Letters From Prison Read online

  Furthermore, my dear friend, you must admit that ’tis rather remarkable that they are being so secretive about all this, to the point of not telling me to what high court this case is going to be sent for review. From this petition it looks as though it were to be the one in Paris, that quashing the decision becomes pointless, and that imprisonment, which sets aside contumacy, has served in its stead, and that the question remaining being one of procedure alone, as the petition says, a simple appeal would suffice. That is what comes through from this petition. It remains to be seen whether that is what it boils down to. I have no idea myself, and, thanks be to God, they leave me in complete ignorance, which is without any doubt the most ridiculous thing in the world, for considering where I am to whom could I breathe a word about it? Therefore being secretive is pointless, and it is used here simply to vex me all the more. This I find both exceedingly hard and exceedingly stupid, for I am vexed enough as it is; this further touch was useless. And who has a greater interest than I in all this? I beseech you therefore to keep me fully informed on everything, and without making me wait for three weeks, as you did after the other letter, which keeps me in a truly frightful state of anxiety and, of this you may be sure, succeeds only in embittering me and making my blood boil.

  In general, I do not find this petition written with the same force as the memorandum your mother presented to us a year ago. The difference between them strikes me as great, and I doubt whether they come from the same hand. In the memorandum there were much more powerful arguments for nullifying the second charge, which apparently are not raised here and yet of the two ’tis that one which, while equally false, would seem the easier to contend with; for in the first we have the girls vomiting: that, if you like, seems probable enough to justify, at least theoretically, the blindness, or rather the malicious obstination, of the so-called Marseilles judges. But what have we in the second? Nothing, absolutely nothing, not even the slightest probability.

  Nothing in this petition hints that the sentence was carried out. Is that yet another one of these things about which you say we have been misled? Please let me know what you think anent that.

  Be kind enough to communicate my notes to the lawyer. As for the first note, ’tis a stylistic fault urgently in need of correcting, because it leaves a terrible weakness in that area. As for the rest, I shall submit to his greater knowledge, and he will do as he sees fit; but at least he must make an issue of those creatures’ culinary orgy at table: that, in my view, is essential to accounting for the stomach trouble all five of them suffered.

  The passage in the petition that says, page 10, “But the court which shall weigh the complaints, the records of verification and of decomposition, the report upon the state of the two girls,” and so on, suggests major delays, for ’tis clear they are going to start the whole procedure all over again, and in that case, all too clearly set forth by these phrases, I still have ahead of me more furious suffering from a misery that is already beyond my power to endure. For verily, my dear friend, I am truly at the end of my rope, and ’tis all I can do to ward off the impulses of my despair.5

  What is most strange is that in all this there is never a word about my five months of prison in Savoy. It would seem that these were for the pure and simple satisfaction of your most gracious mother. How charming.

  What I do like about this petition is the clear field it seems to leave me to take to task all the poor beggars who have brought this ridiculous suit against me and for crushing, or so I hope, Martignan’s divine brother-in-law.6 ’Tis a joy that will surely console me in great measure for all my sufferings, indeed if I am successful, and, verily, justice demands I be given that privilege, for they are great brutes, these people. That appears to me to explain your phrase that we shall have the wherewithal to confound our enemies in Provence. Let me know if that is what you meant. In general, the end of the petition is quite good, and I am most satisfied with it; the only fault I find in it is that it is somewhat less forceful than last year’s memorandum, as I have just pointed out; and then the few observations duly noted in the first two pages of this letter.

  All this, as you see, my dear friend, is written helter-skelter and jotted as ideas occur to me after the two consecutive and careful readings of this petition I have just concluded. But you’ll arrange all that, and understand, or so I trust, what I am trying to say despite my incoherent style.

  There is however, in the concluding part of this petition, one sentence, I must admit, that I am unable to grasp at all. Here it is, isolated to be sure, but read it in context and you will see that you may understand it no better than I: “ . . . and the veritable judges who, in judging, draw no distinction between contumacy and post-trial hearings, pass no other judgment upon the one than they would upon the other. But, through a contrary principle,” etc. I do not understand a word of that sentence. If they can clarify it for me, I shall be most obliged. In general, what would have been the drawback in allowing me to chat here with my lawyer? None that I can see.

  In a word, having read and reread this petition, I come back to the point that if during the past five years everything has been prepared, as I had every reason to suppose, then this may well be over with quickly; but if nothing has been, as is also quite possible, it may yet drag on for a long time and keep me cooped up in here all that while. And another much more unpleasant possibility must be foreseen: if this admission of debauchery that I am going to be made to sign were, without regard for my imprisonment, to bring on yet another unfortunate ruling of a court, where would that leave me? New terrors and new anxieties in which they are pleased to leave me to stew, for I am quite right in saying that since I arrived here I have received neither the slightest legal advice nor the slightest comfort, and ’tis impossible to experience a more terrible plight.

