Letters From Prison (28 page)

The succeeding volumes of d’Alembert, if you please. I’ll send them back in short order. Some trash for my secondary reading, since I am absolutely unable to read anything serious at night, what with the periodic headache I get immediately after I have eaten, and seeing that I am kept from taking any exercise, which you know I am accustomed to. Some marshmallow syrup, passably iodized, and the same sort as before, for ’tis very good. Above all some jam, which I am in the habit of eating, and which you really ought to have sent me instead of the little candles for which I had no use, since I have more than I have need of, both the short and the tall, until the 1st of July. Do please contact the dentist, for I fear I shall need him within a fortnight, and as soon as it becomes pressing I shall write you a little message telling you to send him to me forthwith.

I recall that on the 15th of June last year you sent me an excellent eel pie which, despite the warm weather, was a great success. As I have been allowed only a small amount of both roasted and boiled meat, I have to believe one can mix in a bit of fish as well, but one has to be extremely careful about one thing that will hasten its going bad, and that is to make sure no spice whatsoever is added to it, for if there is the slightest bit I shall simply refuse to eat it. It won’t keep, I know; in which case, the only wise thing to do is make it a very small pie, and I’ll make the best of it. If you want me to try the first strawberries of the season and feel you are in a position to send me some, I shall be most pleased; but that is just a fantasy pure and simple on my part, to which you need pay no attention.

I embrace you with all my heart.

28. To Madame de Sade

June 25, 1780

“W
hen you get out I shall lock you up in my bedroom,” etc.

“When you get out you will go abroad,” etc.

“When you get out you will be exiled,” etc.

“When you get out you can do your own browsing in the bookshops,” etc.

Oh, my God! won’t I have my hands full, and how clever I shall be if I am able to fit them all in! Why did you not add, “When you get out you will embark on a ship”?
“And when you reach port, I shall be happy beyond compare”
—a sentence as full as the one that said:
“Seventeen seventy nine will be a very happy year for me.”

Admit it, yes, please do, ’tis that last
“when you get out”
is the one you are keeping from me. Several sentences in your letters like the one I just quoted, the same old tunes mumbled to La Jeunesse and also appearing in his own letters, a note countersigned
“rigolei d’ aqui”
and postmarked Boulogne-sur-Mer, embellished as usual with numbers (a note they just happened to drop off in my room back in March of 1778), a casual question Marais put to me on the road,
if I was afraid of the sea,
¹
and, most of all, something analogous to that project, which you mentioned to me after one of your returns from Paris, in the early stages of my affair: these are the grounds for my suspicion, which alas is doubtless all too well founded, about how this dreadful business is ultimately going to come out: a sinister end, of which you have to give me unmistakable hints in all of your letters, in everything they have done in my regard, in the packages you send, etc.

Please pay close attention to what I am about to say, keeping in mind that I am writing this letter in a state of total calm, and, make absolutely sure it reaches you, making sure ’tis free of any kind of invectives, to prevent the censors from finding any reasonable motive to confiscate it; so, once again, pay close attention if you please to what I have to say.

I have always dreaded and prodigiously detested the sea. La Jeunesse, who has seen me brave the sea, knows that this antipathy stems from my basic nature and that I absolutely cannot bear sailing. You may be sure that with the sad state of my already wasted chest, that is all it would take to finish me off. Even if it were a question, not of a post, not of the command, but of crowning me the
king of
an island, I would turn it down. I feel bound to declare it in no uncertain terms; to which I add something else concerning which you may be sure I shall remain firm, and from which I shall most assuredly not waver, and that is, certain as I would be that such a project holds nothing for me but a very swift death, I shall most certainly never agree to it of my own free will. And that if I am forced into it, I would sooner be chopped into pieces on the shore than forced onto any sort of ship, preferring, between two possible deaths, the one that will deliver me from my sufferings at one fell swoop rather than one which, simply prolonging them, would be more than dreadful in my view. In testimony whereof I sign this present writing, so that those who might have concocted this dark design against me may be convinced of my position.

