Jacky S - Suburban Souls, Book II

I give here, out of curiosity, the odd notes I jotted down the day after my visit, just to show the state of my mind, with all my doubts and contradictions.

It is all over now. I cannot visit there again, unless Lilian was to come forward and go down on her knees to me. This she will never do. She is too hard. I know her. What will the next move be? An invitation from Papa? If so, I shall probably decline it. I must do so. Besides, I am tired. If I go, it will only be to tell her of the fact which is now perfectly clear to my eyes: that every hand at Sonis is against me.

Papa behaved all day like an old procuress, trying to put two lovers together. I remember how silly he looked at her side, the day the officer arrived to see the puppies. Papa has spoken since about the two that were sold; and of that presented to his colleague; while Lilian has oft recurred to the fate of the one my jeweler had, but there has not been the slightest reference ever made to the animal that was given to the soft-eyed soldier, whose appearance and bearing pleased me so much. He was a man any woman would have been pleased to be seen with.

She cannot come near me now. Even her Whitsuntide journey must now be knocked on the head, if ever it was sincere, as Papa will not hear speak of the brother spending his holidays away from home, and she is going to live always at the villa now.

She depends on Papa for everything, even to her food, and I know he is very kind to her. She too, evidently likes him very much. He is not married to her mother, but he will have to do so now, so as to reward her for the sacrifice. The two are firmly bound together by their material wants and pecuniary interests. Mamma's “courses” are leaving her, and she has no more feeling. She hinted as much to me. So what chance have I in such a household? With Lilian's obstinate lies and her desire for money against me too. She has spoilt everything, and I must retire.

I now know all I want. She is the mistress of her mother's old lover and her maidenhead has been gone some months.

She only cares for me for what she thinks she can tear out of me. If I was wrong in this surmise, she would simply try to see more of me, or work for me with her Papa, as she seemed to do so nicely before she left for Brussels with him.

May 3, 1899.

I took to the Eastern railway station, two novels, as I had promised, and left them in a parcel at the cloak-room, sending the ticket to Lilian in an envelope, without a word. I wrote on the fly-leaf of one of them that I did not want them back, as they were of no value, except for reading.

One was Suzanne, by Léon A. Daudet (Paris. Charpentier, 1897), and the subject was the incest of a bad girl, a liar and a hypocrite, who glories in her wrongful lust for her own father. He takes her away on a trip to Spain; her health being the pretext, and both alone together, they put up at a hotel, when he gives her a ring, just as Papa did in Brussels. It is one of the most powerful works of the kind. I underscored all the erotic passages, with any remark which seemed to touch on Lilian's case, and there were many.

The second novel was La Femme et le Pantin, by Pierre Louys (Paris. Société du Mercure de France, 1898), which is a pretty little story of a wicked woman and a weak man, who continually returns to his torturing mistress, in spite of her vile treatment of him.

I think that Lilian was egged on me for marriage from the very first, and flirting was allowed, but perhaps her visits to me in Paris were added by herself? Or they knew she came to me, but she would tell them at home that I walked her about the parks and squares and sighed over her.

Another proof that Papa knows all, and had read my last disgusting letter, where I spoke of the kick to Blackamoor: this time, in front of me, he feigned to get in an awful rage with Lilian's dog, and took a big stick, pretending to hit him. Lilian seemed (?) distressed. Then he brought the cudgel softly down on the crouching body of the trembling pet and burst out laughing, caressing the animal. That was clearly an answer to my allusion to his cruelty to Blackmoor.

Papa had asked me if I knew the price of nickel saucepans in Paris. intending to replace all his kitchen utensils by that new metal. I got him some tariffs and catalogues of these goods, with the offer of a very late discount, on account of my efforts. But I soon suspected that he would have liked me to make him a present of these utensils, and when he spoke of a new photographic stand camera, as he only had a fine detective apparatus, or of chemicals and requisites, of which I got him some catalogues, it was only mendacity in disguise, and I was required as a dupe to feed them all.

Lilian was contemptible. She was capable of everything that was bad, and why? For nothing through that invincible force which drove her alternatively from good to evil, from evil to good, in the same irresponsible way.

Her absence of all moral sense was unimaginable. She had no idea of rectitude or honesty, nor of what was allowed or forbidden. She had no conscience of her acts. She felt she was despised, even by those she pleased, and those who were the most indulgent towards her would judge her as eccentric and lacking brain equilibrium. She realized the impression she created, but did not try to overcome it. Subtle, loving, caressing, kind; full of curiosity; crafty, and above all perfidious; adoring intrigue; stopping at nothing; obstinate, bad-tempered, and sly. She was full of coquetry and false pride, with the low tastes and bad language of a prostitute although not vulgar. Yet without animosity, I should be insane to take any interest in her, despite her evident perversity.

Lilian belonged to the category of hysterical unfortunates. I am certain that she had a certain instinct of sincerity. She would have liked to have been loyal, but she could not. She lied, in spite of herself, without knowing it, and always for the sole reason that the one simple characteristic of hysteria is the madness of mendacity.

Like the tongue of the fable of Aesop, Lilian was, or could be good or bad. Doing evil as suggested by the stronger will of Papa, she loved good actions, and passed long hours teaching one of her illiterate workgirls to read and write. To another, she advanced money when in trouble and was never repaid, and I felt certain that if she obtained gold by her prostitution or her millinery, she would freely give her earnings for her family. Strange mixture of qualities leading to vices; of vices conducting to virtue; all these contradictions were united in her.

Perfidious, she was clumsy; cunning, she was credulous; courageous, she was cowardly; a young lady, she liked the company of paid hirelings; indefatigable, she was lazy; perverted, she was devoted; vain, she was humble; witty, she was silly; and ugly, she was very pretty at times.

She inspired disgust and excited desire; in a word she troubled the brain of whosoever took an interest in her.

ERIC ARVEL TO JACKY.

Sonis-sur-Marne. May 28, 1899.

My dear Jacky,

I have been so busy of late that I have had no time to call my own. I had intended asking you down last Monday, as Raoul had got forty-eight hours leave, but I am under the impression that you were in the midst of a family fête, so I was afraid to disturb you.

I just had time to take a photograph of Lilian and Raoul, copy of which I send you.

We still are as badly off as ever, as far as servants are concerned, but if you will come down and take pot-luck, bicycle and all, with us on Tuesday, we shall be very pleased indeed to see you, and do our best to entertain you.