Justine 淑女的眼泪 Chapter 3

Juliette had just attained¹ her twentieth year when a certain Comte de Lorsange, a gentleman out of Anjou, about forty years of age, became so captivated by her he resolved to bestow² his name upon her; he awarded her an income of twelve thousand pounds and assured her of the rest of his fortune were he to be the first to die; he gave her, as well, a house, servants, lackeys³, and the sort of mundane⁴ consideration which, in the space of two or three years, succeeded in causing her beginnings to be forgot.

 

It was at this point the fell Juliette, oblivious⁵ of all the fine feelings that had been hers by birthright and good education, warped⁶ by bad counsel and dangerous books, spurred by the desire to enjoy herself, but alone, and to have a name but not a single chain, bent⁷ her attentions to the culpable⁸ idea of abridging⁹ her husband's days. The odious¹⁰ project once conceived, she consolidated¹¹ her scheme during those dangerous moments when the physical aspect is fired by ethical¹² error, instants when one refuses oneself much less, for then nothing is opposed to the irregularity of vows¹³ or to the impetuosity of desires, and the voluptuousness¹⁴ one experiences is sharp and lively only by reason of the number of the restraints whence one bursts free, or their sanctity. The dream dissipated, were one to recover one's common-sense mood the thing would be of but mediocre¹⁵ import, 'tis the story of mental wrong-doing; everyone knows very well it offends no one; but, alas¹⁶! one sometimes carries the thing a little farther. What, one ventures to wonder, what would not be the idea's realization¹⁸, if its mere¹⁹ abstract shape has just exalted²⁰, has just so profoundly moved one? The accursed reverie is vivified, and its existence is a crime.

 

Fortunately for herself, Madame de Lorsange executed it in such secrecy²¹ that she was sheltered from all pursuit and with her husband she buried all traces of the frightful²² deed which precipitated²³ him into the tomb.

 

Once again become free, and a countess, Madame de Lorsange returned to her former habits; but, believing herself to have some figure in the world, she put somewhat less of the indecent in her deportment. 'Twas no longer a kept girl, 'twas a rich widow who gave pretty suppers at which the Court and the City were only too happy to be included; in a word, we have here a correct woman who, all the same, would to bed for two hundred louis, and who gave herself for five hundred a month.

 

Until she reached the age of twenty-six, Madame de Lorsange made further brilliant conquests: she wrought²⁴ the financial downfall of three foreign ambassadors, four Farmers-general, two bishops²⁵, a cardinal²⁶, and three knights²⁷ of the King's Order; but as it is rarely one stops after the first offense²⁸, especially when it has turned out very happily, the unhappy Juliette blackened herself with two additional crimes similar to the first: one in order to plunder²⁹ a lover who had entrusted³⁰ a considerable sum to her, of which the man's family had no intelligence; the other in order to capture a legacy³¹ of one hundred thousand crowns another one of her lovers granted her in the name of a third, who was charged to pay her that amount after his death. To these horrors Madame de Lorsange added three or four infanticides. The fear of spoiling her pretty figure, the desire to conceal³² a double intrigue³³, all combined to make her resolve to stifle³⁴ the proof of her debauches in her womb; and these mis-deeds, like the others, unknown, did not prevent our adroit³⁵ and ambitious woman from finding new dupes every day.

 

It is hence true that prosperity may attend conduct of the very worst, and that in the very thick of disorder³⁶ and corruption³⁷, all of what mankind calls happiness may shed itself bountifully upon life; but let this cruel and fatal truth cause no alarm; let honest folk be no more seriously tormented³⁸ by the example we are going to present of disaster everywhere dogging the heels of Virtue³⁹; this criminal felicity is deceiving, it is seeming only; independently of the punishment most certainly reserved by Providence⁴⁰ for those whom success in crime has seduced⁴¹, do they not nourish in the depths of their soul a worm which unceasingly gnaws⁴², prevents them from finding joy in these fictive gleams of meretricious⁴³ well-being⁴⁴, and, instead of delights, leaves naught⁴⁵ in their soul but the rending⁴⁶ memory of the crimes which have led them to where they are? With what regards the luckless one fate persecutes⁴⁷, he has his heart for his comfort, and the interior ecstasies⁴⁸ virtues⁴⁹ procure⁵⁰ bring him speedy restitution⁵¹ for the injustice⁵² of men.

 

Such was the state of affairs with Madame de Lorsange when Monsieur de Corville, fifty, a notable wielding⁵³ the influence and possessing the privileges described further above, resolved entirely⁵⁴ to sacrifice himself for this woman and to attach her to himself forever. Whether thanks to diligent⁵⁵ attention, whether to maneuver⁵⁶, whether to policy on the part of Madame de Lorsange, he succeeded, and there had passed four years during which he dwelt with her, entirely as if with a legitimate⁵⁷ wife, when the acquisition of a very handsome property not far from Montargis obliged both of them to go and spend some time in the Bourbonnais.

