This is Forbidden Book: Notes and Gossip of Tabooed Literature by An Old Bibliophile this being the Roth reprint of the 1902 Carrington catalog of books for sale. If you wish to verify the text below, please download the PDF of the scanned pages.
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FORBIDDEN BOOKS
NOTES and GOSSIP
ON TABOOED LITERATURE
AN OLD BIBLIOPHILE
Livres cheris, que je lia tour a tour
A table, au foyer, sous la treille,
Je vous prefere a ces amis d'un jour
L'amour changeant, la fragile bouteille
Dans cette vie aux destins inconstants,
Danse ce vieux monde ou l'amour a des ailes,
Ou l'amitie ne fleurit qu'au printemps,
Chers compagnons, seuls vous me'etes fideles.
PARIS
FOR THE AUTHOR AND HIS FRIENDS
1902
Of
This Book
No More Than
Three Hundred and
Seventy-five Copies
Have Been Printed
All on the Same
Paper
The Present
is
No.
PREFACE
"Je n'ecris que pour cent lecteurs, et de ces etres, mal-
heureux, aimables, charmants, point hypocrites, point moraux,
auxquels je voudrais plaire, j'en connais a peine un ou deux.
De tout ce qui ment pour avoir de la consideration comme
ecrivian, je n'en fais aucun cas."
STENDAHL.
COMMERCIAL life had never left me much time
for making a business of pleasure and relaxa-
tion, such as I see now around me as I have
passed that uncertain meridian politely termed middle-
age. Having fallen into what is called the sere and
yellow category, I think I am entitled in my dotage to
play at being a philosopher and find fault with my fel-
low men, in revenge for that they did often scoff and
laugh at me when I was younger. Such are the benefits
of old age and experience.
I was a long way over thirty and had never troubled
to read a really obscene book, although I knew that such
volumes existed. I had always been a lover of fiction,
and having been brought up before the age of bicycles
and lawn-tennis, I think I must have given a little more
time to literature than our boys of to-day. Just about
that time I stumbled across a catalogue of condemned
works, and in hunting through it, I was struck by the
10 FORBIDDEN
wonderful titles of the books that had been
persecuted, and was also stupefied to find how
under different political regimes, so many great
men had suffered for their opinions expressed in
pamphlets or in gazettes, and how absurd it all
seemed after a few years had passed. From
thence to hunting up the books I saw in the
catalogue was but a step, and so I blossomed
into a bibliophile, if you can so call a. collector
of forbidden books. For I never troubled much
about any others. This mania kept me amused
and interested for some thirty years or more, and
now I have set my house in order in view of the
certain fact that I cannot live forever, and as I
know not what will become of my library after
my death, I preferred to get rid of it while I
lived and so I gradually sold off my collection or
exchanged for standard works. All that remains
to remind me of many happy hours of relaxation
and amused wonderment are the notes I used to
make and the gossiping memories they evoke.
These rambling reminiscences—or rather, a
small part of them—I now jot down, and give
them out for the pleasure and guidance of other
collectors of the same style—if such exist.
I may be blamed for having had such vitiated
taste as to gather a mass of literature capable of
corrupting morals and sowing the seed of lust and
licentiousness. To which I reply that I really and
honesty believe that too great a fuss is made over
obscene books, and nine times out of ten the
harm they do is hardly worth talking about.
When I was quite a child I was much struck
with the performance of a somewhat wild
pantomimic sketch, entitled, "Valentine and
Orson," and thoroughly enjoyed the scene where
the monster or wild man beholds his own
ugliness, as for the first time in his existence he
catches sight of his shaggy lineaments in the
polished
BOOKS 11
shield by Valentine. May not the smug-faced
hypocrite railing against realism be of times
nothing more than an Orson in disguise!
A man of clean and normally healthy tastes will
read an obscene volume, and frankly say that he
has finished it and does not care much for it. He
will add that he does not want to persue [sic]
another, while the congenitally corrupt
individual, who would like to outvie the im-
possible feats of the heroes of smutty vulgar
volumes destined solely to inflame the passions,
calls out that he would not touch the horrible
little volume with a pair of tongs, and that the
author and seller thereof ought to be clapped
into jail. And yet he may be a man whose de-;
bauchery and deceit has driven his wife to die in
a madhouse, as I have seen it myself.
When Zola wrote his novel "Nana", which is
nothing more than a kind of modern "Fanny
Hill," a fearful outcry was raised in France, and
everybody said that they were not going to read
such filth. I think over a hundred thousand
copies were soon sold, and an illustrated edition
was also printed. It has been reprinted in every
language, again and again, more or less expur-;
gated—this book that nobody read! How many
people do you think have been corrupted by
reading the adventures of a mercenary prostitute
who dies of the smallpox, alone and neglected, in
a room of the Grand Hotel, at Paris!
When an Anarchist or political refugee is
tracked to his dingy lair by the police, it is always
gravely stated that a great quantity of socialistic
literature, and pamphlets advocating the
assassination of crowned tyrants, has been found
in the box of the misguided and dangerous crank.
If a young lad robs his employer and buys a
pistol, taking at the same time a third-class ticket
to a seaport town, a novel in penny numbers
(No.1 gratis
12 FORBIDDEN
with No.2, in a coloured wrapper), called, "Dick
Turpin junior," or "The Boy Burglar," will be
found among his belongings. The embezzling
clerk has been tempted by betting-men, as the
racing literature found in his possession plainly
proves, even had he made no whining confession.
But when a madman violates a little girl and cuts
her to pieces afterwards, why is there not a copy
of the bloodthirsty book, "Justine," ever to be
seized among his effects, so as to plainly show us
once for all that obscene and vile volumes really
wreak all the harm we are led to believe!
Not long since I read how a young draper's
assistant, of London, who led a double life, had
enticed his sweetheart, whom he was deceiving
with false tales of grandeur and lying promises,
into the parlour of his mother's house, taking her
life afterwards by breaking her skull with a heavy
instrument. He then poisoned himself. Do you
think he was corrupted by reading obscene books?
It must not be forgotten that sadism existed
before de Sade, but he was the first to set it down
as a theory.
Do you suppose that the "Horos" couple
became blasphemous debauchees by reading
books of lust? And inversely, do you not think
that if their wretched victims had not had sexual
knowledge and good advice on such subjects
carefully kept from them, they would have fallen
such an easy prey to the curious mixture of mysti-
cism and mesmeric lubricity that proved their
undoing?
People who read do not act, and those who act
do not read. I remember a friend of mine who was
being ruined by daily frequentation of a gambling
club, where he was carefully rooked six days in the
week. In pity of this sad infatuation, I brought him
several books where the tricks of the Greeks were
unveiled. He thanked me, and some time later
having occasion to visit him, I saw my volumes in
a comer covered with dust
BOOKS 13
and uncut. Those who play cards never read, and
those who read are no gamblers.
With regard to the corruption of the morals
brought about by impure tales: there are very few
women in my experience who care to read them
after their first curiosity has been gratified. The
reason is obvious. They are all written by men,
and the female naturally soon pierces the
impossibility of the descriptions as incidents. She
soon reckons them up at their true value and
generally declines the offer of more, preferring as
a rule a sentimental love story that will make her
weep. Women have more satisfaction when a sad
drama or a goody-goody story brings up a ball in
their throat and enables them to have "a good
cry," than by reading how some virgin enjoys the
penetration of the male at once, and invites
repeated assaults at the same sitting, like an old
married woman with ten lovers; or how a boy of
sixteen outdoes Hercules, by being flogged till the
blood runs down to his heels, etc.
To be led astray by such work of smut and
salacity, a being must be greatly predisposed, for it
is impossible for the normally healthy male, or the
female with enough red globules in her blood to
become suddenly profligate, and lose all their
pudicity, through reading a mass of crude and
impossible filth relating to sexual enjoyment. A
feeling of disgust must be created in clean-minded
people, and I think the ordinary sensuous
novelette or more carefully-veiled romance from
the circulating library is far more dangerous to the
morals of young folks, especially our daughters.
The soft villi an in the conservatory, who glues his
lips, (they always "glue"), to the mouth of the
lovely creature in a low-necked dress, whose
bosom heaves with gratitude, for having had her
bolting horse stopped by his sinewy arm, as he
saved her life that morning, is a thousand times
more dangerous
14 FORBIDDEN
than the lusty ruffian with an enormous
development of virility, who is pictured with
much carmine, in the ugly coloured plates of the
obscene book.
It is this mistaken modesty with regard to the
duties of kind nature that transforms the streets
of all great European cities into happy hunting
grounds for the systematic seducer, who knows
that by a show of religion, and a few lying
promises, he can wheedle the poor little workgirl,
or proud, well-built dressmaker's assistant out of
all her savings and her virginity to boot. From
whom do the quack doctors who advertise by
sticking bills in the byeways draw the major part
of their revenues? From unfortunate boys, who
having been wrongly instructed, by being kept in
ignorance, have at the first call of nature rushed
to the venal Venus, and contaminated by what
they are led to believe is a secret and shameful
disease—as if any malady of the human frame,
acquired or constitutional, could be of a secret
shameful nature—seek out these rogues, for fear
of scandal.
Now, my merry men, open up your tribunals,
and send out your police, so as to defend public
morality by putting some silly fool of a bookseller
in jail for a lengthened term of imprisonment for
having sold for a few guineas this atrocious
literature through the post to a bigger fool than
himself.
What makes these prosecutions, whether
conducted by the Police, Vigilance Societies, or
indignant private individuals, so ridiculous, is that
no book can be utterly stamped out. Since the
invention of printing every book has survived,
while its perseuctors [sic] have long been for-
gotten. When books are ordered to be destroyed
the worthy magistrate is only giving them a new
lease of life. Those who do not care to read such
volumes stop the case in their newspapers, and
those who would like
BOOKS 15
to see them keep the titles in their memory and
wait until they are reprinted. And they always are.
Even if the judicial orders are carried out entirely,
which I doubt, one copy escapes somehow. An
enthusiast may transcribe it, when he has it lent to
him, and so it is born again. Books have the
vitality of the most lively, healthy germs.
AN OLD BIBLIOPHILE
PARIS, April 15th, 1902.
Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.
London, G. Fenton, 1749.
2 vols., 12mo., 13 free plates.
IN January, 1884, at Stockholm, there was a
sale by public auction of books on love,
women and marriage—which is a polite way
of informing collectors of my class that there are
some racy books to be had—which was soon
followed by another in November of the same year.
These two parts (1) formed the library of a Swedish
book-lover, Count Manderstrom, unless I am
mistaken, and this catalogue is very curious and
interesting. But what was most remarkable was the
third part, entirely composed of books a "figures
galantes," which means: excessively free, containing
97 numbers of books, vignettes, and even
transparent playing cards, which were not publicly
put up for sale, but marked in plain figures.
In this list was a copy of Cleland's famous work,
generally known by the name of the heroine:
"Fanny Hill," and in French editions, very often as
"Miss Fanny," as noted above, and only 75 francs
was asked for it. The amiable bookseller who
superintended the sale, was kind enough besides to
grant a discount of 10% without me asking for it.
I had great pleasure in receiving the book, for
this was the first time I was lucky enough to get
hold of the
18 FORBIDDEN
original edition of this celebrated novel, which is
without doubt the best erotic work in the English
tongue. It is written in sober style, but the English
is of the best, and all is perfectly correct and
grammatical, which is a rare thing to be said of a
free work in any language.
As for the subject, it is a universal one, simply
narrating the life of a young person carrying on
what Rudyard Kipling calls "the most ancient and
best-paying trade in the world." This book had
many editions, and I can call to mind one printed
in London, about 1855, with the close type of the
old two-shilling "railway" novel, where all the free
passages were "worked up," and made more
obscene still, with G. W. M. Reynolds' and G. P.
R. James' flowers of rhetoric. The contrast of the
ultra-romantic varnishing to the solid chastened
prose of Cleland forms a most extraordinary
mixture, and makes the perusal a difficult task.
The two volumes of the gentle Swedish
gentleman, became my property, and they were
ornamented with 13 plates, illustrating the best
parts of this fascinating tale, in the broadest
manner possible, but in spite of my efforts and
researches, I was never able to find another copy
of the same series of pictures, either in a copy of
the book or apart, so as to be able to compare
and verify them. They were mezzotints, evidently
by a master hand, in the style of Morland. I held
the true edito princeps [sic], with a set of plates
unknown to all the inconophiles and bibliophiles
to whom I showed them. The number of the
plates seemed suspicious. Why thirteen? This
number seemed strange to me, as engravings were
printd [sic] as a rule, in even numbers, being
struck off in twos and fours on the same plate. Be
that as it may, I was the proud possessor of a
unique book, and I well remember the annoyance
of my friend Pisanus Fraxi—peace be to his ashes
I—who had just printed his bibliography
BOOKS 19
of "Fanny Hill," (1) without having seen my copy.
So I was able to declare that my two volumes were
unknown to all bibliographers,—a sweet triumph
for an amateur!
They were modestly bound in contemporary
calf, and instead of the true title, they bore on
their backs the mention: "Natural Philosophy."
That poor martyred publisher, Isidore Liseux,
used them to make his careful reprint, where
therefore the true text is to be found. Thus it was
that a Frenchman published in our time the text
in extenso of the masterpiece of English amorous
literature, for it must not be forgotten that the
reprints made in London since those of the
XVIII century are all more or less hacked
about.
My two cherished volumes were a sweet delight
for seventeen years, and when, with the advent of
old age the taste for books had left me, together
with many other tastes, I was able to find a home
for my faithful Fanny. Not only was I thanked for
giving her away, but joyously was counted out to
me more than tenfold the price I had paid for her.
Ah! if all my life I could have got rid of all my
Fannies in such an advantageous way!
20 FORBIDDEN
Thais, translated from the French of
Anatole France. "Then you would
have felt my soul in a kiss, And I
would have given my soul for this, To
burn for ever in burning hell"
Swinburne. London, Charles Car-
rington, 1901. All rights reserved.
8vo., x (preface), and 304 pp. Twenty copper-plate
etchings, with tissue-paper before each, on which Is printed
In red the text and number of the page to which it belongs.
Issue: 500 copies, on Van Gelder hand-made paper.
A VERY handsome and excellently printed
volume worthily dressed in a pretty blue
moire binding, "gilt top, uncut edges,"
which is the sweet description so dear to the
heart of the real lover of nice books. And when
he gets one in this happy state, he wraps it up to
preserve it from the light, which may discolor the
binding or the paper, and if he wants to read the
text, he buys a cheap reprint or borrows it from a
friend. Such is the true bibliophile!
This volume is for such refined folk, as the
insight given into the life of the frivolous
courtesan of the 4th century can have no interest
for the common herd. Such good judges and
talented critics as the Reverend John Clifford;
Theodore Watts-Dunton, Swinburne's fidus
Achates; the Reverend Marcus Dods; William Can-
BOOKS 21
ton; and Professor George Saints bury have
eulogised [sic] this translation, It deserves all their
praise, for it is nobly done. It must have been a
labour of love, although anybody knowing the
original language of translation always thinks he
could have made a better version himself.
This is, strange to say, the first of Anatole
France's works which has been rendered into
English, a surprising fact when we think that he
is one of the greatest French writers of the age.
But perhaps he is not quite sensational enough!
He writes in sober style, which makes the reading
enjoyable to cultured ears, and reposeful after
laboured and tortured prose, where the author's
effort is too easily discernable. He does not in-
dulge in long descriptions nor seek to overawe by
audacious word-painting. The effect is produced
by simplicity, and the narrative rolls on smoothly,
the author leaving the reader to put in all the
psychological part for himself, leading him on to
divine motives and meanings by the plain and
unvarnished words of the swinging dialogue.
Perhaps the half-hidden irony of Anatole
France might be distasteful in English-speaking
countries; and in "Thais," straitlaced people may
object to the local colouring, as the tenets of early
Christianity are roughly handled, and there are
some religious discussions that might leave a
flavour of blasphemy in the mouths of the rigid
and righteous.
Paphnuce, an ascetic monk of the Thebaid,
remembers in spite of himself, the days when as a
young man he indulged in fleshy luxury and
riotous living. He suddenly takes into his head
that he should depart to Alexandria and reclaim
Thais, prostitute and dancing-girl. He succeeds in
converting her, and after inducing her to burn
her belongings, gives her into the keeping of the
22 FORBIDDEN
Lady Superior Albina in a nunnery. She becomes
a saint, and he returns to the desert, but in spite
of his penance and extraordinary self-inflicted
suffering the reader can see that he is and always
has been in love with Thais. He hears that she is
dying and then at last knows that he has never
been entirely free from the mastership of his
own lustful longings.
"Thais is dying!" An incomprehensible saying! "Thais is
dying!" In those three words what a new and terrible sense!
"Thais is dying!" Then why the sun, the flowers, the brooks,
and all creation! "Thais is dying!" What good was all the
universe' Suddenly he sprang forward. "To see her again, to
see her once more!" He began to run. He knew not where he
was, or whither he went, but instinct conducted. him with un-
erring certainty; he went straight to the Nile. A swarm of sails
covered the upper waters of the river. He sprang on board a
barque manned by Nubians, and lying in the forepart of the
boat, his eyes devouring space, he cried in grief and rage—
"Fool, fool, that I was not to have possessed Thais whilst
there was yet time! Fool, to have believed that there was any-
thing else in the world but her! Oh, madness! I dreamed of
God, of the salvation of my soul, of life eternal—as if all that
counted for anything when I had seen Thais! Why did I not
feel that blessed eternity was in a single kiss of that woman,
and that without her, life was senseless, and no more than evil
dream' Oh, stupid fool! thou hast seen her, and thou hast
desired the good things of the other world! Oh, coward! thou
hast seen her, and thou hast feared God! God! heaven! what
are they! And what have they to offer thee which are worth the
least tittle [sic] of that which she would have given thee! Oh,
miserable, senseless fool, who sought divine goodness else-
where than on the lips of Thais! What hand was upon thine
eyes! Cursed be he who blinded thee then! Thou couldst have
bought, at the price of thy damnation, one moment of her
love, and thou hast not done it! She opened to you her arms—
flesh mingled with the perfume of flowers—and thou wast not
engulfed in the unspeakable enchantments of her unveiled
breast. Thou hast listened to the jealous. voice which said to
thee 'Refrain!' Dupe, dupe, miserable dupe! Oh, regrets! Oh,
remorse! Oh, despair! Not to have the joy to carry to hell the
BOOKS 23
memory of that never-to-be-forgotten hour, and to cry to God,
'Burn my flesh, dry up all the blood in my veins, break all my
bones, thou canst not take from me the remembrance which
sweetens and refreshes me for ever or ever ... Thais is dying!
Preposterous God, if Thou knewest how I laugh at Thy hell!
Thais is dying, and she will never be mine—never! never!
And as the boat came down the river with the current, he
remained whole days lying on his face, and repeating:—
"Never! never! never!"
Then at the idea that she had given herself to others, and not
to him; that she had poured forth an ocean of love, and he had
not wetted his lips therein, he stood up, savagely wild, and
howled with grief. He tore his breast with his nails, and bit the
flesh of his arms.
He thought—
"If I could but kill all those she has loved!"
The thought of these murders filled him with delicious fury.
He dreamed of killing Nicias slowly and leisurely, looking him
full in the eyes whilst he murdered him. Then suddenly his fury
melted away. He wept, he sobbed. He became feeble and
meek. An unknown tenderness softened his soul. He longed to
throw his arms around the neck of the companion of his
childhood, and say to him, "Nicias, I love thee, because thou
hast loved her. Talk to me about her. Tell me what she said to
thee." And still, without ceasing, the irony of that phrase
entered into his soul—"Thais is dying!"
"Light of day, silvery shadows of night, stars, heavens, trees,
with trembling crests, savage beasts, domestic animals, all the
anxious souls of men, do you not hear? 'Thais is dying!' Dis-
appear, ye lights, breezes, and perfumes! Hide yourselves, ye
shapes and thoughts of the universe! 'Thais is dying!' She was
the beauty of the world, and all that drew near to her grew
fairer in the reflection of her grace. The old man and the sages
who sat near her, at the banquet at Alexandria, how pleasant
they were, and how fascinating was their conversation! A host
of brilliant thoughts sprang to their lips, and all their ideas were
steeped in pleasure. And it was because the breath of Thais was
upon them that all they said was love, beauty, truth. A
delightful impiety lent its grace to their discourse. They
thoroughly expressed all human splendour. Alas! all that is but
a dream. 'Thais is dying!' Oh, how easy it will be to
24 FORBIDDEN
me to die of her death! But canst thou only die, withered
embryo, foetus steeped in gall and scalding tears! Miserable
abortion, dost thou think thou canst taste death, thou who hast
never known life! If only God exists, that He damn me. I hope
for it—I wish it .. God, I hate Thee—dost thou hear—
Overwhelm me with Thy damnation. To compel Thee to, I spit
in Thy face. I must find an eternal hell, to exhaust the eternity
of rage which consumes me."
* * * * * *
The next day, at dawn, Albania received him at the nunnery.
"Thou art welcome to our tabernacles of peace, venerable
father, for, no doubt, thou comest to bless the saint thou hast
given us. Thou knowest that God, in His mercy, has called her
to Him; how couldst thou fail to know tidings that the angels
have carried from desert to desert? It is true that Thais is about
to meet her blessed death. Her labours are accomplished and I
ought to inform thee, in a few words, as to her conduct whilst
she was ,amongst us. After thy departure, when she was
confined in a cell sealed with thy seal, I sent her, with her food,
a flute, similar to those which girls of her profession play at
banquets. I did that to prevent her from falling into a
melancholy mood, and that she should not show less skill and
talent before God than she had shown before men. In this I
showed prudence and foresight, for all day long Thais praised
the Lord upon the flute, and the virgins, who were attracted by
the sound of this invisible flute, said, 'We hear the nightingale
of the heavenly groves, the dying Swan of Jesus crucified. Thus
did Thais perform her penance, when, after sixty days, the door
which thou hadst sealed opened of itself, and the clay seal was
broken without being touched by any human hand. By that sign
I knew that the trial thou hadst imposed upon her was at an
end, and that God had pardoned the sins of the flute-plyer.
From that time she has shared the ordinary life of my nuns,
working and praying with them. She was an example to them by
the modesty of her acts and words, and seemed like a statue of
purity amongst them. Sometimes she was sad; but those clouds
soon passed. When I saw that she was really drawn towards
God by faith, hope, and love, I did not hesitate to employ her
talent, and even her beauty, for the improvement of her sisters.
I asked her to represent before us the actions of the famous
women and wise virgins of the Scriptures. She acted Esther,
Deborah, Judith, Mary, the
BOOKS 25
sister of Lazarus, and Mary, the mother of Jesus. I know,
venerable father, that thy austere mind is alarmed at the idea of
these performances. But thou thyself wouldst have been
touched if thou hadst seen her in these pious scenes, shedding
real tears, and raising to heaven arms as graceful as palm
leaves. I have long governed a community of women, and I
make it a rule never to oppose their nature. All seeds give not
the same flowers. Not all souls are sanctified in the same way.
It must also not be forgotten that Thais gave herself to God
whilst she was still beautiful, and such a sacrifice is, if not un-
exampled, at least very rare. This beauty—her natural
vesture—has not left her during the three months' fever of
which she is dying. As, during her illness, she has incessantly
asked to see the sky, I have her carried every morning into the
courtyard, near the well, under the old fig tree, in the shade of
which the abbesses of this convent are accustomed to hold
their meetings. Thou wilt find her there, venerable father; but
hasten, for God calls her, and this night a shroud will cover
that face which God made to both shame and edify this
world."
Paphnuce followed her into a courtyard with the morning
light. On the edge of the brick roofs, the pigeons formed a
string of pearls. On a bed, in the shade of the fig-tree, Thais
lay quite white, her arms crossed. By her side stood veiled
women, reciting the prayers for the dying.
"Have mercy upon me, a God, according to Thy loving
kindness: according unto the multitude of Thy mercies blot
out my transgressions."
He called her" Thais! "
She raised her eyelids, and turned her white eyes in the
direction of the voice.
Albina made a sign to the veiled women to retire a few
paces.
"Thais!" repeated the monk.
She raised her head; a light breath came from her pale lips.
"Is that thee, my father? ... Dost thou remember the water of
love was born in my heart—the love of life eternal."
She was silent and her head fell back.
Death was upon her, and the sweat of the last agony
bedewed her forehead. A pigeon broke the still silence with its
plaintive cooing. Then the sobs of the monk mingled with the
psalms of the virgins.
26 FORBIDDEN
"Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from
my sin. For I acknowledge my transgressions; and my sin is ever
before me."
Suddenly Thais sat up in bed. Her violet eyes opened wide,
and with rapt gaze, her arms stretched towards the distant
hills, she said in a clear, fresh voice—
"Behold them—the roses of the eternal dawn!"
Her eyes shone; a slight flush suffused her face. She had
revived, more sweet and more beautiful than ever. Paphnuce
knelt down, and drew his long black arms around her.
"Do not die!" he cried, in a strange voice, which he himself
did not recognize. "I love thee! Do not die! Listen, my Thais. I
have deceived thee; I was but a wretched fool. God, heaven—
all that is nothing. There is nothing true but this worldly life,
and the love of human beings. I love thee! Do not die! That
would be impossible—thou art too precious! Come, come
with me! Let us fly; I will carry thee far away in my arms.
Come, let us love! Hear me, 0 my beloved, and say, 'I will
live; I wish to live.' Thais, Thais, arise!"
She did not hear him. Her eyes gazed into infinity. She
murmured—
"Heaven opens. I see the angels, the prophets, and the
saints ... The good Theodore is amongst them, his hands filled
with flowers; he smiles on me and calls me ... Two angels
come to me. They draw near ... How beautiful they are! I see
God!"
She uttered a joyful sigh, and her head fell back motionless
on the pillow. Thais was dead.
Paphnuce held her in a last despairing embrace; his eyes
devoured her with desire, rage and love.
Albina called to him "Avaunt, accursed wretch!"
And she gently placed her fingers on the eyelids of the dead
girl. Paphnuce staggered back, his eyes burning with flames
and feeling the earth open beneath his feet.
The virgins chanted the song of Zachhrias! "Blessed be the
Lord God of Israel."
Suddenly their voices strayed in their throats. They had seen
the monk's face, and they fled in affright, crying—
"A vampire! A vampire!"
He had become so repulsive, that passing his hand over his
face, he felt his own hideousness.
BOOKS 27
Such is the conclusion of this delightful
romance, and I think the last two lines are a gem.
It would have taken an ordinary grinder of novels
half a page to describe the change of features of
the renegade from religion. I was reading a very
clever story the other day, of love and adventure
in South Africa, and was disgusted to find that
the otherwise gifted writer used such verbs as
"synchronize" and "polarize"—in a novel! And
the heroine was ever worrying about her
"limitations."
Before leaving my little pet Thais—actress,
prostitute, flute-player and saint, now canonized
in the Catholic calendar—I must say a word in
favour of the bizarre illustrations to this
translation. They are printed in two colours. The
centre, picturing the incidents and personages, are
in black, but they are framed all around in sepia,
with a multitude of weird and fantastical figures,
representing evidently the thoughts of the char-
acters of the book, and forming, so to speak, a
fanciful commentary. The temptations of
Paphnuce in his cell are represented by myriads
of devils, and all the writhing figures of his
dreams of carnality. Each plate has the same ever-
varied and extraordinary attributes, full of life and
originality. The name of the young artist is Martin
van Maele, and I fancy he will be heard of in time
to come.
The conversions of courtesans have always
been a favorite theme with French authors, and it
is not surprising, for such instances are to be seen
every day in France. There is many a provincial
town where the flyman points out to the traveller
[sic] the comfortable villa, where lives in
retirement a respected and charitable old dame,
who was formerly ready in Paris to sell her
charms to the highest bidder. He will tell that she
has become a model of piety, outvying Mary
Magdalen [sic], who
28 FORBIDDEN
had no money to give away that I wot of, and
the former light o'love is as ready to open her
purse as formerly her massive, ivory thighs. I
myself was recently edified at the respectable life
led by an elderly lady in a town about thirty miles
from the gay capital. The good gossip had for
many years been at the head of a hospital
convent, where for a few pieces of silver, the
lads of the garrison and the notabilities of the
region could sacrifice to Venus, with all medical
guarantees, under the paternal eye of a
beneficient [sic] municipality, or to speak
vulgarly, my lady friend once kept a bawdyhouse.
She had adopted the clever tactics of "beginning
with herself," and often told an admiring and
respectful crowd of village matrons how she
had—what shall I say?—worked her way up
from the ranks, until she ruled a score of clean
and submissive sluts. She would say herself that
she was once "a dealer in human flesh," and
now, touched by the spirit of grace and with a
nice little annuity, she waited for her reward,
while she worked out her salvation, based, no
doubt, on the salvation of many of her former
clients. She was loved and petted by the priests
of the dioceses, and I remember how she
presented an altar-cloth, trimmed with her
pickings of antique lace, to the old church where
she used to approach the holy table. There was
not the slightest doubt that the rose point,
Alencon, and Valenciennes had formerly
adorned her drawers and chemises when she was
on the war-path, in the days of her lustful
juiciness. She was pointed out as an example of
thrift, and godly prosperity to all the virgins of
the surrounding country, and doubtless many a
poor young peasantess hungered for the day
when she could go to Paris, be a
cocotte, and send
home money for her pa and ma, not forgetting a
crown and some tobacco for her brother.
Heaven would surely bless her
bidet-
BOOKS 29
pious prostitute, and dutiful daughter—and then
when old she would marry a member of the
Chamber of Deputies; pay his debts, receive the
generals of the army of the Republic, and found
a Home for Syphilitic Servant Girls, or some
such holy asylum.
The original edition was published in Paris by
Calmann Levy, 1891, 12mo., but there is
another, which is very beautiful, and well printed
on good papers, with pleasing illustrations. It is
an octavo, published by Romagnol, Paris, 1900,
and has seven large engravings and 58 vignettes
by Laurens. There were only 300 copies, and
they are all out of print.
This sweet story has been adapted to the lyric
staged by Louis Gallet, while Massanet wrote the
music, and it was brought out at the Paris Grand
Opera in 1894. The libretto was published by
Calmann Levy in the same year. (12mo., x-45pp.).
The arduous role of the gentle heroine was
undertaken by the beautiful Madame Sybil
Sanderson, who in order to wear the loose
flowing draperies of the lascivious courtesan,
sacrificed what the French people consider one
of the great beauties of a woman's body the
bouquet of hair that grows under the armpits.
Thus she appeared before the Parisian first-
nighters who were waiting with eager eyes, for
the event had been noised abroad. She was
afterwards photographed in her stage costume,
and was careful to hold up one arm so as to
show the denuded axilla.
This undergrowth in women is supposed by
our lively Gallic neighbors to be a promise of the
extent of luxuriance of the mystic inverted
triangle that makes the footlights always have
their dresses cut very low under the arms, as the
male portion of the audience, and sometimes
the females too—alas!—like to see the entire
under part of the arm entirely exposed. If a
woman on the
30 FORBIDDEN
stage possesses too much hair, a titter will go
round the house as she makes her first appearance,
and ladies will put their fans up to their faces. But
then there are many charming girls on the boards
who have been generously treated by Nature in
that direction, so they remedy their defect by
carefully affixing with glue a tuft of fuzzy crape
under their arms. This is rather rough on the
amateur in the stalls who may fall in love with
them and take them out to supper, in the hope
that the bush below may equal the armpit-copse
above. What a difference he will find and what a
disappointment, for I do think that one is the sign
of the other, even as a slight moustache on a
woman's upper lip is a never-failing indication. For
what says the old French
diction? if it snows like
that on the mountains, how thick it must lay in the
valleys!
When foreign female performers travel to
London to come out at a playhouse or a music-
hall, the management always makes them add a
piece of assorted material to their dress to hide the
hair under the arm, to show which is accounted
dirty and disgusting in the British Isles, and
sometimes manches a souffle! are ordered to be worn,
if the epoch of the costume permits it. This is a
kind of bellows or accordeon [sic] arrangement of
the top of the sleeve that spreads out when the
arm is lifted and closes when it is pressed close to
the body.
BOOKS 31
Memoirs of Private Flagellation. A
Treacherous Plot. The Fate of Isabel
Seaton. A Scene in a Boarding School,
by James Holmes and others.
Paris (?) Librairie des Bibliophiles Francais et Etrangers.
Taus droits reserves. n.d. (1891?) Printed outer wrapper.
8vo. 236 pp.
IN spite of the imprint, this privately issued
work, of which a hundred and odd copies
were struck off, has evidently been printed
in an English-speaking country, and I should not
be surprised if it did not see the light in the
United States.
There is not the slightest attempt in this
volume to disguise the fact that it is intended for
those who take a delight in reading about the
birching and beating of women. Here we have a
simple peasant lass chastised for pilfering, and as
a contrast a fashionable flirt and wrecker of
men's hearts is traoed[?] by some disappointed
suitors and sufficiently humbled and birched.
Those are the principal stories in the volume, but
not the least curious part are a number of short
pitry adventures and curiosities of passion and
perverted sexuality; nineteen in all. If I do not
mistake, these first circulated in the firm of
typewritten Mss. all over North America, until
gathered together here. They are all eminently
remark-
32 FORBIDDEN
able and are entitled, "The Awakening of Sexual
Life; personal experiences."
The book is well written and will amply repay
perusal, but I am unable to trace "John Holmes,"
whose pen name is on the title page. I believe this
work has become somewhat rare.
BOOKS 33
Records of Personal Chastisement.
The Unhappiest Day of my Life, fol-
lowed by the true story, how for the
first time disclosed, of Mr. Thorne's
Governess, based upon private mem-
oirs in the possession of that gentle-
man's family. Price: Twenty shillings.
Paris, (?) libraire de Bibliophiles
Francais et Etrangers. Tous droits
reserves. n. d. (1899?)
8vo. 149 pp. Printed outer wrapper.
A SERIAL with the foregoing work, and
issued about the same time. It is headed by
a clever letter by G. Bernard Shaw, who
points out boldly that there exist male
"flagellomaniacs" who crave" intensely for the
flogging of women;" and there are "debauchees
from whom poor girls earn a few pounds by
submitting to a flogging." If such people exist they
have no doubt been eager buyers of this curious
volume, for they can find therein everything neces-
sary to arouse their peculiar propensity.
But the volume, very closely printed, is not
entirely devoted to flagellation, as there are many
strange stories,
34 FORBIDDEN
and one of the most novel is entitled "A Married
Woman's Experience in Variety." Upon diligent
enquiry after perusal of this erotic episode, I
found that the word "variety" meant that certain
husbands allowed their wives to vary their
pleasures, or to speak plainly, felt no jealousy, but
were delighted to see their legal spouse or their
concubines in the arms of other males. Such
accommodating men are known in free-love
circles as "varietists."[sic] I believe this peculiar
sect—if I may call it—originated in America, the
land of freedom. It is doubtless an outcome of the
Woodhull and McClafftn doctrines; a modern
echo of Oneida Creek. But it is unfortunately
perfectly certain that in all countries there are men
who gain fresh erotic excitement in giving over
their sweethearts to strangers or friends, and are
sometimes pleased spectators of the inevitable
result. Of course, I speak of those who draw no
pecuniary advantages from this willing sacrifice.