  I most earnestly pray you, my dear friend, to obtain permission from M. Le Noir to write two notes a week to me instead of the one I am in the habit of receiving. ’Tis not in order to have news about my affairs more frequently: confine yourself to discussing those matters in the letter you customarily write each Monday, as I see from your dates; and I most earnestly beseech you, let the other contain nothing but a word about your health, without any detail regarding any other subject, which, I tell you, is dearer to me than anything else. Ponder what I am asking you here; and if you refuse, or if you fail to obtain it for me, you will hurt me terribly and cause me great anxiety.

  I have been meaning to tell you since learning that you are at the Carmelites’7 to steer clear of a certain room to your right as you enter the drawing room. Bear in mind that ’tis a worthless room, and that more than a decade ago my mother told me she did not dare enter it, because the architect had told her in no uncertain terms that the ceiling was on the verge of collapse. For my sake, please do not set foot in that room.

  When you write to them down there,8 make sure that they take proper care of the park; have instructions given to replace the little row of hazelnut trees; it costs nothing and this is the time of year to do it. Also send orders that the Devaux9 keep at it, their price being met, and that it be completely done before the first of June when, as you know, they are in the habit of packing up and leaving; otherwise the accounts with those people will become so entangled they will never get straightened out. Generally speaking, we departed in such haste and left everything in such disorder that it will cost us a pretty penny if we are not soon allowed to return, to put our affairs in order.

  Here is one more favor I might ask, which is hardly worth mentioning, because I am quite sure it will not be granted me: ‘twould be to rescue me from the dreadful anxiety in which I find myself by telling me when I might be released. I confess, ‘twould be a great favor you did me, almost a charity, in view of all I am suffering in my horrible situation. If you can manage merely to give me some vague idea, ‘twill be a mighty service you render me. Why, if this petition must involve delays, did you wait for almost three months of suffering before submitting i
t for my signature? That is naught but calculated cruelty, and if there are not to be further delays, and if everything is both arranged and formalized, why not say so? What is to be gained from this overzealous severity? Moreover, between the two favors I ask here, remember, my dear friend, that the one relative to the second note I ask from you each week in order to inform me about your health is to me the more important, the more precious, and the one I most earnestly request, being full ready to sacrifice everything to the happiness of keeping forever such a friend as you, whose least indisposition would reduce me to utter despair.

  Farewell, my dear friend, I embrace you with all my heart.

  Supplement to the Notes Relative to the Petition.10

  Why was it not indicated in this petition, during the discussion of the first charge, that Marguerite Coste’s vomiting did not occur until after a man, known as an itinerant practitioner of medicine on the streets of Marseilles, had come (sent by lord knows who) and administered strange remedies to this girl for the simple stomachache about which she had complained to her hostess? This fact strikes me of sufficient importance not to be neglected. You must remember it crops up throughout both the proceedings and the memorandum.

  1. The petition in question, which has been sent to Sade for information, vetting, and signature, relates to quashing the Marseilles affair. The title of the response is Sade’s.

  2. Sade’s term tries to minimize the fact that they were steeped in Spanish fly.

  3. Spanish fly. Sade is trying to make the case that the prostitutes’ stomach ills derived not from the cantharide candies he gave them but either from the poor food women of the profession were used to eating or from the royal feast he gave them in the course of their “revels.”

  4. Sade is probably lying through his teeth. However, as noted earlier, in all likelihood that punishable act, though proposed, may not have been committed with any of the five. Even if it was, none of the women would have admitted it under oath, knowing the penalty was being burnt at the stake.

  5. Once again, Sade is using the threat of suicide to urge his wife on.

  6. Probably Monsieur le Mende, the Marseilles procurator who signed the arrest warrant for Sade and Latour on July 4, 1772.

  7. Renée-Pélagie, probably to be free of her mother’s influence and proximity, had taken lodgings in the same Carmelite convent on the rue d’Enfer where Sade’s mother had lived.

  8. That is, La Coste.

  9. Workers who are effecting repairs on the chateau, which is in a state of increasing neglect.

  10. The post scriptum title is Sade’s.

  6. To Madame de Sade

  [Between September 7 and 28, 1778]

  After my letter written yesterday, dear friend, I have been granted permission to write you another more detailed one, and I am taking full advantage of the opportunity, as you will see. But let neither you nor anyone else who may read this letter1 be alarmed; ’tis the first and the last time that I shall indulge in details; all my protests, all my complaints, have always been so useless that in the future I want to spare you the boredom of reading them, and myself the bother of writing them.

  What has just been done to me is so absurd, so contrary to all the laws of common sense and fairness, so much the work of an enemy hand bent solely on ruining me—not only me but my children—that most assuredly I do not suspect your mother: perhaps I have never given her her due, and I have perhaps never felt more remorse for not having done so sooner. Letters, opinions, maneuvers discovered, conversations, five weeks of freedom, did, in short, open my eyes regarding the whole mystery. . . . Be that as it may, I no longer accuse her. . . . But how is it possible that she did not do everything in her power to discover and parry this blow,2 and how could she have been the dupe of people who were only too willing to help arrange my affairs for my children’s sake and not for mine? What kind of person can settle for this sophism, and who do you suppose can fail to see that the verdict is naught but a work of favoritism? and who is going to believe honor repaired where favor alone shows forth? This matter has reached a point where I do not hesitate to say that after an affront so glaring as that of which I’ve just been the victim, ‘twould have been a thousand times better for me had there been no verdict at all. They were beginning to talk about this affair less and less: it should have been allowed to die of old age. I dare say the effect would have been nothing compared to what this latest bit of slander has just produced . . .

