Juliette

by Marquis de Sade

  “But, Madame,” I demanded, “how can somebody so well acquainted with Nature admit the existence of a God? When not long ago we inquired of you by whom we were being fucked, you answered ’twas by God.”

  “Is there one more mighty than the prick?” Durand asked by way of answer.

  “Ah,” said I, “I prefer to hear you respond thus than other-wise. But come now, dear heart, jesting aside: you do not believe in God, do you?”

  “My friends,” Durand said to us, “the more one studies Nature, the farther one probes into her secrets; the better one comes to apprehend her energy, the greater grows one’s conviction of the futility of a God: the erecting of that empty idol is of all pieces of mystification the most odious, the most ludicrous, the most dangerous, and the most detestable; this revolting little fable, which wherever it exists has been whelped out of human hopes and fears, is the final consequence of human folly. Once again, to suppose an author of Nature is to misappreciate her altogether, only willful ignorance of all the effects of this fundamental power and prime mover permits the assumption of another which directs it, and you will never see any but idiots or rogues acknowledge or believe in the existence of a God. This God men have dreamt up is, in their presentation of him, what? an assemblage of all beings, all properties, all powers; the immanent and nondistinct cause of all natural effects. Baffled about the qualities of this fictitious being, in their confusion seeing him sometimes as good, sometimes as bad, now jealous and now vindictive, people could only be further misled into imagining that he had to punish and reward; but their God is actually only Nature, and Nature does not discriminate, neither does she deign to judge: in her eyes, all her creatures are equal and equally indifferent; since the production of one costs her no more than the production of another, to her the destruction of an ox is no worse than the destruction of a man.”

  “And your doctrine touching the soul, what is it, Madame?” Clairwil asked. “For your philosophy is in too close concordance with our own for us not to relish an exposition of its various tenets.”

  “No less a materialist in my approach to the soul than, in my analysis of the deity, I am prepared to state,” said Durand, “that after having sedulously perused all the reveries philosophers have left us on this chapter, I came away with my conviction unshaken that the soul of man, absolutely similar to that of all animals but otherwise modified in him owing to the difference of his organs, is nothing else than a quantum of that ethereal fluid, of that infinitely subtle matter the source whereof is sunshine. This soul, which I consider substantially identical in all animate things, is the purest fire there is in the universe: it is not hot, it does not burn by itself, but upon penetrating into the hollows in our nerves its impact there is so explosive, it sets the animal mechanism so dynamically into motion as to render it capable of every sentiment and every combination thereof; in this its effect is similar to one of those of electricity, upon whose nature our information is still incomplete but which is basically the selfsame thing; upon the death of a man, or of some other animal, this fire is exhaled and, so a raindrop falling into the ocean, loses itself in the immense universal mass of the same matter, always existing, ever moving, perpetually active; the rest of the body putrefies, decomposes, and recomposes in other forms which other portions of this celestial fire enter and animate; I leave it to you to guess, in the light of this definition, what he who accepts it is bound to think of the comical ideas of heaven and hell.”

  “My dear,” said Clairwil, “after having talked to us in so frank a manner, and after the manner in which we have illustrated our adherence to principles like your own, you ought indeed, with the same candor, tell us who it is and what, this God by whom you latterly had us so well whipped and fucked; willing to unveil to us the mysteries of Nature, why should you fear revealing those of your house?”

  “Because those of Nature are everybody’s by right,” Durand rejoined, “whilst those of my house belong to me alone; I may therefore disclose them or keep them secret, whichever I wish; well, my wish is not to discuss these matters with anyone, and if you persist in asking me about them, though you offer me the wealth of the Indies, you’ll go away from here empty-handed.”