For those who profit by their fair companions'
prostitution there are other words in the
dictionary than those of "variety" and "varietist".
Some of the most intellectual gentlemen have
been slaves to this perverted doctrine, and I
should be very curious to see one come forward
and define the reasons that induce him to let his
wife or mistress gad about with indiscriminate
suitors. At present, the doctrine of "variety"
awaits a sincere expounder of its rise, origin,
delights and advantages.
BOOKS 35
My Secret Life. Amsterdam, (N.D.) Not
for publication.
11 vols., crown 8vo., of 378, 373, 379, 380, 388, 384, 369,
387, 376, and 394 pp. (The first volume contains an
introduction, a preface and a second preface. 'The last
volume has only 255 pp. of text, and the rest to page 394, is
made up of an exhaustive alphabetical index.)
About the year 1888, a well-known bookseller
and publisher of Amsterdam, whose specialty
was literature of an incandescent kind, was
summoned to London by one of his customers,
a rich old Englishman, who desired to have
privately printed for his own enjoyment an
enormous MSS.; containing in the fullest detail
all the secret venereal thoughts of his existence.
He defrayed all costs of printing, on condition
that no more than six copies should be struck
off. A few years afterwards, this eccentric
amateur shuffled off the mortal coil; and a few
copies of the extraordinary work made a timid
appearance on the market, being quoted at the
high figure of £100! It is evident that many more
than the half-dozen copies stipulated must have
been printed let us say about twenty-five or so—
as I have unfrequently [sic] seen a complete
series, and I should say that at the time I am
writing the book may be obtained by carefully
searching for about £60 to £75 according to the
condition.
In July, 1894, the publisher issued a volume
without
36 FORBIDDEN
any title, save the words: "My Secret Life,
Contents," on the half-title and this was simply
the index to the chapters; the introduction and
prefaces, and the alphabetical index from the
eleventh volume.
This was evidently to whet the curiosity of
collectors and serve as a kind of prospectus.
Opinions may and must differ as to the
peculiar perversity which induced the author to
take notes all his life about his sexual pleasures,
and finally have them all printed, but
nevertheless nothing can be more astonishing
than the extraordinary variety of the adventures
narrated, ranging through all sorts and
conditions of women, from a street-walker to a
princess. No doubt the writer was a strong and
hearty Englishman, who travelled a little, and
whose only pleasure was in hunting for all kinds
of diversions with any women he might come
across, no matter or how. To his credit be it
stated that he never initiates us into the secrets
of his married life, and certain of his mistresses
he refuses to speak about so that really we are
only told about those women he did not feel any
love for, but only lust. And that is what the work
really is—a book of pure, unmitigated lust.
It is written carelessly, and there are many
printers' errors. It reads like an ordinary rapid
correspondence, and makes me think it must all
be true, as there is not the slightest attempt to
cultivate a literary style.
It is difficult to give an idea of the enormous
mass of text in a short notice, but the following
sample culled from the index may show the
diversity of the subjects treated, and it must not
be forgotten that the author speaks the plainest
and broadest language:
Copulating (1) and copulative organs—Essay on
" the
nature of
" described
fully
" Aesthetic
aspects of
BOOKS 37
" Is
not obscene or filthy
" In
obedience to Divine command: "Increase
" and
multiply"
" Is
divine, a God-like act
" Has
divine attributes and sanctity
" Creates
a sentiment being with a soul
" Establishes
needful affection between the sexes
" Is
the foundation of love between the sexes
" (1)The
common, vulgar word is used in the original
Copulating Is the great humanizer
" Difference
between human beings and beasts
" The
philosophy of—see also Philosophy
" Reflexions
[sic]
" Thoughts
and reflexions [sic] on
" What
leads some women to it
" Its
monotony and sameness in movement
" Muscular
motions of body when
" Number
of thrusts before spending
" Quantity
of sperm spent
" Pleasure
of is paradisical [sic]
" Happiness
of dying whilst
" Thoughts
during
" Idealities
during
" Ejaculations
during
" Conflicting
emotions during
" Postures
whilst—see postures
" Men
and women copulate with intelligence
" Animals
copulate without intelligence
" With
pleasure—passion
" Voluptuously,
exquisitely
" Without
pleasure or but little
" Delaying
the pleasure of spending
" Modesty
hinders complete pleasure
" Frantically
with lust
" In
fear
" Is
most exquisite when prick and cunt fit
" Is
most exquisite when both spend together
" Is
most exquisite when both are naked
" Pleasure
increased by being looked at when
" Belly
to belly—passim [sic]
" Belly
to bum lying down
38 FORBIDDEN
" Belly
to bum at bedside, dog-fashion
" Belly
to bum kneeling, passim [sic]
" Woman
sitting on prick facing man
" Woman
sitting bum to his belly
" Woman
sitting while another licks her clitoris
" between
a woman's breasts
" in
a woman's armpits
" Woman
sitting, man kneeling in front
" difficulty
in selecting women for
" with
condums on—see condums
" in
masks
" in
spermatized quiros, and other places
" wheel-barrow
fashion
" a
peculiar chair for—and other sexualities
Copulating eccentric postures
" twice
without uncunting
" During
an interval of dinner
" Bouts
on one night
" Remarkable
bouts
" Second
time often most pleasurable
" Illicit
is the most exciting
" Desire
for communicated by look or touch
" catamenia
" In
another man's sperm
" women
enceinte
" one
very big with child
" so
as to avoid getting children
" Women
doing it con amore solamente
" Women
doing it for love
" Women
doing it for revenge
" Payments
to women for—passim [sic]
" Payments
by the hour
" Payments
by gift of a watch
" Payments
by gift of silk handkerchiefs
" Payments
by a bottle of champagne
" Payments
by gift of a postage stamp
" Payments
for—for a shilling
" Payments
Cheap
" Payments
dear
" on
credit
" a
man hit whilst
BOOKS 39
" a
prick hit by hail whilst
" interrupter,
prevented altogether
" women—and
other women present
" women
and feeling other cunts whilst
" women
and putting prick into two alternately
" with
another man present
" and
feeling a man's prick whilst
" a
woman whilst she's flat fucking another
" a
woman whilst she frigs her clitoris
" whilst
she frigs another woman
" whilst
she is buggered
" with
a couple having connection besides us
" while
she licks another's cunt
" with
a dildo up her bum
" a
woman who is standing on pricks
" The
woman on the top
" brother
and sister doing it
" a
sailor and whore against a wall
" Negro
and Negress doing it
Copulating Females' early knowledge about
" Females'
age when fit for
" Females'
when they mostly begin
" Females'
cannot begin too early
" Females
all differ a little in manner when
" Females
look lovely directly after
" Females
how they behave after
" Females
sometimes sham pleasure
" Females'
when married and f.. ....d illicidy, its
its
effect on their husband
" women
before a girl
" a
couple caught at
" poor
girls see their parents
" a
harlot—smoking whilst
" Flat
fucking (Tribadism)
(Tribadism) French women's
opinion about doing it
" seeing
couples—see peepholes
" seeing
one woman with two women
" seeing
one man with three women
" Two
couples together in same room
" three
couples doing it indiscriminately
" couples
heard in adjoining rooms
40 FORBIDDEN
" an
old harlot and a youth
" my
first thoughts about
" first
attempt—a failure
" first
accomplished
" my
powers of
" diary
of
" number
of women I have had
" number
of women nationalities
" promiscuously
" before
looking-glasses
" I
am f ... ed out temporarily
" woman
status unknown (clapped me)
" a
female carter in a wood
" field
women and girls
" Juveniles
" Girls
" Middle-aged
" Oldish
women
" Servants
" Chambermaids
" Railway
station woman
" Very
big women
" Shop
girls, many
" Little
women
" Dress-makers,
several
" Ladies,
various
" Landladies
" Married
women,
" various—see
adultery
" Married
women, (acostermonger's)
" Widows
" Widows
one in the East
" Kept
women
" a
sailor's woman
" a
showman's daughter
" harlots,
poor—see f .... ing cheap
" harlots,
well off—passim [sic]
" harlots,
companionable
" harlots,
oriental
" a
harlot with two cunts
" a
harlot with bald cunt
" a
harlot with semi-bald cunt
BOOKS 41
" Sisters
" women
of doubtful chastity
" English
women—passim [sic]
" Irish
woman—long-haired cunt
" Irish
woman—foul-tongued
" Scotch
woman—horse collar cunt
" German
field labourer
" American
" Mullatoes
[sic]
" A
Creole
" a
negress
" women
very fat
" other
nationalities—passim [sic]
" thin
nationalities
" average
condition—passim [sic]
" in
houses—passim [sic]
" in
an empty house
" in
brothels—passim [sic]
" in
a cottage
" in
hotels—passim [sic]
" in
a boudoir
" in
a summer-house
" in
a grotto
" in
waterclosets and privies
" in
cabs
" in
railway carriages
" in
a church
" in
a church-yard
" in
a chalet
" in
a calf-shed
" in
a cow-shed
" in
a root-shed
" in
a barn
" in
a loft
" in
a stable
" in
a brickyard
" in
fields, on grass
" in
a game-preserve
" in
streets
" on
the sea shore
" at
sea in cabins
" in
a bath
42 FORBIDDEN
" on
top of a tower
" on
beds—passim [sic]
" on
the floor
" on
a form
" on
chairs
" on
a carpenter's bench
" on
sofas
" against
an arm chair
" against
walls
" against
a turnpike
" against
fences
" against
field gates
" against
railings
" against
trees
" against
windows
" against
a bed
" against
a kitchen dresser
The first six chapters of the first volume have
been recently reprinted under the title of "The
Dawn of Sensuality," Lutetia (Brussels) 1901,
small 8vo., 170 pp. 200 copies on Dutch paper,
and gives the autobiography of the writer and his
sensual freaks up to the age of seventeen.
To enable the reader to form some idea of this
peculiar work, I have picked out one of his love-
affairs, as differing entirely from any other in all
the eleven volumes.
He forms the acquaintance of a retired officer
of the French army in Paris, who introduces him
to his wife, an attractive lady. The old soldier
frequently talks about women. He is a drunkard
too, and in his cups lets out that he once heard of
a female who had connection with twelve men in
an hour. Pressed by the author of "My Secret
Life," he gradually bretrays [sic] a deep mystery,
for the victim of men's lust is no other than the
woman who passes as his wife, for he is not
legally married.
This disclosure excites the salacious desire of
his listener, and he attacks the officer's mistress,
who soon
BOOKS 43
gives way to him, as she had threatened her
babbling paramour that if ever he exposed her
past to a stranger, that man should have her.
She was one of a family living not far from Strasburg, her
father a very small farmer on his own land. Her sister had
married an Italian who had a farm in Lombardy, not far from
Solferino, and had two children. Her husband's father (an old
man) lived with them. Gertrude (her name) had a lover at
Strasburg and she let him have her—but about her third or
fourth poke, her father who had suspected something, caught
him on top of her in a barn. He pulled him off her and he
never finished his poke. She was watched as a cat does a
mouse, and carefully kept from him after the event, till the
young man was conscripted for a soldier, and she after a time
never heard of, or from him, and believed he died. Her father
to get her away, sent her to live with her married sister in
Lombardy. He was not sure about the death of her lover.
The Italian and her sister, seem to have been comfortably
off for peasants. The man, his father, and another man farmed
the two women, Gertrude and her sister, did dairy work. They
had a house far larger than was of any use to them, but it had
been bought with the land and there it was. They couldn't help
that, but that big farm-house brought perhaps the things to
pass I tell of. Gertrude soon spoke Italian, and had just heard
that her lover had been killed in Algeria, when the Franco—
Austrian war broke out.
The Austrians retired gradually, being driven back by the
French and Piedmontese, but made a stand at Solferinomost
of the peasants on the line had left their cottages, taking their
goods with them to the nearest large towns, fearing naturally
that in war their cottages would be burnt, and they perhaps
killed in the battles. This family had delayed moving, but were
about to do so, when all at once about fifty Austrian soldiers
were quartered on them, with two or three officers. They
would let nothing go, not even the husband; (Gertrude's
brother-in-law,) but they promised they would not be harmed,
and be paid for everything by Government notes. They made
them wait upon them, used up all they found in the way of
food, made the husband, (whom I will call Antonio) take his
cart backwards and forwards to the nearest towns for things all
day long, and soldiers went with him to insure his not
44 FORBIDDEN
running away, though they were but seven miles from the
town. The officers took their beds from them for their own
use, and the family were compelled to sleep all in one room, on
mattresses, or straw laid on the floor, as well as they could.
Soldiers occupied the rest of the premises including barns.
Most soldiers went off in the day leaving sentries, but came
back in the evening or the night. They said they would let
Antonio's family go in time to take refuge in the town, before
they could be in any danger, and that a battle must take place in
a few days. The women they said might go at once if they
pleased, but they would not go without Antonio. Indeed they
did not seem to know when to go, where, or what to do.
The officers and a few soldiers spoke Italian, which was the
language, together with French, that Antonio, Gertrude, and
the others used to speak to them in, but they had very little to
say to them. The soldiers' language was German, and they
didn't guess that the two women spoke German. So the
women heard everything that was said by them, and from
morning to night it was talk in the bawdiest language about the
two women. They joked about which of the two had the most
hair on her cunt, wondered if Gertrude had been fucked. One
said he was sure she had—another thought not, a third
believed that Antonio fucked them both, another that the
father licked Gertrude's cunt, to keep her from wanting men.
One officer said to another, (the officers were not so coarse)
he'd give the price of his horse to have her for a week, the
other thought she would be a splendid bedfellow. It seemed to
have struck one officer that they might possibly understand
German, and he asked them if they did. They said no. So for
four days, all the bawdy talk, all the lubricious (sic) suggestions,
desires, that a lot of strong men, hot with lust at being near two
fine women, gave utterances to, these two women heard. Lewd
the soldiers were I guess, for it transpired that they had been in
tents for a month, and not near a woman to speak to. This
lustful talk amused the women, it was so complimentary to
their charms, that they couldn't help it. Margaretta (the married
one) said it made her want fucking, and Gertrude admitted to
me that it made her frig herself. They however resolved not to
tell Antonio, for he was a jealous man. Sometimes he asked
them what the soldiers talked about. They told him much, but
never told him if it was about their desires for the two women.
BOOKS 45
On the fourth morning, a mounted soldier galloped in. There
was instant a great bustle, a general muster, and the officers
and most of the soldiers went off, telling the women that they
had best get to the nearest town (Brescia) without a minute's
delay. But. Antonio had .then gone with the cart accompanied
by two soldiers, to get things for the soldiery, so they resolved
they would wait his return.
The manners of the soldiers who remained changed at once,
when the detachment was well away with the officers. They
looked at the women in a lewd rude way. Gertrude heard one
man say he'd have a fuck if he were shot for it. A presentiment
of harm came over the two women and they felt in very great
dread. Gertrude was in the kitchen, her sister with the children
in the lime room above, where all the family had been sleeping,
when some whispered together, and looked at Gertrude.
Something told her she was going to be attacked, and she
walked to the door to go upstairs. A soldier stopped her, kissed
her, and asked her to go to. bed with him. She resisted. Four
men laid hold of her, and pushed her into a room in which the
officers had slept—she kicking and screaming, begging and
praying to be left alone. They had hitherto spoken to her in
broken Italian. They kissed her as they pulled her along, two
kissed her at once "Let's fuck her, no one can hear," said one.
She then begged and entreated them not, and in German—
"Hell! she speaks German," said one.—"Margaretta—
Margaretta help me!" she screamed.—"It's no use screaming—
none can hear—no one can help you,' they said.—"We won't
hurt you, but we will fuck you. Come now, lets do it, mein
lieben," (sic) and they tried kindness when they had her in the
bedroom. She struggled violently. "Look you," said one,
putting a sword to her, "if you make a row, no one can hear
you, but if you're not quiet, we'll fuck you and your sister too,
then kill you both, and set fire to the house—they will think
the French did it." They then got her to the bed. One of them,
and she thought two, had their pricks out even before they
were in the bedroom. They placed her on the bedside, two men
held her arms, two pulled her clothes and held her legs wide
apart, and another soldier pushed one away to get at her first,
then fucked her. In terror and confusion she struggled, and
screamed till she became feeble or faint.—"Never mind, mein
lieben," said one, "you need not tell. No one will know and
you'll never see us again."—A cunt cannot speak," said
another, at which
46 FORBIDDEN
they laughed. A few more things were said like it, and
exhaustion made her resist less. Besides, they kept saying they
would not hurt her on any account, but fuck her they would,
and they evidently wanted to do their bawdy work kindly.
Except at intervals, the soldiers were very quiet, they were
absorbed in the sight, silent with expectation of their turn up
on her.
As they first pulled up her clothes, they broke out into wild
exclamations of delight, directly they saw her thighs and cunt,
and one of those holding her arms undid her dress in front and
pulled out her breasts. Then he kissed them while one was
fucking her, and all spoke endearingly. From faintness and fear,
she now became quiet, ceased resistance, and she closed her
eyes. A third man fucked her, and she seemed then to recover
herself in a degree, for now she was surprised at the quickness
with which they finished up her. Then she thought it was the
fourth, perhaps the fifth man was on her, when she heard a
scream and knew it was her sister's.
"You're murdering my sister!" she cried, and with a sudden
violent effort of fear, she got half disengaged, and uncunted
the soldier, who threw himself brutally upon her and hurt her
thighs and bum. The bruises afterwards showed. One or two
soldiers said: "Don't fear, it's nothing, they are only doing to
her what we are doing to you—they won't hurt her—and you
know you like it." —Then was a squabble. One of the men
holding her arm, his prick was out and near her head, said it
was his turn, and went round and fucked her. Then she got
into a half-stupid state. She felt it was hopeless to struggle
more, even if she could, and it passed through her mind that
they would do nothing else to her.—They hurt her arms. She
said so, and they let them go.—A man was then upon her, and
when she got her hands free, she tried to push her petticoat
down. Then they pulled her arms back again, and hurt her
worse. On her crying, they let them go again, but she made no
more efforts.
Now she felt that she could do nothing more, and must let
them do anything, submit to anything. She only. moaned, and
begged them to let her go directly each finished his fuck. "No
more. Oh, don't do it any more. Oh, you'll kill me," said she.
Meanwhile a voluptuous sensation crept through her cunt, and
through her whole body, the continued friction of the pricks
stimulating her sense. Then lewd wants came which
BOOKS 47
she tried to stop, but couldn't, just then another man was
about to fuck her, when as he laid hold of his prick to put it
in, his sperm spouted out. She told me that some fell on her
breasts. The soldiers laughed.—"Come away," said one,
"you've done without cunt." But he put his prick stiff up her,
and had her, though he was a long time fucking. Then in spite
of herself she spent with him. "She's ill, she's fainting," he
said. "Hell to you, leave her alone, its brutally bad!"—Curse
it, you shant it's a thundering shame," said another.—"You
go to hell,' said others to those two.—"We don't frig as you
do. "Make haste," said one, "the captain said half-an-hour."—
"I'll have her before I go if I'm shot," said another.—She
now looked on at the operators, she was less alarmed and
could not help looking. At first she had often closed her eyes,
she felt so horrified. At one time two men had their pricks
out ready. Other soldiers came in, one said it was a shame
and he would have nothing to do with it, and he left the
room. It did not stop the others. On they went fucking till all
had had her, and two or three she thought had her twice. "I'll
have it again," said one.
Now she shut her eyes feeling again faint.—"Look at
Fritz's prick," said a man, frig it Fritz!" She opened her eyes
and saw a larger prick than the others. She cried out. "Oh,
don't, for Gods sake, let me get up." But the larger prick did
not hurt her, and again she spent. She now had long lost
count of the men and the fucks.—"Lock the door," said
someone," or, (naming some men) will come in."—Her legs
now felt painfully weary.—"Oh my legs!" said she. "Get on
to the bed, my love." That she resisted, but they lifted her on
it, and the next man laid on the top of her. He took off some
of his accoutrements, to enable him to do so. As she moved,
she felt the wet spunk under her—it was in all directions
about her thighs, belly, and chemise, eight or nine men she
thought had now fucked in each other's sperm, but about
numbers she was getting confused.
A bugle sounded, and some soldiers pulled at the door furi-
ously.—"It's locked," said one.—Then all left her quickly,
one putting his prick in his trousers in great haste. She sat up
by the bedside. One soldier came hurriedly back.—"Let me,
mein lieben."—"No, no."—But he pushed her back, it was
no use resisting, she was well nigh strengthless, and he fucked
her. Two others came back. Said one: "If you say a word
mind,
48 FORBIDDEN
we'll shoot you, and all of you on the first chance." She won't
tell, will you Lieben!" said the other.—"She likes it, she's been
fucked before, haven't you !"—The first speaker pulled out
his prick.—Have me again—here, maiden,', so saying he put a
handful of money in her hand.—She threw it on the floor.—
"Y ou shant I don't want your money."—He pushed her back
and put his prick in her.—"Oh, you're killing me!" she cried,
"How I wish I was dead."—"You'll have a lot more of it
before you die, love!" and he finished fucking. He had done
her before, she now recollected. He was fucking her when a
bugle sounded again.—"Bugger the hell of a bugle!" said the
other, and he buttoned up his cock which he was preparing to
use the other had done, and the two left in a hurry.
Alone, she sat up, terrified with the threats, so feeble she
could scarcely stand. She went to both doors, they were
locked. She was frightened to call out, went to the window,
and saw the remainder of the soldiers as she thought
marching off quickly. But the lock turned and a soldier came
in by himself.—"Let me have you—pray do—" said he. "I'm
a gentleman born, though I'm a common soldier—take my
watch and let me."—"I won't touch it," she said, "I'm not
a
prostitute." "Do, for God's sake! I don't want to force you
like the other brutes, but I must, I will; I will have a woman
before I die." She tried to get away. He pulled her gently on to
the bed, unbuttoned, and knelt between her thighs, feeling her
cunt, covered as it was and her thighs were with sperm.—
"Say you let me,—do." She did not attempt to interrupt him,
or reply, and he fucked her. He spent directly he had put into
her. Then with endearing terms he went on shoving, saying
he'd not had a woman for weeks, and finally so stirred up her
senses that she spent with him, for he fucked her twice
without uncunting.
Then he stood up by her side for a minute, and said in a
kind voice: "How lovely you are. I wish you had let me do
you of your own free will, instead of forcing you." She laid
still, exhausted, not having even strength to pull her clothes
down, but he did, over her cunt. "Here, said he, hurriedly,
taking out a gold watch and chain and purse. "I shall never
have a woman again. There will be a battle to-morrow, we are
in the front, and I shall be shot. I meant these for my mother,
and ought to have sent them to her a week ago; now it's too
late. When I'm dead they will rob my pockets, and if I give
them to a comrade the chances are he will keep them—it's—
too
BOOKS 49
late—you may as well have them. I give them to you good bye!
and he left. She rose and went to the window and saw him
with three other soldiers march quickly off. He seemed in
command of them, but he was not an officer.
She waited a time. "Yes, I did feel my cunt, and there was
blood on my fingers." At length she went upstairs, found her
sister speechless with fear and the door locked. But she was
not hurt. Four men had fucked her with similar threats, but
kindly. The women looked at the clock. It was something over
an hour since the detachment with the officers had gone off.
All the fucking had been done in an hour. Gertrude never
could tell exactly how many men had her, sometimes she
thought eight, sometimes ten,—or how many fucks she had.
Certainly she had been fucked twelve times, but she thought it
might have been fifteen, counting each uncunting as two.
The women told all to each other then and there, listening
and dreading lest soldiers should come back, but all was silent.
In the sitting-room lay the watch, chain and a good deal of
money in the purse. Gertrude took it up—it was hers, and they
agreed to say nothing about the whole affair to Antonio. He
was jealous and might not believe the story quite, especially on
account of the purse and watch. "No, keep it to ourselves,
never tell anyone." They found the old man bolted in a stable,
he did not know who bolted him in, or why. He was there
when they took out the officers' horses, and supposed they
shot the bolt by accident. He had holloaed [sic], but in vain,
and evidently suspected nothing. Two of four men had done
Margaretta twice, and she had not spent she told Gertrude,
who doubted that.
Then there was the sound of cannon in the distance—what
were they to do! The soldiers had told Margaretta to leave
within an hour, or they would regret it, for certainly the French
would shell all the cottages to drive out the Austrians if there.
For days they had packed up the little valuables they could not
bear leaving, and would have moved to the town, only the
soldiers had used their cart and horse and Antonio. One
soldier who had tailed Margaretta had said: "If the French
catch you, they will bugger you, as well as fuck you, and
certainly cut your throats afterwards." The women and old
man sat cowering for fear about their husband and selves. At
length off they an trudged, and met Antonio and cart
returning. They loaded it (returning for a little time) with what
few goods they
50 FORBIDDEN
could, and got to the town of Brescia, where with hundreds of
peasants and farmers driven out like themselves from their
homes by fear they got a miserable shelter.
Next day the battle of Solferino was fought. Every hotel and
house in the town was filled with the wounded French, most of
the Austrians were taken elsewhere. Everybody was compelled
to help the wounded. Gertrude, a strong, big woman, was glad
to get an employment at the largest hotel, in which most of the
French officers' wounded were placed. Her future pseudo-
husband with a wounded leg, was among them; and it fell to her
lot to attend to him in some degree, when his soldier-servant
was not there.
So as to make room for worse cases (the hospital head-
quarters were in the hotel) the captain like others was moved to
a private house. He had money, he liked her attention for him,
and for money she went to attend him there. One day, when
better, he threw his arms round her, kissed her, and said he
wished she was his wife. Soon after he let his clothes be so
disarranged, that she saw his cock standing stiff as he lay, and
either was, or shammed being asleep. She looked at his cock
attentively and felt a liking for him. The cock evoked her lust,
and she went to her room and frigged herself.
Both sisters never mentioned to any person the shagging the
soldiers had given them, but it had a very stimulating effect on
both. Margaretta, it seems, had never referred to Gertrude's
escapade with her lover at Strasburg, nor talked about marriage
pleasures, nor seemingly, as I made out in my conversations
with Gertrude, done or said anything to make Gertrude long for
a cock to be put up her. She wanted evidently to stop sexual
aspirations, to keep herself steady, and get her married as soon
as possible. Gertrude told me that she herself was late in her
monthlies coming on, and had no great longings for a male, and
had not frigged herself till seventeen or eighteen years old. She
had spent with her lover at Strasburg, and she pined after him,
but it was for him rather than for fucking.
An Italian was at this time paying attentions to Gertrude, of
what are called an honorable sort, but she never thought of his
fucking her, and no man had laid hands on her ankles even, still
less touched her quim, since her Strasburg lover, till the soldiers
did. That shock to her nervous system set her and her sister
eternally talking about fucking. The very night of the
BOOKS 51
affair, though half-dead with fright and fatigue, the excitement
and irritation of her cunt and brain was such, that she had
frigged herself.
There was such difficulty in getting accommodation in the
overcrowded town which they could pay for, that the whole
family slept on the floor in one room. Her brain would not let
her sleep, fucking was on her brain. The old man and children
alone slept soundly, she laid as if asleep, in hopes Antonio
would stroke her sister—Margaretta had told her that she also
felt need to be fucked again. Antonion had been out all day to
see about his affairs, the two women talked about fucking all
day, and about the soldiers' pricks and spunk. They compared
their experiences, and at last frigged themselves before each
other. Margaretta told Gertrude what sort of a prick Antonio
had, and how often he fucked, and Gertrude told Margaretta,
how her lover first got into her. There was at least complete
confidences about sexual matters between them. Lewdness had
taken possession of them, and it is not to be wondered at.
The next night all huddled together, Margaretta let Antonio
shage her. She knew Gertrude close by was feigning sleep, for
the two women had so arranged it between themselves—An-
tonio had hesitated for fear Gertrude should wake "Hush—
no," he said. But his wife, his cock in her hand, roused it up till
he eased it in her. Gertrude frigged herself—Margaretta
imaged to herself a soldier doing it to her, whilst Antonio
operated. Gertrude's masturbations were accompanied by
similar thoughts about the many cocks which had plugged her
cunt. Working and attending to the wounded, then, separated
the two much after that night, but they talked of the soldiers
whenever they met. Some time after, Margaretta was ashamed
of having let Gertrude know about her husband's fuckings.
Gertrude ceased to frig herself much, but now looked on men
with different eyes, and desired to have one at her cunt, instead
of her fingers. She wished she was married, for Margaretta had
disclosed everything, even to the size and look of her
husband's cock—the reserve which Margaretta formerly had
maintained on such topics, for fear of encouraging lewdness in
her sister was gone for ever.
The sight of the captain's doodle stimulated Gertrude's want
of a male. Soon he kissed her again, and a circumstance
brought things to a crisis about two months after the battle.
The cap-
52 FORBIDDEN
tain could then move about with crutches in his room, but
could not get his trousers on.
Antonio's house, barns, and stores were burnt, and he was
nearly ruined like hundreds of other peasant farmers. He had
some money, but was not spending it. The Austrian officers
had promised to pay for the things they had taken, and there
was compensation to come but they could not be reliable till
the end of the war. He and his wife worked in all sorts of
ways to get money. His object was to get to his farm, and
make the place habitable again. A good opportunity then
offered, but money was needed, and then her sister reminded
Gertrude of her watch, chain and money. She agreed to sell it,
and lend the proceeds privately to Margaretta, but how to sell
it was the difficulty. They went to a Jew, who offered some-
thing ridiculously small, and told them he knew they had
stolen it, and would tell the police. "Ask the captain to sell
it or buy it of you," said Margaretta. "He is fond of you."
Another difficulty arose. What would Antonio think about
Gertrude having the money? "Say the captain gave it to you
for nursing him," said Margaretta. "No," said Gertrude, "An-
tonio will think I've been letting him do it to me." "What if he
does?" said the other. Now she had never told her husband
that her sister Gertrude had been poked by a lover at
Strasburg, and sent quietly to them on account of that; having
a fear perhaps that if he knew it, he might fancy a poke in the
same hole himself. Gertrude refused, but the sister became so
pressing, said how kind they had been to her, what a help it
would be to them all, if Antonio could only get back and pay
for roofing their cottage (the walls were standing) and they
could start again; that she prevailed on Gertrude to try to sell
it to him.
Gertrude asked the captain if he would sell the things for
her. "Mon Dieu," said he. "They are worth 1500 francs." She
was staggered—thinking them not worth a quarter of the
money. The Jew had offered a hundred francs. Who gave it to
her? Her lover before he joined his regiment. The captain at
once said she was lying. "He must have been a gentleman, and
well-off then, for there are armorial bearings on it—and the
watch is German manufacture—why the watch alone would
have bought your lover off the conscription." She stuck to it
that it was all true. "La, la, la, I see. it. Your lover kept you
and gave you it now, weren't you his mistress?" In vain
BOOKS 53
she denied it. "You come and live with me," said he, "we'll
go to Paris, and be so happy," and then he began to talk
bawd—which he had never done before.
She in tears and agitation went to her sister and told her
all. Said the sister, who did not seem to care about anything,
so long as they got the money to enable them to go back to
the farm: "Why not? you can't do better." "Then I shan't
marry Pietro." "Well, he's only a little farmer—and you'll
have as much money in a week with the captain, as Pietro
will give you in a year." Gertrude revolted at this advice, the
sisters had a row and parted; Margaretta finishing by saying
that Pietro could not marry till his father died, which might
be years hence, and that if Gertrude liked to wait years for
her fucking, she might—and more fool she.
But it was such a fortune to them just then, these fifteen
hundred francs, or even half that sum, that her sister was at
her about it soon again nearly every day. Once she said she
would tell her husband if she did not get the money. Then
Gertrude said she would tell him, all about the soldiers
having tailed his wife. But it never was told him, they were
both too wise for that.
She determined not to accept the captain's offer, and for a
week resisted. The leg of the captain got better, and he was
incessantly worrying her to be his mistress. He would take
her through Italy, and give her no end of pleasures. At last he
said, that if she would sleep with him one night only, he
would give her half his estimate of the value, and the other
half for a second night. The offer of sleeping with her made
her long for the male, she told me frankly.
There had been another wounded officer in the house. The
mistress with an old servant attended to him, and in fact all
three helped both of the two wounded men. There was only
opportunity of a brief kind for the captain to tail Gertrude in
the day, for the lady of the house was, or affected to be
prudish, and said that Gertrude ought not to be assisting the
captain alone, and was constantly in the room with her. The
other officer then left sufficiently cured. The mistresses's
husband was out all day, and their servant was also out one
day—the captain was moving about the room with crutches,
but had no trousers on, and a great dressing-gown covered
him.
Gertrude was with him and he renewed his offer of money.
She had a lewdness on her that day she supposed, her cunt
was
54 FORBIDDEN
yearning for copulation, and his talk put the soldiers in her
head. He caught hold of her as she passed him,—he was
sitting on the edge of the bed—and kissed her, held her tight,
and talked downright bawdiness. She boxed his ears and
then he talked worse. His crutches slipped down to the floor
as he tried to get his hand up her clothes. She struggled, but
was frightened to make a noise, as he touched her cunt. (Ah,
those male fingers! how few women can say nay, when they
have rubbed the clitoris for a minute.) He opened his
dressing gown, and pulled up her clothes, his cock was stiff,
but he could not achieve his end, for he could not move
excepting on the bed without assistance. She was dying for a
fuck, but got away from him. Then he sat at the edge of the
bed holding his cock, began to cry, asked her to him, and
said he would buy the watch and chain at once if she would.
She refused still, but helped him on to the bed. When there,
he got his arms tightly round her, and pulled her up on to it.
(She did not need much pulling, for she wanted it badly.)
Then freely she opened her thighs and let him fuck her. I'll
bet there was lots of spunk on her thighs when she got off
that bed.
Thus she tasted cock again, was twenty-one years of age,
big, healthy, and needed fucking, and she laughed when she
told me that as soon as he had finished, she went downstairs,
saw the lanlady [sic] as a blind, and then went quickly back
to him, and when he begged her to go with him, she went
without demour. He fucked her that and the follownig [sic]
day as much as he could, and less than she wanted. She
helped him with his wounded leg on to her. "I didn't care,"
she said, "I was longing for him to begin again, as soon as
he'd finished, though I didn't tell him so, but made him beg
and pray me a little." Then the old servant with whom
Gertrude worked, was away one night, and Gertrude went to
the captain's room and slept with him, risking the landlady
catching her. It was her first, first, naked flesh pleasure. He
kept his promise and gave her 1000 francs, and afterwards
500 francs more, which sum he actually sold the things for.
She didn't tell her sister what had taken place, till the captain
was well enough to move off. Then she lent her brother-in-
law the money, saying that her intended husband had given it
to her. Margaretta then, in excess of gratitude, told her in
confidence that she was in the family way by one of the
soldiers. That she felt sure of it at the time, from some
sensations she experienced when she spent
BOOKS 55
with them. She had denied before that she had had pleasure.
It was not fancy, and that night she was anxious to get
Antonio to do it to her, so that when the child came, there
might be no doubt about parentage. (An old dodge this, I
have had women who played that game.) "If ever you tell
your husband anything about me and the soldiers, I'll tell
him the child is not his," said Gertrude. Margaretta said she
would not be such a fool. Soon after Gertrude and the
captain left.