de Sade

I have not often asked you to dispel all the fears or nightmarish fantasies wherewith my unfortunate situation has filled me. Furthermore, there are five or six other worrisome aspects to this ridiculous scheme you leave me with, regarding which I ask you for no
reassurance,
if one may employ that expression. But as for this one, it has afflicted me so long and so cruelly that I believe the anxiety it has caused me, and the sleepless nights it has made me spend, are doubtless the reason behind my failing health; and I ask you with the greatest urgency to reassure me on this score. If you fail to reply to me, if you choose to remain silent on the matter, I shall be forced to believe that nothing is more true, and in that case I shall not hide from you the fact that. . . For God’s sake, erase this doubt from my mind, I ask you most humbly. It does not surprise me that a knave
^*
whose situation is so precarious that he stands to be shipped off to the islands for any misdemeanor, perhaps from having been afraid [of the high seas] more than once in his life, either that or being sent to the galleys, made such a suggestion to your mother. The desire he has always had, which you yourself have admitted, to go down and manage my estate for my own good, in order to steal to his heart’s content, more than justifies this advice. But I hope your mother will not be weak enough to acquiesce to it. You are fully aware, and you must constantly make every effort to remind your mother, what a complex and thorny matter it is to manage my estates, and what a singularly easy opportunity they offer for thievery, something my father painfully discovered, since during the last years of his life—may God keep him close beside Him or send him back to me—he derived absolutely no benefit therefrom. During this latest absence,
²
you have also seen it for yourself, since the leases in the surrounding areas rose by a third while mine fell by a quarter. And yet in spite of all that, I swear, under whatever penalty it may please you, that I intend to leave them to my son worth twice what they were when I inherited them from my father, if for once in my life I am left alone and am allowed to go and live upon them when I get out of here. Those are things of which you must constantly remind your mother, who I believe will, when she takes all this into account, see a far greater need for allowing me to remain peacefully at home rather than shipping me off to some distant place. I dare say that Gaufridy, another scoundrel of the first order—of which I think you have had more than ample proof—keeps sending your mother all sorts of plans and proposals, to convince her that, no matter how far removed I may be from the scene, she can direct everything perfectly well from her own hearth and home, and that her every wish is his command. But to that there is only one reply one need make to him:
“Sir, so what about the La Coste lease?”
—you will soon see him blush and fall silent.

In a word, I ask you for no greater consolation than to assure me that when I am released from here I shall be allowed to go and work for the future of my children: regarding that next step in my life, leave me to fret as much or as little as you please, ’tis a form of existence I have grown used to by now, and which has convinced me there is nothing truer than that one can adapt to any situation. All I ask is that you allay my fears
upon the single matter of shipping me off to sea,
which I consider a deliberate act of killing me off in a tortuously slow manner. The shorter way would be to send me a stout dose of opium, and the matter would be done. I shall sign the request in my own blood if need be.

Until I hear from you positively upon this subject I shall be in a terrible state of anxiety. And if you persist in remaining silent for more than a reasonable period, I warn you that I shall order them in the future that under no circumstances are they to bring me any more of your letters. I have no need for a correspondence that causes me naught but anxiety without ever reassuring me on any given subject. A long time ago I first warned you of my desire to break off our correspondence, but I have been patient till now and very certainly foresee the day when ‘twill be a thing of the past if you do not give me satisfaction. Once I have forbidden further letters, will they decide to pass them on to me all the same?
Woe to him who dare to do so,
‘twould cost him dear; despair stops at nothing. What will result therefrom? To be deprived of your kind favor?. . . No matter! I had no trouble doing without it early on here, I shall do very well without it again . . . Till then I beseech you to send me once each fortnight—at least until the time when, desiring to make anything you send conditional upon the exchange of letters, offended because I want no more of your letters, you are unwilling to send anything anymore—till then, I say, kindly send me some books, candles both large and small, jams, some cotton stockings, and as always both kinds of marshmallow. The doctor, to whom I have spoken highly of that marshmallow, would be obliged if you would send me the address for it. Your pate was a veritable firebrand of spices, the benefits of which I left to those who serve me here. Herewith my thanks and much love.