  “So be it,” said I, “let us not pester Madame with questions upon a subject she is not disposed to speak about; but there are others upon which she may be able to give us satisfaction…. The possibilities of libertinage here in your house, they exist—of this we are sure. What can you propose to us, for we are exceedingly libertine—”

  “There is not a single passion,” replied Durand, “not a single whim or fancy, not a living being on this globe, not an extravagance or eccentricity, however unusual or picturesque it be, that cannot be enjoyed here; merely give me several hours forenotice, I will procure you anything under the sun; let your desire be irregular, let it be fantastic, let it be gruesome, and this in no matter what degree, I solemnly promise to provide you the means to execute it. Nor is that all. If there be any men or women anywhere in the world, with whose tastes or practices you were eager to be acquainted, I will have them here; and unseen by them, you will watch them in action through a gauze curtain. This entire house is mine, the ease wherewith on all four sides it may be entered or left without being seen, its secluded location, the height of the enclosure girting it, in a word, its mysterious loneliness, these, I think, guarantee both security and pleasure, which should be carefree; so command and you will be served: all individuals, all races, all nations, all sexes, all ages, simply specify what you wish—any debauchery, every crime: you have but to choose. You pay well, this I know; and with money anything can be had in my establishment.”

  “And yet you must not be in any great need of it, Madame, your wealth must be immense.”

  “Yes,” Durand conceded, “but I too have tastes and as I spend virtually everything I earn, I am not by a long shot as rich as you might think…. Yes, ladies, yes, strictest secrecy and unlimited facilities, such are the features of this place; you have immolated five or six victims so far today, assassinate five hundred more, there is no dearth to fear; do you wish to make further experiments upon boys, upon girls, upon mature persons, upon aged persons, upon youngsters, only say so, you will be served on the spot.”

  “I want,” said Clairwil, “to bum-fuck two fifteen-year-old boys with a red-hot dildo while you martyr them, and while two handsome lads, already gorged on poison, bum-fuck me.”

  “One hundred louis per victim,” said Durand, “and you will be satisfied.”

  “For my part I’ll have two young girls,” said I, “since I only like to do to my sex what this whore likes to do to men; I shall encunt them with a like device, and your sylph will lash them to ribbons with martinets—the points of steel must be heated to the same temperature; I shall be whipped throughout the operation.”

  “Fifty louis per girl,” said Durand.

  We took out our purses and in less than ten minutes everything was under way. The little girls given me were ever so pretty, and ever so ferocious were the sylph’s proceedings; the woe-begone victims expired in our arms and our transports were indescribable; the sylph and the corpses were whisked away in a flash, but our lust remained unappeased. Clairwil, disheveled, wild-eyed, was foaming at the mouth and I was hardly any calmer. Durand besought us to enact another drama, if that were agreeable to us it would be witnessed by libertine observers.

  “Give us a victim apiece,” was our reply, “and your examiners will be contented.”

  I am provided with a charming girl, naked, her hands tied behind her back; a similar subject for sacrifice, but of masculine sex, is produced for my companion: we begin by flogging them with nettles, then with our martinets, the work is already well advanced when it is interrupted by a knock on the door: it is Durand, who had stepped out of the room and now returns: “The gentleman outside,” she says, “requests you to prolong the torture, and to turn slightly to this side while you operate: he would like a view of your asses wher
eof until now he has been unable to judge.”

  “Go, and say it will be as he wishes,” Clairwil replied.

  We resumed. The fierce creature opens the abdomen of the boy who has been entrusted to her, she tears out his heart and thrusts it hot into her cunt.

  “Ah, Juliette,” says she, her breathing becoming hoarse, “for ages I’ve been wanting to frig myself with a child’s heart, this should lead to a memorable discharge.”

  Sprawled atop the corpse of her latest victim, she yet sucked its mouth and chewed its tongue as she fucked herself with its heart. “And now,” she grunted, “let’s bury it completely.” In order to be able to fish it out again, she pierced it, ran a string through; and the lump of viscera sank out of sight.

  Clairwil set up a howl of pleasure. “Juliette,” she gasped, “try it, Juliette, try it, there’s nothing to equal the sensation.”

  “I once knew a man,” I said, “who had roughly the same mania: he used to make a hole in a yet palpitating heart, force his prick into it, and discharge there.”