She was happy enough with him, though disappointed that
he had not married her, till he took to drinking. He always
insisted that she had had a rich lover who gave her the
watch, or that she had stolen it. That he said once or twice
when they had words. One night in bed, they had had friends
and were jolly and randy, she was fool enough under a
pledge of secrecy to tell him the facts about the soldiers. It
astonished him, and he always was for a time talking about it
to her. Then when drunk, she was sure he had told one at
least of his friends. They had frequent rows about it, and she
had threatened him, that if he ever told it to a man, and she
knew it, that she would let that man have her. That occured [sic]
a few months before I knew them. She had asked him if
he had told me. He denied it, but confessed he had told that
he had heard a woman having been ravished by soldiers.
That was nothing, he said, in war. The French soldiers often
did it. He had heard of cases, where they had both fucked
and buggered as well, a mother, and a whole family of girls
before the mother's eyes. It was fair in war, some thought.
This history, not a word of which I disbelieved, was not of
course told me in the consecutive way I have narrated it—I
never knew a woman who would or could tell straight off in-
telligibly, all about her first fucking, or any fucking affair.
First the broad facts were told me, then the little incidents as
I questioned her from time to time. It was first told me on the
Sunday, when I stayed the two days and nights in his (the
husband's) absence, and we lay naked in each other's arms,
kissing, and feeling, and fucking, and taking over this story,
till I knew it by heart. Many a time after when we met, I
questioned her, and stirred up our lust by talking over the
incidents.
Afterwards she told me about her first poking by her lover
(an ordinary common-place affair) and all her feelings and
thoughts about copulation. She would tell me what passed
56 FORBIDDEN
through her mind when I was poking her, for she was frank
and open, and I soon reasoned her out of the idea of there
being any shame and disgrace in our voluptuous pleasures,
or in talking about them, or disclosing frankly what we
thought, however lascivious it might be—I came to the
conclusion that she had not been a woman of ardent
temperament, until she was about twenty—I think I have
known that to be the case with some women of high
susceptibility, who only became voluptuous when full-
grown, and their passions were fully evoked by the male.
But men are so cunning, so taught early to hide their
thoughts and feelings about sexual affairs, that I may have
been wrong in the opinion I formed. They are so damned
cunning about their cunts, and their prick-hunger—are
women.
My liason [sic] lasted with her many months, during which
time I was tolerably faithful to her when at Paris. Not when
away, for I had Amelia German and others. The difficulty of
getting at her gave a zest to my pleasures. I could not often
call when out, for it might have got to his ears through the
concierge. The difficulty with her servant was more easily
got over, for I arranged to go to her when the servant was
out, but the concierge who watched everyone who went in
the house, might at any time have told the captain that I was
a frequent visitor. To have attempted to tip him, might have
put him on the scent—I was living at a hotel, and she used to
come to my room in the daytime; stop an hour, get her cunt
basted and go. When I thought it might be remarked, I
moved to another floor and part of the hotel on the pretext of
not liking the room and so had a different set of servants.
Then I changed my hotel to avoid suspiciou [sic] and at
length took lodgings where they were not particular. There
we used to go to bed and enjoy ourselves fully, two or three
times a week. I liked her embrace very much, and used to
love looking at her cunt, which was remarkably small and
pretty, and had the crisp, close, curly hair on it, I so much
admire; her breasts were large, but wonderfully firm, and
sucking her nipples would make her randy in no time. She
could make herself lewd by pressing or playing with her own
nipples—she once told me. We are many of us strange in our
ways or rousing our lusts, and I used to lay kissing and
sucking them, and rubbing my hand open fiat over the whole
of her cunt with
BOOKS 57
the palm. Then she would tell me anything, answer every
question or detail of her military fucking I could suggest, and
bring to her mind incidents she had not mentioned.
She grew fond of me, and begged me to keep her. She had
never much liked her man. The money, her sister's advice,
and her own lust she admitted, and made her let him have
her. Though he was very kind, she didn't like his habits, and
his drunkenness made him at times like a beast. When he
was drunk, he used to fart all night to an extent that
disgusted her, and she used to leave the bed and lay on the
sofa. He would not marry her, which he had solemnly
promised to do—and now he wanted to sodomize her-
which she resisted. Of course I had only her word for this—I
wanted to go back to England and could not keep her. We
had a scene. She did not upbraid me, or say anything
offensive—she only wept bitterly at her loving without
return. Then she said she would keep with him, if I would
only go and see her once a month. That was impossible.
Then she declared she would go home to her parents.
I went to England, and soon longed for her so, that in a
month I went back, and for a fortnight or so we had a jolly
time. She wrote to me on my return to England as she had
promised. From her, and from him afterwards, I learnt the
result. She left him. He behaved very handsomely to her for
a Frenchman, and she went home to her father. Two or three
years after that she married, or so she told me. His drunken-
ness ended in his losing his appointment, but he was a man
of some property, went to live near his relatives at Chalone,
and I lost sight of him.
I omit nothing. She told me that her sister's child had blue
eyes and light hair. As Antonio, his family, and Margaretta
and her family, were all dark-skinned and haired, this caused
astonishment. Only the two sisters knew that it was the Ger-
man sperm which had caused that. Antonio prospered, but
Gertrude could not get the money back she had lent him. She
wrote by my advice to her sister, saying that unless she were
paid, she would tell how the child came to have blue eyes.
That brought a return threat, but it also brought some of the
money and promise of the remainder. Gertrude, whose
monthlies were I think regular, and who never had an
ailment of any sort, did not get in the family way by any of
the pricks she had up her, including mine.
So ended my acquaintance with one of the most charming
58 FORBIDDEN
women I ever had. One beautiful when dressed and beautiful
in bed, with a lovely cunt, and was a lovely fuckster. She was
a careful manager, a good cook, fond of her home, and had
every quality a woman .needs to make a home happy. I doubt
most women's words on fucking subjects, for when a woman
had had two or three men—a fresh bit of meat up her cunt,
put in on the sly, and with or without the chance of a present,
is a treat few can refuse themselves. A knowledge that
another prick has rubbed up her, lends an additional charm
to, and fills a woman's impressionable mind with voluptuous
images and sensuous delight, and adds to the pleasure when
the regular legitimate prick is working its way. I firmly
believed that I knew of every male Gertrude had up to that
time.
There was one drawback,—I never could bear to be
shaking hands with him, when I knew I was tailing his
woman behind his back; it was treachery. I felt it then, and
do so still. I have not always felt so in similar cases. Why in
some and not in others, I know not. This is a plain narrative
of facts and not a psychological analysis.
BOOKS 59
The Ethiopian, a Narrative of the So-
ciety of Human Leopards, by John
Cameron Grant. "Can the Ethiopian
change his skin, or the Leopard his
spots?" ( Jeremiah xiii. 23. ) Paris,
Charles Carrington, 13, Faubourg
Montmartre, 1900. Entered at
Stationers' Hall.
12mo., xii-287 pp., frontispiec [sic].
To be complete, every copy should contain
seven extra pages which under the title,
"The Black Peril; preface to the American
edition," by Dr. W. Shufeldt, really gives us the
key to the whole work, and shows us very
plainly that the old cry that the negro is a man
and a brother, is very much out of date, to say the
least. That the author of "The Ethiopian," has
written a most fascinating novel is a fact that
needs no fine writing around it, and the story of
how a negro from the West Coast of Arica [sic],
after being educated in England, relapses into his
old bloodthirsty practices on returning to his
native shores forms highly delightful reading.
But there is a terrible host of reflections raised by
the perusal of this most original work, if the
reader cares to think, for when he has digested
the
60 FORBIDDEN
story itself and turned over Dr. Shufeldt's pithy
preface, he comes to the conclusion that he
must now not be so horrified as heretofore
when he reads that another negro has been
lynched in America. It sounds very dreadful to
sit down and write like this in cold blood, but
such good reasons are given in this volume,
that I must be excused for putting forth such
bold assertions. And there is more to read
between the lines. I feel that the author has
trembled exceedingly in front of Mrs. Grundy,
who subscribes to Mudie's, as we all know;
and so he stops short on the threshold of the
mysterious death-houses of the dark continent,
and the hesitating behaviour of the jet-black
hero towards the fair English girl he adores is
utterly untrue to nature. I defy the author to
contradict me—his critic and admirer. If he had
only issued his story without reticence, as a
privately-printed book, at a high price, it would
have been a perfect treasure to all those who
truly believe that" the noblest study of
mankind is man, "—even when he is but a
nigger—and might have done more good, than
by having his ideas set forth so timidly.
Nevertheless, there is a great charm about his
story, which we refuse to accept at the writer's
own valuation. It is far above the common
commercial novel, and I cannot put him down
as a mere composer of thrilling romance. You
have seen much, and travelled [sic] greatly; "ju-ju"
has no secrets for you, and every revolting
desire of the bloodloving, lecherous son of
Ham, thirsting for the carnal enjoyment of
white female flesh, has been laid bare to your
calm observant eyes. Come now and revise
your "Ethiopian," give us a new edition, even
should the Heavens fall, and help to save us
from the dangers you point out.
I simply wish to state that the union of white
and coloured folk is a great and unnatural
mistake, and when
BOOKS 61
a black man is lynched in America for
violating a white woman, the punishment,
horrible as it is, is not merely carried out for
the sake of the crime itself, but because of the
consequences: the birth of the hybrid, who is
always on the verge of savagery, if he does not
entirely revert to barbarism. This is the true
cause of the hatred between the whites and the
blacks in the United States, and elsewhere-
but which is kept back from the chaste ears of
English readers.
But in many cases, it is a gruesome fact that
the daughters of Eve true to the instincts of
their race, handed down from the slightly-clad
lady who dallied with the serpent, are often the
tempters of the none too-unwilling black. In
"Human Gorillas, a study of rape with
violence;" (Paris, Charles Carrington, 1901,
8vo. 235 pp., many engravings), this subject is
fully considered, among a mass of
extraordinary information relative to the
subject, with some hitherto unpublished data
relating to the lynching of negroes in the land
of the Stars and Stripes. The scandalous
behaviour of white, sweet English ladies
visiting the Kaffir Kraal at Earl's Court
Exhibition in 1899, is also dwelt upon, and I
need not enlarge upon the subject, as it is still
fresh in the minds of my readers. That the
commanding stature, huge proportions, and
sickening odour of the black have a certain
charm for a few debased and sensual white
women is a well-known and deplorable fact,
which was proved again beyond a doubt
during the Paris Exhibition of 1900. Then the
lowest darky, from inky blackness to the
lightest cafe au lait, found as many blonde
Parisian sweethearts as he cared to manage,
who not only were charmed to kiss every inch
of his perfumed skin, bite his thick lips and
lick him under the arms and between the toes,
preparatory to giving up their bodies to his
slow penetration, but were perfectly ready to
pay
62 FORBIDDEN
him for his huge favours, with the money they
had wheedled out of husband or lover by means
of false expressions of enjoyment, while the real
spasm and delight of voluptuousness was held
back and hoarded up for the thick long staves of
Ali or Sambo. May I not be excused if when I
read that a black has been burnt at the stake in
the Southern states, the shocking thought creeps
over me that now and again—very seldom—a
lecherous, abandoned woman from among the
white population has sought out the lusty son of
a slave, and has offered herself to him!
Detection has followed, and then she may have
exclaimed: "He violated me!" Such a cry from a
white woman's lips would be enough to seal the
doom of the wretched chicken-stealing "Goon,"
with his razor in his pocket, ready to defend
himself from his comrades when caught
cheating at poker.
The following translation of a few true letters
from a French woman will prove that the
longing of a white woman for a black man is no
invention of a novelist, but really exists in
nature.
In the first days of February 1895, the
following advertisement appeared in the Paris
newspaper,
Le Journal, under the heading of
"Matrimony. "
A distinguished young woman wishes to make the
acquaintance of a rich negro or mulatto gentleman. No
objection to travel. Desdemona, Le Journal Office.
An English literary gentleman, spending a
holiday on the Riviera, wrote to the lady and
described himself as a black. He succeeded in
getting the three following epistles:
Paris, February, 1895,Undated)
Dear Sir,
Since you honour me by replying to my advertisement,
which must seem very strange to you on the part of a person
thus
BOOKS 63
confessing her tastes and passions, I answer frankly and at
once.
This longing has conquered me for a very long period. I
have never known a man of your race and I feel an irresistible
yearning to be possessed by a coloured man. Knowing no one
could introduce me, or cause me to know any negroes, I
made up my mind to advertise.
When I did so, I was not thinking of the strength of the
black, although I have heard that many such men were so
largely developed that they could have no intimacy with
French women. I should not like you to think that this is what
I am seeking. No, it is rather the reverse. Pardon me my
slightly brutal expressions, but what I desire, what I wish to
find, is the following voluptuous pleasure, as yet unknown to
me. I should like to place myself in the arms of a black
man—intensely black—but not for a day or a night; but for
any infinity of nights devoted to love. I should like to travel
with you, with the conviction that you loved me, and thus be
always in your society, en tete-a-tete, but nevertheless I
would not interfere with your liberty. I mean that if I became
too compromising in any country or town, I would leave you
as much complete freedom as you might need.
Having just passed through great trouble, I should like to
come to life again, as it were, as if after a long sleep. I have
never travelled [sic] much. I have seen London, and I lived one
season at San-Remo, a little farther off than where you
are.
I could not prevent myself laughing when I read that you
described yourself as being of a "chocolate" hue. I have told
you my weakness—that I long to know a black man. I cannot
explain myself how this want has crept over me, but for the
last year I have felt a craving obsession.
As you ask me my intentions: firstly, I should like a salary,
either monthly, or as you choose. My tastes are quite simple.
I am not eccentric, and should we come to terms we will talk
over these things when you return. I am at liberty at present. I
am to have an interview tomorrow, and if on your coming
back I have not found a situation, and you would kindly
write, I should be happy to make your acquaintance.
I have received several letters and I am slightly perplexed.
Do not think that I flatter myself when I say this? No, for as a
man, you cannot find much charm in a woman offering
herself as I do. The rights of nature belong to the man and not
the
64 FORBIDDEN
woman, but I see no other means. I have not spoken of my-
self, and I have come to the end of my paper.
At first sight, I inspire but little sympathy, and I am not tall.
About middle height, rather pretty; neither a blonde nor a
brunette, but light chestnut.
Please receive, my dear sir, my sincere salutations,
Your friend,
ELSIE MARGOTIN,
135, rue des Pendales.
Dear Sir,
How happy I am to see that you have understood me so
well! Therefore I can put off answering you no longer. Your
letter has given me immense pleasure and thrown me into a
troubled state that I cannot explain to my own self. But it
seems to draw me to you with the same frankness, but I am so
much moved and so happy at once and the same time; you
have so set my brain whirling, that I beg you, when you do me
the pleasure of writing, not to put such fire in your letters. It
gives me much joy as I read, but it is bad for my frame and
over-excites my nerves, so that I regret the realization of my
ideas.
Your letter gives me an inward sensation, and I should like
to be in your arms already. You have increased the passion
that I feel for your race and caused it to grow stronger. With
what joy shall I not abandon myself to you, when we shall be
as one; when with you I shall experience the unknown de-
lights I long for. My mind is made up;. I will have nothing to
do with anyone else, but wait until you return to Paris. In that
case, one must forsee [sic] everything, and perhaps I may not
please you. But I doubt that, for with the good feelings I have
for you, I shall not need to renew my advertisment [sic].
I have desired for such a long time to know a very black
man. I often get laughed at about it, for I am very communi-
cative. I used to say when I was with mends I know: "Oh!
how should I like to sleep with a nigger!" One day, the
husband of one of my mends said to me in front of the
assembled company: "Well, I will black myself all over and
come and see you." I answered him: "No, for I desire the
complete illusion. I want to see a real handsome black man
stark naked." You have divined my desires.
Awaiting the day when I can realise [sic] my longings, I
abandon
BOOKS 65
myself to you and let myself be cradled in the sweet dreams
you promise me.
In the meanwhile, accept two hearty kisses which I send
with all my heart.
ELISE MARGOTIN
Paris, February 18, 1895.
Dear friend,
Why have you remained so long about writing me, and
why do you not return sooner, now that you have found a
nice little woman who offers herself to a fine negro? I think
my case must be a rare one. It might be explained if a
woman found herself in a country inhabited by black men.
Then, if nature spoke, she would not stop to choose. But I
must appear very strange to you. Here is a woman of Paris,
where there are so many good-looking fellows, longing for a
handsome blackmoor. You must think that I cannot find any
of my own tint, to have the idea of loving deep black men.
Your brain must be well exercised about me, or perhaps you
said to yourself that I am probably old, ugly, or deformed, in
thus having recourse to a negro. All these ideas must have
passed through your mind one after the other. Will you tell
me what you have thought of me? Be frank enough to do so,
my sweet mend. Be frank, as I am, when I tell you that I am
good-looking. Fearing that you will make me no complaint,
I make some for myself. Having so wretched an idea of me,
you do not hurry home, but what am I to do? I have tastes
and ideas differing from those of ordinary folk. I have
advertised them publicly, as without that I should perhaps
never have had the opportunity of satiating my passion. I
should, however, have been so happy if you had made
declarations of love to me, instead of me having to so the
first by means of a newspaper. But otherwise, I should not
have had the pleasure of corresponding with you. You ask
me for details about myself. I thought I gave them all in my
first letter. I am twenty-five, and of middle height; well-
built. I know my weight—9st. lb.
My dear sir, I do not set myself up as a beauty, that would
be going too far, for truly beautiful women in this world
only exist in novels, but where I have seen the finest women
was at Monte-Carlo. And as you are near there and as Monte
Carlo is the place to which everybody goes when in the
South.
66 FORBIDDEN
I leave you to judge if my impression was correct. But I will
tell you also where I saw the most handsome men. It was at
Villeftanche, a year ago, when the Formidable was in the
harbour. One day, when a ball was given on board, I was
invited to go, and then I was able to admire some very fine
men, especially the officers. Some of them were refined and
elegant, but despite all, not one of these beautiful males made
my heart beat faster.
It would be very difficult for me to explain to you whence
comes my passion for your race, especially when it is a
rooted idea and not the caprice of a night, but what I can
assure you is that I am worthy of all your esteem and if you
like to make enquiries about me it will be very easy for you
to do so.
I can understand that you will be sorry to leave all the fine
weather and the beautiful sun of the South, beneath which
one needs little to be light-hearted, and besides the sea air
makes one always inclined to faire l' amour.
I beg you, dear mend, not to regret that beautiful sun. I will
be your sun, the sun of your heart, and with your natural
warmth you will thus be able to await the coming of spring.
If you only knew how I long to see you, to know if I shall
please you, and if you will please me, for everything depends
upon the feelings we shall have at our first meeting. And yet I
have such a great yearning to belong to you, that if it is not
with you it will have to be with some other. Do not amuse
yourself therefore in making me wait too long. You ask me
how we shall meet? I only desire that you open your black
arms, ready to receive me, and press me to you. Tell me the
day and the hour that you expect me, and I will come at once,
thrilling all over with emotion, and throw myself in your
embrace. I have offered myself to you and I have promised
you that I will abandon myself to you, you in me. I promise it
to you once more. I want to be yours, and I wish you to make
me learn what happiness means beneath those fiery kisses to
which you allude. Come then, and take possession of my
body. Press me in your dusky embrace and satiate your
passions, your desire, your lust, in my white body. I want to
give myself up to you, like a little baby confided to your care,
so much will I let myself be petted. I will really love you.
Why do you ask me if I will kiss your lips? Have I not
already told you that I should wish to pass many nights of
BOOKS 67
love in your arms? I feel that I shall have great friendship for
you, so certainly I shall kiss you on the mouth, as you say that
sometimes a simple kiss of the lips makes all your body
shudder with delight. Is it not good when both lovers are
closely joined, to kiss and feel the tongue ... but I must say no
more.
Tell me that you will love me a little; I should like to be in
your arms already, my head on your black flesh. Tell me in
how many days you will press me to your heart, when you
will satisfy your passionate voluptuousness in me and give me
all the pleasure you are capable of making me feel.
Outwardly, I appear cold. I am very gay, but my blood is far
from being as warm as you. I mean that I am rather a long
time before I feel pleasure, but I shall not be afraid to look
upon your beautiful naked body, since such is my desire. But
you must let me get used to you and then you can see me as
well, at your ease. My skin is very white. I shall have nothing
to refuse you. Are you ticklish? If you are, I shall be very
pleased, because when I do not feel sleepy, I shall be able to
tease you, as I am very mischievous, but very tender and
caressing.
As much as I long for a man of your colour now, so much
did I detest them about five or six years ago. At that moment,
I believe that if a negro had tried to kiss me, I should have
been ill through night, and to-day I long to be able to satisfy
this passion, too long restrained, at my ease.
I am sending you a real gazette, so I swear that I will write
no more before your return, for my letters alone might suffice
for your happiness and you would no longer have the idea of
coming to Paris.
In the hope of seeing you soon, I kiss you very, very
strongly on your most tender spot, where you put those black
spots in the sketch you sent me; and on your mouth as well.
Believe me to be your friend.
ELISE.
68 FORBIDDEN
White Stains, the literary remains of
George Archibald Bishop, a neuro-
path of the Second Empore, (n. p.
London), 1898.
Small quarto, 131 pp.
ON the back of the title pages these words
are printed: "Un nouveau Phedre a lui
moins dure." What this means is not
explained in the volume, and the accent on the
name of the incestuous heroine is wrongly
placed. Then we have the following lines: "The
editor hopes that mental Pathologists, for whose
eyes alone this treatise is destined, will spare no
precaution to prevent it falling into other hands."
Why the word "treatise" is used, I do not know,
unless it be to keep up the mad character of the
work, which is nothing more than a volume of
obscene, blasphemous, and shamelessly filthy
poetry, devoted to the glorification of unnatural
vices of all kinds. It seems that only 100 copies
were struck off, and it is a pity that so much
talent should have been wasted upon a clever
mystification, for I refuse to take the book
seriously, notwithstanding that there is a preface
of infinite violence, giving a sketch of the life of
the mythical author, who is supposed to have
died mad:
BOOKS 69
He was commited [sic] to an asylum, for there could no
longer be any doubt of his complete insanity; for three
weeks he had been raving with a synthe, and satyriasis. He
survived his confinement no long time; the burning of the
asylum with its inmates was one of the most horrible events
of the war of 1870.
I should like to know the address of that
asylum, of which I never heard, nor can any of
my contemporaries call to mind the
conflagration in question.
This wonderful manuscript came to his
mistress, whose name is given in full, and she
contracted a terrible disease in the last few
days of her life with him. This shock, mingled
with her splendid lover's sequestration in a
madhouse, unhinges her mind as well, and she
shoots herself on July 5, 1869. It is a great
satisfaction for the reader to know this date, I
should say.
There are about three dozen poems, where it
will be found that the writer has cleverly
parodied the style of the masters of the fleshy
school, besides some others whose manner
will be easily recognized by the general reader.
A few of the poems are in very bad French.
"Ode to Venus Callipyge," "A Ballad or
Passive Paederasty," and "Necrophilia," are
three of the most suggestive titles, and were I
writing a prospectus to push the sales of this
most remarkable and vile publication, I should
add that none of the promises foreshadowed by
the index are belied. Those who can enjoy
what may be called the clever dressing-up of
dirt, will revel in this peculiar concoction, but
for those who may not care to grace their
library shelves with Mr. Bishop's verses, I
venture to print here one of his most singular
effusions, as it treats of a combination that I
have never yet seen described by any poet, and
it will give some slight idea of the writer's
misdirected genius:
70 FORBIDDEN
WITH DOG AND DAME: AN OCTOBER IDYL
The ways are golden with the leaves
That autumn blows about the air,
The trees sing anthems of despair,
And my fair mistress binds the sheaves
Of yellow hair more loose, and weaves
More subtly bars of song, that bear
Bright children of love debonair,
And laughter lightly comes, and reaves
The garland from our sorrow's brow,
Life rises up, is girt with song,
Joy fills the cup, that flashes clear.
The year may fade in whispers now,
Shadow and silence now may throng
The seasons—we are happy here.
Autumn is on us as we lie
In creamy clouds of latticed light
That hint at darkness, but descry
A rosy flicker through the night,
My mistress, my great Dane, and I.
We linger in the dusk—her head
Lolls on the pillow, and my eyes
Catch rapture, as upon the bed
He licks her lazy lips, and tries
To tempt her tongue. My fires are fed.
Her heavy drooping breasts entice
My teeth to jewel them with blood,
Her hand prepares the sacrifice
She would desire of me, the flood
That wells from shrines of Paradise.
Her other hand is mischievous
To bid the monster Dane grow mad,
His red-haw gaze grows mutinous,
Her eyes have lost the calm they had,
My body grows all amorous.
My tongue within her mouth excites
Her dirtiest lust, her vilest dream;
Her greedy mouth her bosom bites;
BOOKS 71
He cannot hold, his eyeballs gleam;
He bums to consummate the rites.
I yield him place: his ravening teeth
Cling hard to her—he buries him
Insane and furious in the sheath
She opens for him—wide and dim
My mouth is amorous beneath.
Her lips devour me, and I rave
With pleasure to discern the love
They twain exert, my lips who lave
With double dew distilled above;
To dog and woman I am slave.
Nor move though now essays the Dane
To cool his weapon in my mouth;
Her lust bestrides me, and is fain
To quench in his sweet sweat her drouth
Her fingers probe my bowel again.
All three enjoy once more, and I
Am ready ever to renew
These bestial orgie-nights, whereby
Loose woman's love is spiced, as dew
On tender spray of spring doth lie.
Like the cold moon to earth and sun
My mistress lingers in eclipse,
We wake her passion, either one
Licking each pouting pair of lips
Till new sweet streams of nectar run.
'Tis Autumn, and the dying breeze
Murmurs "embrace"; the moon replies
"Embrace"; the sighing of the trees
Calls us to linger loverwise,
And drain our passion to the lees.
'Tis Autumn. The belated dove
Calls through the beeches, that bestir
Themselves to kiss the sky above,
As I will kiss with him and her,
Leave us, sweet Autumn, to our love.
72 FORBIDDEN
Passion and Criminality in France, a
legal and literary study, by Louis
Proal, one of the presiding judges at
the court of appeal of Riom (Puyde-
de-Dome); Laureate of the "Institut",
translated from the French by A. R.
Allinson, M.A. (Oxon) Paris,
Charles Carrington, 13, Faubourg
Montmartre. 1901.
8vo., xxiv (Translator's Foreward [sic], Preface, and
contents), and 679 pp.
A PRAISEWORTHY rendering into
plain and scholarly English of "Les
Crimes et les Suicides Passionels."
(Paris, Felix Alcan, 1900., 8vo.) It is one of the
most entrancing studies that I have had the
good fortune ever to meet with, and although
the subjects treated vary considerably, the
impartial judge who gives us the result of his
notes and experience of years on the bench,
never gets led away into lyrism or absurd
theories, but discourses, calmly, senteniously
[sic] and dispassionately of the terrible
upheavals of the souls of poor mortals who,
females, often through no fault of their own,
have been the playing of Cupid, and males,—
martyrs to the wor-
BOOKS 73
ship of the jealous, wicked, incestuous, or
adulteress Venus. In fact, every folly and
weakness or life has been noted by the author,
who has seen and learnt much and who has the
luck to be born in a country where it is no
disgrace to print and publish a book on sexual
subject. And it must not be thought that M. le
Juge is a decrepid [sic] old man retired from the
labours of his vocation. He is still in full and
free exercise of his functions, and it is to be
hoped he will live long enough to give us other
volumes on the never-to-be-exhausted theme. I
cannot help wondering, from what this bulky
book contains, what a treasure there must be in
the notes and memoranda that the writer did
not
publish; which we dare not allow to be set up in
type, even profiting by the great liberty
permitted in France for all that is soberly
discussed in book-form. Without going into the
psychological part of the work, the most
superficial reader will be amazed at the
multitude of romantic crimes and extraordinary
stories of passion, suicide and vitriol-throwing,
pistol-firing, poisoning and. stabbing that Judge
Proal is obliged to quote in order to substantiate
his arguments when he discusses the love and
lust crimes of France. But although most of the
cases quoted, and the narratives so exhaustively
described all take place in Gallic territory, it is
easy to see that the adventures might just as well
have happened anywhere else, for lust and hate,
jealousy and vanity, flourish indifferently in all
climates. The only difference is in the speech,
and the weapons used by the troubled beings
who are demented by the force of their evil
thoughts and feelings. This is therefore a book
of all lands and all time, unless the world should
gradually be changed when the present
generation is dead and gone, and become
peopled with women or ice, and eunuchs.
To give a slight idea or the style and character
of
74 FORBIDDEN
"Passion and Criminality," I copy the
following under the heading of jealousy":
"Jealousy may break out between father and son, mother
and daughters, and lead to these monstrous crimes. Sons kill
their father, daughters their mother, out of jealousy. Some
years since, the Assize court of the Bouches-du-Rhone tried
the case of a young girl, who had killed her mother from
jealousy, her lover being an accomplice in the act. Yet this
girl had been brought up in a convent, where she had
attracted attention by her peculiar piety. I found among the
documents relating to her case a number of letters written
from the convent, in which the school-girl in training there
described the happiness she felt in hearing the Church music
and witnessing the noble ceremonies of religion. She had
even thought of taking the veil. The Lady Superior of the
convent where she had begun her religious noviciate wrote
in the following terms to her mother: "Marie loves her dear
father and her mother more than I can tell. When she speaks
of them, all her being burns with ardour ... Oh! my dearest
Madam, assure M. B—with all confidences that Marie
loves him fondly, and that nothing but the will of God is
strong enough to extort such a sacrifice from her. Tell him
our Lord is grateful to him for having suffered one impure
breath of the wicked world to stain this tender flower, which
has touched the sacred heart of Jesus. And indeed he loves
his little Marie well and makes her very nappy; she feels
never a shadow of regret for having given up all that young
girls desire and hope."
Some months later, having left the convent at her parents'
order, she became the mistress of her mother's former lover.
Jealous of the latter, she conceived a violent hatred of her.
The mother having fallen ill, she longed for her death; then,
on her recovery, she plotted with her lover to kill her,
jealousy turning her into a parricide. Her lover asked her
hand in marriage, and was refused; furious at this, he said to
the girl:
"Will you be mine?"—to which she replied: "Yes, I
will."—"Well then, only one way remains, we must get rid
of your mother." At first the girl made sundry objections,
but soon, dominated by the hatred inspired by her jealousy
of her mother, she agreed to the plan of murder. "Feeling as
I did the most ardent love for Leon," she declared to the
Juge d'instruction, "I experienced a fierce passion of
jealousy towards my mother." We reproduce the account she
herself gave
BOOKS 75
of the murder. "Leon began by striking her with his fists, and
trying L strangle. her, but as she resisted, he was obliged to
take a kitchen knife. The creature would not die; she resisted
fiercely and pushed Leon away, even after she had received
two knife thrusts in the throat. He struck her on the mouth
and broke two of her teeth; then my mother having got
possession of the weapon, Leon called to me to fetch a big
cheese knife; I got it and gave it to him, and he plunged it in
her throat." Further examination revealed the fact that, while
the victim was struggling, her daughter had kicked her; and
when she was dead, the accused had trampled on her body.
The two lovers carried the corpse down into the cellar and set
to work to cut it into pieces, to make it unrecognizable. They
divided the four limbs from the trunk, and attempted to cut
off the head, but without success. Next day they went and
threw the body into the sea. On coming back, they went to
bed and indulged in sexual intercourse. In a letter she wrote
to the Judge d'instruction, the accused added: "I cannot ac-
count for my having done what I have, I who would not have
stayed by a dead person for all the wealth in the world."
I am bound for the sake of completeness to say something
of the horrible scenes of jealousy caused by fathers who
abuse their own daughters. It is a revolting subject, yet I
cannot pass it over in entire silence. There are mothers who
tremble when they see their husband kissing their daughters.
Some to save their children's honour, actually give
information to the law; others, terrified by the threats and
violence of their husbands, do nothing to prevent these
monstrous acts, but suffer agonies of grief at such a state of
things. Among the many cases of this kind I have had before
me, I remember one father who had abused his two daughters
and got them with child. He would say, "I did not bring girls
into the world for other men to enjoy." The mother who was
aware of his abominable doings, dared not denounce him to
the police; she only made up her mind to do so when she saw
him beginning attempts on the third daughter, who was now
growing up. Another father told his two daughters: "Though
they should send me to the hulks for it, I am determined to
give you each a child."
These incestuous relations are often accompanied by
jealousy. A father, who had abused his daughter, was seized
with jealousy and endeavoured to get her shut in a
Penitentiary, laying a false charge of immoral conduct
against her. Another girl,
76 FORBIDDEN
a victim to her father's lubricity, was forced in order to
avoid exciting his jealousy, to be always badly dressed, with
her hair in slovenly disorder; her father forbade her to pay
the smallest attention to her toilet. For fear she would attract
the attention of a young man, who came to ask her hand in
marriage, he kept her shut up indoors, prevented her
speaking to the neighbors or leaving the house to look for
work. Eventually however he agreed to her marrying, on
condition of her going on with her relations with himself.
But he became jealous of his son-in-law, and compelled his
daughter to come back to him, taking her furniture away
from her.—A father who abuses his daughter and becomes
jealous of her, invariably opposes her marrying. One father
who had last consented to his daughter's marriage forced her
to submit to him on her very wedding-day, immediately after
she had put on her wedding costume for the religious
ceremony. In another case, the accused was a retired
gendarme, who exceedingly jealous of the daughter he had
abused, stabbed her with a knife. Some time previously, he
had wished to kill a young man who had given the girl his
arm for a walk. Among girls who are the victims of these
monstrous acts, but dare not complain, some suffer so
terribly that they end in committing suicide. I nave known
the case of one of such who killed herself in despair along
with her mother, to escape these incestuous outrages. It has
been said that "every man has in his heart a sleeping swine;"
and the swine often awakens with horrible results. We may
even go so far as to say there is no brute so foul and cruel as
to rival man in lubricity and cruelty. Fathers are found ready
to procure abortion in their daughters, to strike them, to
trample their bodies to bring about this result. Nor are these
monstrous passions only of modem times; they have always
existed.
Adultery on the part of the wife and husband
is exhaustively considered in all its
ramifications, and no abler, greater study has
ever been penned than when the author shows
us the contagion of mawkish literature and the
evils of novel-reading. It might serve as a pre-
face to the history of romance-writing, a book
which has yet to be printed. Then follows the
account of a passional crime as affected by the
influence of stage-plays, which is really a
review of the way love and lust have
BOOKS 77
been portrayed in comedy and drama from the
ancient to the present day. He then treats of the
responsibility in cases of crime determined by
passion, and concludes by discoursing on the
means of diminishing these unlawful offences.
He did not fail to notice a. peculiar frame of
mind in some men, who feel a morbid
delectation in writing their erotic recollections,
which places the unblushing authors of "My
Secret Life," "Crissie," and "Suburban Souls,"
(Loc. cit.), unworthy as they most certainly
are—in goodly company.