 

One evening, when the excellence⁵⁸ of the weather had induced them to prolong their stroll beyond the bounds of their estate and toward Montargis, too fatigued⁵⁹, both, to attempt to return home as they had left, they halted at the inn where the coach from Lyon stops, with the intention of sending a man by horse to fetch them a carriage. In a cool, low-ceilinged room in this house, looking out upon a courtyard, they took their ease and were resting when the coach we just mentioned drew up at the hostelry.

 

It is a commonplace amusement to watch the arrival of a coach and the passengers' descent: one wagers⁶⁰ on the sort of persons who are in it, and if one has gambled upon a whore, an officer, a few abbots and a monk⁶¹, one is almost certain to win. Madame de Lorsange rises, Monsieur de Corville follows her; from the window they see the well-jolted company reel into the inn. There seemed to be no one left in the carriage when an officer of the mounted constabulary, stepping to the ground, received in his arms, from one of his comrades poised⁶² high on top of the coach, a girl of twenty-six or twenty-seven, dressed in a worn calico jacket and swathed to the eyes in a great black taffeta mantle⁶³. She was bound hand and foot like a criminal, and in such a weakened state, she would surely have fallen had her guards not given her support. A cry of surprise and horror escaped from Madame de Lorsange: the girl turned and revealed, together with the loveliest figure imaginable, the most noble, the most agreeable, the most interesting visage, in brief, there were there all the charms of a sort to please, and they were rendered yet a thousand times more piquant⁶⁴ by that tender and touching⁶⁵ air innocence⁶⁶ contributes to the traits of beauty.

 

Monsieur de Corville and his mistress could not suppress their interest in the miserable⁶⁷ girl. They approached, they demanded of one of the troopers what the unhappy creature had done.

 

"She is accused of three crimes," replied the constable⁶⁸, "'tis a question of murder, theft and arson⁶⁹; but I wish to tell your lordship that my comrade and I have never been so reluctant to take a criminal into custody⁷⁰; she's the most gentle thing, d'ye know, and seems to be the most honest too."

 

"Oh, la," said Monsieur de Corville, "it might easily be one of those blunders so frequent in the lower courts... and where were these crimes committed ?"

 

"At an inn several leagues from Lyon, it's at Lyon she was tried; in accordance with custom she's going to Paris for confirmation⁷¹ of the sentence and then will be returned to Lyon to be executed."

 

Madame de Lorsange, having heard these words, said in lowered voice to Monsieur de Corville, that she fain would have from the girl's own lips the story of her troubles, and Monsieur de Corville, who was possessed⁷² of the same desire, expressed it to the pair of guards and identified himself. The officers saw no reason not to oblige, everyone decided⁷³ to stay the night at Montargis; comfortable accomodations were called for; Monsieur de Corville declared he would be responsible for the prisoner, she was unbound, and when she had been given something to eat, Madame de Lorsange, unable to control her very great curiosity, and doubtless saying to herself, "This creature, perhaps innocent, is, however, treated like a criminal, whilst about me all is prosperity... I who am soiled with crimes and horrors"; Madame de Lorsange I say, as soon as she observed the poor girl to be somewhat restored, to some measure reassured⁷⁴ by the caresses⁷⁵ they hastened to bestow upon her, besought⁷⁶ her to tell how it had fallen out that she, with so very sweet a face, found herself in such a dreadful plight⁷⁷.

 

"To recount you the story of my life, Madame," this lovely one in distress⁷⁸ said to the Countess, "is to offer you the most striking example of innocence oppressed, is to accuse the hand of Heaven, is to bear complaint against the Supreme⁷⁹ Being's will, is, in a sense, to rebel against His sacred designs... I dare not..." Tears gathered in this interesting girl's eyes and, after having given vent¹⁷ to them for a moment, she began her recitation in these terms.

 

Permit me to conceal my name and birth, Madame; without being illustrious, they are distinguished⁸⁰, and my origins did not destine me to the humiliation⁸¹ to which you see me reduced. When very young I lost my parents; provided with the slender inheritance they had left me, I thought I could expect a suitable position and, refusing to accept all those which were not, I gradually spent, at Paris where I was born, the little I possessed; the poorer I became, the more I was despised; the greater became my need of support, the less I was able to hope for it; but from amongst all the severities to which I was exposed at the beginning of my woeful career, from amongst all the terrible proposals that were made me, I will cite to you what befell me at the home of Monsieur Dubourg, one of the capital's richest tradesmen. The woman with whom I had lodgings⁸² had recommended him to me as someone whose influence and wealth might be able to meliorate the harshness of my situation; after having waited a very long time in this man's antechamber, I was admitted; Monsieur Dubourg, aged⁸³ forty-eight, had just risen out of bed, and was wrapped in a dressing⁸⁴ gown which barely hid his disorder; they were about to prepare his coiffure; he dismissed his servants and asked me what I wanted with him.

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