and he’ll have it in another fifteen minutes.’

  I will leave you to imagine the terror of Justine and my poor friend Bugger the Son.

  MASTER: I am sure that Justine swore never to come back to that loft and that she came back the same night. But how did she manage to get out that morning?

  JACQUES: If you’ve decided that it’s your duty to guess the rest then I’ll stop now… Meanwhile Bugger the Son had leapt out of bed naked, trousers in one hand and jacket in the other. While he was getting dressed Bugger the Father was muttering between his teeth: ‘Ever since he’s been caught up with that little tramp everything’s gone wrong. It’s got to stop. This can’t carry on any longer. I’m getting tired of it. It wouldn’t be so bad if she was worth it, but a creature like that! My God, what a creature! Ah, if only the poor departed wife who was honour down to the tips of her fingers could see him like this, she would have taken the stick to him long ago and then scratched out the girl’s eyes on her way out of High Mass right outside the church in front of everyone. Nothing would have stopped her! But I’ve been too kind up to now, and if they think I’m going to carry on like this they’re making a big mistake.’

  MASTER: And could Justine hear all this in the loft?

  JACQUES: I’m sure that she could. Meanwhile Bugger the Son had gone off to the farmer, axle on his shoulder, and Bugger the Father had set to work. After a few strokes with the adze he was dying for some tobacco. He turned out all his pockets looking for his pouch. Then he searched around the side of his bed and didn’t find it.

  ‘It’s that brat’, he said, ‘who’s taken it again as usual, I suppose. I wonder if he’s left it upstairs…’

  And there he was going up into the loft.

  A moment later he noticed that his pipe and his knife were missing and went back up again.

  MASTER: What about Justine?

  JACQUES: She had quickly gathered up all of her clothes and slid underneath the bed where she was lying on her stomach more dead than alive.

  MASTER: What about your friend Bugger the Son?

  JACQUES: When he had delivered, fitted and been paid for the axle he ran straight to my house, where he told me about the terrible predicament he was in. After I had laughed a bit I said: ‘Listen, Bugger, go and walk around the village or somewhere. I’ll get you out of it. I only ask one thing of you: that is to give me time…’

  You’re smiling, Master – what do you find so funny?

  MASTER: Nothing.

  JACQUES: My friend Bugger left. I got dressed because I hadn’t got up, then I went to see his father, who no sooner set eyes on me than he let out a great yell of surprise and joy and said to me: ‘Eh! Godson! Is that you there? Where have you come from and what are you doing here so early?’

  My godfather Bugger was always very fond of me so my answer was quite open: ‘It’s not so much a question of where I’ve come from but more one of how I’m going to get home.’

  ‘Ah! Godson, you’re becoming a rake. You and Bugger make a right pair. You’ve spent the night out.’

  ‘And that’s not something you can discuss with my father.’

  ‘And he’s quite right too, Godson. But let’s have some breakfast and see if the wine bottle can give us the answer.’

  MASTER: Now there’s a man with the right idea, Jacques!

  JACQUES: I told him that I neither needed nor wanted anything to eat or drink but I was on the point of collapse from exhaustion. The old Bugger who’d been as good as the next man in his time said: ‘I know, Godson. She was a pretty girl and you really went at it, eh? Listen. Bugger has gone out. Go up into his loft and get into his bed… but a quick word before he comes back. He’s your friend. Next time you’re alone with him you tell him from me I’m not pleased with him, not at all pleased. It’s that little Justine – you know the one I mean, there’s not a boy in the village who doesn�
��t know her – who’s debauched him. You’d be doing me a great service if you could detach him from that creature. Before, he was what you might call a nice lad – but ever since he made her unfortunate acquaintance…

  ‘You’re not listening to me. Your eyes are closing. Go on up and get some rest.’

  I went up. I got undressed. I lifted up the blanket and the sheets and felt all around. No Justine. Meanwhile my godfather Bugger was muttering away downstairs: ‘Children! Damned children! There’s another one breaking his father’s heart.’

  Since Justine was not in the bed I suspected she might be underneath it. The loft was quite dark. I got down and ran my hands around, met one of her hands, grabbed it and pulled her towards me. Out she came from under the bed trembling. I kissed her, reassured her, and indicated that she was to go to bed. She clasped her hands, threw herself at my feet and threw her arms around my knees. I might not perhaps have been able to resist this mute scene if the loft had been lit, but when darkness does not scare people it makes them enterprising. And anyway I was still bitter about her earlier rejection of me. By way of reply I pushed her towards the ladder which led down to the workshop.

  She let out a long cry of fear.

  Bugger heard this and said: ‘He must be dreaming.’

  Justine fainted. Her knees gave way under her. In her delirium she said in a stifled voice: ‘He’s going to come… he’s coming… I can hear him coming up… I’m lost!’

  ‘No, no,’ I replied in a muffled voice. ‘Calm down, shut up, and get into bed.’

  She persisted in her refusal. I held firm. She resigned herself. And then there we were the one beside the other.

  MASTER: You traitor! You criminal! Do you know what crime you’re about to commit? You’re about to rape that girl. If not by sheer force then by force of terror. If you were to be brought before a court of law you would be punished with all the severity reserved for rapists.

  JACQUES: I don’t know whether I raped her or not. But I do know that I didn’t do her any harm and she didn’t do me any harm either!

  At first she turned her mouth away from my kisses and whispered: ‘No, Jacques, no…’

  At this I pretended to get out of bed and go towards the ladder. She held me back and whispered in my ear again: ‘I would never have thought you were so wicked. I can see it’s no use asking you to have pity on me, but at least promise me, swear to me…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That Bugger will never know.’