To make a novel out of the murder of the woman he had
killed, a married woman and the mother of three children, is
the idea that filled the mind of a young murderer of literary
tendencies and his friends. He is to become famous by
writing down as a tale the fine love tragedy he has brought
about. A love adventure is to be utilized to supply copy!
Men who pray on women's hearts feel no repugnance, in
their consuming self conceit, to admit the public to their
amorous confidences, and even to those of others. The most
illustrious of our novelists have not avoided this pitfall.
Rousseau composed his Nouvelle Heloise out of
recollections of his love for Mme. d'Houdetot, the details of
which he made public in his Confessions. Goethe divulged
in Werther his liasion [sic] with Charlotte Buff and Kestner,
making a friend of the latter's declare "it is a dangerous
thing to have a friend an author." In Rene, Chateaubriand
did not fear to relate the incestuous passion of his sister
Amelie. The great Lamartine, who with a marvelous poetic
genius combined a sound good sense that is rare among
poets, failed to guard himself from similar rather indelicate
indiscretions; he saw good to recall in Graziella the love
and despair of the Neapolitan girl he had deserted, and in
Raphael the love of Julie (1). Abelard, that mediaeval Ro-
mantic, also gratified his vanity by celebrating in song his
amours with Heloise, at the risk of ruining her good name
and drawing down her uncle's anger upon her."
It will be noted that in France nobody seems
to care about this little mania for wearing one's
heart upon the sleeve that seems dreadful to
self-restrained Saxon.
78 FORBIDDEN
These concoctors of polished eroticism live in a
fierce and glaring light of publicity. On the 5th
of October, 1901, a Parisian newspaper in the
style of "Notes and Queries," called
L' Echo due
Public, said:
It would be piquant if a pamphlet were written on the
crapulous tastes in love of some of our most noble writers,
such as Saint-Beuve, Merimee, Stendahl, etc.
Is not the "etc." as delightful as the whole of
the little "par"? So it appears that the three
great literary giants whose names are openly
given, had strange lascivious propensities?
How charming! The two latter have streets
named after them in Paris, and it is not to be
thought that the publication of the secrets of
their alcoves, if ever revealed, will diminish
their glory one jot or cause the denomination of
the thoroughfares to be altered. But in England,
the publishers dare not handle their volumes
bearing the name of Oscar Wilde, under the
penalty of losing all customers both wholesale
and retail. The reason is clear. It must not be
forgotten for an instant that all these debauched
writers are Frenchmen. In England, nearly all
the creators of romance lead blameless lives,
which renders their work all the more
meritorious, as their ideas of passion are really
only fictitious, and never relate to their own
sufferings, disappointments, or broken hearts. I
know what I am saying is true, for have I not
read with delight the accounts of interviews
with living authoresses and authors that are
often published with process blocks in the
weekly illustrated journals of London? They all
live pure and holy lives, in beautiful little villas
Dr riverside retreats. During the gestation of
their tales of love and daring, their only
relaxation is golf and the bicycle, or taking out
the kiddies, if they are married, for there are no
concubines or "free love" in the literary world,
as there is across the Channel. The male and
female stars
BOOKS 79
of the dramatic profession are just as pure, and
I defy the entire earth to gainsay me, for have I
not read all about it in the papers! Bohemia has
been destroyed like the cities of the plain, and a
church-going Arcadia has grown up over its
site, covering up the eligible building lots of
what were Sodom and Gomorrah with the semi-
detached villas of virtue.
80 FORBIDDEN
Manual of Classical Erotology. (De
figuris Veneris), by Fred Chas. For-
berg. Latin text and literal English
version. Manchester, (Brussels), one
hundred copies privately printed for
Viscount Julian Smithson, M.A., and
friends. 1884. (1899)
2 vols., 8vo., xviii-261 and 250 pp.
WERE I a bookseller, I do not think I
should ever take the trouble to print
such a book as I have before me. Here
is a Latin work full of notes, and bristling with
Greek quotations. A most careful and masterly
translation has been placed opposite every page
of the original text, and it needs no literary critic
to see that no one but a real classical scholar-
an old Oxford man—could ever have
successfully struggled with such a task. Every
error, both little and big, has been minutely
corrected, and there has been no scamping or
slurring as the pitiless Latin page eternally stares
the reader in the face, ready to accuse the
translator if ever he were tempted to turn traitor.
The two stout volumes have evidently been
printed on the Continent and for very good and
valid reasons, as no English printer would dare
to undertake such work,—therefore,
BOOKS 81
each page would have to be submitted to the
translator at least three or four times, foreign
compositors working mechanically. Many
months would thus pass in a wearisome proof-
reading and when at last the hundred copies are
struck off, and each man receives his due, what
margin of profit awaits the silly bookseller-
publisher! He is insulted in every way and
laughed at if he dares to wonder that the British
Customs seize any copies. He must not be
indignant, if he is termed a vendor of festering
obscenity, and may deem himself lucky if he
does not get into prison for a lengthy period.
Foolish man, why try and unearth forgotten
masterpieces, such as this, that touch on
subjects tabooed in every English-speaking
country! Bring out a new six-shilling novel and
tell the authoress or author to go as "near the
knuckle," as may be. Print the old word
"whore" in full, or make a young heroine tell
her sweetheart that "she likes his smell" This
precious stuff will circulate freely in the British
Isles and be in the hands of all our sons and
daughters; lying on the crochet-covered, "oc-
casional" table, in the front parlour window.
You know where I mean, under the hanging
cage of the family canary. Or why sell books at
all, to finish on the treadmill? Buy some old
stock of faded tea. Mix a little fresh with it, to
overcome as much as possible the scent of
mildew. Then roll it up in gaudy packets, call it
by some fancy name and advertise it freely,
partly on credit and partly with borrowed
money. If it sells, you may become one of the
highest dignitaries in the land of eggs and
bacon, and if not, put all your belongings in the
name of your wife, and go to church to pray
that Heaven may bless the bankrupt,
undischarged or not.
But I am straying from the subject, which was
to recommend the only true English version of
"Hermaphroditus," (Cobourg, 1824, 8vo.),
which is the clever
82 FORBIDDEN
amplification of the original of 1790., (8vo.
n.d.) The various editions of this curious
treatise will be found amply described in Gay's
"Bibligraphie del' Amour;" (1) and also in the
preface of the splendid Anglo-Saxon version I
am noticing. I have tried to steer clear of
ordinary scissors-and-paste methods, and have
refrained when I could from giving information
which can be found elsewhere in the proper
reference-books, and better done than by me—a
gossiping book-lover, and nothing more.
The "Hermaphroditus," with Forberg's
additions, was translated into French, under the
title of "Manuel d 'erotoligie classique," and
was brought out by Liseux, in Paris, 1882,
forming two fine volumes, 8vo . It was
immediately knocked into terrible English, and
the French translation, which was bad, was
rendered more faulty by its hurried
transformation, when it was compressed into
one dear little volume, and hawked about
London in 1887.
The workers on Viscount Smithson's version
had the opportunity of consulting every edition
hitherto, both in Latin, French and English, and
it would have been a pity if therefore they had
not been able to turn out a scholar's version, a
gentleman's edition of this mass of erudition,
which forms a key to all passages relating to
sexuality in the Greek and Latin classics, or on
rapid perusal will give the hunter after curious
disclosures of ancient times a chance of
knowing what is meant by the corruption of
Rome and Greece, as well as if he had studied
all Martial Juvenal, and Suetonius in the
original text.
BOOKS 83
Untrodden Fields of Anthropology,
Documents on Medical Anthropol-
ogy. Observations on the Esotric
Manners and Customs of Semi-
civilized Peoples; being a record of
Thirty Years' Experience in Asia,
Africa, America and Oceania. By a
French Army-Surgeon. In two
volumes. (All Rights Reserved.)
Paris, Librarie de Medecine, Folk-
lore et Anthropologie, 13 Faubourg
Montmartre, 1898.
2 vols., 8vo., xi-343 and xxiv-502 pp., 24 beautiful
illustrations, by amedee ignola, printed in colours,
representing types of female beauty in all the countries
mentioned in the Course of the work. They are not obscene.
Printed outer wrappers. Issue: 500 copies on vellum and
ISO on China paper, all press-numbered.
IN 1893, Isidore Liseux of Paris published
an octavo volume of which only 330
copies were printed, entitled "L' Amour
aux Colonies singularities physiologiques et
passionelles observees durant trente annees de
sejour dans les Colonies Francaisses: -
Cochinchine Tonkin et Cambodge;-Guyane
et Matinique;-Senegal et Rivieres due Sud;-
Nouvelle-Cale-
84 FORBIDDEN
donie, Nouvelle-Hebrides et Tahiti;-par le
Docteur Jacobus X ... "; 396 pp.
The author had taken up quite a new line of research.
During his travels, extending over twenty-
eight years in the French Colonies, he had
made a study of everything relating to
sexuality in those torrid climes, and he gave
out his curious experiences in the most
fascinating, albeit audacious manner. Strange
to say, the work was far from being a success.
Is it a fact then that the French are no travellers [sic]
and have no taste for geography, and while
their patriotic pride is puffed up to know that
the glorious tricolour is waving over far sun-
baked shores, they do not want to go there, nor
to read about them? Is asnieres-les-Bains on a
bicycle the world's limit for the Parisian
Bibliophile? However that may be, "L' Amour
aux Colonies," went begging, which was a
pity. A literal English translation then appeared
as follows:
"Untrodden fields ofAnthropology:
observations on the esoteric manners and
customs of semi-civilized peoples; being a
record of thirty years experience in Asia,
Africa, and America. By a French Army Sur-
geon. Paris, Librairie des Bibliophiles in 13
faubourg Montmartre, 1896."
2 vols., 8vo., xii-240, and xvi-266 pp. Issue:
450 copies on thin vellum and 50 on Japanese
and Whatman papers.
This edition was soon out of print, and in
order to satisfy reiterated demands, the author
re-wrote his book, with a view to its translation
into English at once, and so the original
unpretending work, developed into two
splendid volumes, with three hundred pages of
fresh matter, without counting numberless
notes—not the least interesting part—lots of
gorgeous pictures, full indexes, lists of the
works consulted, and everything that was
possible to form a book that would do honour
BOOKS 85
to the library of the most fastidious book-lover.
It is one of the most delightful and valuable
studies that ever was printed.
I should like to give a few extracts, but I
refrain, not knowing where to pick a few lines,
every part being equally interesting, and above
all possessing the freshness of original matter,
treated in a novel manner by the travelled
doctor, who is without a doubt, a large-minded
man of the world; the last qualification being
taken in its broadest sense. No other author has
told us the secrets of copulation and every
hidden vice of venery in the far-off lands
mentioned on the title page, whether the man
and master be a colonist from Europe or a native
sweetheart. Nothing has been left to the
imagination, and I am sure that a study of his
volume will teach the casual reader as much
about the way the women of these countries love
and slake their lust as if he had taken ship and
gone out and home again to sample the black
and brown lasses.
The celebrated author of the above-named
work being so cordially received by the
farseeing and sensible public of England and
America, resolved to give his other manuscripts
to the world in English, and the three following
stupendous treatises followed in rapid sucession
[sic], the prolific man of science being
encouraged by the enthusiastic reception that he
met with, in astonishing contradiction with the
frigid verdict of his own compatriots on his first
book.
86 FORBIDDEN
The Ethnology of the Sixth Sense,
studies and researches into its
abuses, perversions, follies,
anomalies and crimes, by Dr.
Jacobus X French Army-surgeon,
author of "Untrodden Fields of
Anthropology." Paris, Charles
Carrington, publisher 'Of Medical
Historical, and Folklore works, 13
Faubourg. Montmartre,
MDCCXCIX (All Rights Reserved)
8vo., xx40 pp., Issue: 1000 numbered copies, all on vellum
paper.
This time the talented Doctor X ... has
remained nearer and has treated a subject as old
as the hills with a dashing and enthusiastic
frankness that causes what in the hands of
another would be a dull, long-winded volume
fit only for the student, to read like an interest-
ing conversation with a prince of medical
pathology, who might expound his art and tell
of the secrets of sex over a good cigar and a
comforting glass. For, let us make no mistake,
the genial author talks of nothing but lust,
permitted in marriage or forbidden as
fornication; and the famous "sixth sense," is
naught but the desire of
BOOKS 87
men and women to units, and so perpetuate the
race. The first chapters describe the male and
female organs of generation and copulation
with all their defects and conformation; and
then all anomalies and singularities of the same
apparatus, together with the description of
foreign bodies found therein; surgical and other
operations preformed on the male and female
copulative organs, and mutilations and
amputations of the same; and particulars
relating to the annexed organs in the two sexes,
such as the feminine bosom, etc. It is a study of
lust and its ravages boldly treated without
disguise, and yet presented with so much
vigorous talent that no feeling follows its
perusal but that of satisfied curiosity without
the least disgust.
The subject was far from being exhausted in
one, thick volume, as a fresh and most
elaborate book followed:
88 FORBIDDEN
The Genital Laws, their Observance
and Violation, being a supplement
to "Ethnology of the Sixth Sense,"
by Dr. Jacobus X, French Army-
surgeon, Author of: "Untrodden
Fields of Anthropology," etc., Of-
ficer de la Legion d'Honneur; Offi-
cer de l'instruction Publique, etc.
Paris, London, and New York, Mai-
son d'Editions Scientifiques, 13 Fau-
bourg Montmartre, MDCCC. (All
Rights Reserved)
HERE we have the subject of the genital
sense, or sexual instinct, entirely and
exhaustively explained with chapter and
verse, the author ranging from the evolution of
puberty down to the treatment of impotency and
sterility, passing however in quite a natural
manner through the sweet secret parts or
pleasure and genital power. The virgins of both
sexes are described and the first combats and
defloration of the mind. As a logical sequence,
normal coition and the different positions are
discussed, until we are forced to halt in front of
the accidents of excesses, and genital
BOOKS 89
abuses and abnormal forms of copulation—one
of the most weird and fantastical. chapters ever
penned, and seemingly untrue, did not the
learned and sparkling writer give us convincing
proof continually, brilliantly and triumphantly.
But our Titanic doctor had other worlds to
conquer and soon the press groaned beneath
the bulky book:
90 FORBIDDEN
Medico-Legal Examination of the
Abuses, Aberrations, Dementia of
the Genital Sense, by Dr. Jacobus
X .... French Army-surgeon, and
author of etc., Paris, London, and
New York, Charles Carrington,
publisher of medical and historical
works; 13 faubourg Montmartre.
8vo., 543 pp., Including two Indexes. 750 numbered copies
struck off.
THERE are certain subjects of human enquiry before
which the intelligence of sane men reels back with
horror. This is a healthy sign. The dark corners of the
world's life are not for common ken [sic]. There are nightmare
phantoms of uncanny brains which none but the resolute and
trained mind of the Doctor, Lawyer, and Mental Pathologist
can face and exercise without fear of hurt.
Such are the opening sentences of the
"Foreword: a defence [sic] and explanation,"
and these few forcible words are a fitting
introduction to the most wonderful collection
of the carnal errors and sexual madnesses of
men and women that was ever brought
together. It is enough to make us thoroughly
despise all those wretched creatures who stray
from the road that Nature has made for them,
were it not that the gifted author shows us that
we must not withhold our pity from the
nympho-
BOOKS 91
maniacs, onanists, exhibitionists, fetishists,
necrophilists practicers of bestiality, Sadists,
Masochists and erotic maniacs in general; both
male and female.
All these abnormal creatures pass before us,
and everyone of the curious cases quoted is
analysed [sic] and described with a masterly
audacity and scientific minuteness, peculiar to
the worthy doctor. The medical faculty may
learn much from this encyclopedia of men and
women with kinks and twists of carnality in
their brains, but the large-souled student of
human nature will peruse it with the most
intense interest, while weak-minded individuals,
on the frontier of perverted sexuality, may
perhaps be saved from what is worse than death
by seeing the ultimate fate of those who strive
after certain so-called refinements of lust which
can only lead to the madhouse.
I am certain that no such work exists in any
language, for although these peculiar
perversities are all known to the modem princes
of the science of medicine, they have never
been catalogued and classified, with detailed
observations to serve as proofs—very often
unsavoury [sic]—in one huge volume, such as
this is.
As an instance of the curious experiences of
the learned doctor-author, and to give a faint
idea of his fearless frankness, I append here an
interesting extract:
Greater Acquired Sadists. We can bring forward
several personal observations. They refer to various cases
of Sadism, through perversity, through jealousy, and for
money or political hatred They are entirely unpublished,
and we have never come across any similar ones related in
any work (medical or otherwise), published on the habits of
the Annamites. These observations, in fact, have been
collected in Cochin-China by ourselves directly, or
communicated by credible eye-witnesses.
Cases of Sadism relating to the Annamite Race. Its
natural cruelty. In "Untrodden Fields," we have shown
that the Annamite race is thoroughly pederastic; let us now
state that it
92 FORBIDDEN
is naturally fierce and cruel, showing that lust and cruelty are
sister passions.
The atrocious penalties of the old Annamite code were
mitigated in 1812 by the Emperor Ginlong, but they would
not be accepted by any civilised [sic] nation. A thing which
always strikes Europeans is that a man condemmed [sic] to
death walks to the punishment with his arms tied and his legs
merely shackled, listens to his sentence of death, kneels
down and bends his head with resignation, without trying to
make a movement to avoid the blow of the fatal sabre. The
spectators who form the circle look on with curiosity, but
without compassion, at the blood spurting out and the head
falling off, as though some animal were in question and not
one of their own kind.
In Europe, if the executioner were to fail to come, it would
perhaps be difficult to find another man to take his place. In
Co chin-China, there would be but a difficulty in making a
selection, for 186., at each inspection, the Matas (native
cavalry) practised [sic] every day a game of cutting heads,
by cutting off with a single blow from a sabre, a ring in the
trunk of a banana tree, placed on the ground like a skittle.
The height of skill was to sever the ring without upsetting
the trunk.
Political Sadism during the Insurrection of 1867 in
CochinChina. After the taking of the three southern
provinces in 1867, the French administration was hardly
installed, before by the orders of the Court of Hue, the
insurrection began. It was not general, for with no other arms
than lances of bad steel, or simple bamboos with one end
hardened in the fire, the Annamites could not contend
against the rapid fire of our soldiers. The insurrection was
limited to the formation of bands of pirates (a name given to
them because they operate on the rivers so as to escape in
boats and avoid the pursuit of our colonists), composed of
vagrants; under guise of politics, the bands pillaged, burnt,
raped, mutilated, and massacred the partisans of the French
with unheard-of refinements of cruelty.
Sadie Cruelties. The processes adopted by these pirates
were analogus [sic] to those of our Chauffeurs de l'Quest during
the Revolution, but instead of heating the feet, they burnt the
genital parts of. the victims, or buried a red-hot iron in their
vagina or anus. Complete or partial castration, as well as
abolition of the breasts in the case of a woman, were
practices
BOOKS 93
frequently carried out. Death was given by the sabre or by the
rope.
It may easily be understood that a few executions of this
kind were enough for a chief of a band to terrorize whole
provinces.
It is true that these acts frequently recoiled on those who
perpetrated them, and the chief of a band became in his turn
the victim of a son avenging the death of his parents. This
vengeance was Sadie, as will be seen in the following
observation.
Sadic and Pederastic Vengeance inflictetd [sic] on a
Pirate Chief. The chief Quan Lan terrorized the provinces of
Mytho and Vinh-Long, evading all pursuit with rare skill. He
had besides invented an ingenious means of acquiring
information as to how he was being pursued. He introduced
young men or boys as servants into the houses of French
Administrators, or as interpreters and writers to the Court,
and ordered them to furnish him with all the information he
required. The life of the parents of these spies, who lived in a
village at a distance from the administrative centre, answered
for their fidelity. This very fact however was the cause of his
ruin.
After mutilating, he murdered for purposes of robbery, an
Annamite merchant who was proceeding from Saigon to
Vinh-Long, with a junk full of merchandise.
The body was thrown into the Cambodge and received no
burial, which is considered as a terrible misfortune for the
family. It is a disgrace, and an ineffaceable blot upon the
children. The merchant had a son, 28 years of age a Latin
interpreter who was highly appreciated by the authorities at
Sagon [sic], and who likewise spoke French with facility.
As soon as he knew of his father's death, this young man
left Saigon, without announcing his departure to anybody,
went to Mytho, where he obtained employment with the Ad-
ministrator X ..... G ..... , a notorious pederast, whom I shall
speak of in the chapter on Pedersty. The young La (the son's
nom de guerre), was a very handsome youth and, for an
Annamite, well endowed as to his genital parts; he did not
fail to please X ..... G ..... , and soon became one of his
principal favourites.
He gained in this way a certain amount of independence
and, under the pretence of discovering imaginary relatives, he
courted and finally took to wife, a woman, in a village where
he knew well that Quan Lan had a concubine and numerous
94 FORBIDDEN
partisans. He brought the woman with him to Mytho after the
marriage ceremony, put her in the family way, and then sent
her back into the country to stay with her parents.
Quan Lan was soon informed of the pederastic relations
existing between La and his master X .... G ..... , a man of high
courage, and having the reputation of being one of the most
intelligent officers in the branch of the service in which he
started, and who had actively pursued Lan on several oc-
casions, without being able to capture him.
Lan thereupon placed an embargo on La's wife, and in-
formed her through his concubine that she was on no pretext
to leave her parents, under penalty of seeing them perish by
the most fearful tortures. He then informed La at Mytho, that
if he did not serve him as a spy, he would kill his wife and
the child within her.
This was precisely the result which the Saigon Annamite
looked for, who played his part of spy in a marvelous
manner; at first giving, by agreement with X ..... G ..... ,
excellent information, but. finally laying a trap for him. I pass
over the details of the wiles of the two Annamites. M. X G,
accompanied by two boys and six rowers armed with guns,
the nipples of which would be stopped up so as to make them
miss fire, was to be taken in a pagoda on the banks of the
Cambodge, at a short distance from the village in which were
the wives of Lan and La. It was Lan on the contrary who was
summoned in his hut by thirty Matas and four Europeans
(X ..... G ..... , his secretary, orderly officer, and myself, all
armed to the teeth), the night preceding that on which
X .... G ..... was to be captured. I merely mention that Lan was
rendered intoxicated by a drug mixed with his opium, a drug
procured by a Chinese chemist, which enabled him to be
captured without his offering any resistance.
Quan Lan was brought to Mytho, confessed, and was
finally condemned to death by X ..... G ..... , and the sentence
declared that after the execution, which was to take place
before the pagoda, the body was to be thrown into the water,
and the head exposed before the pagoda until it was
completely decomposed.
La had requested as a favour from X ..... , that he might
him-self be the executioner of Lan, and that Lan might be
handed over to him the night preceding the execution, which
was to take place at sunrise. X .... G ..... , who could refuse
nothing
BOOKS 95
to his favourite, sent on the previous day 150 soldiers well
armed to hold the village, and caused the pagoda to be
occupied about midnight by his 12 personal attendants,
commanded by a Doi (sergeant), with orders to be at La's
entire disposal.
X ..... G ..... and myself were to arrive there at dawn in a
swift junk on the falling tide. I had obtained permission
without any difficulty to hold an autopsy on Lan's body, in
the pagoda, where we were to pass the day.
When we reached the pagoda, we found Lan a living
corpse, his face deadly pale, unable to speak and scarcely
able to stand. It was necessary to carry him to the village
marketplace, hardly a mile away. When we arrived at the
place of execution we were obliged to give him a bowl of
sun-chum (rice brandy), so that he might hold himself
steady to some degree upon his knees, for his whole body
was agitated with a convulsive shaking, while a white froth
trickled from his mouth.
La, the amateur executioner, lifted the victim's chignon
and marked on his neck with his saliva reddened with betel-
nut, the place where he ought to strike. I had my eyes fixed
upon him: his eyes shone like firebrands, his lips parted in a
sardonic grin, gave him the look of a hyena. When X ... G
.... gave the signal, the first stroke was delivered, but the
head did not fall; a notch only was made in the neck. It was
followed by a second, and then by a third. The body had
fallen forwards, and the executioner with his left foot
resting on the shoulders, kept chopping, hacking off the
neck with small strokes with his sabre. The Matas remained
impassive, and so did X ..... G ..... After a time which
appeared to me to be very long, the neck was cut through,
but the head remained still attached by the throat and skin.
La then drew out, without hurrying himself, a knife from
his pocket and severed the recalcitrant shred of skin as
though it were a slice of ham. He then took the head in his
left hand, looked it straight in the face, spat upon it and
abused it. He then nailed it himself to a post before the gate
of the pagoda.
I commenced my autopsy immediately. I found, to my
great surprise, the trace of considerable disturbance in the
genital organs. The gland of the penis was enormously
tumefied, of the colour of wine-lees, and bearing marks of
punctures, some of which were still bleeding. The skin of
the scrotum and the penis had traces of peculiar
excoriations, which had the appearance of having been
produced by a human jaw. The testi-
96 FORBIDDEN
cles were congested and tumefied, the epidymis [sic] was
swollen, the scrotum had acquired an enormous size, and the
skin of it was red, and strained with an effusion of
considerable serosity. On the side of the rectum, I observed
that the anus was dilated, gaping, and almost wide enough to
receive a child's hand. The radiated folds of the anus had
disappeared and in their place was to be seen a pad formed
by the sphincter having been drawn out.
I forwith caused La to come to me in order to hear what he
had to say. He answered me frankly that he would tell me
all, if I would give him the liver of his victim to eat (called
by the Annamites faire le gase), the supreme vengeance that
can be inflicted on an enemy.
At this price I obtained a complete confession from La. It
appeared that at the beginning of the night, La had drunk a
Chinese aphrodisiac, the effect of which was immediate.
About ten o'clock he had been taken to X ..... G .... .'s room,
who was amused (sic) at this, and he with La and the twelve-
personal attendants had left at 11 o'clock in a junk for the
pagoda, which they reached about 2 o'clock in the morning.
La was laid on an Annamite bed of open bamboo work flat
on his belly, with his hands tied up, so as to expose his
buttocks, and for the space of four hours was sport for the
lust of twelve attendants who had given him no respite, uno
avulso, uno deficit alter.
La had made a hole in the basket-work on a level with
Lan's abdomen, and during these four hours, sitting
underneath the bed, he had indulged in unbridled acts of
masturbation, and in violent fellatory manoeuvres [sic] upon the
unfortunate man's genital parts, so that he completely
exhausted him by making him ejaculate again and again,
until at last the blood came from the urethra. Then he had
pricked his penis with a long hairpin, and bitten his scrotum
and testacles [sic].
I should not have given credit to this fact if it had not taken
place before my eyes, and I should never have believed that
a man for vengeance sake could have indulged in such
manoeuvres [sic]. But what astonished me more at that time, was
X ..... G ..... .'s attitude in allowing such abominable acts to be
committed, and in making himself the quasi-accomplice. I
bring no accusation; I merely state a fact of moral
perversion.
This remarkable series of works is concluded with:
BOOKS 97
The Basis of Passional Psychology, a
study of the Laws of Love in Man
and the Lower Animals, by Dr.
Jacobus X .... , French army-surgeon,
etc. Paris, Charles Carrington, 13,
Faubourg Montmartre, 1901.
2 vols. 8vo. ofxx-323 and xii-285 pp. Four hundred copies
struck off, on vellum paper.
NOT the least fascinating of the set and
although placed last, might have served
as an introduction to the more glaringly
sensual contents of its forerunners. Love in the
human race is now considered from the
mysteries of lust in nature, from the birth of
passion and man in the known beginning of the
world down to the amours of the animal
kingdom and their pleasure and modes of
accouplement. So far for the first volume. The
second treats of the sexual instinct in man, and
of modesty coquetry, physical love and the
pleasures of coition according to psychologists,
philosophers, poets and prose-writers of
classical antiquity, reaching at last the authors
of our own times. And it is very strange to see
that the author is not a well of medical science,
but must have been a reader blessed
98 FORBIDDEN
with a giant's memory, for what he does not
know about phemous debauchess by reading
books of lust? And inamorous literature all
books relating to his pet subject is not worth
knowing. He can give us a tasty bit from
Lucretius and Apuleius or Zola, to illustrate his
theories, with the same ease as he merrily
recounts to us the comical story of an old Congo
chieftain and some tincture of cantharides.
It is hoped that Dr. Jacobus X ... will not rest
upon his well-earned laurels, but give us some
fresh harvest of experiences of sexology, in the
East or the West.
BOOKS 99
Les Quarante Manieres de Foutre,
dediees au Clerge de France. A
Cythere, au Temple de la Volupte.
1790.
In-18, 72 pp., 8 free plates.
GAY says: "7 planches contenant 41
figures erotiques." This is correct, as my
copy has eight engravings. The first six
contain a multitude of little couples engaged in
sexual intercourse, and all numbered plainly, so
as to explain the text of the forty postures, (in
reality, there are forty one), which are minutely
described. At page 47, we have some erotic
tales in rhyme, well-known ones of the time,
and the other two vignettes refer to the poetry.
"Art de Foutre en quarante manieres, ou la
science pratique des Filles du monde."
Amsterdam, 1789. (1830) 12mo. 99pp.
This little volume is ornamented with 10
plates, each divided into four compartments,
with a different posture in each. It contains part
of the text of the abovementioned volume, but
with additions, in the shape of a Preface of
Introduction, and a quantity of smutty songs. It
is thoroughly obscene.
100 FORBIDDEN
"La Science Pratique des Filles du monde."
Cologne, chez Pierre Mareau, 1790. (Brussels
188?) 12mo. 99p.
The same text as the preceeding [sic], but
without the preface or introduction. No plates.
BOOKS 101
One Hundred Merrie and Delightsome
Stories, right pleasante to relate in
all goodly companie by way of joy-
ance and jollity: Les Cent Nouvelles
now first done into the English
tongue by Robert B. Douglas. Paris,
Charles Carrington, 13, Faubourg
Montmartre, n, d. (1899).
Demy 8vo., xxx (Contents and Introduction) and 532 pp.,
divided into two volumes, on antique English rough-edged
paper. Bound In water-coloured silk, with 50 hand-coloured
illustrations, and 2 engraved titles, by Lebegue. Issue: 500
copies on antique English rough-edged paper, and 75 on
Imperial Japanese vellum, press-numbered, bound In half-
morocco.
THIS is a careful translation of that most
justly celebrated French work, "Les Cent
Nouvelles Nouvelless," which first saw
the light in 1846, and was attributed to Louis
XI. But I never was proficient in real, learned
bibliography, and I must refer my reader to the
masterly introduction that the translator has
placed at the beginning of the jovial work. It is
very curious to note that no version was ever
made in English until this one saw the light,
notwithstanding that there exist over twenty
French editions. That of Jannet, Paris, 1858,
contains a preface by an Englishman, the
famous antiquarian, Thomas Wright!
102 FORBIDDEN
It is one of the most remarkable masterpieces
of the XVth century, and contains the
quintessence of the rollicking fun of Southern
nations, entitling it to rank with Bocaccio and
Rabelais, even if it does not sometimes surpass
them.
It tells principally the wiles of married
women, seeking to deceive their husbands, and
by slightly altering the local colouring, it might
have been brought out as a modem work, so
true is it that if men were deceivers ever, they
have been occasionally outdone by their artful
wives,
The original French is difficult to read, even
for the most highly-educated Frenchman, and so
I will give one very short story (the twenty-
eighth), just to show how beautifully it has been
put into English:
THE INCAPABLE LOVER
Of the meeting assigned to a great Prince of the
kingdom by a damsal [sic) who was chamber-
woman to the Queen of the little feats of arms of the
said Prince, and of the neat replies made by the
said damsel to the Queen concerning her,
Greyhound, which had been purposely shut out of
the room of the said Queen, as you shall shortly
hear.
If in the time of the most renowned and eloquent
Bocaccio, the adventure which forms the subject of my tale
had come to his knowledge, I do not doubt but that he would
have added it to his stories of great men who met with bad
fortune. For I think that no nobleman ever had a greater
misfortune to bear than the good lord (whom may God
pardon), whose adventure I will relate, and whether his ill
fortune is worthy to be in the aforesaid books of Bocaccio, I
leave those who hear it to judge,
The good lord of whom I speak was, in his time, one of the
great princes of this kingdom, apparelled [sic] and furnished
with all that befits a nobleman; and amongst his other
qualities was
BOOKS 103
this—that never was a man more destined to be a favourite
with the ladies.
Now it happened to him at the time when his fame was in
this respect most flourished, and everybody was talking about
him, that Cupid, who casts his darts wherever he likes caused
him to be smitten by the charms of a beautiful, young, gentle
and gracious damsel, who also had made a reputation second
to no other of that day on account of her great and unequalled
beauty and her good manners and virtues, and who, moreover
was such a favourite with the Queen of that country that she
shared the royal bed on the nights when the said Queen did
not sleep with the King.
This love affair, I must tell you, had advanced to such a
point that each only desired time and place to say and do
what would most please both. They were many days
considering how to find a convenient opportunity, and at last,
she,—who was as anxious for the welfare of her lover as she
was for the safety of her own reputation—thought of a good
plan, of which she hastened to inform him, saying as
follows:
"My dearest mend, you know that I sleep with the Queen,
and that it is not possible for me—unless I would spoil
everything—to resign that honor and position which the
noblest lady of the land would think herself proud and happy
to obtain. So that, though I would like to please you and do
your pleasure, I would remain on good terms with her, and
not desert her who can and does give me all the advancement
and honour in the world. I do not suppose that you would
have me act otherwise."
"No, by my soul, dearest," replied the worthy lord; "but at
any rate I would beg you that in serving your mistress your
devoted lover should not be forgotten, and that you do for
him all that lies in your power, for he would rather gain your
love and goodwill than aught else in the world."
"This is what I will do for you, Monsigneur [sic]," said she.
"The Queen, as you know, has a greyhound of which she is
very fond, that sleeps in her chamber. I will find means to
shut It out of the room without her knowledge, and when
everybody has retired, I will jump out of bed, run to the
reception room, and unbolt the door. Then, when you think
that the Queen is in bed, you must come quietly, and enter the
reception room and close the door after you. There you will
find the greyhound, who knows you well enough, and will let
you approach
104 FORBIDDEN
it; pull its ears and make it cry out, and when the Queen hears
that, I expect that she will make me get out of bed at once to
let it in. Then I will come to you, and fail me not, if ever you
would speak to me again."
"My most dear and loyal sweetheart," said Monseigneur, "I
thank you all I can. Be sure that I will not fail to be there."
Then he rose and went away, and the lady also; each
thinking and desiring how to carry out the proposed plan.
What need of a long story? The greyhound wanted to come
into the chamber of his mistress at the usual time, as it had
been accustomed, but the damsel had condemned it to banish-
ment and it was quickly made to beat a retreat. The Queen
went to bed without noticing the absence of the dog, and soon
afterwards there came to keep her company, the gentle
damsel, who was only waiting to hear the greyhound cry out
as the signal for battle.
It was not long before the worthy lord set to work, and soon
managed to reach the chamber where the greyhound was
sleeping. He felt for it, with his foot or with his hand, until he
found it, then he took it by the ears and made it cry aloud two
or three times.