  “That could be charming,” said Clairwil, “but aesthetically less pretty than what I am doing; try it, my angel, you owe it to yourself.”

  There is nothing like the effect of example upon an imagination such as mine; it suggests, it encourages, it electrifies: I soon have my victim laid wide open and promptly insert its living heart between my labia; but, more straitly avenued than my companion, my efforts are unavailing, it will not enter my cunt.

  “Slice it in two,” Clairwil urges upon noticing my plight, “provided some of it goes in, that is all that matters.”

  I follow her advice and having taken the same precautions as she, bury a fair half of the heart in my womb. The fiendish creature was right, for dildo this is without peer; for warmth, for elasticity where will you find its match? And the moral parts, my friends! how they are fired by these horrors…. Oh yes, yes, there is no denying it, Clairwil’s idea was excellent, and I had not discharged so deliciously in a very long time. After an hour devoted to these infamies we summoned Durand again.

  “Fuck!” she exclaimed upon catching sight of the frightful debris littering the room, “apparently, you need only be shown the opportunity—”

  “Exactly, and we will duplicate that massacre at any hour of the day,” said Clairwil; “come, come, my dear, murder is as familiar to us as it is to you, we idolize it just as passionately, and so long as there is killing in your house you may always count upon our custom.”

  “Kind friends,” Durand said to us then, “there is yet something I would propose to you.”

  “Do not hesitate.”

  “Will you help me make fifty louis?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then have the goodness to receive an admirer for a moment; he has been watching you, your doings fascinate him, and he is burning from eagerness to make your more intimate acquaintance.”

  “Very well,” said I, “but we too wish to be paid, no money is more enjoyably spent than what one earns in a whorehouse; simply ask him for a hundred louis, that leaves twenty-five for each of us.”

  “I am of my companion’s mind,” said Clairwil; “but what would the fellow do with us? One must not take payment for nothing.”

  “Ah,” said Durand, “you will not be disappointed, he is extremely libertine; nonetheless, he is aware that you are ladies of condition and will treat you with fitting consideration.”

  “Send him in,” said I, “let him only pay and not trouble to consider us, we are whores and intend to be treated as such.”

  In they walked: first a little man of some sixty years, short, stout, almost naked, with the opulent look of a financier; a sodomizer followed hard on his heels, tooling him on the move.

  “Lovely asses … lovely,” he cried, handling them; “ah, ladies, you have done remarkable things….” And while frigging himself amain: “You have killed, aye … butchered—that’s the very thing I adore. How would you like to begin again? We shall do the same together.”

  So saying the lecher pushes me onto the bed and embuggers me while fondling Clairwil’s buttocks; after a few moments of clumsy shoving and jerking he takes up his stance behind Clairwil, gomorrahizes her, and, as he does, examines and nuzzles my bum. At this point his fucker discharges; the little man, seemingly considering it useless to go on warring in the breach without the support of a good prick in his rear, debuggers straight off and, catching up a handful of withes, he bids his fucker hold us while he gives us both a thrashing. The little rascal arranges us in this bizarre manner: facing in the same direction, we stand close beside the fucker, a tall man, who faces in the direction opposite and prisons our heads beneath his armpits: thus is Monsieur Mondor confronted by a sturdy prick for frigging and two superb asses for belaboring, and he flies to the task. Our bums, already in very fit sorts, bear up bravely under the storm, and it is severe, the bugger does his worst; prolonged was the ordeal, and bloody too, he wore out six bundles of withes, and our thighs were as badly treated as our buttocks; during occasional pauses he sucked his man’s prick and when finally he got it to a stand, had us fucked by this superb member: after all that flagellation, you may readily appreciate our need of that balm. While his retainer fucked us turn by turn, the financier worried the fucker’s ass and thereinto plunged his prick ever and again; his passion now well in the wind and running full-sailed, he cried out for a victim. One was brought him, an eleven-year-old boy: Mondor fucks him; Mondor is fucked: the villain orders us to carve the child open and extract his heart, as just before he had watched us do, and to rub it over his face while he discharges: all his bidding is done and the monster, bathed in blood and braying like a donkey, unpents his fuck. No sooner was he finished when, without so much as a word to us, he was gone out of the room. See there an example of the effects of libertinage upon a timid soul. It is ever the same: remorse and shame rush in the instant their fuck rushes out, because such people, unable to forge principles to themselves, always suppose they have behaved ill because they have not behaved quite like everybody else.