  MASTER: And you promised, you swore, and everything went very well.

  JACQUES: And then again very well.

  MASTER: And then very well again?

  JACQUES: Precisely. You speak like a man who was there himself. Meanwhile Bugger my friend, impatient, worried and tired of prowling around his house waiting for me, decided to go home to his father, who said angrily: ‘You’ve been away a long time over nothing…’

  Bugger replied even more angrily: ‘Didn’t I have to trim down both ends of that blasted axle which was too thick?’

  ‘I warned you about that but you always want to do things your way.’

  ‘Well, it’s always easier to take a bit more wood off than to put it on again.’

  ‘Take this rim and go and finish it over by the door.’

  ‘Why at the door?’

  ‘Because the noise of your tool will wake up your friend Jacques.’

  ‘Jacques!’

  ‘Yes, Jacques. He’s upstairs resting in your loft. Ah! God I feel sorry for fathers. If it’s not one thing it’s another! Well, can’t you move? Standing there like an imbecile with your head hanging, your mouth gaping and your arms akimbo isn’t going to get the work done, you know.’

  Bugger my friend was furious and threw himself at the ladder. Bugger my godfather pulled him back and said: ‘Where are you going? Let the poor devil sleep. He’s worn out. If you were him would you like to have your rest disturbed?’

  MASTER: And Justine heard all that too?

  JACQUES: As you hear me now.

  MASTER: And what were you doing?

  JACQUES: I was laughing.

  MASTER: And Justine?

  JACQUES: She had ripped off her coif and was tearing her hair. She was raising her eyes to heaven – or I assume she was – and wringing her hands.

  MASTER: Jacques, you’re a barbarian. You have a heart of stone.

  JACQUES: No, Master, that’s not true. I’m very sensitive really but I keep it in reserve for an occasion when I might need it more – ‘And the foolish ones used of these riches prodigiously when they should have used of them sparingly and found they had none to use when they should have used of them prodigiously…’

  In the meantime I got dressed and went down to Bugger my godfather who said to me: ‘You certainly needed that. It’s done you the world of good, that has. When you arrived here you looked like you’d just been disinterred. And now look at you! All pink and rosy like a baby fresh from the breast. Sleep is a marvellous thing! Bugger! Go down to the cellar and bring up a bottle so we can have breakfast. Now, Godson, will you eat with us?’

  ‘Willingly.’

  The bottle had arrived and been put on the work-bench. We were standing around. Old Bugger filled his glass and mine. Bugger the Son pulled his away and said in a fierce voice: ‘I’m not thirsty so early in the day.’

  ‘Don’t you want a drink?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah! I know what it is. Listen, Godson, Justine is in this somewhere. He went round to her house and she wasn’t there. Either that or he found her with someone else. This sulking and taking it out on the bottle isn’t natural, I tell you.’

  JACQUES: I think you might have hit on it there.

  BUGGER THE SON: Jacques, enough of your witticisms, appropriate or inappropriate. I don’t like them.

  BUGGER THE FATHER: If he doesn’t want a drink we mustn’t let that stop us. Your health, Godson.

  JACQUES: Your health, Godfather. Bugger, my friend, have a drink with us. You’re upsetting yourself over nothing.

  BUGGER THE SON: I’ve already told you. I’m not drinking.

  JACQUES: Bugger, if your father has hit on the truth, what the devil. You’ll see her again, ask her about it and then you’ll accept that you’re wrong.

  BUGGER THE FATHER: Leave him alone. Isn’t it right that this creature should punish him for all the suffering he’s caused me. There, one more glass and we’ll get down to your business. I can see that I’ll have to take you back to your father, but what do you want me to say to him?

  JACQUES: Whatever you want. Whatever you’ve heard him say to you a hundred times before whenever he’s brought your son home.

  BUGGER THE FATHER: Let’s go.

  He left and I followed. We arrived at the door of my house and I allowed him to go in alone. Being curious about what Bugger the Father was going to say to my father, I hid in a corner behind a partition where I could hear every word.

  BUGGER THE FATHER: Come on old chap, you can forgive him this time too.

  ‘Forgive him? What for?’

  ‘You’re just pretending you don’t know.’

  ‘I’m not pretending. I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re angry and you’ve got every right to be.’

  ‘I’m not angry.’

  ‘I’m telling you, you are angry.’

  ‘If you want me to be angry with him that suits me fine but would you mind telling me what mischief he’s been up to before I get angry.’

  ‘All right, three times, four times, but it’s hardly a habit. You find yourself with a crowd of young lads and girls, have a few drinks and a laugh, dance a bit. Time passes quickly, and before you know it you’re locked out.’

  Lowering his voice, Bugger added: ‘They can’t hear us. Tell me honestly. Were we any wiser than they are at their age? Do you know what a bad father is? A bad father is one who has forgotten the faults of his own youth. Tell me, did we never spend a night away from home?’


  ‘And you tell me, Bugger old friend, did we never take up with girls our parents didn’t like?’

  ‘All right… So I shout louder than it hurts. Do the same.’

  ‘But Jacques didn’t spend the night away from home, at least not last night, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Oh well, if it’s not that girl it’s another one. Anyway the long and the short of it is you’re not cross with the boy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And when I’m gone you won’t ill-treat him?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Word of honour?’

  ‘Word of honour.’

  ‘Well that’s that and I’m going home.’

  Just when Bugger my godfather was on the doorstep my father tapped him on the shoulder and said: ‘Bugger, my friend, there’s something funny going on. Your boy and mine are a tricky pair of rogues, and I suspect they’ve put one over on us today. Time will reveal all, though. Goodbye, old friend.’