The Queen, who heard it, soon knew it was her greyhound,
and thought that it wanted to come in. She called the damsel,
and said:
"My dear, my greyhound is howling outside. Get up, and let
it in!"
"Willingly, Madam," said the damsel, and as she awaited
the battle, the day and hour of which she had herself
appointed, she only armed herself with her chemise, and in
that guise, came to the door and opened it, and soon met with
him who was awaiting her.
He was so delighted and so surprised to see his lady-love
so beautiful, and so well-prepared for the encounter, that he
lost his strength and sense, and had not force enough left to
draw his dagger, and try whether it could penetrate her
cuirass. Of kissing, and cuddling, and playing with her
breasts, he could do plenty; but for the grand
operation-nihil.
So the fair damsel was forced to return without leaving him
that which he could not gain by force of arms. But when she
would quit him, he tried to detain her by force and soft
speeches, but she dared not stay, so she, shut the door in his
face, and came back to the Queen, who asked her if she, had
BOOKS 105
let the greyhound in? And she said, "No, because she could
not find it though she had looked well for it."
"Oh, well," said the Queen, "go to bed.
It will be all right."
The poor lover was very dissatisfied with himself, and
thought himself dishonoured and disgraced, for he had up till
then had such confidence in himself that he believed he
could in less than an hour have tackled three ladies, and
come off every time with honour.
At last his courage returned, and he said to himself that if
he ever were so fortunate as to find another such opportunity
with hill sweetheart, she should not escape as she did the
previous time.
Thus animated and spurred on by shame and desire, he
again took the greyhound by the ears, and made it cry out
much louder than it had before.
Awakened by this cry, the Queen again sent her damsel,
who opened the door as before, but had to return to her mis-
tress without getting any more pleasure than she had the first
time.
A third time did the gentleman do all in his power to
tumble her, but the devil a bit could he find a lance to
encounter her with, though she awaited his onslaught with a
firm foot. And when she saw that she could not have her
basket pierced, and that he could not lay his lance in rest,
whatever advantage she gave him, she knew that the joust
had come to nothing, and had a very poor opinion of the
jouster.
She would no longer stay with him for all that he could say
or do. She wished to return to the chamber, but her lover held
her by force and said:
"Alas, sweetheart, stay a little longer, I pray!"
"I cannot," said she; "let me go! I have stayed too long
already, considering the little I got by it," and with that she
turned towards the chamber, but he followed her and tried to
detain her.
When she saw that—to pay him out, and also hoodwink
the Queen—she called out loud:
"Get out! get out! dirty beast that you are! By God! you
shall not come in here, dirty beast that you are!" and so
say-
ing she closed the door.
The Queen, who heard it, asked:
"To whom are you speaking, my dear'"
"To this dirty dog, madam, who has given me such trouble
106 FORBIDDEN
to look for him. He was lying quite flat, and with his nose on
the ground, hidden under a bench, so that I could not find
him. And when I did find him he would not get up for
anything that I could do. I would willingly have put him in,
but he would not deign to lift up his head, so, in disgust, I
have shut the door upon him and left him outside."
"You did quite right, my dear," said the Queen. "Come to
bed and go to sleep!"
Such, as you have heard, was the bad luck of this noble
lord; and since he could not when his lady would, I believe
that since then, when he had the power, his lady's will was
not to be had.
BOOKS 107
Memoires d'une Demoiselle de Bonne
Famille, rediges par elle-meme, re-
vus, corriges, elagues, adoucis et mis
en bon francais par Ernest Faydeau.
Paris, Glady freres, 10, rue de la
Bourse, 1874.
12mo. 246 pp.
THE celebrated novelist, Ernest Feydeau,
is supposed to have suffered from erotic
mania in his latter days, and that is the
reason why he wrote this highly spiced novel.
This is the original form in which the work
appeared in print; it cannot be called an
edition, as only a few proof copies were struck
off. The one I saw bore the stamp of the
printer, J. Claye with the mention eprueve."
Three years afterward it was published with the
imprint: "Londres, A. R. Williams, Editeur, 5,
Newgate Street, E. C. 1877." l6mo. l43pp.
This volume, of which a very considerable
number must have been struck off, contains the
same matter as that printed by Claye, with two
or three trifling differences. It bears every
evidence of having been printed in London-
the paper, type and ornamentations being
undoubtedly English—to Glady's order, as
Williams was their Lon-
108 FORBIDDEN
don agent at the time. It is simply a reprint of
one of the proof copies before mentioned.
The "Memoires d'une Demoiselle" do not
contain the whole of the author's MSS., as
originally written; the Parisian proofreader no
doubt considered some of the passages too free
to appear in a book destined for open and public
sale, and either modified or omitted them. A
transcript of the original manuscript was
afterwards put into the hands of Messrs. Gay
and Douce, of Brussels, who towards the end of
1877, issued the work as follows: "Souvenirs
d 'une Cocodette, ecrits par elle meme. Leipzig,
chez Landman, editeur, 1878." 8vo., 179 pp.
This edition contains an "Avant-propos," and
a "Postface," by the publishers, and in the latter
are given the variations between this edition and
that of Glady; not all, but sufficient to form a
fair estimate as to how far the two versions
differ. This volume is in every respect more
desirable than that of Glady, for in spite of the
trifling omissions, there are many additions, and
those generally in the most interesting parts.
The edition of Leipzig (Brussels), is illustrated
by a frontispiece and ten etchings by J.
Chauvet, printed by F. Nys, signed, not free,
poor invention, and not remarkably well
executed. In addition to these, Chauvet executed
a set of nine water colour drawings, quite free,
and displaying more inspiration than those
published with the volumes.
This series, together with the original pencil
drawings for the eleven etchings published,
were in the possession of Pisanus Fraxi, unless I
am greatly mistaken, together with some
autograph letters of the artist referring to the
designs.
More suo, Chauvet reproduced the 9
water-colour drawings above-mentioned for a
Parisian
BOOKS 109
amateur, who also possessed the original MSS.
of Feydeau.
My copy of this book is on China paper, and
I have the 11 plates in their first state, signed
by the designer on China paper also; the same
on Dutch paper, in red and in sepia; with three
of the original drawings, or sketches of them;
and, last but not least—another set of the
famous unique (?) nine obscene pictures, very
delicately executed this time in pencil! Chauvet
was a curious Bohemain [sic] character, but I
am afraid, the poor fellow—peace to his ashes,
he was run over in the street, I believe—was
not very scrupulous. I think he kept tracings of
most of his book illustrations, which were
generally free, and sold them over and over
again. He also executed aquarelles in the style
of the little masters of the eighteenth century,
who were greatly in fashion just before his
death, and I am sorry to say that the un-
scrupulous dealers frequently palmed them off
as originals. They were done on bits of old
paper and looked very pretty. I have one of
those drawings before me now, and there is a
long note of the time (?) on the back, signed
and dated, in beautifud [sic] coffee-coloured
ink. How far Chauvet was guilty, I know not,
and how far the dealers went with him will
always remain a secret, but many a forged
drawing has been dubbed a "Chauvet," when
he had nothing to do with it. But give a dog a
bad name, etc. He was a spiritualist, and in his
latter days, went out to evening parties with
cataleptic lady who fell into trances, foretold
the future and peered into the past for a
consideration, frightening people out of their
wits into the bargain.
The London edition was reprinted in
Brussels, in 1882, for Charles Gilliet,
apparently from the stereotyped plates, on
larger and better paper, with a new title-page
110 FORBIDDEN
and a new frontispiece by J. Henriot. The titles
and text are framed in red.
The book is thoroughly lascivious and gives
the life of a woman, which although destined to
show up the corruption of the Second Empire, is
nothing more than the story of thousands of
ladies, who are unfortunate in marriage. Our
heroine has a profligate mother and then goes to
school where she tells of Sapphic scenes. Then
her cousin takes great liberties with her, but she
resists him, and is married without love to a
brutal nobleman who treats her in a most
unblushing manner on her wedding-night:
During the whole of the ride, my husband never ceased
pressing my arms and hands to his heart, vowing to make me
happy and swearing that he was "the happiest of men." At
last, we arrived. In the whole of the house there was nobody
up but a porter and a footman. The latter opened the door of
the entrance hall, and my husband ordered him to go away,
as soon as we should have gone upstairs, and when he had
put out the gas. While we were ascending, my husband
encircled my waist with his arm and supported me
affectionately as if he wished to help me to go quicker.
When we reached the first floor where our private
apartments were situated, he made me enter a very elegant
boudoir, and then asked me in a coaxing tone if I would
kindly allow him to undress me.
I thanked him, assuring him that I was in the habit of un-
dressing myself, which was true. Thereupon, he withdrew
into the bedroom, having first pointed out the door of my
dressing room. All this was very cold and may perhaps seem
strange. But at that moment, I did not think so. I felt naught
but astonishment, and furiously apprehensive about my first
wedding-night. A quarter of an hour later, having changed
my bridal costume for a pretty dressing-gown, which had
been chosen by mother, I thought it was time to go to seek
out my husband. I surprised him in front of the fire, in the
bedroom, in a morning coat and slippers. He was drinking a
cup of tea. Two large lamps fully lit up the room. He rose as
he saw me, came towards me, and took the wreath and
bouquet of orange-blossoms that I had worn all day, and
which
BOOKS 111
I innocently offered him as a token of the future. When he
had put them away in a chiffonier, he came back to me as I
was waiting for him near the fire with easily understood
anxiety seized me in his arms, kissing me lengthily and
voluptuously, while he told me he adored me. I felt
inexpressible emotion. Although as yet my husband occupied
but a very little place in my heart, and in spite of the
recommendations of my aunt Aurore, I did not look upon
myself as quite a victim for the moment. I feared I knew not
what; I apprehended something unknown and terrible. My
husabnd's [sic] caresses caused me no repulsion, but I was
obliged to make the greatest efforts to submit resignedly to
his desires.
Nevertheless, his wishes seemed now and then to be very
strange. He made me sit on a sofa, and kneeling before me,
had taken off my white satin shoes, then my stockings, and
kissed my naked feet with singular avidity, being in ecstasy
over their beauty. Remembering my aunt's advice in time, I
let him do as he liked, without a word. Perhaps I looked silly;
but the situation was such a novel one for me, and I experi-
enced such fright; instinctive, unthinking fright, that I was
incapable of opening my lips. I noticed that the bed-clothes
were turned down, and upon the bolster were two pillows
side by side.
Nevertheless, my husband had begged me to stand up.
When I rose to my feet he took off my robe de chambre in a
twinkling. Thus I found myself before him in my chemise,
and I confess I felt full of shame. What a fearful position for
a woman who was still a young girl! The remembrance of
adventures that had happened to me before, and which then
came back to my mind, did not at all attenuate the feeling of
uneasiness that I experienced. I tried as well as I could to
inwardly lecture and scold myself, but it was all in ain [sic]. I
was in my shirt, barefoot. A man was looking at me. That
was enough.
To-day, I well know that all women, at all times, and of all
countries have been through this ordeal and did not die. The
greater number, even, I believe, did not consider it necessary
to make as much fuss as I did, not finding the proceedings so
extraordinary or troublesome. I repeat that all had no
effect.
It was not only my conscience, but my whole flesh and
body that shuddered and rebelled as if it felt itself thus
beneath the gaze of a man.
As I struggled, my comb fell; and my black hair rolled
down
112 FORBIDDEN
in its entire length, that is to say, to my thighs.
Then it was no longer admiration, but ecstasy. In reality, I
must have been admirably beautiful.
Never could I have fancied that a man's transports would
reach so far, above all with regard to a naked woman. He
unceasingly uttered exclamations. One might say he could
taste no delight unless he flavoured it with the pleasure of
talking.
He told me that I was the most beautiful of all women, and
that he had never seen one who could be compared with me,
that I possessed all the charms that pleased him most, and that
he preferred; to hear him, my arms, my legs, my feet were so
many wonders. And then he cried out as he walked round
with me:
"Heavens, how tall you are! God, how thin! How your
frame is svelte and elegant! You seem to me to be taller than
ever!"
After that, he made me turn on one side, and then on the
other, lift my arms and throw myself backward; and then, he
never left off repeating that what was most beautiful and de-
licious in me was the contrast formed by my skin so fine and
so white with my black tresses, which then fell behind me like
a mantle, enhancing my whole shape.
A woman in love with her husband might have esteemed
herself happy, might perhaps have been moved. At the risk of
being supposed ill-tempered to the point of causing myself to
be detested by all men, I confess with the most complete can-
dour that this exposure wearied me, in spite of the
compliments that were lavished on my charms. At one
moment, a mad wish came over me to pick up my scattered
garments and fly far away, so far that my husband could not
catch me. And then, overwhelmed by the comical aspect of
the situation, I was obliged to hold my sides, so as not to burst
out into laughter.
"My aunt never spoke about this examination," said I to
myself. "Do all women have to undergo this disagreeable
inspection?"
I suppose that involuntarily I let a little of my bitterness
escape me, for my spouse suddenly appeared to me as if
grieved. However, as with him impressions were always
fleeting,' he jumped up, took me in his arms, lifted me up like
a feather, and without even leaving me time to enough to
guess what he was about, he carried me to my couch and put
me to bed.
Henceforth, nothing took place that was not, very ordinary.
BOOKS 113
In two minutes, my husband. was undressed and stretched
by my side. He pressed me in his arms and stifled me with
kisses.
"Now is the time!" said I to myself in childish terror. "Oh
auntie, why are you not with me to keep up my childish
courage?"
I neither know nor care how other women have pulled
through under these disenchanting circumstances.
As for me, in my relative state of innocence, I found it all
so bestial, so painful, that I fancied I was the victim of an
abominable assault. In my ingenuousness, it seemed to me,
and it had always seemed so, that marriage was above all
something sacred. I inwardly said that my husband ought to
have respected me, treating me like his comrade in life's
struggles, and not as a male among animals treats the
female.
"What are you doing? What are you abou? You hurt me
frightfully. You are a savage, said I to my husband, con-
vulsively struggling to escape from his grasp and elude his
violence.
I did not experience the most passing voluptuous
sensation. Nothing but pain.
I have forgotten what my husband answered me.
I think he said that people got married to have children,
and other commonplace remarks which he did not even
believe himself. I hardly listened to him. I was entirely
absorbed by the thing in itself. I do not know if I am more
soft, or built differently to ordinary women. It is not very
likely, What I know well is that I endured a kind of
disagreeable torture.
It was the atrocious and harrassing [sic] sensation of a
red-hot iron driven a thousand times with sudden thrusts
into the most tender part of my bowels.
Icy perspiration covered my brow. I thought I was dying.
It was then that I was fully able to appreciate the justice of
my aunt's comparison: "Man is a sword." "Great heaven,
what a sword." I inwardly explained.
Once more I say that I know that all these things are
natural and common. "Natural as are all life's functions,"
my father would have said, "like being born and dying." All
women have suffered this ordeal. I know it. And after the
first experience, some of them, the majority, do not
complain.
The proof is that they return to it.
If there were only this in these memoirs, even with the ut-
most good faith that inspires me as I write, a superficial
reader
114 FORBIDDEN
might regret the time passed in perusing them. As far as I
am concerned, I know nothing in the world more sensational
and more acute than these vulgar proceedings submissively
supported by everyone of us, and which none has ever
thought of analysing [sic]. That is my only excuse for
having had the idea of relating so many private details.
One last word to finish this chapter.
When my tender spouse fell asleep after six successive
onslaughts, I found myself all bloody.
Then her husband gets into debt and she
prostitutes herself to keep up appearances and
pay his losses at the gambling table and her
own toilettes, for Madame is very fond of
dress. Her lover, a very rich old man; her
cousin Alfred; her husband; and a friend,
Madame de Couradilles, who plays an
important part in the story, are all at a country
house. Alfred, the young gentleman who tried
to take liberties with her when she was a young
girl, saves her from the attack of a mad dog,
and he is dangerously wounded himself. She
nurses him and feels love for him, but not of a
sensual kind. The senile paymaster is not
jealous of him, as Alfred acts as a screen to
prevent her husband divining his intrigue.
Madame de Couradilles betrays our heroine to
her cousin, who is pleased to pay the part
required of him and asks for his reward, which
is not granted, as the disappointed woman
seems destined always to fall into the hands of
selfish sensualists. Her husband has only
married her to enjoy the most refined and
salacious voluptuousness, and he tries vainly to
bend her to his corrupt tastes. Alfred is
suffering, her elderly admirer is taking
phosphorous to spur on his jaded virility, and
she is thoroughly unhappy.
Such was the state of affairs when an event occurred so
strange and inconceivable, that I hardly know how to tell it.
Many years have passed, but I still tremble when I think of
it.
It was night. It must have been a little after twelve. I had
been in my room an hour, and had just got into bed. I did
not
BOOKS 115
sleep. I was reading. A candle, near my pillow, on the night-
table, was my only light. The room had two doors. One,
situated at the end of the room, opened on a passage giving
on a staircase; the other, facing my bed, ten paces off, gave
into a spare bedroom, which, for the last four days, was
occupied by Madame de Couradilles. Thus, we were both
neighbours and while dressing in the morning, we often paid
short visits to each other.
My husband's room was a little way off, in the same
corridor. Those of my cousin and the Baron de C ..... , (her
lover,) were on the upper story.
I was reading, when I thought I heard a slight noise
preceeding [sic] from the closed door communicating with
the room of Madame de Couradilles. I turned my head in
that direction. What did I see? I could scarcely believe my
eyes. The door had just been opened, and on the threshold,
immovable, silent, stood a woman who was completely
naked.
Yes, stark naked.
By the slight figure, the exquisite whiteness of her skin,
the golden hue of her hair, the graceful and alluring aspect
of the collective beauties of her person, it was easy for me to
recognize Madame de Couradilles. As she continued to
remain motionless, without speaking; not knowing what she
was doing there, what she wanted, what was her aim, and
awaiting until she deigned to explain, I confess I felt a
certain pleasure in letting my glance wander over every part
of her pretty body. Although she was about forty, never
having had a baby, the lines of her frame were as pure as
those of a virgin. Nothing can give an idea of the loveliness
of her breasts, the smallness of her feet, the suppleness of
her figure. It was the perfection of beauty.
Perhaps Madame de Couradilles had relied on my
examination to trouble my senses despite myself. She
postured therefore before me, as if trying to enhance all the
beauties of her body, slowly turning from side to side.
Nevertheless, as she could not keep on with this graceful
play eternally, she made up her mind to step forward a few
paces, but with an embarrassed air and her arms hanging
idly down. She came to-wards my bed. But at that moment,
revolted at the woman's shamelessness, and pointing my
finger at her:
"What are you doing here?" said I. "What do you want of
116 FORBIDDEN
me? You must be mad to come and seek me out in such a
state, at such an hour!"
She uttered no word of reply. So I contiued [sic]:
"If this is a joke, it offends me, and I think it is in most
detestable taste. Begone!"
She continued to advance, her left arm folded in front of
her, at the waist; swinging her hips, absolutely as if she was
clothed and had some elegant skirt to show off, which gave
her an awkward appearance. And her eyes were downcast.
Nevertheless, I felt myself getting more and more impatient
at the prolongation of this scene. That is why I made up my
mind to jump out of bed, and I ran to Madame de
Couradilles. By this time I was seriously uneasy, and could
not make out what it all meant.
I took her in my arms.
"Have you really lost your reason..:' I asked her. "You pain
me. I pray, you if you love me, return to your bed."
"If I love you!" she murmured.
We were then both near my bed; she quite naked, and I in
my chemise.
"Heavens! how cold I am! she exclaimed.
"And no wonder. What is the meaning of this idea of
yours?" She caught me round the waist.
"Let me sleep with you," she said. "You will warm me."
When we were together between the sheets, she pressed
against me, still shivering. She had passed her arms round my
neck. She kissed my eyes and my cheeks. Her lips were on
fire.
"This is still more extraordinary than what took place at
my convent!" said I to myself.
I had the strongest wish however to obtain the explanation
of these singular demonstrations. I pressed her for an
answer.
"Are you ill?" I asked her. "Or is this some fit of
madness?" She gripped me tighter than ever.
"Poor Creature! can you not understand me!" she rejoined.
This is love. Yes, the most violent, unconquerable love. And
alas! the most incomprehensible!"
She twisted herself about and enlaced me. I felt her entire
frame boiling on mine. I was as usual, as cold as marble.
"This is real madness!" I said to her. "Can love exist be-
tween two women, two persons of the same sex?"
She drew away from me.
BOOKS 117
"Are you so innocent, so silly? It would not be believed,
placed as you are between two men so experienced as your
husband and your lover."
Then clasping me again, and showering the most
inflamatory [sic] kisses on me:
"Cannot you understand that I adore you?"
"If so, I pity you, even if I consented to let myself be loved
by you, and I do not consent to it, for it is madness! we are
both women. What is to be done?"
She did not answer me. But she sprang out of bed. Then,
catching hold of sheets and blankets, she threw them on one
side.
And then to my great stupefaction, without leaving me
time to defend myself, she seized hold of my legs.
And I was violated, without the shadow of a doubt.
But that was nothing as yet. However amazing. the affair
appeared to me so far, it was all nothing—no, nothing. What
happened to me afterwards, surpassed everything, even
dreams or delirium. At the moment when I began to be
resigned to my unspeakable martyrdom—for it will be
remembered that any attempt to excite my senses was torture
for me—a man's footstep was heard in the corridor, stopping
at my door, as if some indiscreet person had watched all that
had taken place in my room through the keyhole, or had
been eavesdropping. I felt myself more dead than alive.
Madame de Couradilles did not allow herself to be troubled
in the midst of her inconceivable attempt on my person.
Suddenly, the door opened, a black shadow appeared on the
threshold, and thanks to the draught from the passage, to my
great terror, the candle went out.
Madame de Couradilles did not move. She stuck to me like
a leech. The flooring might have caught fire under her feet, I
think, and she would not have made a movement to escape.
The room was dark. Nevertheless, and in spite of my
confusion, I was able to distinguish objects dimly. The
shadow had left the doorway and approached. It had the step
and the look of a man. I said to myself: "A man! Yes, but
who?" There were three males at the Chateau and all of them
had, or thought they had, the right of coming to my room at
night, without knocking.
The man continued to advance. Who was it—my husband,
the baron, or my cousin? Impossible to distinguish anything!
118 FORBIDDEN
There was something truly frightful for me in this occurence
[sic]. The man was near the bed, close to my head, against
my pillow.
His face, however, bent towards mine and he gave me a
very affectionate kiss. I recognized my husband.
He was the only one of the three who wore his entire beard.
It was through that I recognized him.
"I am as good as dead!" I immediately thought inwardly.
"He is frightfully jealous, unceasingly informing me to
what excesses jealousy might carry him; and surprising me
thus in this strange flagrant criminality with Madame de
Couradilles, he will never consent to believe in the real
truth. Whatever I may say, he will never admit that she used
violence to me, and that I am pained by what she is doing.
He will suppose I am her accomplice and will strangle me
without more ado."
So said I. And, in another second, I expected to appear be-
fore God. Already, I imagined that I felt his hands tightening
round my throat.
But I was far from realizing the true state of affairs.
Just at that instant when I feared to die by the explosion of
my husband's fury, I saw him retreat to the foot of the bed—
to where Madame de Couradilles was. And while the lust-
maddened woman continued her Lesbian task on my person,
he committed a rape upon her beneath my very eyes.
Disgusted at her husband's conduct, as he had
incited his wife's friend to commit this Sapphic
outrage, she separated from him and finishes
her life in solitude, confessing that she never
had but one real passion in life—the love of
fine clothes.
BOOKS 119
The surprising adventures of a female
husband! containing the whimsical
arm ours, curious incidents, and dia-
bolical tricks of Miss M. Hamilton,
alias Minister Bentley, alias Doctor
O'Keefe, alias Mrs. Knight, the
Midwife, &c. who married three
wives! and lived with each some time
undiscovered, for which acts she was
tried at the summer Sessions in the
county of Somerset, in the year 1752,
found guilty, and whipped several
times, in four market towns, and
afterwards imprisoned six months:
notwithstanding which, on the evening
of the first day of her exposure, she
attempted to bribe the gaoler to
procure her a fine young girl to gratify
her most monstrous and unnatural
propensity. London: printed and sold
by J. Baily, 116,
Chancery-Lane.
(The date is erased in the copy before me.) Small 8vo;
23 pp.
120 FORBIDDEN
There is a fine folding frontispiece, coloured,
and signed "G. Cruikshank
fecit, " representing
one of the whippings of this extraordinary
English tribade, who was born in the Isle of
Man, in 1721. She is represented as a slight,
youthful-looking person, with short, curly hair,
blue breeches and topboots, but being stripped
to the waist, the artist has been careful to draw
a fine feminine bosom. She is standing with her
arms above her head, fixed in the pillory, and a
fat executioner is drawing blood from her back
with a large cat-o'-nine tails.
I have transcribed the title fully, as that gives
a faithful summing-up of this remarkable, little
pamphlet, which would form a most useful
contribution to the history of tribadism in
England, if such a history were ever to be
written, but it is unecessary [sic] to do so, as to
steer clear of the shoals of generalization, I am
prepared to state in my usual happy-go-lucky
manner that vice of all kinds, nautral [sic] and
unnatural, has always flourished everywhere,
more or less, and will continue to do so, until
the end of the chapter.
The heroine in question seems to have been
debauched when young by a neighbour, Anne
Johnson:
... and transactions pretty generally took place which
de-
cency forbids us to explain, suffice it to say, curious and
gratifying machinery of delicate composition were (sic) in
great request.
Miss Hamilton goes off to Bristol with Anne, and the latter
gets married—to a real man. Mary Hamilton was absent at Bath
at that time and wrote the following characteristic
epistle:
My dear Miss Johnson,
I have had extraordinary pleasure since I have been here,
and fared well in my double capacity. I have been to the
Theatre five times, twice as a woman, and thrice as a man,
and
BOOKS 121
one night, in the former character, throwing out a bait, I was
picked up by an army officer, who was pretty mellow; he
took me home with him and treated me with a good supper
and wine, we slept together, and in the morning he
expressed himself highly gratified, and, at breakfast,
presented me with a five pound note.
Three nights out of five, I succeeded in picking up and
taking home some young girl, and after practising [sic] the
usual game they promised to secrecy, sold them some of my
wares at a high price, who brought me a lot of customers,
and took off all my stock—but with no one have I ever
enjoyed half the pleasure as with my dear Johnson, whom I
long to be with again, therefore expect me in a day or two.
—Yours, etc. M. Hamilton.
One of her adventures consisted in
masquerading in the garb of a doctor and
marrying a young woman "who had the green
sickness. "
The doctor and her wife lived together about a fortnight
without the least doubt being conceived either by the wife,
or any other person, of the doctor's being as much a man, as
he appeared; but women will gossip, and one morning, the
doctor having drunk too freely over night, slept rather
soundly and longer than usual, and was at length awakened
by the curiosity of his wife, who was crying and sobbing as
if her heart would break; on perceiving which, says she, my
dear, what, what, is the matter? what have I done to make
you so uneasy? tell me, pray do tell me!!! Done, says she,
amidst many sobs, have you not married and ruined me, a
poor young girl, when you have not—have not the essentials
of a man?
The horrified girl leaves her, and Mary
Hamilton is off again and finds fresh victims,
until she is finally found out and sentenced:
... to be publicly and severely whipped four several times,
in four market towns, and to be imprisoned for six months.
These whippings were accordingly inflicted, and indeed so
severely, that many persons who had more regard to beauty
than to justice, could not refrain from exerting some pity for
her when they saw so lovely a skin sacrificed with rods, and
to such a degree that her back was almost flayed. Yet,
astonishing to tell, so little effect had the smart of the
punishment upon her that on the evening of the very same
day she had
122 FORBIDDEN
suffered the first whipping, she endeavored to bribe the
goaler to procure her a young girl to gratify her most
monstrous and unnatural propensities, having artfully
secreted some of her indescribable Machinery.
She afterwards set up as a midwife, still
carrying on her old practices, and died about
three years afterwards, aged 37:
... leaving behind her a trunk nearly full of her diabolical
machinery, and a recipe for the green sickness.
BOOKS 123
The Sword and Womankind; being a
study of the influence of the "Queen of
Weapons" upon the moral and social
status of women. Adapted from E. de
Beaumont's "L'Epee et les femmes,"
(1) with additions and an index by
Alfred Allinson, M.A., Society of
British Bibliophiles, printed for
subscribers only. 1900. (n.p.)
8vo., xx-41O pp., with a very fine frontispiece by Paul
Avril, engraved by Besse, and a pretty vignette on the last
page. Issue: 1,000 numbered copies on simili-Japanese
paper, all bound in green moire cloth and incases.
A truly beautiful volume; well printed and
edited. Stem specialists, full of a heavy stock
of real learning, sneer at the lovers of books,
who can read and enjoy almost anything that is
printed, but who could give a a [sic] preference
to those that are legibly and correctly printed
on real paper—not the clay-loaded, imitation
hand-made of the false "edition de Luxe"-
with wide margin, and an appropriate binding
that will open squarely and not break. When
with all these uncommon blessings, we get a
readable text, our dreams of happiness are
complete. The grim student confined to one
124 FORBIDDEN
branch of literature and looking down on the
butterfly bibliophile may perchance be able to
slowly and ponderously digest his mental
nourishment, but he can never feel the joy and
repose that we experience when we jump from
one style of reading to another. Can you
remember your first trip to the Continent, and
your first taste of French bread and butter, with
mellow
cafe au lait? I can, and although, of
course, as a sturdy young Englishman fresh
from sprinting and football, I affected to
despise the effete grandsons of the men we
defeated at Waterloo, my mind and mouth were
marvelling [sic] at the exquisite taste of the
Gallis bread and cunning coffee and chicory,
after the stodgy "household," London-cured
haddock, and stewed tea of the ordinary
struggling Briton. It was a great change; a
change from something course and heavy,
albeit nourishing all the same, to a dainty little
meal, where each thing had a taste, that was
peculiar to itself; clean to the palate and full of
aroma. So I feel whenever I get hold of a new
book, written round some delicate subject new
to me, and which has not been hackneyed. And
this indescribable, never-to-be-forgotten thrill,
which I may call the sensuality of the book,
without which there is no true bibliophilic
feeling, came over me when I had the privilege
of handling the graceful "Sword and
Womankind. "
The French are cunning, clever artists,
whether in cooking, or in the art of draping the
rounded frame of beautiful women, and their
same fairy touch is discernable when they take
up their pointed pens to write about the fair sex.
(Did you ever notice what fine steel nibs the
French people use! If ever you want a good
laugh, try and make a son of Gaul write with a
broad "J" pen) They flirt with their theme, just
as if they were trying amorous conclusions with
a flesh and blood
pucelle, and mask their
knowledge beneath a heap of
BOOKS 125
rose-leaves. In such elegant wise has the gentle
courtier Eduard de Beaumont completed his
task, as he gossips so sweetly anent the
influence of women over men and soldiers,
until their fatal Delilah—like spells had gradu-
ally and surely brought about as a natural
consequence their own degradation, and the
gradual disappearance of the bright blade
which in olden days was the symbol of man's
nobility.
The author has very ably hidden his learning
and is careful never to let us become wearied,
for it would have been easy to drop into
monotony, had the fascinating theme been
treated with a heavy hand, as if "made in
Germany." The historical groundwork, and
remarkable scaffolding of notes keeps the
edifice steady, and the author travels with
unfaltering step from the barbarous ages in
Europe, when woman was a divinity, until he
regretfully reaches the final disuse of honest
steel at the end of the XVIIIth century.
There is some very surprising extra matter at
the end of this edition, which is not to be found
in the original, relating among other pleasing
topics to the famous Lesbian, Madamoiselle [sic] de
Maupin; and finally there is a very flattering
description of that rarity; an Anglo-Saxon
swordswoman, Miss Lowther.
126 FORBIDDEN
Flagellation in France from a Medical
and Historical Standpoint. Patho-
logical Studies of the Past. Paris,
Charles Carrington, publisher of
Medical, Folk-Lore and Historical
Works, 13, faubourg Montmartre,
1898.
Large 8vo., xi-164 pp., printed outer wrapper. On the
title-page is a vignette showing a Greek mask with the
motto, "Riez, et le monde rit avec vous."
Frontispiece, after an old French engraving; "The
Flagellation of Venus."
This is the first edition of a book which was
sold out almost immediately after publication
and a second issue followed three years
afterwards, with the title changed, as follows:
Curious Cases of Flagellation in
France considered from a legal,
medical and historical standpoint,
with reference to analogous cases in
England, Germany, Italy, America,
Australia and the Soudan. "He is
much mistaken in my opinion,
BOOKS 127
who thinks that authority exerted by
force, is more weighty and more
lasting than that which is enjoined by
kindness." Terence, Adelphi. Second
edition, copyright, entered at
Stationer's Hall, London, privately
printed for the Subscribers to Dr.
Cabanes' "Bypaths of History," 1901.
8vo., vli-269 pp. 500 copies on hand-made paper.
This is a very fine work for all desiring
information anent a subject which always
seems to exercise a peculiar fascination for
Englishmen, if I may judge by the number of
erotic works devoted to the effect produced by
birching, whipping, and generally: flogging or
being flogged. It is not my intention to enter
this question here, as it would take me too
long, especially as I am far from being an
authority, for all the beating I know consists in
beating the dust out of my books, so I was
much impressed with the wonderful amount of
strange stories and documents that had been
got together from all parts of the world to make
up this entertaining and sturdy volume, which
contains double the matter of the first edition,
now quite out of print.
There are so many wonderful examples of
flagellation, both in olden days and of our time,
that I am quite at a loss to point out some part
that is better than an other, as all is equally
interesting. But I must mention that a German
novelist, who never missed an opportunity to
write about the subjugation of man to tyran-
nical and cruel women—Sacher-Masoch—is
here presented to the English-reading public
for the first time,
128 FORBIDDEN
as a translation of one of his short stories is
given, under the title, "The Crash!"
This work is a very useful one, as those who
are seeking scientific data, will be amply
satisfied, while others, no knowing the hidden
fascination of flagellation for its votaries, will
open their eyes and understand; and as for the
veterans, they will likewise find fresh matter to
serve as comparison with what they know
already.
I may mention that "Flagellation in France," is
admirably printed, full of bibliographical
references, and does not contain a word that
would wound the most susceptible searcher after
light and truth.
BOOKS 129
Les Dialogues de P. Aretin surnomme le
fleau des princes, le veridique, le divin,
divises en trois journees. (l) 'La verite
engendre la haine,' Traduit de l'Italian
par A. Rib e aucourt, (MDLXXXXIII.
(Paris, 1879.) I
2 vols. 8vo. uncut, parchment covers. 289 pp. for the first
part, and 426 pp. for the second.