  What repercussions, great God! what repercussions! After having received compliments from all my family, solicitations to visit them to receive their embraces and congratulations, after having allowed myself to spread it abroad that everything was over with, that, my verdict delivered, any eventual punishment could only be punishment for a crime and that most assuredly there would be none and could be none, since the crime had just been declared null and void, after all that, I say, to see oneself arrested at home and with a rage, a desperation, a brutality, an insolence not utilized with even the lowest of scoundrels issued from the dregs of society, to see oneself dragged off, bound hand and foot, with the whole of one’s province looking on and through the very places where one has just proclaimed one’s innocence and the decree verifying it! —Tell me, dear friend, would it not have been a hundred times better had the good folk who render me such important services, who have me tried in order to have the pleasure of subsequently defaming me, simply given instructions to blow my brains out in my own house?3 . . . Ah! how I’d have preferred that, and how much better ‘twould have been for the honor of the entire family! But what am I saying? This behavior is as injurious to my judges as to me: if I were guilty, they were obliged to condemn me, and if they did not condemn me and if according to their conscience I am not guilty, then I should not be punished afterward. Was it from a bed of roses I arose when I went to present myself before them? and sixteen months of the harshest captivity, had that not more than atoned for the one charge of debauchery that could legitimately be brought against me in the proceedings?

  What will they say to justify themselves, they who dare abuse all the rights of humanity in order to treat me thus? Will they revive all the calumnies concocted during the five years of contumacy,4 and use them for their text authorizing the new infamies they are visiting upon me? But in doing so let them at least not turn their backs upon the laws of justice; let them take a closer look at the facts and not condemn me without a hearing. They cannot be unaware of all the enemies I had during that interval. How many there were who did all they could to make sure I never got back on my feet! All those traps set, all those false reports, especially during the sixteen months! But let all that be put aside, let me be interrogated, let me be confronted, in short, let fair means be employed and ‘twill soon be seen just what all the alleged sins actually amount to. In a word, I swear and I solemnly declare that for those five years I was guilty of naught save a little too much trust in a trollop who ought to have been strung up and not left at large. But I assert, and whenever you like shall prove beyond all doubt, that I am guilty of nothing serious, and that in all that there is a chain of events that I alone can unravel, and that I shall clarify whenever you like. Strokes of mischance, indiscretions, far too much weakness and confidence in people who deserved none, too sharply written letters, strong and rash remarks (you know what I mean) might well, I admit, have succeeded in giving me the appearance of some wrongdoing. My enemies have exploited this, and there is the sole basis of the opinion that prevails and which doubtless is the cause for my being treated the way I am. Enough of that; if they have a shred of humanity, they’ll look into the matter and not damn me without a hearing: that is all I ask.

  Nothing can doubtless approach the execrations of Gaufridy’s conduct.5 I questioned you about it, but you did not deign to reply, because you and your mother have closed your eyes when it comes to that swindler. Whether through some secret errand or simply out of vain curiosity, he managed to get what he got, but did he have to misuse i
t and voice it abroad throughout the province? And when he was told, “Careful, sir, you’re ahead of yourself; you owe greater regard to someone who places his confidence in you,” had he to reply: “No, no, no, I know precisely what I am talking about”? “But sir,” ‘twas responded to him, “but sir, we all saw it. . . ‘twas at such and such a place, in plain sight of everybody. . .” Did he then have to answer with a torrent of insults flung at me, with all the relentlessness of the beggar he is; showing how eager he is to have me out of the way in order to be able to manage everything according to his fancy, to distribute leases at a loss of 400 livres per annum, in exchange for 1,800 livres in bribes, as I was to discover? That man is a scoundrel, I declare it to you, and for basic evidence all I need are the statements made by Nanon, who returned to La Coste as soon as she was set free: here they are, word for word as uttered to someone who will swear to it if need be: “Monsieur! . . . I must see Monsieur! . . .” “And why?” “To tell him to beware of Monsieur Gaufridy: he’s tried everything to get me to make dreadful charges against him. ‘Avenge yourself, avenge yourself,’ he keeps telling me, ‘he’s the one that had you put in jail: just say things happened in such and such a way and we’ll have him put away to rot for the rest of his life. . . ‘” This is how this monster behaved, and this is how he betrayed the trust of my mother-in-law—whom I do not blame for having sought to enlighten herself, but whom I dare assure you is still very much in the dark. As second proof of his readiness to turn his discoveries against me, all I need is a paper, in due form and duly signed, which I have fortunately kept, which is a very circumstantial report of what la Du Plan6 fetched from Marseilles, wherein those alleged discoveries are laid out in full. Therefore, that was their only source of information . . . Must a third and more eloquent proof be added? I can provide it, I can provide it: my best witnesses reside today exactly where they did two years ago; I had news from them during my five weeks of freedom, and they will appear if called upon, and swearing most solemnly thereto I end what I have to say upon this score.