1
. Sade is referring to the possibility that when he is released he might be sent abroad by ship into exile. Since he cannot swim and hates the sea, he is haunted by that possible fate.

*
I am of course referring to Albaret, having promised myself to refrain from letting any invective slip into this letter, aimed at those who believe they are sheltered therefrom. But I trust that one can well imagine that this individual can never avoid being treated in a manner he so thoroughly deserves. (
Sade’s note
)

2
. From La Coste.

29. To Madame de Sade

[July 27, 1780]

W
ell, well, there you go, withdrawing into one of your great silences . . . ’Tis well done; ’tis only right and proper to rest upon one’s laurels at times. I have just done a bit of the same. But the difference between us two is that I have nothing to talk about and consequently there is little or no point in my writing; whilst you, if you so desired, or if you were able, would have a great deal to say. Please note that I say,
if you
were able,
and by that remark you can see the full justice I render you and to what point I am convinced that you are no freer to avoid all the absurdities you are made to commit than I am to receive them. That should make you clearly understand once and for all that my feelings for you will never be affected by all this. My portion of hatred will remain undivided; if it were apportioned, I fear some might get lost, and I am too desirous of reserving every last bit of it for her who so thoroughly deserves it. Whatever may come of all the kindnesses and all the charming signals, I can tell you that they hasten the decline of my health. ’Tis impossible for me to exist without getting out for some fresh air, especially in a season like this. I absolutely am unable either to eat or sleep. At least if they are going to prevent me from getting any fresh air, they should leave me alone at night. But to give me the most horrible headaches all day long by depriving me of sleep, and to prevent me from getting any fresh air, which is the only thing that makes them go away, is to inflict upon me ills of every sort all at once, and these charming tactics shall rest engraved in my mind. At least send me the flask of eau de Cologne I asked you for so long ago: if only I had some these past few days, when I suffered so from nerves and headache, it would have been of great comfort to me. That one example, you have to admit, denying me even this slight aid, is a needless annoyance. Ah! what a lovely lesson that teaches me! and how I shall put it to good use! Keep in mind when I say that I would much rather dash my brains out against the wall here and now than not oblige your execrable mother to say one day,
“How right he was; I am sorry for what I did. These were not methods one should have used in dealing with a head such as his.”

The other day I came to the firm conclusion not only how much they want me to suffer, but also how upset they would be were an illness to come in the way of all the infamies they visit upon me. By actual count, I spent seventeen nights without closing what is referred to as one’s eyelids for a single minute. I looked as if I was newly risen from the grave, so much so that I was frightened myself by the way I looked. The doctor breezes in and asks me how I’m feeling. “My face will tell you better than I,” I answered. “Why, not at all, not at all,” he said to me. “In truth, I find you looking fit as a fiddle.” Good, I said to myself, that’s all I need to be convinced that this man views me like the Inquisitor’s doctor, who takes the victim’s pulse during the torture to see whether the torture can go on any longer, and who always says: “You can go on.” This man (so I believe) has orders to find out how I am; but do you for a minute believe that he doesn’t see, from the way they talk to him, that they want nothing more than for him to find me well so they can go on with the torture? In consequence whereof, this man, who couldn’t care less, will always reply that I am doing just fine so long as he doesn’t find me suffering from a stroke. And moreover, you should get it into your head that as far as they are concerned, all these vile people have everything to gain from making the families believe that their charges are doing just fine, and so they deceive them; in a word, the horrible malpractices which, under cover of this lovely secrecy, are routine in these houses, are one thing that ought most to be brought to the attention of people in high places if there were really any equality in France, and if the interested parties were not so careful to stifle any outcry with well-placed gold and pretty women. All is well, all is in order, everything in the world is just fine when one is well-bedded and one’s purse is full. Gold and c——ts, these are the twin gods of my native land, and I am supposed to stay here, I who have never had much of the latter, and who am not in the least interested in defiling myself to the point of prostituting the former in those I hold dear?. . . No, no, I shall not stay! . . . I swear I shall not, I would rather go and live in Japan; there, I am sure, I would find more good faith and would surely not be witness to so many horrors . . . And, what is more, those who commit such horrors are punished there.