Without going into the merits of this
celebrated work, we only note this extraordinary
edition, limited to fifteen copies only. Mine is
No. 10. I think it better to let the translator tell
his own story:
Although using purer language and having greater respect
for decency, are men of the nineteenth century more virtuous
at bottom than those of the sixteenth, when Aretino wrote his
Ragiaonamenti?[sic] This is doubtfoul [sic], when we
recollect that the nature of mankind has not been able to
change itself and that the foundation on which its morality
are established have remained the same. Catholicism which
had fasioned [sic] the manners of that epoch still oppresses
us with its fatal influence; and if it has lost a portion of its
apparent power, it is full compensated by the occult
supremacy obtained by the Jesuits' Company whose
members at present occupy the principal places in the army,
the magistrate and the civil administration. It results
therefore that under the pretext of protecting public morals
these short-robed Jesuits show the greatest severity for all
literary works, ancient or modern, which might cause doubts
130 FORBIDDEN
of the purity of the clergy and the different religious orders to
spring up.
No printer in France would have consented to expose
himself to their persecution, by printing my translation of the
Ragionamenti; and, as I wished that it should not be lost and
that it might be vulgarised [sic], when at last the liberty of
the press should exist without restraint in the country of
Voltaire and Rabelais, I formed the plan of printing about
fifteen copies myself; but that was not an easy task for a man
totally ignorant of the art of typography, and not having the
means to buy a press and everything else necessary for
striking off a book, if not elegantly, at least correctly.
Nevertheless, being persuaded that with patience and per-
severance, one may manage to conquer many difficulties, I
set resolutely to work, having nothing else to carry out my
idea but a wooden frame, twenty centimeters long and
thirteen wide; a little hand-roller, and a few hundred letters,
which only allowed me to set up and print one page at a
time.
I therefore hope, that knowing how it was done, those who
may look upon this work will be indulgent for its numerous
typographical imperfections. I have not executed it for those
bibliomaniacs who only prize a book for the beauty or the
rarity of the edition, but for the bibliophiles who seek it out
for its literary value.
If I obtain the suffrages of this latter class, I shall be amply
rewarded for my trouble, for that will prove the
Ragionamenti of Aretino deserved to be translated and that I
have translated them well.
This worthy translator of Aretino into the
French was an officer of the Gallic army who
fell in love with the divine Pietro during a
voyage in Italy, and knowing his pet author by
heart, he refused to allow a figleaf to be placed
on the statue he adored, and his excellent
rendering does not gloss over the obscene pas-
sages. Since the appearance of this curious
edition in 1879, Liseux issued his complete
translation in French, where the three parts are
in Latin; and another in English, (1) but no one
can deny that Rebeaucourt's version is
carefully and neatly rendered. Of course,
BOOKS 131
the curiosity is the undisputed fact that these
two thick volumes are really printed as the
author states, and although fully readable in
good, large sized type, they look necessarily
amateurish and resemble, in point of fact a
printer's rough proofs, drawn off
a la brosse.
And that is why I like the pair of sturdy tomes
before me as I write, for I hold the brain and
hand work of a student, and not a glossy, big-
margined bookseller's catch—guinea, stuffed
with zinc blocks, on paper full of plaster, des-
tined to stop a bung-hole in some twenty years,
instead of living for ever, like the pure line-rag
pulp of our grandfathers, or, perchance, struck
off on that vile stuff, (for bookwork at least)-
Japanese paper—with its long hairs sticking out
of it, not allowing you to clean it from the
slightest stain or smudge.
132 FORBIDDEN
Weird Women, translated from the
French of Barbey d' Aurevilly, with
thirteen wood engravings. London,
privately printed. Lutetian Biblio-
philes' Society. MCM.
Small 8vo., 490 pp. 500 copies on Dutch paper.
BOOKS have their fate, and this
hackneyed Latin axiom, which may be
found by the diligent student in every
handbook of quotations, has never been so well
exemplified as in this instance. The author, the
romantic Barbey, the last survivor of the
roaring lions of the 1813 period, dethroned by
Zola in his last days, was a most fascinating
writer. He managed to mix together in his
books, as well as in his own life, two elements
that being entirely different still go
extraordinarily well together: religion and lust.
He was a devout Catholic, and an ardent
profligate, and so are all his heroes. As for his
heroines, the less said about them the better.
But there is nothing new under the sun—nor on
a Sunday. How many illicit loves have not been
begun in church, and is there not a crucifix, and
a bit of blessed box, left over from Palm
Sunday, in many a whore's alcove in France
and Italy! In Spain, things are even worse, and
the church is used as a trysting
BOOKS 133
place for lovers; but there is no harm in it. On
the contrary, it is the mere childish hope and
belief that Heaven looks after those who pray,
and if a girl murmurs a grace before meat, why
should she not thank the mysterious high
influence that sends her a rich old fellow to
give her gold, or a lusty young lad to grant her
enjoyment? How are these simple-minded
people, having been brought up and educated,
more or less, by the priests, to know any
better? And the wonderful influence of the
black robe in infancy remains through life in
my cases of our big naughty Barbey, who
ought to be called baby, d'Aurevilly.
His books are delightful, and his women are
volcanoes, always in eruption. How he delights
in picturing wicked creatures, and the harm
they do, and how they wreak vengeance on the
men who offend them, and how the male
victim sometimes turns round, poor worm that
he is, and metes out dreadful punishment on
the sphinx-like enchantress and heartless sirens
Barbey loves to depict so boldly and in such
vivid prose. But he never becomes vulgar. He
was the last man to wear lace ruffles, pegtop
trousers, velvet waistcoats, a frilled shirt, and a
curly-brimmed hat of real fluffy beaver, of the
fine old Tom and Jerry type. His manuscripts
resembled a transformation scene, as he had a
dozen inkstands on his writing-table all filled
with different coloured writing fluids, so that
his mood was defined and his inspiration fed
by the change of hue of different lines as he
wrote.
In 1874, he brought a volume containing six
short stories, six little jewels, sparkling with
wit, talent and passional novelty and surprises,
and which was called, "Les Diaboliques."
(paris, Dentu, l2mo.) Justice swooped down
upon it, and out of 2,200 copies that had been
put upon the market the authorities pounced
upon
134 FORBIDDEN
480 at the binder's, and with the consent of the
publisher and the author, always obedient to the
powers, as every pious man should be,
consented to let all these copies be destroyed
and so avoid the dock. This was done, and in
1883 a new edition was issued (Paris, Lemerre,
small 12mo.) with a set of 10 plates by Felicien
Rops, and very disappointing they are too. Why
what was destroyed as immoral shall be
allowed to be reissued after nine years is one of
those things that can only be understood by the
supposition that Catholic and Clerical ministers
were no longer in the Ministry, and that
Socialists were. It must have been something of
that kind, and I leave it to the students of the
sidepaths of history to settle the matter, which
is of no consequence at all. But I often dream
maliciously of the hetacomb of literary men,
and the wholesale seizures of printed matter
that would take place if only a devout Catholic
and pious pretender was to occupy a brand new
throne in France, attended by some stem
chaplain of the good old inquisitorial type.
Barbey's ashes would be scattered over the
face of the earth, and his books burnt by the
gentleman who releases the spring of the
guillotine. But no persecution ever crushed a
book, and when we are all dead and gone, his
wonderful works will thrill new generations,
who will hardly be able to recite their line of
kings and queens without mistakes, while as to
defunct ministers—angels and ministers of
grace defend us!—I would rather be a murderer
than a Cabinet minister, if I wanted my name to
go down to posterity. There is no doubt that the
name of some scrofulous scribbler, who dared
to discuss the effects of vice and passion on his
fellow-men, will long outlive that of—well, I'll
mention nobody. But do not think that I am
magnanimous. It is because I have no room,
and my worthy publisher de-
BOOKS 135
dares that he does not wish to bring out a
biographical dictionary.
Barbey's brilliant style and strange methods
attracted the attention of one of the most
brilliant masters of the English language, who
was at the same time the most unfortunate of
men, Oscar Wilde. I have been told that he has
left behind him a translation of one of the
novels of this gifted master—"Ce qui ne meurt
pas," (What Never Dies,}—and if so, it is to be
hoped that it will soon see the light.
In the meantime, we must fain[?] be content
with "Weird Women," and its masterly
printing, fine paper and beautiful illustrations,
as this splendid translation of "Les
Diaboliques," is the only specimen of Barbey
d' Aureville in the English language, and
worthy of purchase perhaps if only for that
reason.
136 FORBIDDEN
Le Rideau Leve, ou l'Education de
Laure. A Cythere. MDCCLXXXVI.
2 parts, 12mo. vi-98 and 122 pp.
THIS is the original edition of a very
celebrated erotic story, which turns upon
the incestuous passion of a father for his
daughter. The "Bibliographie Gay" takes a
great deal of trouble to assure us that the author
of the book is not Mirabeau, to whom it is
always attributed, but somebody else. I do not
think it matters in the least who wrote it, but
that is purely a personal opinion.
This first impression, of which a copy is in
my possession, is an excessively rare book, and
the successive editions of the XVIIIth century
are far from being common. There are six free
plates, very well drawn and engraved, although
Gay mentions 12. That is a mistake, as I have
never seen more than the half-dozen I quote.
There are three in each volume, numbered
from I to VI; and the manner in which they
refer to the text and fall into their places, shows
that six others would not fit in at all.
Although the above-mentioned volume is the
rarest of the rare among French lascivious
works, I venture to think that the following
little book is rare still:
"Les Fouteries de Laure, ou son Education
Liber-
BOOKS 137
tine." A Cythere. 1793. 18mo. 2 parts of 140
and 164 pp., and 7 free plates. Six are copies of
the original engravings as mentioned above,
with another which evidently was not done for
the book, but comes out of some other work.
The original edition was certainly printed in
France, but this little reprint, under a fresh and
more obscene title, was evidently struck off in
Belgium or Holland. Its only merit is its
wonderful rarity. I have never seen or heard of
another copy.
"La Confidence Enlevee ou le Miss Feli
Wilson," Londres, MDCCI,XXX, 12mo., 204
pp., is a pale imitation of the sprightly original,
and the bibliographers declare it should have 5
obscene plates. My copy, from the collection of
Monsieur de Behague, exquisitely bound in full
orange morocco by Hardy-Mennil, has only an
allegorical frontispiece, not free, evidently
before letters.
There exist several English translations of "Le
Rideau Leve," but I do not think they are
complete.
138 FORBIDDEN
The Old Man Young Again or Age-
Rejuvenescence in the Power of
Concupisense. Liber redintegratae
Aetatis in potentia Libidinis. Liter-
ally translated from the Arabic by
and English "Bohemian." "Kitab
Ruju' a as-Shaykh ila Sabah Fi-'l-
Kuwwat 'ala-I-Bah," with Transla-
tor's foreword, numerous notes il-
lustrating the text, and an excursus
on the history, nature and uses of
Aphrodisiacs, Paris, Charles Car-
rington, 13, faubourg Montmarte.
MDCCCXVIII.
Large 8vo. 265 pp., with a very finely engraved vignette
printed in text.
There is a second volume, which is entitled:
The Secrets of Women, being the sec-
ond part of "The Old Man Young
Again," which treats of carnal in-
tercourse between the two sexes
and of the means of augmenting
their
BOOKS 139
charms and of the possibility of pre-
serving and giving greater force to
the same. The author has written the
book for the purpose of exciting to
connection those who are indifferent
thereto as to a work well-pleasing to
God. Englished now for the first
time from the Arabic tongue. Paris,
(as above) 1899.
Large 8vo., viii-241 pp., plus a full index to both volumes
up to page 256. Two beautiful engraved vignettes printed in
the text.
Only 500 copies, press numbered (a few on
China paper), of each of the volumes were
issued by private subscription. On each title-
page there is an Arabic monogram, the
translation of which is given in red and black in
each volume, enclosed in a diamond-shaped
frame.
I THINK I shall be offending my reader if I
I venture to suppose that he does not know that the Oriental nations, at the period
when these books were written, did not look at
carnal intercourse in the same shame-faced way
as English people do nowadays, but positively
gloried in the manifestations of nature that
preserved their race, by means of the influence
of their rulers and priests who compiled these
text-books seeking to teach that all pertaining to
generation was holy and sacred. What we call
eroticism was merely the desire to inculcate
notions of general health and hygiene, so as to
have no ricketty [sic] children, unfit to do battle with
other tribes and invaders; nor poor-blooded and
barren wives, useless in peace or war.
Superficial observers may turn up their noses
with dis-
140 FORBIDDEN
gust as the unblushing lessons of the holy
sheiks who gravely signed their names to these
pages brimming over with lust, interspersing
their prose in praise of copulation with
impassioned appeals to Allah.
Nor can we afford to scoff at the attempts of
the Arab lawgivers to inspire their people with
such crude notions of pathology as they
possessed, for the same are given in the
Pentateuch, and the Talmud. It is to this
powerful insight into the general laws of health
and life that the wonderful Jewish race has been
maintained in such purity through generations
of persecution and wandering. The old Rabbis
did not disdain to occupy themselves with the
menstruation of women, and laid down that it
was irreligious to cohabit with one's wife when
she was unclean. Three days after cessation of
her catamenial flow, the married Jewess
repaired to the "Mikvah" or sacred bath, and
after immersion and prayer was fit to return to
her impatient spouse, no doubt benefited by the
enforced repose of about six days. In all cities
to this day, the "Mikvah" still exists, wherever
there is a synagogue, and who shall say that
such monthly rest and cleanliness, coupled with
circumcision of the males, has not done much
to preserve the race? In India, the British
government has done its best to stamp out some
horrible and barbaric practices, such as
Juggernaut and the burning of widows, but-
unless I am much mistaken—despite the
hypocritical horror of missionaries, the cult of
the "yoni" and the "lingam" (1) is still carried
on, and the sterile woman to this day kisses the
member of the holy fakir at the door of the
temple, as a talisman for fecundity. It is absurd
and disgusting beyond a doubt, as are some of
the emblems and decorations of the sacred
edifices, but the motive is a pure and
respectable one, and the conqueror is obliged to
tell Stiggis not to interfere, at least
BOOKS 141
for the moment. In Algeria, the French
government shuts its eyes to many so-called
obscene practices of the natives, and I have not
yet heard that the Ouled-Nails have been
imprisoned for carrying on unlicensed prosti-
tution. The girls of this tribe frequent the towns
to ply their trade as common courtesans and
tatoo [sic] their faces with blue marks, while
they plait their with the gold pieces earned by
the sweat of their ... brows. When they have
put by a sufficient sum of money, they return
to the desert and marry one of the males of
their faith, and the more the prostitute has
returned home with, the more she is held up to
honour. Some few of these girls were brought
to the Paris Exhibition of 1900, and it was
amusing to see the embarrassment of the
Frenchmen who had travelled in Algeria, when
questioned about the manners and customs of
these lasses. They did not know such a state of
things existed. "Since you say so, perhaps it is
so, but we dare not trouble the natives too
much. In time, we shall see, etc."
It is delightful for the philosophical observer
to note the shufflings of Occidental hypocrisy
in sexual matters, as we must not forget how
the Aristocratic families of France and
England, followed by the self-made Ameri-
cans, give high prices for pure-bred
racehorses—many thousands of pounds for a
yearling—while there are such things as
government stallions. Pedigree dogs too, fetch
tremendous prices; has not a thousand pounds
been paid for a bull-dog, such as fifty years ago
no one but a burglar a boxer dared to be seen
with? And why not. No sacrifice of money is
too great, in my mind, to help to keep the line
of any particular breed straight and pure; but,
oh, sweet gentle-folks and American plutocrats,
together with the new children of Croesus from
the far veldt, when you breed Derby winners
and carry
142 FORBIDDEN
off the honours of the dog-show, do not marry
your virgin daughters to syphilitic suitors, for
however blue the blood may be, mercury has
spoilt it.
How far I have wandered! Let me hie [sic] me
back to my mutton and draw this bold
dissertation to a conclusion, by quoting the
opening words of the "Secrets of Women":
In the name of Allah the compassionating, the
compassionate Whose Help we crave—Praise be to Allah
who formed Man out of Potter's clay and planted for him
reproductive Strength in a drop of Sperm, in despised water!
Then ennobled him by the Gift of Intelligence and the
Dowery of Hearing and Vision, and vested him with
Lordship over numerous creatures and made him of all that
exist most Handsome, exciting in him Desires and Pleasures,
of which the Best is the Act of Coition, and wrought for him
beautiful Women, putting Love and Clemency and Affection
between Man and his companions, whose Beauty seemeth in
his eyes the most perfect, and permitted Marriage unto him,
forbidding Fornication.
BOOKS 143
The Book of Exposition. The Secrets
of Oriental Sexuology. (Kitab-elIzah
fi'llm al-Nikah b-it- Tamam w-a-
Kama) literally translated from the
Arabic by an English Bohemian with
Translator's foreword, numerous
important notes illustrating the tet, and
several interesting appendices. Paris,
London and New York, Maison
d'editions scientifiques, 13, faubourg
Montmartre. (All Rights Reserved.)
Post 8vo. 238 pp., with a very pretty engraved
frontispiece by Paul Avril, free, but not obscene,
representing the interior of a harem. Printed outer
wrapper. 300 copies, issued to subscribers only, of which
a few copies on thin Indian paper.
THE usual flowery prospectus that
introduced this new and curious treatise
to the notice of bibliophiles—and
others—described it as relating to "Marriage,
love and woman amongst the Arabs." And that
is what it is, purely (or should I say impurely?)
and simply.
It is another one of those books meant to
instruct the followers of Islam in the ways and
means of marriage, and forms a fit companion
for the two fore-going works.
144 FORBIDDEN
These three volumes are admirably printed
and got up, and the copies on thin paper are
especially noticeable. I confess to a liking for
the old-fashioned China paper, once in great
favor in France, for
edition de luxe, but which has
now been superseded by Japanese. I do not like
the latter, as I have already said. It is covered
with minute fibres [sic], and the least scratch on
this flimsy, woolly surface may carry away a
few letters. The slightest spot or finger-mark
shows up at once, and it is totally impossible to
submit it to the same chemical processes as a
good paper with a smooth finish, if stained or
marked with a blot of ink, or what not. China
paper improves by a bath, and fresh glaze.
At the end of this work will be found a
valuable
excurcus, being notes on Pederasty, by
Sir Richard Burton, from the tenth volume of
the original edition of his now famous and rare
translation of "The Arabian Nights." The
version of those old tales may be interesting for
Arabic scholars, but I confess that all I care
about in it are the author's notes. This terminal
essay is valuable, amusing and extremely
interesting.
BOOKS 145
Therese Philosophe, ou memoires pour
servir a l'histoire de D. Dirrag et de
Mademoiselle Eradice. Nouvelle
Edition, exactement revue et cordi-
gee, avec de Nouvelles figures. A
Buxelles. MDCCLXXXV.
THE bibliography of this well-known
little erotic story still remains to be done,
and the same remark might also apply to
all forbidden books. And that is easily to be
understood, for obvious reasons. The best
bibliography of the kind is that known as the
"Bibliographie Gay," (1) so called after the
name of its real author, Jules Gay, a bookseller
forced to fly from Paris in the sixties. But it is
far from being complete. The compiler has not
had in his possession the works he notices. He
has been forced to copy from catalogues, right
and left, hut he could not do otherwise, as
collectors of this sort of literature keep their
treasures quietly hidden for their own private
enjoyment, caring little to take notes or lend
them to a bibliographer. How then can they be
known without purchase? So to catalogue them
is impossible except for very rich or very
patient people. The resource of the secret
cabinets of every public library still remains,
146 FORBIDDEN
but I think that the necessary authorization to
examine prohibited volumes and collate them
lengthily would never be granted in any
country, and all researches in these mysterious
depths could only consist of hastily concocted
list, almost secretly carried out under various
pretexts.
I do not seek to make a full bibliography of
this curious work, as that would necessitate a
volume, but I point out the above edition,
because I have never seen it mentioned, and the
copy I have before me—my own, an' it please
you—is the only one that has ever come under
my notice.
It is an 18mo, of 192- 94 pp., plus one
unnumbered page of "avis au relieur pour placer
les figures." It is bound in full red morocco, "a
long grain," and this fact, together with the style
of the tooling, makes me fancy that it was so
covered under the First Empire.
There are fifteen engravings and an engraved
title page, but what is most curious is that these
vignettes, all equally free, are enclosed in
ornamental frames, so that each lascivious scene
looks like a little miniature, and is numbered,
the figures being placed in a large pretentious
frame beneath the picture, as if on a clock-face, a
thing that I never remarked in a book before.
Towards the end of this work, the titles of
some erotic volumes are mentioned, differing
slightly in the latter editions, as probably each
editor would add the name of any book he
particularly wished to get rid of. But in every
edition, you would find the title: "Fretillon." Do
not search for it; it does not exist, but you may
amuse yourself considerably if you can put your
hand on a book called: "Histoire de Mlle.
Cronel, elite Fretillon, actrice de la comedie de
Rouen, eerite par ellememe." It is in four parts,
12mo, and generally with the portrait of the
heroine; but a fifth part exists, which is very
BOOKS 147
rare. (La Haye, 1750.) I find that the five parts
were reprinted in Brussels in 1888 by Jean Gay,
son of the author of the "Bibliographie," who
was in partnership with a lady, Mademoiselle
Douce. It is in two volumes 12mo., with two
engraved frontispieces.
These scandalous memoirs of the celebrated
actress, Mademoiselle Clairon, are probably a
work of vengeance, by a lover, who considered
himself aggrieved by her, or they cover some
blackmailing scheme. How curious it would be
to compile a list of books of revenge written
against women, as most celebrated queens of
the stage have been libelled [sic] in their time.
With all their goodwill, they could not content
everybody, could they? So unsuccessful suitors
would try to drag them down deeper than ever
in the mire, whether they were at the top of the
theatrical tree, or only a dancing girl at the
music-hall, as in the case of "Crissie; a music-
hall sketch of to-day. The Alhambra, 1899." (no
place) 12mo., 154 pp. At the conclusion, there is
printed: "End of volume one," but the second
volume has hitherto not been published. This
book is simply unutterably filthy, and professes
to give an idea of the debauched lives led by all
people who have anything to do with the large
"variety palaces" of London. According to the
author, the dramatic agents, the managers,
leaders of the orchestra, ballet-masters, and of
course the dancing girls, including aristocrats,
or rich patrons and directors, are all the vilest
creatures in the world, making use of the most
horrible language besides. The heroine, Crissie
Cazzarotti, is a gifted ballet-dancer, leading a
most profligate life, and she is supposed to have
really existed. The author of this little volume,
evidently printed in London, circa 1899, I have
been told, was most cruelly treated by her,
ruined and driven to drink, and judging by the
following extract, "Crissie," the queen of the
148 FORBIDDEN
Palidora Palace or Varieties, was evidently
betrothed to the writer or this awful "book of
revenge. "
... in all her relations with the men of her acquaintance
she had shown herself absolutely devoid of any sense of
womanly self-respect, and, therefore, respect for her they
had none either—whatever other feelings she may have
inspired them with. Lust, stark carnal lust, was the
predominant characteristic of her disposition, and for the
gratification of this there was no depth of moral degradation
to which she would not descend, no action too base or too
disgusting for her to perform. In the extravagance of her
mad passion to secure what she called 'the love' of every
man she met, and the envy of every woman, she made
herself cheaper than dirt itself—arid often very much
nastier—without apparently being aware of it; for with the
ludicrous inconsistency of women of scandalous reputation,
she—notoriously abandoned as she was—clung to the
insane belief that she was still 'a lady,' and that she was so
regarded by the world.
Whether these paramours of hers were young or old, rich
or poor, married or single, seemed to be a matter of
indifference to her. Just as the whim seized her, she lured
them on; but she had drawn them into the cesspool of her
lust, her ardour soon abated, and in nine cases out of ten she
would blandly tell her victims, in less than a month, to 'go
to the devil!' She fairly revelled [sic] in the hideous
incontinence, for, with the lecherous vanity of the true
harlot, she believed each 'conquest' she made meant a
broken heart to follw [sic], if she chose—and that her skill in
working this kind of havoc among the men to whom she
prostituted her body showed her immeasurable superiority
over the other women in the theatre.
As a matter of fact, with a very few exceptions, the latter,
bad as they were, looked upon her with contempt, disgust
and detestation; while as to her discarded lovers, they
usually complained that the effect of her seductive caresses
was to leave them with broken backs rather than with
broken hearts.
The vices and eccentricities of this extraordinary
personality were all more remarkable because, up to the age
of twenty-two, she had always led a most exemplary life
amid all the temptations of the stage. She had commanded
the respect and admiration of all the men at the Pandora,
and the esteem and even love of all the women; and, save
for the intimacy of her relations with a gentleman to whom
she was at that time most
BOOKS 149
devotedly attached, and to whom she was to have been
married in a few months, the purity and chastity of her life
were beyond all question. At this age, however, her mother,
whose sole support she had been for years, and from whom
she had never been separated, died from a very painful
disease, and Crissie for the first time in her life experienced
what it was to be bereft of the guiding influence of maternal
control. This bereavement marked the turning point in her
career; but it will be inconvenient to dwell here upon the
details of the astonishingly sudden and abrupt manner in
which she embarked upon the life of shame she afterwards
led. Let it suffice to say that owing possibly to some mental
derangement of the hysteria order, her whole nature
underwent a complete change—a violent reversal—in the
space of a few days. (1) Everything she had formerly
recognized with sorrow as wicked, vicious, and immoral in
the conduct and behaviour of her acquaintance on the stage,
she now joyfully imitated, and excelled them in its practice.
The people, the habits, the things she had always cared for
most she now professed to abhor, and her distracted lover
most of all. But for the fact that he—poor, foolish wretch!-
was led to believe that her conduct was the result of actual
insanity, he would have taken her life and his own without a
moment's hesitation. Escaping this fate, however, and being
left entirely free to follow her own pernicious inclinations,
she—with the strange perversity to her sex and calling-
foregathered with the lowest class of men and women she
met both in and out of the theatre. Of these, she showed a
marked preference for the lazy Italian 'pezzenti;' and their
friends, who loafed about the house as supers or dressers,
and in whose hands she shortly became so horribly
demoralized that everybody but herself knew her as 'the
Pandora Prostitute!'
I wonder if Gaillard de la Bataille, to whom is
attributed the erotic history of Mademoiselle
Cronel-Clairon, is the author of "Therese"? He
was perhaps only advertising his own writings.
It is rare to find the contemporaneous
criticism of a book as pornographical as that of
"Therese Philosophe," but in "Les Cinq Annees
Litteraires, etc. des Allnees 1748, 1749, 1751 et
1752," par M. Clement, La Haye,
150 FORBIDDEN
MDCCLIV., 4 parts, 12mo., we find the
following, under the date of January 30th, 1749:
Que me demadez-vous, Monsieur, et que dirait Mde. de ...
que vous n'avertissez qui ouvre vos lettres, si elle trouvait le
recit du Beige de Cythere, et des A ventures de Therese
Philosophie? A l'egard du premier de cas ouvrages vous
pouves rappeler une Histoire du Prince Apprius; c'esta peu
pres la me me chose; c'est la sans doute que la nouvel
allegoriste a pris son idee, et meme une partie de ses
anagrammes: mais il faut convenir qu'il est beaucoup plus
plaisant que son modele, plus riant, plus leger, plus ingeneux
dans ses descriptions et dans sese allusions. Le denouement
surtout m' a pam tres hereux.
Pour Therese, toutes les horreurs de la plus excessive
debauche et de l'irreligion la plus efftenee, vous les verreb
maussadement reunies dans ses abominables memo ires.
Cependnt, comme vous avez ete concu dans Ie peche, il se
pourait que la partie historique vous offrit des choses qui
vous amusassent vi materae plus qu'elles ne vous
choqueraient par la forme. Je ne sais meme si l'histoire du
Pere Dirrag (1) avec Madlle. Eradice, (2) toute vieille qu'elle
est, ne vous paraitra pas, a quelques bagatelles pres, assez
plainament rajeunie. En ravanche, celIe de la Bois-Laurier,
qui tient presque tout Ie second volume, ne vous presentera
que de obscenetes en pure perte, des tableaux bizarres sans
agrement, quelquesfois d'une grossierette tout-afait
degoutante. J'aurais envie d'en excepter un, maladroitement
peint, mais bien imagine dans sa vilaine espece; mais je
n'ose vous l'indiquer.
Quant a la partie philosophique, ce sont des lieux
commons de deisme et se morale relaches tres mal amenes et
un peu plus mal ecrits. Le livre ne laisse pas de se vendre
bien cher, par ce qu'il est nouveau, proscrit, orne d'estampes
infames, en un mot libertin en tout sens et a toute
outrance.
The preceeding [sic] extract is from my own
copy of Clement's work, bought at the sale of
H. Destailleur's library, and containing his
ex-
libras. I do not think this book is very rare, but
my copy, and that is why I mention it here,
bears volumes.
The English Translation of "Therese
Philosophe," is excessively rare, although it
appeared in the eighteenth century; and there
was another edition about 1860, with
BOOKS 151
wretched coloured lithographs, inspired by the
charming vignettes of Borel for the Cazin
edition. Nevertheless I have had pass through
my hands the following edition;
"The Philosophical Therese, or a new and
more correct edition than any hitherto
published, enriched (sic) with several curious
prints, front and tail pieces, etc." Printed at
Paris, by ME, in spite of Him, without any
approbation, or Privilege at all. MDCCCCI.
l8mo.
In the copy I noted, the plates were missing,
but there was a sheet of "Directions to the
Binder," where 12 illustrations were
mentioned.
In submitting these lines to the judgement
[sic] of a friendly bibliophile, he smilingly
drew out from the private comer of his
library—he is a married man—the last
incarnation of the immortal Therese. It is a
careful reprint of the English edition I have just
quoted, well got up and on very nice paper. It
strike sme [sic] forcibly that this publication
does not fill up a long-felt want by any means,
but if my fellow—countrymen wish to read the
adventures of the argumentative and
voluptuous heroine, who shall gainsay them?
As the French say:
Cavaut mieux que d'aller alt
cafe, which freely adapted, like a French play,
means: "That's better than going to supper-
clubs!"
Of the innumerable editions of "Therese,"
these are the four which I think are the best:
La Haye (a la Sphere), s.d. (1748), 2 parts,
8vo., with 16 free. plates, some of which are
very large and fold back into the volume.
This is the first edition and is excessively
rare. I possessed a very fine copy in its old
green full morocco binding, and it was the only
one I ever saw in such fine state.
Londres, 1783, 2 parts, l2mo.; 2
frontispieces, 2 engraved titles and 36 free
plates.
This is one of the handsomest books that one
can
152 FORBIDDEN
imagine, as regards the engravings. I never saw
a copy but once, and it was too dear for my
purse, but one of my friends, richer and far
above me in the social scale, bought it, and it
was the biggest bookseller in Paris who sold it.
Which proves that in spite of the fear of Themis
and the vigilance of Berenger, the Protestant
president of La Ligue Centrale de Protestation
Contre La Licence des Rues, which is a French,
or rather a Parision Vigilance Society, there are
volumes of voluptuousness to be found at all
booksellers, if you only know how to go about
it.
Londres, 1785, 2 vol, pet. in-12, with 20
figures by Borel.
This is the Cazine edition, and perhaps the
prettiest of all those he ever published.
S.l.n.d., 2 vol. in-8, text in a frame; 2 engraved
titles, with a vignette on each; 2 frontispieces,
and 24 free plates, (the "Bibliogpraphie Gay,"
says 22), attributed to Delroche, a Dutch artist.
I have a copy of this last edition, with all its
margins, and the engravings are printed in
sepia-coloured ink. It seems to me that it must
be very rare to find a book of this kind, dating
from the XVIIIth century, in such a pleasing and
curious condition.
BOOKS 153
The Magnetism of the Rod, or the
Revelations of Miss Darcy. "Down
drop the drawers, appears the dainty
skin, Fair as the furry coat of whitest
ermelin." Shenstone. London,
(Brussels?) printed for private
distribution amongst subscribers
only. N. d. (1901?)
Small quarto, 114 pp. 200 copies, numbered, on handsome
paper; printed outer wrapper.
THIS is a very neat and well-printed
volume, brought out quietly and
discreetly, as befits its contents, which,
I am forced to admit are remarkably free, to
say the least. No bold prospectus or shameless
advertisement preceded the birth of this
mysterious hook, destined to please all those
who want to practice, or read about the
flogging of females from an aphrodisiacal
point of view.
Miss Darcy tells us that she is invited to
spend the winter with an old schoolmate of
her's—Dora—who is newly-married and lives
in Wales. Belinda Darcy has not seen her
friend for some years, as she finished her
education at another academy. She travels to
the Principality and is met at the end of her
journey by Captain
154 FORBIDDEN
Forester, Dora's dashing husband. This
gentleman gives her champagne, accompanies
her in a carriage, and as it is a very hot day,
Belinda gets in a very dreamy state and is not
quite certain what pleasing liberties the young
Benedict takes with her. She then gives us a
pleasant picture of the happiness of Dora and her
husabnd [sic] who is about to proceed to India to
rejoin his regiment. They entertain her right
royally and one hot Sunday after-noon she is
witness of the following little scene of conjugal
affection:
The window of my bedroom was open, and a light ladder
lay near it. The height was inconsiderable, and the
temptation great to get off my clothes. Applying the steps, I
climbed in, turned the key in the lock, and then undressed
myself.
The bed stood in a recess formed by a large bay-window;
the white curtains were drawn, and when, according to my
wont, I had placed my clothes tidily on a chair, there was no
appearance of occupation from without.
Oh! what luxury it was to get rid of those weary restraints,
to smooth out the creases formed in my waist by the pressure
of the corset, and let my breast roll unconfined on the cool
bolster.
And now for "Branksome Hal!." But, hark! what noise is
that? "Such a getting up sairs [sic] I never did hear!" The
steps come this way, the handle turns, and—Oh, horror! the
door flies open, and in rushes Dora, purused [sic] by Charles.
"Ha, traitress! I have thee fast, and here, in this very spot,
shalt thou expiate thy crimes!"
"What here, in Belinda Darcy's bedroom? Lord, how
funny! Just fancy her walking in the midst of the execution."
"I had better lock the door, at any rate."
"The lock's broken, you must shoot the bolt; but it don't
matter; I saw her go by the hill. I know Bella of old. When
she gets hold of an old world tale, she's capable of reading
three hours at a stretch. How do you like her, Charles, is she
not handsome?"
"Handsome, certainly, but large. The man who gets her
will have an armful of bliss; it won't take a trifle to fill
her."
"Would you like to try?"
"Oh, bother, Dora! You know my heart is bound up in
you.
BOOKS 155
What's the use of talking! Be quick, for pity's sake, or I
shall burst."
"Strip, then, tiger, and fall to."
All this had taken me so utterly by surprise that I
neglected to call out in the first instance, and now the time
for doing so was past. My best plan evidently was to lie
quiet and feign sleep if discovered. I had not sought to be a
spy on their actions; it was they who invaded my privacy.
Besides lowed them some revenge for their unmerciful
roasting downstairs; and I resolved, coute que coute, to take
every advantage of my situation. I held my breath, and my
blood boiled while I applied my eye to an aperture in the
curtains.
In the meantime the process of disrobing had been
affected, with pantomimic celerity. Charles retained only his
waistcoat and shirt. Dora, flinging off a loose petticoat and
robe, stood revealed in shift and stays.
