"On your knees," the monk¹ said to me, "I am going to whip your titties."

 

"My titties, oh my Father!"

 

"Yes, those two lubricious masses which never excite me but I wish to use them thus," and upon saying this, he squeezed them, he compressed them violently.

 

"Oh Father! They are so delicate! You will kill me!"

 

"No matter, my dear, provided I am satisfied," and he applied² five or six blows which, happily, I parried with my hands. Upon observing that, he binds³ them behind my back; nothing remains⁴ with which to implore⁵ his mercy but my countenance⁶ and my tears, for he has harshly ordered me to be silent. I strive to melt him... but in vain, he strikes out savagely⁷ at my now unprotected bosom⁸; terrible bruises⁹ are immediately writ¹⁰ out in black and blue; blood appears as his battering¹¹ continues, my suffering wrings¹² tears from me, they fall upon the vestiges¹³ left by the monster's rage, and render them, says he, yet a thousand times more interesting... he kisses those marks, he devours¹⁴ them and now and again returns to my mouth, to my eyes whose tears he licks up with lewd¹⁵ delight. Armande takes her place, her hands are tied, she presents breasts of alabaster¹⁶ and the most beautiful roundness; Clement¹⁷ pretends to kiss them, but to bite them is what he wishes.... And then he lays on and that lovely flesh, so white, so plump, is soon nothing more in its butcher's eyes but lacerations and bleeding. stripes. "Wait one moment," says the berserk monk, "I want to flog simultaneously¹⁸ the most beautiful of behinds and the softest of breasts." He leaves me on my knees and, bringing Armande toward me, makes her stand facing me with her legs spread, in such a way that my mouth touches her womb and my breasts are exposed between her thighs¹⁹ and below her behind; by this means the monk has what he wants before him: Armande's buttocks and my titties in close proximity²⁰: furiously he beats them both, but my companion, in order to spare me blows which are becoming far more dangerous for me than for her, has the goodness to lower herself and thus shield me by receiving upon her own person the lashes²¹ that would inevitably²² have wounded me. Clement detects the trick and separates us: "She'll gain nothing by that," he fumes²³, "and if today I have the graciousness to spare that part of her, 'twill only be so as to molest²⁴ some other at least as delicate." As I rose I saw that all those infamies²⁵ had not been in vain: the debauchee was in the most brilliant state; and it made him only the more furious; he changes weapons opens a cabinet where several martinets are to be found and draws out one armed with iron tips. I fall to trembling. "There, Therese," says he showing me the martinet²⁶, "you'll see how delicious it is to be whipped with this... you'll feel it, you'll feel it, my rascal²⁷, but for the instant I prefer to use this other one..." It was composed of small knotted cords, twelve in all; at the end of each was a knot somewhat larger than the others, about the size of a plum pit. "Come there! Up! The cavalcade²⁸!... the cavalcade!" says he to his niece; she, knowing what is meant, quickly gets down on all fours, her rump raised as high as possible, and tells me to imitate her; I do. Clement leaps upon my back, riding facing my rear; Armande, her own presented to him, finds herself directly ahead of Clement: the villain²⁹ then discovering us both well within reach, furiously cuts at the charms we offer him; but, as this position obliges us to open as wide as possible that delicate part of ourselves which distinguishes our sex from men's, the barbarian³⁰ aims stinging blows in this direction: the whip's long and supple³¹ strands³², penetrating³³ into the interior with much more facility than could withes or ferules, leave deep traces of his rage; now he strikes one, now his blows fly at the other; as skilled a horseman as he is an intrepid³⁴ flagellator, he several times changes his mount; we are exhausted³⁵, and the pangs³⁶ of pain are of such violence that it is almost impossible to bear them any longer. "Stand up," he tells us, catching³⁷ up the martinet again, "yes, get up and stand in fear of me" his eyes glitter, foam³⁸ flecks³⁹ his lips like persons distracted, we run about the room, here, there, he follows after us, indiscriminately striking Armande, myself; the villain brings us to blood; at last he traps us both between the bed and the wall: the blows are redoubled: the unhappy Armande receives one upon the breast which staggers her, this last horror determines his ecstasy⁴⁰, and while my back is flailed⁴¹ by its cruel effects, my loins are flooded by the proofs of a delirium⁴² whose results are so dangerous.

 

"We are going to bed," Clement finally says to me; "that has perhaps been rather too much for you, Therese, and certainly not enough for me; one never tires of this mania⁴³ notwithstanding the fact it is a very pale image of what one should really like to do; ah, dear girl! you have no idea to what lengths this depravity leads us, you cannot imagine the drunkenness into which it plunges⁴⁴ us, the violent commotion⁴⁵ in the electrical fluid which results from the irritation⁴⁶ produced by the suffering of the object that serves our passions; how one is needled by its agonies! The desire to increase them... 'tis, I know, the reef upon which the fantasy is doomed⁴⁷ to wreck⁴⁸, but is this peril⁴⁹ to be dreaded⁵⁰ by him who cares not a damn for anything?"#p#分页标题#e#

 

Although Clement's mind was still in the grip of enthusiasm, I observed that his senses were much more calm, and by way of reply to what he had just said, I dared reproach him his tastes' depravation, and the manner in which this libertine⁵¹ justified⁵² them merits inclusion, it seems to me, amidst the confessions⁵³ you wish to have from me.