  “And who was that queer fellow?” we asked Madame Durand.

  “An exceedingly wealthy man,” she answered, “but I shall not give you his name; you would not be pleased to have me publicize yours.”

  “His practices go no farther than what we have just seen?”

  “He usually does his own murdering; but today he was visibly not in form and therefore charged you with the chore. You say he impressed you as being unsure of himself? You were not mistaken, he is indeed shy, overly scrupulous … and even very devout: he dashes off to pray to God after perpetrating horrors.”

  “Poor fool, he is truly to be pitied. If you cannot first conquer vulgar prejudices, better not venture into our way of life at all; for, once having elected it, he who does not advance with determined step is heading for a great many embarrassments.”

  And after adjusting our clothes we wrapped up our purchases, made this valuable new acquaintance a generous settlement, and returned to our carriage, both of us determined to cultivate Durand and make the most extensive and frequent use of the supplies we had bought from her.

  “I am going to poison every creature who crosses my path,” Clairwil announced, “if for no other reason—and is there another so solid?—than to commit an action which already affects my senses more profoundly than most, and is soon apt to win the position of a favorite in my heart.”

  I was eager to introduce Belmor to Durand: they struck me as made for each other, and I frigged myself incontinently over the thought of seeing my lover in the arms of that evil witch. At our next encounter I mentioned her name; no, he was not acquainted with her; we agreed to call upon her together, and we went. After offering my excuses for having neglected her so dreadfully—I had not indeed been back since that first visit, lack of a free moment was the reason—I presented the Comte to her, and the welcome she gave him was warm. Enchanted by everything he saw there, and after some heavy purchasing, h
e succumbed to the voluptuous titillations that stunning personage was causing in him. The scene, just as I had hoped, transpired before my eyes; first sodomizing her, Belmor then begged to know, would she satisfy his dearest passion? I provided the necessary explanations; the victims were produced without delay, and Belmor, aided by me, regaled himself delightfully.

  “Sir,” said the sorceress, “let me offer my felicitations, that passion of yours is charming; if you care to visit me again the day after tomorrow, I shall enable you to observe one of approximately the same sort, although a thousand times more spectacular.”

  We came faithfully to the rendezvous; but nobody came to open the door. The shutters, we then noticed, were drawn over the windows, the house seemed deserted; and we went away. Despite the great many inquiries I made, I was never able to discover what became of that remarkable woman.

  Nothing very out of the ordinary befell me in the course of the next two years; I lived higher than ever before, my debaucheries multiplied, and finally brought me to the point where I lost all taste for the simpler pleasures of Nature; to the point where if there was not something exceptional or criminal in the frolics which were proposed to me, I could not even feign an interest in them. It is likely that when we reach this stage of numbed indifference, virtue makes a final effort inside us, whether because in our exhaustion we are so reduced that her voice reassumes its authority in the face of our torpor, or because, through a natural desire for change, we, bored with crimes, wish to try a little of the contrary; whatever the case may be, this is the moment, beware of it, when long-forgotten prejudices reappear, and if they overtake somebody who has already traveled far in a vicious career and gain the upper hand over him, the unhappiness they cause is terrible; there is nothing worse than to limp back to Susa in defeat and dishonor.

  I had just attained my twenty-second year when Saint-Fond broached another of his execrable schemes to me. Still infatuated with his depopulation measures, his aim in the present plot was to starve two-thirds of France to death, by engrossing foodstuffs, grains chiefly, on a colossal scale; and in the execution of all this I was to have the principal role.