What a bewitching little creature she looked! Her hair
twisted in a heavy knot behind, her alabaster shoulders and
mimic mountains bursting through the half-drawn cords, her
silk stockings setting off the symmetry of the leg and foot in
its varnished slippers.
"Prepare, sir, to receive your share of chastisement. I do
love trussing you."
As she spoke, she gathered up his shirt before and behind,
and tucked it beneath his waistcoat. Placing one arm round
his waist, she raised the other, as if about to whip a child. He
humoured the conceit, and stooping, offered a fair surface
to the shower of smacks, which Dora, as I thought with great
severity, rained on his bare posteriors. But he seemed to like
the discipline, and by a gesture asked for more.
"Now, madam, your turn is come. How will you have it?"
"Oh, the back way; that is so exquisite!"
Meekly, and with all due deliberation, did Dora prepare to
meet her impending fate. I had imagined that a distant sofa
would have been the scene of operations. I was mistaken.
She fetched a cushion, and laying it on a table within a few
feet of the bed, buried her face and her arms in it. The
process of "trussing," as she termed it, was then accurately
imitated by Charles, but far from following out the example
of her cruelty, he bent and imprinted a kiss on her hosy [sic]
bottom. Next, placing his feet between hers, he spread wide
her legs until the small receptacle was gaping through its
downy fringe.
156 FORBIDDEN
And now for the first time I became fully aware of the
nature of the weapon with which he was about to assault her.
Ye gods!—what a size it was! My wildest imaginings had
only gone to conceive of something twice as large, perhaps,
as that of the urchins I had seen casually, But here, erect and
rampant, was a shaft with dependant balls that rivalled [sic]
the bulls. The top in shape like a heart, and fiery, curled
backwards in its pride.
My pulse stopped, and I felt faint as I looked at it. Dora,
too, accustomed as she was, betrayed some anxiety, for she
said:
"Have a care, Charles; remember tile precious life within,
and don't thrust too far."
"I will, my angel," he replied. "You yourself shall regulate
it."
He seized it with both hands, and forcing it down, placed it
in hers, which were waiting to receive and guide it.
At first, as might well be expected its entrance caused
great uneasiness, for she winced, screamed, and even
repelled him with both hands. To do him justic [sic], he
forced it in as tenderly as might be, recovering patiently the
lost ground, and creeping further at each push. As this work
proceeded the passage seemed to dilate, the strokes grew
longer and more frequent. Dora's blood fired; she forgot all
precautions, and now, far from repelling, responded with
vigorous counter thrusts, till the whole weapon, in all its
fearful dimensions, was absorbed. Then came a pause and a
grown of ecstasy, as if the last drop of the cup of bliss was
being wrung out.
'Twas done!
They rose panting from their labours, then clung together
in a "long, long kiss of love"; then leaning back, their arms
and naked limbs still entwined, they appeared to dart streams
of fiery passion into each others eyes. Forester spoke first, or
rather sighed forth:
So kurz war es, und duch so suss; so himmlich!"
"So short it was, and yet so heavenly sweet!" responded
Dora. "And now let us lied down together on the bed, my
own dear, dearest, darling Charles."
They gathered up their clothes, retired hand-in-hand, and
the scene was over.
I sprang lightly after them, and fastened the
door—this time securely. Then, prostrate on the couch I
found by a few rapid motions of the hand that gushing relief
which my over-
BOOKS 157
wrought feelings so imperatively demanded. I sought to
analyse [sic] what had occured [sic], but nature would endure
know [sic] no more, and I fell into a dreamless slumber.
Shortly afterwards, Charles departs and the
two women are alone in the house. Letty, a
maid does a little pilfering, and Dora with the
help of her crony, Belinda. inflicts punishment
upon the thief. These proceedings: which are
fully described, and vigorously pictured, cause
mysterious feelings to arise in Belinda, but her
friend, who is an adept, takes her in hind
(literally, in Lesbian Style), and by the aid of
her knowledge teaches her what is meant by
the magnetism of the rod.
"Manipulation, or what the French term being en rapport
with the subject, is, I believe, always necessary in the first
instance, though where the will is strong, the magnetiser can
afterwards act independently of visible agency. But of an
material conductors of the magnetic or nervous fluid a birch
rod is incomparably the best. It is the very type of energy,
when it is weilded [sic] by a determined arm, the will is in
full force, and there is always a state of dominance on the
one hand and of abject submission on the other that is highly
favourable to its influence. Consider, too, that mere passes
of the hand or pressure, with the clothes generally
intervening, can act partially and superficially only;
whereas, the many minute fibres of the birch, abrading the
cuticle, cause the influence to mingle with the blood
itself."
"But stay, Dora; I had always imagined that a state of
profound repose was necessary for the development of the
magnetic influence, and the deeper the slumber, the more
lucid the patient. Whereas, the lashes were inflicted
yesterday, instead of inducing sleep, might have almost
wakened the dead."
"Yes, that is exactly the mistake that has kept the magic
power of the rod a secret from the world at large to this day.
Sleep is essential to claivoyance [sic], and the rod, as an
instrument of chastisement, banishes sleep. But the nervous
fluid does not the less pass along its every twig, and when
projected by a powerful will from a vivid fancy, and guided
aright, it can communicate all the ardent passions of the
flagellator. Love and admiration of the whipper, mingled
with dread, fill from thenceforth the mind of the whipped;
the torture, though tor-
158 FORBIDDEN
ture still and formidable, is rendered sweet, and faults are
often committed for the sole purpose of producing a
repetition of punishment."
"I am still very ignorant, Dora dear, and must ask you for
many explanations. You said: 'when the rod was guided
aright'; what did you mean by that? though I think I can
divine."
"Truly, Bella, you divined it yesterday to some purpose, as
Miss Letty's figleafery can tell. That lash and the upcut that
followed have bound her to you forever; and I am mistaken if
she does not ask you for a private rehearsal before long. I had
not the same chance, beause [sic] you did not hold her aright.
I could therefore only connnunicate the nervous fluid in a
minor degree by titillation ere the flogging began."
"How curious! Yes, I begin to see now how the seat of
tenderest feeling must be the best recipient of that subtle
essence of lust. But how came I to be able to communicate
my own desire to Letty, being ignorant of the properties of
the rod?"
"A magnetical rod! Please explain?"
"That is the most difficult question you have asked me yet,
for now we are on the confines of what you will call magic.
Don't let the name alarm you. Magic is only the learning of
the magni [sic], or wise men of old."
The above theory is shown in full practice
and is so graphically demonstrated that the
puzzled reader is within an ace of thinking that
there may be something in it after all, absurd
though the starting-point seems to be.
Dora has gained her wonderful insight into
the power of the birchen twigs, by having
finished her education in a mysterious school,
which was kept by a titled lady, a fanatic of
fustigation, who carried on the establishment
merely for sake of being able to indulge in the
delights—since delight there seems to be—of
corporal punishment. Dora's revelations form
the remainder of the volume, with a description
of her school-life and how a haughty, naughty,
patricion [sic] damsel was "subdued"
BOOKS 159
by the scientific application of the birchrod,
which she did not escape herself.
Here the volume which is, contrary to the
usual run of such works, very carefully and
correctly written, breaks off rather abruptly,
making us wish that we had known what
happened to Belinda and whether Charles might
not fall in love with her on his return home.
160 FORBIDDEN
Suburban Souls, the erotic psychology
of a man and a maid. Paris, (London?)
printed for distribution amongst
private subscribers only: 1901.
3 vol. 8vo., of 3M, 288, and 314 pp., printed wrappers.
I HESITATE how to classify this strange
story. Is it what I ventured to call it a
"book or revenge?" Hardly so, as in this
case the writer paints himself, and his faults,
joys, sorrows, and follies in a very lurid and
cynical light. The best description of these
confessions, or narration or personal adventures,
is given in the prospectus, which was issued at
the time or publication in the first months or the
year 1901, and which I think is worthy of
reproduction. Of late years it has become the
fashion to advertise privately printed volumes
by elaborate prospectuses, some of which
possess no literary skill, and unfortunately are
never kept. I always have the prospectus bound
up with the volume, if it is particularly well-
written or curious, and I shall give one or two
striking ones as I proceed.
The author of 'SUBURBAN SOULS,' has not
tortured his brain to invent a fable of sentiment,
or show us scenes of spectral horrors. He has
done none of
BOOKS 161
these things. But he has taken up his pen and
carefully written down a curious, incredible
adventure which happened to himself, and has
closely and patiently watched his characters as
they lived, breathed, loved and intrigued,
presenting us with what seems an entrancing
romance of lascivious interest, but which is
really and truly, solely and wholly—the
TRUTH.
'Suburban Souls,' is a charming book, albeit
some may say it is ferocious and vicious. And
that is why it will be liked. The writer is to be
praised for having dared to paint with cruel
justice, and drag into the pitiless light of open
day, one of the most curious or social sores of
the present age, sparing no one, and sacrificing
himself on the altar of veracity.
The author-hero, although he frankly
confesses he has no right to use the latter
flattering appelation [sic] shows us in all its
naked, fascinating responsibility and reasoning
with its own desire, enables a passionate girl,
crafty and worldly withal, to find voluptuous
delight in every caress of preliminary, sexual
enjoyment without touching upon the maiden
barrier. We are made to see that there can exist
virgin harlots—physically pure—but or such
perverse corrupt disposition, that the ordinary
reader who has never troubled to find out what
lies beneath the surface of the rolling sea,
whereon are tossed women with secrets and
men with abnormal longings, will stand
aghast;, and doubting, devour this strange
autobiography with breathless interest, but
while wondering at the marvellous [sic],
mighty power or that which has really
happened, will realize that the printed text for
once in a way, has told no lies to catch his
wayward fancy.
The central figures are a girl in the, twenties,
and a man nearing the fifties: He is the
woman's puppet for a time. How, long, the
reader will see, because never
162 FORBIDDEN
before has a man been so willing to lay his soul
bare as with a scalpal [sic], and, although he
includes the heroine and her relations in this task
of relentless vivi-section, he does not seek to
excuse himself, but seems to take a bitter
pleasure in revealing the mysteries of the heart
and brain of a self-confessed libertine. There are
scenes of savage cruelty and unbridled lust,
flagellation and sexual slavery, and we meet
with personages who put no limit to their desire
and to whom no tie is sacred.
It is written by an English gentleman, for love
and not for lucre; a man who, conversant with
many lands and languages, has travelled much,
and mixed in the highest and lowest society. He
is a scholar of vast powers of expression, who,
by one side of his character shines as a poet and
on the other proves himself a logical reasoner of
no mean analytical order.
How he saw himself in this principal chain of
events without counting many minor
experiences, he gradually describes, and tells us
of everything that forms the diversion and
libidinous delight of the sexes, although he is
careful not to break the charm evolved by the
smooth course of his solid Saxon speech, by
using vile words or coarse expressions. He
proves that a story of the sexes can be set forth
without unnecessary shock of obscene phrase.
We believe that all may be told and everything
can be printed, if expressed in chosen language,
but many will say that a man has no right to
print a narrative that may cause suffering to a
creature, who good or bad, has been strained to
the breast of the writer in happier days. To strip
a former mistress naked before a crowd of
strangers; to flagellate her publicly, and show up
all her hidden faults and defects, moral and
physical, is not the work Of a loyal gentleman,
whose principal virtue should be that of
discretion. And that is true when the heroine
BOOKS 163
of the printed love affair merits some respect
and consideration, and when the despicable
indiscreet rake seeks to glorify and excuse
himself at the expense of the female he libels.
Here such miserable vanity has been avoided,
and the author of 'Suburban Souls,' is at great
pains to lay stress on the fact that he is no better
than he should be, so that if any body has to fear
indiscretion it is not the fascinating Jezebel-
heroine, but the writer himself. It is impossible
to prevent the inquisitive conjectures of the
readers; but they can be misled and this has
been thoroughly carried out. Names, places, and
dates have been altered, and the principal story,
together with all the lewd narratives which
accompany it, buried beneath many
accumulated days, have been arranged so that
no one can guess at the real names of the
characters, nor where they dwell, and if ever
those facts are made known, it will only be
because the people sketched in the pages of
'Suburban Souls,' have come forward
themselves and cried out that they figured
therein.
It will be thus be seen that this book is really
unique. The compiler—for we cannot call the
author a romance-writer, as he tells the truth—
has narrated the story of his love, and
supplemented it with a few other startling
experiences of real life; and he tells
all. He
literally undresses his principal heroine, and
with terribly precise and cruel observation
dissects a wicked woman and takes us farther
into the complex, mysterious mechanism of the
female heart, or what does them (sic) duty for a
heart, than ever a man has led us before,
because they have all written, from the most
delicate of poets down to the manufacturer of
gutter literature, with a view to parade or pose
in front of their male, and above all their female
readers, and thus their vanity has obscured their
observation; wilfully [sic] or not, it matters
little, as the result is the same; the fear of
looking foolish mak-
164 FORBIDDEN
ing them drop into mawkish sentimentality and
conveying the impression of mandacity [sic]
and unreality.
This book is too truthful, and on that account
may be dangerous. It explains and analyses the
operations of the mind when swayed by the
sense, and conscientiously notes by means of
letters and facts, the hesitations and the filial
plunge into strange waters, or a voluptuous girl
at the outset of her sexual career; consequently
all books are dangerous that seek to explain
what are the thoughts, motives, and, acts of
men and women of wanton ways. Dreams are
no longer. mystrious [sic], nor do they enthrall
us, when we can trace them to the impressions
and events of the previous busy days. A man's
passion for a maid sometimes obeys the same
rule.
150 COPIES AND NO MORE
It is only by a lucky chance that we are able
to put a limited number of this work on the
market, as the author originally intended to
bring out only a dozen copies for himself and a
few friends. But we have prevailed upon him to
print One Hundred and Fifty in all, so that we
could dispose of a few for Special Customers.
We do not therefore desire to "push" these
three volumes in the commercial sense of the
word. The greater part of this small private
issue is already bespoken, and all copies unsold
in. a brief delay will' be returned to the writer
to be destroyed. It can never be reprinted, for
obvious reasons, and must shortly become one
of the rarest books in the world;
SIZE OF THE BOOK
'Suburban Souls' is in three pocket-size volumes,
demy, of over Three Hundred' pages each, and is
printed on English and-made [sic] bank-note paper, the
most expensive kind that is manufactured in the mills
of Great Britain.
Price: Four guineas the Three volumes.
BOOKS 165
The title is strangely fantastic, and can hardly
be called good English, for how can a soul be
called "Suburban?" But we characters are
narrow-minded; it being generally supposed
that the man who goes backwards goes
forwards by train or tram between his domicile
and his business, carrying many parcels, is a
creature of limited and petty ideas. But this
would take me too far from my books and to
them I must return leaving the reader to make
pencil noted on the margins of this page for the
benefit of posterity, and they should be piquant,
especially if he lives within easy reach of a big
city.
John S ..... ; at the age of 45, is invited by Eric
Arvel, a very old friend, about fifteen years his
senior, to visit him at his suburban residence,
near Paris, where he lives with his mistress, and
her daughted [sic] Lilian, who is nineteen when
the story opens in the year 1895. John or Jacky,
as he is familiarly termed, has fallen in love
with his host's daughter, at first sight, but has
never dared to declare his passion, because he
cannot ask for her hand, as since 1880, he has
lived as if married with a young girl he
seduced, and who is a sufferer now from heart
disease. In the winter of 1897, Lilian Arvel,
who seems a most lustful girl, sets her cap at
her father's guest, for he is now a frequent
visitor at the villa, and agrees to meet him
secretly in Paris.
November 26, 1897.
Everyone knows the feverish excitement experienced by an
eager lover, when awaiting his mistress at the first
appointment. I felt hot and excited, and gave a great sigh of
relief, when Lilian slowly lifted the portiere and advanced
towards me in the tawrdilly [sic] furnished bedroom of the
mysterious pavillon [sic] of the Rue de Leipzig. I quickly
bolted the door, and drew her to me, placing her on my knee,
as I sat on the inevitable chaise-longue [sic]. She seemed
worried and frightened, and told me she had great trouble in
getting away from home. There was
166 FORBIDDEN
a tremendous struggle to get her dress unfastened, and she
studiously avoided looking towards the large curtained bed
that occupied the middle of the room. She hoped I would not
touch it, as if I did, the people of the house would guess we
had been using it! I tried by my kisses to warm her blood,
and I think I succeeded, for she grew more and more bold,
and I was able to undo her dress, and feast my eyes on her
tiny breasts, which were like those of a girl of fifteen.
Nevertheless, the size of the red and the excited nipples
proved her real age. I sucked and nibbled them greedily, and
her pretty ears and neck also came in for a share of attention
from my eager lips and tongue. I begged her to let me take
off all her garments, but she wanted me to be satisfied with
her small, but beautifully made breasts. I pretended to be
deeply hurt and she excused herself. I must have patience.
This was the first time. She would be more yielding when
she knew me better. I replied by boldly throwing up her
skirts, and after admiring her legs, in their black stockings,
and her coquetish [sic] be-ribboned drawers, I at last, placed
my hands on the mark of her sex. It was fully covered with a
thick, black undergrowth and quite fleshy. The larger outer
lips were fatter and more developed than we generally find
them among the women of France. Her legs, though slim,
were well-made, and her thighs of fair proportions. I began
to explore the grotto.
"You hurt me," she murmured.
And as far as I could tell, she seemed to be intact, or at any
rate had not been often approached by a man. I could feel
that my caresses delighted her greatly and she gave way a
little. At last, I persuaded her to take off her petticoat and
drawers. She consented, on condition that I would not look
at her. I acquiesced and she dropped her skirt and took off
her bodice, standing before me in her petticoat and stays.
She wore a dainty cambric chemise, tied with cherry ribbons,
and I enjoyed the sight of my love thus at last in my power. I
gloated over her naked shoulders; the rosy nipples, stiff, and
glistening with my saliva; and the luxuriant black tufts of
hair beneath the armpits.
She consented now to drop her petticoat, and as I leant
back on the sofa, she placed one soft, cool hand over my
eyes, and with the other undid everything, until she stood in
her chemise. She would not go near the bed and struggled to
get away from me. Indeed, she would not let me touch her,
until I closed the
BOOKS 167
window-curtains. We were in the dark. I placed her on the
chaise-longue [sic] and going on my knees, I tried to part her
thighs and kiss her mossy cleft. With both hands, she tried
to push me away.
"You hurt me!" she said again, but I licked her as well as I
could, and feeling the warmth of my mouth, she opened her
thighs a little, and I managed to perform my task. It was
difficult, as she writhed about, uttered pretty little cries and
would not sufficiently keep her legs apart. But I was not to
be dislodged. I was not comfortably installed. My neck was
well-nigh broken. The room too was very hot; but I
remained busily licking, sucking, perspiring; and my
member, bursting with desire, already let a few drops of the
masculine essence escape from its burning top. I am certain
she experienced a feeling of voluptuousness, by the
shuddering of her frame at one moment, and by the peculiar
taste that I could not mistake. At last, she thrust my head
away. And I rose to my feet, greatly pleased at leaving the
prison of her soft thighs. I got my handkerchief, wiped my
mouth, and returning to her, as she still laid motionless and
silent on the couch, I threw myself upon her without
ceremony. I inserted the end of my turgescent weapon
between the hairy lips of her lower mouth, and forgetting all
prudence, I pushed on. She shrieks and dislodges me. I try to
regain my position, but I cannot succeed. She was a virgin;
there was no doubt about it.
Lilian is half-seated on the narrow sofa, and I have no way
of getting to her, unless I pull her fiat down on her back. I
am tired too, and very hot. I have twisted my neck and it is
painful. So I relent and give up active warfare for the
present.
"Take it in your hand yourself," I say, "and do what you
like with it."
She does so, and leaning over her, I find she lets the tip go
a little way in. Now all was dry and far from agreeable. I
suppose I had done wrong to suck her so long. She had no
more feeling of lust. So I moved up to her face, as she
reclined with her head on a cushion, and straddling across
her, rubbed my arrow and the appendages gently on her face
and mouth. She did not move. I took her hand and placed it
on my staff of life. She started and roughly drew her hand
away. Strange inconsistency. She had placed it herself at the
entrance of her virgin cleft; she had allowed me to caress her
lips and cheeks with it, but now she recoiled at the idea of
grasping it.
168 FORBIDDEN
So I resolved to overcome any disgust she might feel; and
putting the end between her lips, I told her rather roughly to
suck it at once. She tried to, timidly, but I could see she did
not know how.
"Tell me, show me, and I will do all you wish."
I took her hand, and sucked and licked one of her fingers
by way of example.
She took it readily, and I tried to excite her and keep her up
to her work by talking to her as she sucked me awkwardly.
But the soft warm caress of her capacious mouth and the
clinging grasp of her luscious lips excited me to madness. I
moved in and out, saying:
"Darling! Lilian! It is delicious! Not your teeth, Lily. You
must not let your teeth touch it! So !Lick it nicely! Let me
feel your tongue! Do not move! Do not go away. I am going
to enjoy in your mouth, and you must remain as you are until
I tell you."
With angelic docility, she continued the play of her lips and
tongue, and to my great surprise and delight I feel her hands
gently caressing my reservoirs. And the crises comes too
soon. The pleasure I had was beyond words. I had kept back
the moment of joy as long as I could, but now the charge
exploded with violence, and I could feel that a very large
quantity gushed into her mouth. I thought I should never
cease mitting. Lilian did not stir until I slowly withdrew,
having exhausted the pleasure until there was not a throb left,
and my organ had begun to soften. Then she sat up and
uttered inarticulate cries.
I rushed to get her a pail or basin, and in the darkness
knocked odwn [sic] a screen. She emptied her martyred
mouth. I give her a glass of water, and she rinses her
throat.
"What was that?" she asked, as I half-opened one of the
window curtains.
"Little babies," I replied. "Did you like me sucking you?"
I lit the lamp, kissed her, and we chatted as she dressed:
"Yes!"
"And when I spurted that stuff into your mouth—did you
like that too?"
"Yes."
"I ought to have penetrated your pretty body. Why did you not let
me? Has no one ever done so to you?"
"I am a virgin, I swear it!"
"Have you never given pleasure to yourself with your
hand?"
BOOKS 169
"Never. It hurts. I don't like that. I love you. I shall never
marry. I shall live for you, you seem to be vexed that I am a
virgin? If I was not, why should I not say so? Tell me what
you want."
"I can't tell to-day. My brain is in a whirl. Egotistically I
want to be inside my Lilian. With regard to your interests and
future—I ought not to take your maidenhead. You must get
married and your husband will do that for you."
"Yes. Mamma says a husband can always tell on the first
night if his wife is a virgin or not."
"I have been too merciful to you. I ought to have fastened
your hands with my trousers strap."
"Why didn't you I You know you can do anything you like
to me."
"Well, we will let things be until another day."
"You must not be angry if I have been silly or have not
pleased you, as this is the first time, you know. I promise to
be more obedient in future, and I will try not to struggle when
you touch me."
"You are a little demi-vierge."
"I know what you mean. I have read that novel: Les Demi
Vierges."
"I think you like the idea of mutual caresses without the real
approach of a man!"
"I think I do. Cannot we be happy like this?"
"Perhaps. There are other things we can do together. Do
you know what we did just now'"
"Certainly I do. I am not going to pretend I don't. The girls
at Myrio's often talked about it. It is called Mimi. And it is
very bad for the health, is it not?"
"Yes, if repeated too often."
I thought she was sensual but silly. Had she chosen me to
gratify her curiosity, having confidence in me from my age,
and probably Ma's and Pa's praise, as Lilian tells me they
think a lot of Jacky? She promised to write to me shortly for
another afternoon's fun, but she still refused to tutoyer me,
and never did at all, during our liaison.
I drove her to the station, and in the fiacre[?], she was dull
and ill at her ease. Her eyes had a faraway look in them She
seemed to be thinking deeply. About what?
At that time I believe she was reflecting on the novelty and
obscenity of what we had done together.
170 FORBIDDEN
But as I write nearly two years later, vile and horrible
thoughts rise uppermost in my mind. Let the reader guess, or
return to this chapter when he has finished the book.
The vile thoughts that Jacky had of this
lascivious minx were that she was merely
mercenary, and we can see he was right, as just
before their first assignation she had written to
him telling how she had lost a five-pound note
in the streets of London. She was in the habit of
going there every autumn with a girl named
Charlotte, who was betrothed to her brother,
Raoul, a young lad who was employed in the
British metropolis. Charlotte was "gay," but
visited at the villa when Papa was away. Such
was the manner in which this strange female
lived, and the author is very amusing when he
depicts the extraordinary immorality of all her
family. Lilian is a milliner and makes hats and
bonnets at home. Her mother's lover, who
stands in the light of stepfather, is determined
that she shall get her own living, and takes great
interest in her, which the hero soon discovers is
a deeper and stronger feeling, and he confesses
that this quasi-incest awakens all his lust.
Nevertheless it is not incest in the true sense of
the word. The incest is merely fanciful. Eric
Arvel, splendidly sketched as a selfish,
gluttonous sensualist, keeps her mother, not
even being married to her, and all salacious
epicureans would declare that he had a sort of
right to her pretty daughter at common—very
common—law.
As lovesick Jacky does not seem inclined to
shower gold on the little milliner, but only
makes trifling presents to the mother an
ddaughter [sic], she neglects him and goes off to
the south of France with her family. Then poor
Jacky, gets a sharp attack of rheumatism, caught
while tending his suffering mistress, and Lilian
Arvel writes to him while he is ill in bed, asking
for
BOOKS 171
two hundred francs, as the charming young
half-virgin has "gone broke" at Monte-Carlo.
He does not reply, but in April the girl comes
after him again, and gets him invited to her
father's pretty suburban residence where he is
enthusiastically received, and the reader can see
what Jacky did not; that the mother, and the old
gentleman are agreed to try and let Lilian get
hold of the middle-aged hero (?) who is "gone"
on the daughter, although old enough to be her
father, and she calls him Papa, as they play at
incest. The book is full of the most
extraordinary touches of this kind, and it is
impossible to describe all their little
idiosyncrasies, propensities and perversity in
this rapid review of three volumes, forming all
together 900 closely printed pages, without
mentioning countless letters of love and
passion, in much smaller type.
Lilian now comes to Paris several times to see
her sweet Papa Jacky, and he pops a bank-note
into her hand every time, in return for all her
shameless endeavors to pander to his most vile
tastes, which he fully recounts in every detail,
and the scnes [sic] of mutual masturbation,
flagellation and games of slavery follow thick
and fast, but he always refrains from attempting
to ravish her with a self-denial which is really
remarkable.
Lilian seems very much in love with him, and
when he goes in the summer to take a course of
baths for his rheumatism, she writes him some
very pretty letters—one every day!—and they
are all given in full. I think they had a little to
do with the success of the book, as it was issued
much about the same time as the famous" An
Englishwoman's Love-Letters," which brought
the long-despised
roman par lettres into fashion
again for some time.
Lilian tries to get Jacky to marry her, but he
refuses, and to prevent the girl loving him too
much, he makes
172 FORBIDDEN
himself out a brutal, debauched unfeeling rake,
but the worse he treats her, the better she seems
to like him. He returns to Paris, and as her
parents are away, she lets him into the villa and
he sleeps with her all night, when they carry on
their old tricks, which consists of enjoying each
other as well as they can in Malthusian fashion,
without going as far as the actual act of coition.
But Lilian importunates him with demands for
money to set her up in business and disgusts
him with her mercenary ideas, but his lust
overcomes his common sense and he still is
under the charm. In spite of his love for her, he
sees that there is an understanding between her
and her mother's lover, but he is singularly
devoid of jealousy and rather likes it than
otherwise. This peculiar fancy for seeing his
sweetheart in another man's arms he now
indulges to his heart's content, as she comes to
Paris to join in a shameless orgie. Jacky
introduces Lilian to an English lord and his
mistress, and most filthy scenes are enacted,
when Lilian's virginity is duly scrutinised [sic]
and verified by all the party.
Lilian is off to London for her yearly visit of
business with the little strumpet who is engaged
to her brother, but before going she tears a trifle
of money out of Jacky by threatening to
disclose the intrigue to her mother.
She gives him no news of her, but returns
after a month, and has him invited by her
accomplice, old Eric, and after sulking with
him all day denies having received the money
he posted to her. Jacky writes her some very
beautiful letters, and she tries to get him to
marry her again. But this lie of the wicked
creature concerning the non-arrival of the
money he sent opens his eyes, and his love or
lust begins to dwindle, especially as he sees she
is now no longer a virgin, in spite of his at-
tempts to keep her physically pure for her own
sake, and that she is most certainly the mistress
of her mother's
BOOKS 173
lover and probably that of her brother! Indeed
the author plainly shows us that, all of them—
Eric, Mamma Lilian, Raoul, her brother, and
Charlotte, his betrothed an artful little Lesbian,
have all slept together, more or less.
Again the winter comes on, and Lilian
neglects once more, but he is eventually asked
to the Christmas dinner, and as Lilian has made
the
entr'actes too long, he has had time to reflect
and sees that the common connection between
Eric and the girl is an indisputable fact, and that
they even read together the obscene books he
delights in lending this extraordinary. damsel.
She still declares she is a virgin, and when her
mother and her mother's keeper depart for the
Riviera, leaving her alone at home, she makes it
up with Jacky, who has insulted her grossly by
telling her that she cares for nothing but the
money and presents she tries to get out of him;
that she lied when she declared she did not get
the money he sent her after the
partie carree with
his friend, and she is no longer a virgin,
although she still swears her maidenhead is
intact. They both enjoy each other in their
peculiar way, and it is wonderful to :read how
the artful puss manages to give and receive
voluptuous enjoyment without allowing it to be
seen if she is a real
virgo intacta or not.
Now the springtime of 1899 is nigh, and the
whole family are conspiring against the love-
sick Jacky, in a most comical and artful way,
while Lilian, who is evidently a wicked and
deep designing creature, "exploits" the two men
with all the arms in the arsenal of female craft.
I should like to give the episode where she
disguises as a Japanese girl to enslave the two
old goats, and also that of the visit of one of her
outside lovers to the suburban Eden, under the
pretext of buying a dog, with a
174 FORBIDDEN
few other scenes of hidden Parisian life, but my
space is limited. Jacky too, in spite of his
infatuation, shows a certain amount of
astuteness that saves him eventually, and despite
the efforts of the siren, his devotion to his ailing
mistress at home is ever steadfast.
Lilian having been indisposed during the
winter, her mother's keeper takes her on a
journey to Brussels alone with him, and Jacky
plainly lets her see that this is to be a sort of
honeymoon, but she never confesses the truth.
What is curious in this character is that she is
seemingly proof against all insult.
No sooner is she enroute than she writes a
most extraordinary letter to Jacky, although he
has told her that she need not trouble to
communicate with him while she is away. She
says that she is occupying a "large double-
bedded room."
Now I am going to write to you very frankly. You are not
mistaken; Mr. A. loves me and without quite knowing it him-
self. Nevertheless, he is and always will be respectful towards
me. To begin with, I love Mamma too much to let things be
otherwise and I do not love him at all! And then the bare idea
disgusts me deeply, and is repugnant. Therefore, in future, I
shall keep a watch over my most trifling words, and my most
innocent gestures, as far as he is concerned, for I will not
encourage this idiotic passion.
My dear adored one, you who are my only love, I hope that
you will be able to understand completely what I am going to
say. I am very unhappy here. I suffer and I should like to be
home again already; firstly, to see you, to feel that you were
near me, and also that you might support me by your counsel.
I want to open my heart to you more than I have done up to
the present. I feel so lonely and so sad. Mamma does not love
me as before, and yet she has nothing to reproach me with,
and I love her dearly. Mr. A. is so wicked towards my
brother. that the poor woman thinks that she ought to love
him doubly. Note that I am not jealous, I love my brother too
well for that, but I suffer to feel myself neglected by Mamma
and I am too proud to let her see it.
BOOKS 175
But I fatigue you with all my lamentations; how can I help it?
It seems to me that you alone understand me.
Love me well and tenderly, my beloved Jacky, my
adoration. I swear to. you that I require all your love and that I
am worthy of It. Never have I loved any man before you, and
never has any other man touched me.
You ... I love,
Lily.
I am very good and shall always be so where you are not
concerned.
Utterly disgusted at this tissue of lies,
although not with the fact of her criminal
intercourses, his eyes are open at last, and he
writes to a friend in Belgium who plays the
detective, and soon finds out that the couple
have gone on to Brussels, where the same
double-bedded fun continues, and a ground-plan
of the room is given quite a new departure.
Jacky now determines to show Miss Arvel
that he sees through her, and to do so he starts
playing "Hamlet" in private life, to put all the
inhabitants of the villa off their guard. How he
does so, and what artifices he uses until the day
when he shatters the mask on the wicked
heroine's face, would take too long to describe
here, and would deflower all the interest of the
work. He does however succeed in proving to
Lilian that she is no longer a virgin, and that he
knows it, but how he accomplishes this difficult
task, must be read and enjoyed in the author's
words, and with the full description of the ways
and means and surroundings.
He then refuses to return to Arvel's house, and
as he has been in the habit for years of sending
books and papers to Arvel, he bombards him
with a series of cuttings, bearing on his mode of
living, but the old chap does not take offence, in
spite of all his quondam guest's efforts to rouse
him. Most of these newspaper snippings and
racy extracts are given in the appendices (A to
S),
176 FORBIDDEN
and very wonderful some of them are too. Then
the old gentleman takes to writing some strange
letters to Jacky, showing that he is perfectly
au
courant, and these elucubrations [sic], full of
bluff, smut, and scriptural quotations, conclude
the prodigious story of Jacky and Lilian, the too
clever "quarter-virgin," as the author-lover
terms her among another amenities.
Another strange side-light of this story is
Jacky's attempt to show the effect of
menstruation on neurotic females, and he proves
that the principal events of this erratic lass's life,
during the time he was at her mercy, all took
places on or about the time of her "diaper days," (sic).
What strikes me most forcibly is the simple
veracity breathed in every page. The third
volume is particularly remarkable. It exhibits a
power of memory, a vigour of thought and
feeling, and above all a determination that few
men posses when under the charm of Circe. I
can only wonder that the compiler of what is
surely part of his own autobiography should
have considered the subject—salacious little
slut, as she must be—worthy of the time and
labour devoted to her delineation and that of her
vulgar, suburban surroundings.
Out of a somewhat commonplace intrigue, the
author has constructed a most uncommon and
readable book, and his careful notes and good—
nay, marvelous—exercise of retrospective
thought has enabled him to bring out in all their
force and significance the damning proofs of a
hypocritical home-harlot's double life and
mendacious attempts at deception.
The allusions to, Jacky's private sorrows, and
affectionate object who stands throughout in a
grey, mist behind the, actors, does credit to his
heart, for although his, senses were led astray,
the fact is patent that his real, deep, manly
affections were well and truly placed.
BOOKS 177
This must not be taken at the same valuation as
the ordinary obscene book This is a novel with a
purpose and will teach many how to analyse [sic]
a Woman. I guarantee that no man who studies
these three sturdy volumes, as full of women's
wickedness as an egg is full of meat, will ever
marry into an incestuous family. My readers may
laugh at the mere mention of such a rare and
uncommon danger, but a case of the same fatal
kind was judged in Paris in August 1901.