 

"Without question the silliest thing in the world, my dear Therese," Clement said to me, "is to wish to dispute a man's tastes, to wish to contradict, thwart⁵⁴, discredit⁵⁵, condemn⁵⁶, or punish them if they do not conform either with the laws of the country he inhabits on with the prejudices of social convention. Why indeed! Will it never be understood that there is no variety of taste, however bizarre, however outlandish, however criminal it may be supposed, which does not derive⁵⁷ directly from and depend upon the kind of organization we have individually received from Nature? That posed, I ask with what right one man will dare require another either to curb⁵⁸ or get rid of his tastes or model them upon those of the social order? With what right will the law itself, which is created for man's happiness only, dare pursue him who cannot mend his ways, or who would succeed in altering his behavior only at the price of forgoing⁵⁹ that happiness whose protection the law is obliged to guarantee him? Even were one to desire to change those tastes could one do so? Have we the power to remake ourselves? Can we become other than what we are? Would you demand the same thing from someone born a cripple? and is this inconformity of our tastes anything in the moral sphere but what the ill-made man's imperfection is in the physical?

 

"Shall we enter into details? Why, very well. The keen mind I recognize in you, Therese, will enable you to appreciate them. I believe you have been arrested by two irregularities you have remarked in us: you are astonished at the piquant⁶⁰ sensation experienced by some of our friends where it is a question of matters commonly beheld⁶¹ as fetid or impure⁶², and you are similarly surprised that our voluptuous⁶³ faculties⁶⁴ are susceptible⁶⁵ of powerful excitation by actions which, in your view, bear none but the emblem⁶⁶ of ferocity; let us analyze⁶⁷ both these tastes and attempt, if 'tis possible, to convince you that there is nothing simpler or more normal in this world than the pleasures which are their result.

 

"Extraordinary, you declare, that things decayed, noisome⁶⁸, and filthy⁶⁹ are able to produce upon our senses the irritation essential to precipitate⁷⁰ their complete delirium; but before allowing oneself to be startled by this, it would be better to realize, Therese, that objects have no value for us save that which our imagination imparts to them; it is therefore very possible, bearing this constant truth well in mind, that not only the most curious but even the vilest⁷¹ and most appalling⁷² things may affect us very appreciably⁷³. The human imagination is a faculty⁷⁴ of man's mind whereupon, through the senses' agency, objects are painted, whereby they are modified, and wherein, next, ideas become formed, all in reason of the initial glimpsing of those external objects. But this imagination, itself the result of the peculiar⁷⁵ organization a particular individual is endowed with, only adopts the received objects in such-and-such a manner and afterward⁷⁶ only creates ideas according to the effects produced by perceived objects' impact: let me give you a comparison to help you grasp what I am exposing. Therese, have you not seen those differently formed mirrors, some of which diminish objects, others of which enlarge them; some give back frightful⁷⁷ images of things, some beautify things; do you now imagine that were each of these types of mirrors to possess both a creative and an objective faculty, they would not each give a completely different portrait of the same man who stands before them, and would not that portrait be different thanks to the manner in which each mirror had perceived the object? If to the two faculties we have just ascribed to the mirror, there were added a third of sensation, would not this man, seen by it in such-and-such a manner, be the source of that one kind of feeling the mirror would be able, indeed would be obliged, to conceive for the sort of being the mirror had perceived? The mirror sees the man as beautiful, the mirror loves the man; another mirror sees the man as frightful and hates him, and it is always the same being who produces various impressions.

 

"Such is the human imagination, Therese; the same object is represented to it under as many forms as that imagination has various facets⁷⁸ and moods, and according to the effect upon the imagination received from whatsoever⁷⁹ be the object, the imagination is made to love or to hate it; if the perceived object's impact strikes it in an agreeable manner, the object is loved, preferred, even if this object has nothing really attractive about it; and if the object, though of a certain high value in the eyes of someone else, has only struck in a disagreeable manner the imagination we are discussing, hostility⁸⁰ will be the result, because not one of our sentiments is formed save in reason of what various objects produce upon the imagination; these fundamentals once grasped, should not by any means be cause for astonishment⁸¹ that what distinctly pleases some is able to displease⁸² others, and, conversely, that the most extraordinary thing is able to find admirers.... The cripple also discovers certain mirrors which make him handsome.#p#分页标题#e#

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