Jacky S - Suburban Souls, Book I

(Unsigned.)

JACKY TO LILIAN.

Paris. Saturday, January 14, 1899.

Dear Lilian,

All last night and this morning I have reflected on the letter received yesterday evening. I can only repeat that I feel sincere gratitude for your good intention which delights me, but your starting-point is false. The more I think about it, the less I understand.

The aversion I have for the exchange of sour letters and which I have often expressed to you, grows stronger than ever, therefore I will be truly brief.

Since nearly three months, I suffer, I think, as much as a man can possibly suffer morally.

A new subject of discord now springs up between us.

This is atrocious!

JACKY.

She did not write, and I am ashamed to say that two days afterwards, I sent her the following letter:

JACKY TO LILIAN.

Paris. January 16, 1899.

My dear Lilian,

You are vexed with me because I think that I ought not to enter your father's house when he is away. Do you not understand that?

I think that if I saw you I should find arguments to convince you, for the last letter that you wrote proves that you are very intelligent.

I have an immense desire to see you. It is a great joy for me to be at your side.

That is why I hasten to send you these few lines to tell you that I shall come to Sonis to-morrow, Tuesday night, by the nine o'clock train, and I will stroll about until ten.

If you can't or won't see me, you need but send me a wire, as follows: “Do not come.”

I could have waited a few days before writing to you, but I do not wish you to believe me capable of sulking, or of watching to see who will come round first. Those are little, vulgar, stupid, mean artifices which are repugnant to me.

I love you and would like to see you to tell you so, and force you to say to me, your lips against mine, like the other night: “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

I come to you loyally, sincerely, and frankly, without beating about the bush; without chicanery; ready to answer all your objections and to plead my cause with you, without lying, showing myself to you as I am. So much the worse for me if you will no longer love me. I shall always love you, good or bad, dead or alive, even if I may be forced to think no more of you as a mistress.

At all hazards, I shall put the second volume of that little book for young people in my pocket. If you do not want it, you will return me the first volume and all will be at an end.

Do not fear that you will meet a silly, whining lover, groaning, and scolding. Tomorrow evening you will simply see your dirty Papa, and quickly you will offer him your pretty mouth, saying: “Good evening, Jacky!”

And we will begin to quarrel if you will.

But I want to see you.

JACKY.

A few months ago, I should have written, like the saucy wretch that I am: “Lilian, don't forget to tie on your little pink ribbon.” Now I no longer ask for anything.

January 17, 1899.

Lilian had invited me openly to spend Sunday with her in the absence of her parents. I refuse and she is vexed with me. What is the reason of this seeming imprudence? She is hand-in-glove with her Papa, and is now his mistress. Or she wishes to compromise us both. They must all have had a very mean idea of my intelligence to think I could not see through them.

These were my reflections as, full of curiosity, a curiosity which bid fair to conquer my lust, I took the train after dinner. It was a dull and showery night, and with the fear of rheumatism still upon me, I put on my box-cloth overcoat and a pair of thick shooting-boots.

Lilian was already out on the warpath, received me as usual with tantalizing remarks, and showed great jealousy. My refusal to pass Sunday with her touched her to the quick, and I was obliged to tell her that I always spent the weekly day of rest with my poor invalid mistress. She retorted that I did not love her much, or else I would not mind a quarrel at my home for her sake. I tried to make her more reasonable, but all my trouble was in vain. I allowed that she should feel some pain at my apparent devotion to my mistress, although I made her understand that the doctors forbade her all excitement or worry, but I could not see why she should draw me on to behave so indelicately towards her step-father. Here I watched her closely, as I said:

“I will not come openly to the villa, when the master of the house is away. I have behaved dishonestly enough as it is. Do you think it is the action of an honorable man to carry on an intrigue with the daughter of the house where he has been received with such confidence?”

I paused for a reply. None came. I continued:

“If your Papa was to know what I have done with you, he would be justified in kicking me all round Sonis, and I should have nothing to say.”

She never answered me, and my heart leapt in my breast as I now knew perfectly well that Pa, Ma, and Lilian formed an infamous Trinity of which I was to be a victim.

My home thrust caused her to hurriedly change the subject, and she talked of “Justine.” She had read the first volume and I had the second in my pocket for her. It had created a great impression on her. The parts that pleased her most were those where there were men and women together.

“Oh! That book!” she exclaimed, “I have not slept for reading it. I roll about my bed, and bite my pillow, and I am forced to relieve myself with my finger. I could not help it. And then it is in French, too. The other books I have of you are in English. I will return them to you tonight. This is the first French one I have read. I am going to be very good to you tonight. I will take you into the house. I have arranged with Granny by telling her that I am going to sit up and write some letters. She knows I received one from Papa today. By the way, I want you to do something for me in Paris. I do not want to go up tomorrow, as I have such a lot of work. I have got a lot of commissions from Papa.”

And she drew out a typewritten letter. I stepped back, out of delicacy, but she said I might take the letter, and read it, and keep it to do all that he requested. I did so, and at that moment had no idea of writing our story, or I should have copied the conclusion of the paternal missive. In guarded terms, Papa alluded to her health and begged her to take great care of herself. He said that she could count upon his great affection, and wished her to think of him as he was always thinking of her bodily health and her future welfare. It was not the letter of a guardian, but that of a lover.

Then we had our usual little quarrels. I was always reproaching her for her caprices and hardheartedness, and she was ever jealous of my mistress, and hinted that I ought to work harder and try and make some money.

Then she would press closer to me, and make me kiss her and feel her all over, outside her clothes. I had a gold pin in my scarf, and as our conversation touched upon the pleasures of cruelty, I amused myself by slightly pricking her arms and thighs, as the sharp point was strong enough to penetrate her clothes, and she did not seem at all averse to this insane diversion.

I asked her why she was always so wicked to me in winter time. Last year she would hardly see me, and now again it was the same. I compared her to a dormouse, but she could only laugh, and as usual I had no satisfaction. I ventured to say that perhaps she had some animosity towards me for having given her over to Lord Fontarcy. But she scouted the idea and said she had enjoyed herself enormously.

I wanted to know her impression while being flagellated and sodomized by my finger before witnesses.

“I had a feeling of disgust to think that Clara was there, looking at me. I would do anything you might possibly think of with men, but I loathe women. I would not mind being alone with ten men.”