Jacky S - Suburban Souls, Book II

It was not necessary to give direct evidence of misconduct, because it was not often that the accused parties were caught in flagrante delicto; but if familiarity, opportunity, and other circumstances were shown, they might legitimately be asked to draw the inference that adultery had been committed.

They must not, however, act upon surmise or suspicion, but must have evidence upon which to draw their inference, at the same time considering the relationship of the parties which had existed for many years, because, had it not been for that earlier intimacy, the case might have assumed a very different aspect.

Appendix D

“In the infidelities that Saint-Fond allows, there is a feeling of debauchery…. Saint-Fond enjoys the idea of knowing that you are in the arms of another; he puts you there himself and has an erection so to see you; you multiply his delights by the extension you give to your own, and you will be always more loved by Saint-Fond, when you do to the utmost that which would arouse the hatred of another.”

The heroine replies:

“Saint-Fond will like my tastes, my wit, my humour, and will not be jealous of my body! Oh! how that thought consoles me; for I confess to you, my friend, that continence would be impossible for me. My nature must be satiated at all costs; with my impetuous blood…with the imagination you know of, how can I resist these passions which are irritated and inflamed by everything!”

— La Nouvelle Justine ou les Malheurs de la vertu, suivie de l'Histoire de Juliette, sa soeur. En Hollande, 1797. 10 vols. 18 mo. (Pp. 82–83, Vol. 6.)

Appendix E

CÉSARÉE.

This is the simple title of a novel by Edmond Tarbé, a successful author and journalist, turning upon the reciprocal passion of a father and daughter, as embodied in the diary of the former. It is carefully and delicately worked out and the style is perfect. The book was never published. While the first edition was in the press, in 1891, the publishers-the well-known house of Levy, Paris-were informed that the subject was one totally unsuited to their clientele. The work of printing was put a stop to, and the author tore up his contract and took the few copies that were finished. These he gave away to his friends and none were ever sold. It is now very rare.

The daughter-heroine, Césarée, is twenty, and her father forty, when they go away on a little trip to Switzerland. They have never lived together, the father having left her when a baby.

The writer describes the pleasure the girl feels at being all alone with her adored father, when they are taken for husband and wife.

The first night they are alone together, they have two bedrooms, communicating, and Césarée begs her Pa to do his writing in her chamber, while she is in bed, reading. He obeys her, and when all is quiet, she gets up and forces him to let her read his diary, where she sees to her delight that he loves her madly. He declares that he fears his passion and she answers:

“There is a barrier which we must never pass. To break it down would be the signal of certain remorse and shame that neither you nor I could resign ourselves to support. But in front of this barrier, we find all liberty of love, and I invite you fearlessly to feasts where our hearts will find satisfactions, which are quite great enough….

“ I am your daughter … that is to say, you cannot renew with me the work that brought me into the world. I am your daughter!..

“But if, because I am your daughter, the consummation of our passion is forbidden to us both; on the other hand, because I am your daughter, I belong entirely to your sterile embraces. I am your thing, created by you, animated by you…

“Believe in that love and give yourself up to it, father, with complete joy, as I abandon myself to it, proudly and without remorse.”

He takes her in his arms and thus describes what he does:

“With a single caress, my hands and my lips at the same time covered her shuddering flesh with one long kiss, embracing her whole soul at once. Passive and silent, as if nearly dead, she thus received in a few ardently-lived moments, the reward of her two years of secret adoration. From the moisture of her outstretched limbs, the perfume that I found twice more, mounted to my brain and penetrated it, in intoxicating emanations. Now I drank it, as it were.”

After a variety of charming episodes, poor little Césarée commits suicide and dies a virgin.

Appendix F

AN INFAMOUS FATHER.

Victor Blanvillain, a workman, thirty-eight, living at Chatenay, 22, rue des Prés-Hauts, is the father of ten children, of whom seven are girls. A few days ago, M. Cuvillier, commissary of police at Sceaux, received an anonymous letter informing him that Blanvillain had inflicted horrible treatment on five of his daughters, of the ages of sixteen, thirteen, twelve, ten, and nine.

After a rapid enquiry, which confirmed the accusation of the letter, the commissary informed the justices in Paris, who ordered a supplementary investigation and charged M. Joly, judge of instruction, to follow up the affair.

This magistrate, after hearing a certain number of witnesses, and having no longer the least doubt of the guilt of Blanvillain, who, besides, had made a partial confession, issued a warrant against the unworthy father.

The workman was at once arrested and taken to the Dépôt; but nevertheless his capture had been made as discreetly as possible, as it was feared that the indignant population of Chatenay might lynch the scoundrel.

Blanvillain's wife is mad with grief, and finds herself with her children in the most cruel position, having nothing to live on but the meagre earnings of her vile husband.

The wretched woman seems in despair and only the advice of the magistrates and the promise of assistance have given her a little energy.

Le Petit Journal, Paris, April 9, 1899.

Appendix G

TÊTE-À-TÊTE.

…One evening, Monsieur Le Hardeur, who up till then had shown himself almost like a father, frightened me and disgusted me with him to such an extent that I was very nearly calling for the help of the servant-girls of the restaurant where we were dining tête-à-tête; or else I should have foolishly jumped out of a window.

…It was fearfully hot. I had taken off my hat and slightly opened my surah blouse.

I forgot to eat or drink as I gazed upon the summer sky…. I must have been quite lost. I am sure I had the eyes of a little girl examining pretty colored pictures, one by one.

And I perceived too late that my godfather had emptied two bottles of sparkling Asti, one after the other, and for the last few seconds had been examining me and looking me up and down with the fixed stare of a drunken horse-dealer.

“Hullo there! It's no fun to dine in front of one's napkin,” cried he, suddenly. “Do you go in for the beauties of nature?”

I turned round in a fright and I thought he was going to have a fit.

With half-closed eyelids, his checks shining and pimply, he stammered out:

“You mustn't leave a poor man all by himself…a poor man who has never done anybody any harm; especially as-as-”

He interrupted himself to breathe noisily, as if invisible hands had tightened his high, starched collar.

“Especially as you are superior to your mamma in every way. 'Pon my word, that madcap Fripette never had such a complexion. Roses in milk. And that head of hair! Silken rings, and so light, so golden, so well planted!”

I imitated in spite of myself his husky tone of voice, and replied with effrontery:

“And what's the next article, sir?”

He was not put out for so little.

“And she has already got hips, the little minx, and love-apples in her basket. First prize for beauty: Mademoiselle Jeannine Margelle? Ninette for her godfather, her excellent little godfather. Drop a nice curtsey to the gentleman, before you get your prize and a kiss.”