"The culprit was a vicious and hysterical woman," (says
the Public Prosecutor). "First of all the mistress of her
husband, M. Groetzinger, and soon marrying him for his
money. When a son is born she quarrels with the boy, and
drives him from home, and only when he is full grown and
became a man, does this mother manage to call her flesh and
blood to her side again. But it is solely with the motive of
substituting incestuous relations for her maternal feelings.
Thence grows increasing aversion for the husband. The
whole of the household, mother, son, servant, are all leagued
against him. Besides, the mother is jealous of her son-lover,
scolding him if he takes up with mistresses outside the
house, and causing them to come to her dwelling, when she
essays Lesbian diversions with her son's sweethearts. Then
she tries cabalistic experiments in order to bring about her
husband's death and as they do not succeed, she stimulates a
love-scene, hoping to be acquitted later on by the
sentimental jurymen of the department of the Seine, and fires
the six chambers of a revolver at her sleeping spouse, killing
him instantaneously.
"The only excuse, the sole attenuation that the accusing
authorities can find is in the unhappy girlhood of Madame
Groetzinger, whose own father did not recoil from incest."
She was condemned to five years
imprisonment. (Le Journal, Paris, August 24,
1901) But in consequences of some legal
informality, the proceedings were quashed, and a
new trial took place. The
venue was changed to
Vesailles, and there fresh revolting evidence was
given. A witness produced photographs showing
the mother and son in very compromising
positions, and another confessed to having seen
the lad playing with his
178 FORBIDDEN
mother's naked bosom. On the 26th of October,
1901, she was condemned to death, much to the
amazement of the Public Prosecutor. The
jurymen of Versailles seemed more shocked at
the prisoner's immorality, than with the idea that
she preferred killing her lawful spouse to the
uncertainty of divorce proceedings. This sen-
tence was commuted, and the original term of
five years' incarceration was definitely imposed.
This means that in less than three years, she will
be free; and her husband dead by her hand, she
can rejoin her son, who evidently loves her, as at
the first trial he went down on his knees and
prayed to the jury to spare his mother. He was in
full uniform, as he was doing his military
service.
In "Suburban Souls," one of the main ideas is
evidently to show that a mother and her old
keeper, who afterwards marries her, thus
becoming the wicked heroine's step-father, have
no hesitation in allowing their girl to prostitute
herself if there is any money to be made thereby.
To ordinary English minds, such immoral
conduct, cold-blooded and mercenary, seems
outrageously impossible, and yet I am certain
that I am not exaggerating in the least when I
affirm that in many small burgess or working-
class family in France, when a daughter has no
dowry, or there is a disinclination to furnish her
with one, her parents and relations all advise her
tranquilly and as a matter of course to "take a
lover," just as they might tell her to accept some
new situation .. An instance of this kind came to
my own notice while writing the above lines.
In the month of September, 1901, a
matrimonial advertisement appeared in one of
the leading Paris journals. I translate it here
together with a letter received in answer to my
application, but I refrain from giving names, and
correct indications, as the little incident is so
recent.
BOOKS 179
A young girl, 22 years of age, very respectable and genteel,
good-looking, a genuine dressmaker, living with her parents
in the suburbs, desires marriage with a serious gentleman be-
tween forty and sixty. Address, etc.
Sir,
I answer you the first of all and I reply with all my natural
frankness.
I am a dressmaker, twenty-two years of age, and my
customers all live in the suburbs where my dwelling is. I have
never left my parents, who are honest work-people, and I am
their only daughter. My father, a worthy man, who has made
his way through hard work, plays his little game of cards
every day in the neighbouring cafe, while I remain at my
mother's side. I am never taken out. We have no
acquaintances, so boredom that great master, is constantly
with me in great state.
I am tall, and very handsome. I have never loved. I have
never had a sweetheart, but I feel beating in my breast a big
heart that thirsts for sincere and durable friendship, such as I
would like to dearly offer myself.
My most earnest desire would be to find a loving husband
with some elevation of feeling, earning his living easily. I
would make him the happiest of men. Failing such a
marriage, which is difficult when one has no dowry, I would
give myself completely to a serious and sincere mend, who
would assure me a little money for the future, so that if in
years to. come fate should cause him to separate from me, I
should be able to keep in my heart as long as I lived a
delightfully sweet rememberance [sic] of my first friend.
Now, sir, if you wish to know me, write to me at once in all
sincerity and then I can grant you an appointment so that we
can know each other, which is essential.
I pray you to accept the expression of my most
distinguished sentiments.
(Initials, and the address of a post-office in the environs
of
Paris. )
180 FORBIDDEN
Stories in European Storiology. Stor-
ies from the Folk-Lore of Russia.
"Rouskiya Zavetmuiya" done into
English by the translator of "The
Book of Exposition in the Science of
Coition"; "The Old Man Young
Again"; and other charming works
ejusdem parinre. Paris, Charles
Carrington, publisher of Medical,
Folk-lore and Historical Works. 13
faubbourg [sic] Montmartre. 1897.
Post8vo. xx-265pp., 7 full paged coloured illustrations, hors
texte, and forty vignettes, all vern [sic] neatly and gracefully done;
rather free, but not obscene. Printed outer wrapper.
When I was a boy at school, there was always
a wag who would bring little bawdy stories and
smutty bits of doggerel to his comrades. In a
spirit of emulation, I suppose others would
respond and outdo him, and thus the young
man's mind is first taught those scraps of
Folklore, which we are always meeting with in
afterlife. For on the Stock Exchange, in
smoking-rooms of clubs, and wherever the
children of a larger growth most do congregate,
so is the "blue" riddle trotted out, and the
bawdy, and sometimes very witty story.
BOOKS 181
Who does not know them? Some are such old
friends When I first took to reading the scabrous
little tales in verse. of the eighteenth century, I
was delighted to find some fine old crusted
yams. of my boyhood.
There was a man and he went mad and he ran up the
steeple,
He pulls off his tarriwag, and threw it at the people.
A well-dressed lady coming by, she thought it rather
funny
She picked it up and wiped it clean and stuffed it in her
c.....y."
This halting apology for verse came back to my mind
when I was past middle age, on reading "La Chandelle
d' Arras," and "Parapilla," two very clever, but licenticous
[sic] French poems, where a cut-off penis forms the main-
spring of the rhymed story.
I felt the same when I read the seventh tale in "Stories
from the Folk-lore of Russia":
THE LOUSE AND THE FLEA
A louse met a flea. "Where are you going?" "I am going
to pass the night in a woman's slit." "And I am going into a
woman's backside." They parted. The next day they met
again. "Well, how did you sleep?" asked the louse. "Oh,
don't talk about it. I was so frightened. A kind of bald head
came to me and hunted me about. I jumped here and there,
but he continued to pursue me. At last he spat on me and
went away." "Well, gossip, there were two persons
knocking about the hole I was in. I hid myself, and they
continued to push about, but at last they went away."
This is one of the shortest tales in the handsome volume,
and not one of the funniest. But I quote it because I do not
believe there exists a single known tongue on this earth, where
the account of the night passed in the women's vagina by
some insect who is disturbed by
182 FORBIDDEN
the entry of the bald-headed (sometimes one-eyed)
visitor is not told. Row do these quips and obscene
oddities travel from one language to another through
generations and generations? Does the Wandering Jew
tell them in his creaseless peregrination?
All the free jokes of the club and greenroom are not so
naively silly. I remember a well-known dramatic author,
now deceased, and noted for his gift of repartee, listening
to the announcement of marriage of a very old dotard to a
very young girl. "The reckless old cock!" exclaimed
someone. "A cockless old wreck, you mean!" quickly
rejoined the playwrite [sic].
And this one: brevity is the soul of wit. A man married
a common prostitute, whom all his friends and ac-
quaintances had been "unduly intimate with," as Sir
Francis Juene would say. After the honeymoon, he was
met by one of his boon companions, who greeted him
with: "Hullo, old fellow, you've put your foot in
it!"
"No, I haven't—but I could!"
And so I might run on and dig up in my dotage all the
naughty jokes that I have heard all my life, instead of
attending to my pretty Russian book. Some of these tales
will strike the reader as having been met with in another
dress, as I have, noticed, but the majority are pleasingly
original, and all are full of sparkling malice and
brimming over with fun. The silly peasant; the astute
village priest; the lusty farmer's wife; artful and
lecherous; the soldier; and the squire and his spouse,
without forgetting the clergyman's better half and his
drawing-room into the alcove and boudoir beyond, while
in London too, more folk-lore!—are the amusing and of
times lewd puppets who trip lightly through these well-
printed pages to delight our old hearts for an hour or two,
and divert our minds from the ever-recurring cares of our
daily occupations.
BOOKS 183
A clever foreword explains the raison d'etre of this fine
volume, and we are informed that it is a translation from
a French version of a rare Russian book, entitled:
"Contes Secrets Russes." Paris, Liseux, 1892, 8vo., xvi-
256 pp., about 200 copies, only.
184 FORBIDDEN
Social Studies of the Century. Flossie:
A Venus of fifteen, by one who
knew this charming goddess and
worshipped at her shrine. Printed at
Carnopolis for the delectation of the
amorous and the instruction of the
amateur in the year of excitement of
the sexes: MDCCCXCVII.
Large 8vo.
This is the first edition of a very amusing and
remarkable volume, which was printed at
Amsterdam for the author in the latter half of
the year 1897. Unlike many works of its kind, it
is composed with no mean ability and it is easy
to see that a cultured hand has tapped the
typewriter. The book has no other pretension
than to be thoroughly obscene, as it recounts
the adventures of a immature young person of
distinct cockney type, who begins to fully
satisfy her male admirers at a very early age,
and manages to retain her physical virginity
until the last few pages.
I think that no modem volume of this kind
has ever had so much success. The first and
limited edition was
BOOKS 185
soon sold out, but it was immediately
reprinted, "for the Erotica Biblion Society of
London and New York" n.d. (paris, 1898),
small l2mo. of 122 pp., and there are two or
three more re-issues. It seems to be almost
always in demand and I do not think I am
exaggerating when I say that two or three
thousand copies have been sold, since it first
saw the light. The original, which is beautifully
printed on very fine paper, under the loving
superintendance [sic] of the author, a noted
English novel-writer, had become excessively
rare. The ordinary reprints are now offered in
Paris and London are all very badly got up.
The prospectus too, which was from the pen
of the creator of this wonderful creature, who
really existed in the flesh—very much in the
flesh is more difficult to find than the fine first
issue, and so I venture to reproduce it here, as
it is a pity that such a peculiar fragment of
literature should be lost to our grandsons,
and—dare I say it?—grandaughters [sic] too.
A FEW WORDS FOR UP-TO-DATE BIDLIOPHILES
Lovers of the strange and new—curious
students of the erotic erraticisms of the age—
men in fact, of both high and low degree, will
read this book with mutterings of mingled
marvel and surprise.
It was written neither to order, nor for the
sake of vulgar gain, and shows traces of
considerable culture and information. The
work of an English gentleman of no common
attainments, these pages throw side-lights on
certain phases of high-class London Society
that we dare to say have never yet been dreamt
of by one man in ten thousand.
We were ushered into the drawing-room of a
West-End flat and listen to the speech of high-
born dames;
186 FORBIDDEN
our hands grow feverishly excited as we hear
the rustling of their satin skirts, or catch a
glimpse of silken stocking shrouding the
daintily turned ankle, or as the eye travels
upwards, more charming still, the rise and fall
of bosoms white as snow.
All the materials are the same,
Of Beauty and Desire,
In a fair woman's goodly frame,
No brightness is without a flame;
No Flame without a Fire,
Then tell me what those Creatures are
Who would be thought Chaste and Fair.
The apartment is alive with that indescribable
odor di fammina which intoxicates the senses and
entrances the fancy. As the plot unfolds and the
story ripens to a culmination, we see from our
point of vantage in the drawing-room into the
alecove [sic] and boudoir beyond, while the
blood courses more swiftly through our veins,
as unobserved, we witness scenes of the utmost
lubricity, and hear the gasps and pantings of
those same beautiful and coldly
correct creatures
who, with silks and satins tumbled now about
their heads, lie in a variety of strange postures,
writhing in the throes and paroxysms of desire.
Withal the book is by no means coarse, or
taken up with mere 'smut.' To the physician it
will suggest fruitful ideas on the as yet infant
Science of Pathology—to the Historian it will
conjure up vivid pictures of ancient priapic
Worship—and the Classical student will call to
mind as he reads on, the ferocious, lightning-
brief descriptions of the Roman corruptions
delineated in the pages of Martial or of Juvenal.
As to the style of "Flossie," we can say no
more than that the book is entirely original and
written with a
BOOKS 187
delicacy, realism, and beauty that reminds us
forcibly of Algernon Swinebume [sic]; and, we
repeat, that for those lovers of the sex who find
a seasoning of wit and humor to their taste as an
ingredient in the cup of passion, the sayings and
doings of this dainty and delightful damsel with
her overflowing spirits, her fun and mimicry,
and her deep, delicious draughts from the
fountain pleasure, may be most faithfully
recommended as a glowing and finished picture
of
fin-de-siecle development.
"Flossie" is absolutely limited to an issue of
Two Hundred Numbered copies, all on rich
Hand-made Dutch paper, most of which have
been already privately subscribed, and a few
only now remain to be disposed of. The price of
each volume is
Two Guineas, net. September
1897.
One gifted bibliophile was so delighted with
this triumph of tropical private literature that he
rushed into verse, and a copy having fallen into
my hands, I cannot refrain from giving it here,
especially as I think this is the first time that a
volume of this kind has been celebrated in such
a poetical way, while it will give my indulgent
readers a full idea of what "Flossie" is all
about:
SCENE I
My readers look! Floss reads a book
Curled on a low long easy-chair,
And tucks her feet upon the seat
As she sits idly reading there.
A tight silk vest sets off her breast
And marks the titties underneath,
And all the while a sunny smile
Reveals her lovely little teeth.
Her tresses brown are hanging down
Her back! It dream of loveliness;
188 FORBIDDEN
And tan silk hose her legs enclose
And buckle shoes complete the dress.
She's but fifteen and has not seen
A trace of any 'monthlies' yet,
But has a fringe of light brown tinge
Upon her virgin cunnilet.
She hears a tread, she lifts her head
A fetching smile her whole face fills:
When up she leaps, and out there peeps
A glimpse of lace embroidered frills.
One agile bound, her arms are wound
About Jack's neck to reach his face,
And four lips meet and two hearts beat
As two tongues twine in lewd embrace.
SCENE II
The little flirt! she lifts her skirt
And says she'll dance if he will play
And slightly shows her furbelows
All redolent of Ess Bouquet.
He plays some notes the while he gloats
On Flossie's legs and twinkling feet;
And as she whirls and bends and twirls
He feels his blood at fever heat.
He sees her flush with crimson blush
And in the lecherous dance she floats:
Her dress she holds so that the folds
Expose the filmy petticoats.
Before his gaze he see sher [sic] raise
Her short frock as she pirouettes:
And gleaming white appear in sight
The frillings of her pantalettes.
SCENE III
The dancing elf now throws herself
Into the chair and breathless sits;
With legs stretched wide that cannot hide
The opening of her dainty 'splits.'
BOOKS 189
Her thighs are wet with odorous sweat,
A perfume rises from her hair,
And from her snitch there comes a rich
And fragrant scent which fills the air.
With eager eyes Jack soon descries
Her pouting quim which seems to burst
With lust, and so he whispers low,
'Say, Flossie, what shall I do first!'
She is not shy, her fond reply
Like music fascinates his ear;
And he is told in accents bold,
'Kiss me between the legs my dear.'
As soon as said he ducks his head
Between her thighs to bite and kiss
With gentle nip the tender tip
Of Flossie's standing clitoris.
He osculates and titillates
The darling child's voluptuous quim
Till in the end he makes her spend
And shoot her essence over him.
You hear her cry, 'Oh am not I
'A really most disgraceful child?
'I would not miss that amorous kiss
'If on me tons of gold you piled.'
SCENE IV
'Its now your turn and you shall learn
'The double gamahuching trick,
'For sixty-nine is quite divine
When playing with cunt and standing prick.'
So down lies Jack upon his back
Floss kneels across him on the bed,
And as she kneels she deftly peels
His standing pintle's ruby head.
His throbbing prick with practised [sic] lick
Within her lovely lips she rubs:
And gainst his breast are lightly pressed
The nipples of her velvet bubs.
190 FORBIDDEN
Across his face you see her place
Her thighs as kneeling on all fours
She bids him glue his lips into
The pouting lips within her drawers.
They gamahuche until a douche
Both prick and cunt together squirt
And from their lips the essense [sic] drips
Which wets her drawers and spoiled his shirt.
BOOKS 191
Raped on the Railway, Social studies
of the century. A true story of a lady
who was first ravished and then
flagellated on the Scotch Express.
London. (Amsterdam?) privately
printed for the subscribers of the
Cosmopolitan Bibliophile Society,
1894. (1899?)
8vo.very long and narrow, "account book shape," 279 pp.,
illustrated outer wrapper. Issue 300 copies.
Here is a story of most wild and salacious
sketching, which is presented without
hypocracy [sic] or disguise. Immediately we
take the volume in our eager, book-lover's
fingers, our gaze is arrested by the unusual
sight of the picture on the cover, where a
gentleman is seen trying to violate a most
comely lady in a dressing-gown, or rather the
remnants of one, for that homely garment has
been half tom off her gleaming shoulders,
exposing her breasts above, and showing her
stockings and drawers below.
Brandon is a painter with a very naughty wife,
and he is no mean sensualist, for he violently
takes advantage of a lady in a first-class
compartment of a Scotch ex-
192 FORBIDDEN
press. But her brother-in-law happens to be in
the same train with some friends, and getting
into the carriage, he suspects her of having
willingly given way to the fascinating stranger.
They fall Upon Brandon and bind him, forcing
him to be a eye-witness to a terrible flagellation
inflicted upon his victim. Later, on the avenging
brother-in-law tries to rape her, and that is the
episode so graphically shown on the cover.
Brandon is pleased to get off so well, and
returns home to his very lustful and unfaithful
spouse, and they have a variety of the most
erotic adventures together, when corporal
punishment plays a conspicuous part, and finally
Mrs. Brandon dies of nymphomania.
After her death, her husband goes to the
Transvaal, and takes service to the field, where
he becomes friends with a captain who is shot.
and who confides to him a message to his wife.
Brandon, on returning to England, seeks out his
comrade's widow and is surprised to find it is
the woman he raped in the train. In his letter, the
dying man tells her that she cannot do better
than marry Brandon, and she takes the advice of
her dead husband.
This is really an elegant little trifle of a story,
and whether true or not, which is not of the
slightest consequence, is recounted with a
pleasant warmth and picturesqueness of
expression that is really refreshing. On the
subject of rape, there are many curious particu-
larities and documents set out, and the author
who is most certainly a very gifted writer, seems
to impress us with a feeling that he is quite an
enthusiast and expert on the subject of the
enjoyment of the female, by means of violence.
Although this well-printed volume is headed
"Social studies of the century," it has nothing to
do with "Flossie," and is not serial with it.
BOOKS 193
Madame Dorvigny, ou les amours d'un
colonel de cavalerie; par P. B. Du-
pouy. "Passions du grave au doux,
du plaisant au severe." Paris, Locard
et Davi, 1833.
2 vo1s. 8vo. ofvii-343 and 383 pp. (1)
The late Charles Monselet was a most gifted
and delightful writer, albeit he possessed but
little ambition, and was content to gossip about
books, and cookery. His light-heartedness
prevented him from ever accumulating much
money, and twice in his life he was obliged to
sell off his collections of out-of-the-way novels,
and light literature. His first auction took place
in 1871, and the catalogue published by
Pincebourde (2) is well worthy of perusal on
account of the witty notes to be found therein.
The second sale was held in 1885, and my
attention was called to a work which I had never
heard of before, "Madame Dovigny."
Monselet's note was as follows:
The story of an hermaphrodite. The bookseller
Barraud, (1) who never would sell me this book
during his life, and which I bought after his
death, often told me that it was the jewel of his
private collection ..
I bid for this rarity, but it fetched what I considered too
big a, price, 41 francs, and became the property of a book-
194 FORBIDDEN
seller, Brunox, who announced it shortly afterwards on his
catalogue the high figure of 100 francs.
A few years afterwards, I received from the bookseller,
Claudin, the catalogue of the sale of the library of M. C. de
Mandre, and there in the midst of a lot odd valueless novels, I
saw. the title of the rare "Madame Dorvigny." I immediately
registered a vow to be present at the vacation and try to bid
for the precious volumes. I was called away to the south of
France, and immediately on my return, flew to my bookcase
to get out the catalogue de Mandre and refresh my mind as to
the date of the sale. Alas! I had, by some strange oversight,
made a mistake, and the sale had been concluded some few
weeks.
There was nothing to be done, but to heave a sigh of regret
and to try to forget all about the double-sexed heroine of the
mysterious novel.
About two months afterwards, being in Claudin's shop on
some other book-buying business, I asked, out of idle curi-
osity, to look over the priced catalogue of the de Mandre sale.
The lot of novels, wherein "Madame Dorvigny" was
comprised had been knocked down for a small sum to some
one whose name, written on the margin, was quite unfamiliar
to my ear. Asking who it was, I was informed that the buyer
in question was a second-hand bookseller who carried on his
business on the parapet along the quay of the river Seine. I
was not long locating him, and I slowly approached the line
of boxes in which his stock-in-trade was set out. To my
surprise, "Madame Dorvigny" reposed snugly between a pile
of other novels. I took it up and examined it. It was neatly
half-bound in brown morocco and on the sides, although only
covered with marbled paper, were the arms, stamped in gold,
of the properietor [sic] C. de Mandre, while each volume
contained his ex-libris. It was marked for sale at 4 francs. I
offered to buy it, and am ashamed to confess I used the old
collector's trick by saying that it seemed to me to be very
dear. The dealer looked at me critically, and cooly [sic]
replied:
"It can't be dear, and must be very rare and valuable, or
else you would not bother to bargain for it."
I think I possess the Anglo-Saxon quality of knowing when
I am beaten. I had found my master, and without another
word, I handed over the four francs and made my departure
with the rare work under my arm.
BOOKS 195
At Marseilles, towards the end of the last
century. M. Delmont, a rich merchant, having
no children, adopts a little girl, Adeline, and
brings her up. She is very pretty and as fond of
masculine pastimes as of feminine amusements.
Her adopted father is ruined in business and
Adeline, now sixteen, tries to make him forget
his troubles by showering upon him the
treasures of her filial affection.
M. Dorvigny, a rich fermier general, now takes
up his residence in the same town. He is a man
of forty-five years of age, but still fond of the
ladies, and a bachelor. With him is his nephew,
Charles de Sorville, a confirmed rake and a
colonel in a cavalry regiment.
Both men fall in love with Adeline, but the
old one, determined to marry the girl, threatens
Charles that he will reveal his secret should he
prevent him from leading the lass to the altar.
The mystery is that Charles is already married
to a lady in Italy, from whom he is separated on
account of her unfaithfulness. Adeline falls in
love with Charles and he begins to make her a
declaration at a ball, given by Dorvigny in
order to be able to invite the Delmot family.
Dorvigny proposes marriage and she would
never have consented, had not her elderly suitor
told her that Charles was not free when he
began to make love to her. Disgusted at his
prefidy [sic], she accepts the hand of the obese,
ridiculous, fermier general, prompted also by
the knowledge that her position of affluence
may enable her to show her gratitude to her
adoptive father.
The marriage takes place and some ludicrous
incidents are related, consequent on the
attempts of Charles to carry off the bride. But
nothing prevents M. Dorvigny from
consummating the marriage.
Madame Dorvigny was awaiting her husband with calm.
It is true that he was too stout and possessed a face that made
196 FORBIDDEN
it difficult for him to inflame a seventeen-year-old
imagination that had never yet gone astray. Nevertheless, the
heart may be dumb and the senses comes to its aid that is
what happens daily to many young people who mistake the
effervescence of love for true feeling; it occurs to women of
frequent weaknesses, and above all to young girls who marry
out of respectability, curiosity, or necessity. Be that as it may,
the fat fermier general gets into bed, stretches out, and draws
near, like all husbands in love, delighted with their happiness,
and eager to taste the virgin's first emotions. It is night,
suddenly the young bride says to herself: 'Let darkness bring
the lineaments of my lover to my brain, so that the sacrifice
may seem less painful' ... After a quarter of an hour's silence,
M. Dorvigny exclaims with an accent of the greatest surprise:
'Great Heavens! What is this I have got hold on? Have I a
man in my bed.:
With this exclamation he jumps heavily out of bed, holding
up his big belly as he runs, dashes into his dressing closet,
takes a nightlight and returns to the side of the couch. In his
avidity to know the truth, he tries to throw aside the sheets
and coverlets; but the pretty little bride repulses the projected
inspection; she wraps herself up carefully, and gets away to
the wall as she cries:
'This is an indignity! Horrible! never will I allow such a
thing! Who do you take me for, sir?
'By my faith, madame, I can't tell yet.'
'Ah! that is too bad! you have reached the last limit of
insult! Begone, or I will call my mother!'
'Call as much as you like, madame; as for me, I want to
know who I have to do with! man or woman, I'll see for
myself!'
So saying, M. Dorvigny tears away the counterpane; but
the movement he gives to the night-light causes, the escape of
a drop of oil that does not respect the whiteness of the
feminine thigh. A cry of pain, and even tears succeed to
accents of fury; Dorvigny suddenly grows tender: he
suspends all hostilities, puts his light on the night-table and
passes his right hand over his brow. Nevertheless, he remains
on his knees on the bed, looking at his pretty better-half
seated close to the wall, her charms nearly all hidden in the
counterpane.
'Will you at last, sir, tell me the motive of your insulting
BOOKS 197
conduct towards me? What a terrible wedding-night, good
heaven!'
'Madame or Monsieur, when one is built in a certain way,
one should not get married.'
'What say you..: exclaims the charming little spouse 'built
in a certain way! Learn, sir, that I am better built than you
are!'
'And that is exactly what makes me despair!'
'Then, sir, I no longer understand you at all.'
'Well, madame, I will explain myself categorically. What
is your definitive sex,..:
'A funny question at which I should willingly laugh, were
it not for your insulting proceedings ... .'
'Never mind about my proceedings, but answer me; I pray
you to tell me what your sex is?'
'I am a woman, of course, what reason have you to doubt
it? Ah, gracious, how my thigh pains me!'
'Come, madame, let me see that thigh again,' said the
fermier general, slightly reassured by the tone of innocence
and anger of his wife; 'come, my beautiful Adeline, I have
perhaps made a mistake ... Allow me ... have some
indulgence .. .'
The young bride softens down little by little: there is a
silent pause of a few minutes.
"Parbleu!' says M. Dorvigny to himself, 'I was truly in
error ... by this satin skin, this chaming [sic] bosom, I feel I
hold the most seductive of women! ... But her senses are
awakened at the contact of my kisses; the feminine sex
disappears, or at least dwindles away ... the other increases
incredibly ... Come, I can no longer doubt the fact that I am
the husband of an hermaphrodite and one most perfectly
constituted! What a fool I have made of myself!'
Try and imagine the strange figure cut by the big ferrniere-
general in his night-cap, planted on his enormous back-side,
and scarcely knowing whether he ought to look tenderly on
his wife and follow on with kisses or not. See the fear of the
young bride, as yet understanding very little of his
exclamations and 'his sighs alternating with commonplace
remarks anent the fate of husbands in general. Life a docile
victim she waits until the irresolution of her husband shall
cease; everything tells her that she has a right to much softer
homage. The sight of her charming face, and her astonished
and supplicating eyes fixed upon his, brings him back to his
first feelings; love
198 FORBIDDEN
resumes its sway. He becomes tender once more, attentive,
caressing, insinuating; only directing his attention towards
that of two sexes of which the municipal registrar has
granted him the possession. He puts aside the
superabundance that forms a barrier to his pleasure, and after
plentiful and sustained efforts, at last manages to write his
name on the tablets of conjugal glory. This agreeable
certainty calms his spirit, and dissipates the fear he first had
of having only married a pretty boy.
The husband puts up with this little
supplement to his wife's charms, and tries to
make her understand that her maleonformation
will cause her to be abhorred by all men but
him, thus insuring, as he thinks, his wrinkled
forehead against the horns of cuckledom. Of
course, he is entirely wrong, as Charles writes
secretly to Adeline and she forgives him. So he
climbs up to her room one night.
He undresses with the least possible noise so
as not to make his chair creak; he picks up each
part of his clothing and makes a bundle of the
lot, for fear of being surprised; such is the
benefit of experience! Now, shall we wake the
sleeping beauty, shall he let her recognize him,
or ought he to profit by her slumbering state to
obtain what it is so sweet to owe to a girl's
good will?
'Let me be prudent,' he says, 'and by stealing
a slight favour at first, all the rest will be
granted me!'
'After this wise thought, he lifts up the
counterpane with consumate [sic] skill, slips in
a leg, then a second, and a third, (sic) and he is
within a few inches of happiness. The much
vaunted magnetism of Mesmer would be very
useful to him just now, but he dares not yet give
way to this science which has been so
comically propagated by fools, but not enough
by lovers.
'She is agitated,' he says to himself, as she
lets fall a few words. 'Heavens! is it an error of
my under-
BOOKS 199
standing? No, no, I do not mistake; she has
uttered my name! The die is cast, away with all
hesitation let me awaken her in such a manner
as to offer both illusion and reality at the same
time! '
With this beneficient [sic] inclination he puts
forth a trembling hand: I know not where his
fingers fell, but he withdraws them suddenly
much more quickly than he had advanced
them, as he exclaims:
'Where the deuce have I got to? I'm in my
uncle's bed. '
What had he felt to make him slip so roughly
from the couch? Ah! I have it. Madame
Dorvigny was no doubt lulled by a voluptuous
dream, and the sex that this rake of a colonel
was not seeking for was at that moment parallel
to the earth's axis. Fearing lest his
extraordinary touch may have woke up the
person he firmly believes is his uncle, he dares
not budge from the fatiguing position he is in—
on his knees, his palms pressing on the cold
floor, and too lightly clad not to soon form
some sort of a resolution. Hearing no ex-
clamation, no movement, he regains his
assurance, takes his clothes under his arm, and
gropes for the door that ought to communicate
with the young bride's room. Alas! poor
colonel, thou art leaving that blessed chamber.
Retrace thy steps; thou wilt find happiness in
the bed thou hag just left; the one whither thou
goest, guiding thyself by a peculiar piece of
furniture, does not contain the loved object. It
supports the body of a voluminous glutton, and
'tis thy uncle whom thou art about to press in
thy amorous arms! But he hearkens not; he has
found the door of communication; behold him
near the pillow which he is convinced supports
a charming head; he slips under this
counterpane as softly as beneath the first.
'This time,' says he inwardly, 'it is really her,
I feel
200 FORBIDDEN
that by the transports arising in my soul! but let
me begin by warming myself, for my excursion
on the tiled floor has frozen me entirely.'
Before making himself known, he waits until
the tender warmth of his mistress's body shall
have penetrated his entire being and quickened
the circulation of his blood. Dorvigny turns his
back to him, and the colonel is not undeceived
by the vast rotundity of the posterior spreading
out in all its plentitude. It is true that through
the fear of wakening the person he takes for his
mistress, he has not yet dared to lightly touch
his posterior, but finally, the subtle humours
that we suppose pass through all the nerves
beginning to circulate rapidly in his system, he
places a hand on the rotundity of which the
astonishing circumference startles him a little,
and wishing to assure himself more fully of this
excess of embonpoint with which he did not
suppose his sweetheart was so amply furnished,
he lets his other hand follow the first and
moves them about from the North Pole to the
South. This little game cannot be played
without causing M. Dorvigny to awake with a
start, and at the first moment he cannot divine
the cause of the tickling he feels on a certain
part that he was not in the habit of having
caressed. Suddenly he feels a hand skim over
his abdomen, and a pair of lips press his own
rather strongly. He turns round roughly and
with all his strength repulses the tenderly
audacious antagonist. The colonel has soon
perceived his fresh mistake; he has slid to the
ground without making the slightest noise, and
has gone into hiding under the carpet of the
room he has entered, while he tortures his
imagination to try and guess which of the two
individuals so alike in their masculine sex is his
uncle.
It is not difficult to guess what fun the author
extracts from this night of errors: how the
husband im-
BOOKS 201
agines that his wife, impelled by lust, has sought
him in his bed; how he goes to her, makes a
false step and inundates the hidden lover with
the contents of a certain nocturnal utensil; how
the wife receives him, and resists his amorous
advances; how he leaves her in peace, but goes
to sleep in her bed, all within hearing of the
colonel, still wondering at what he had twice
held within his hand. Then he slips around to
the side where the wife reclines and she takes
his advances for those of her husband, who
cannot understand her remonstrances, and
swearing he has never kissed her, but that she is
dreaming, retires to his room to finish his night
in peace, while Madame Dorvigny bolts the
door of communication. She jumps back into
bed, feels that a man is there and supposes it is a
trick of her husband's. She calls out. He
answers her through the wall. At last, she under-
stands and talks through the partition to her
lawful spouse of a certain remedy against
nervousness and sleeplessness, as the colonel is
applying the cure. He finds she is an
hermaphrodite and all is explained, but as at a
certain moment she exclaims that she is dying,
the newly-made cuckold invades her privacy
once more, while the lover flies out of the
window, the way he came.
Fresh characters now come upon the scene:
M. d'Orval, a French general arriving from the
wars in America, with his handsome wife, a
creole of eighteen summers, while he is fifty
years of age. He takes up his abode with his old
friend Dorvigny and the two young wives
become fast friends. Indeed, Madame Dorvigny
in spite of herself, finds the masculine part of
her nature suddenly very dominant and falls in
love with her new companion, Emilie, desiring
her like a man, much to the astonishment of
innocent Madame d'Orval, who does not know
whether to be surprised or disgusted. Dorvigny
overhears his wife trying to overcome Emilie's
202 FORBIDDEN
scruples, and enraged at finding himself the
husband of such a monster, suspecting also her
intrigue with Charles, he plans to give a
luncheon party at a pleasure resort on an island
in the Mediterannean [sic], and after the meal,
reveal the whole story to his guests and disgrace
his spouse publicly. Unfortunately, the boat in
which he sets out with his wife and Emilie is
capsized. He is drowned, while Adeline,
through her masculine swimming
accomplishments, manages to save the life of
the creole she covets, and profiting by the
gratitude of the woman whose life she has
saved, posses her in true manly fashion, as they
are both cast up naked, or nearly so on the
shore. While thus busily engaged, they are seen
by the colonel On horseback, but he prudently
holds his tongue for the nonce. Madame
Dorvigny is a widow, and she does not know
that the death of her husband saved her from
dishonour. Thus ends the first volume.
The relict of M. Delmont, possessing both
male and female attributes is happy in the
voluptuous pleasures she enjoys with her lover
and Emilie. But the fickle colonel now divorced,
desires Madame d 'Orval and sends her a letter
which she shows to the hermaphrodite. When
twitted with his infidelity, the officer tells
Madame Dorvigny what he saw after the
accident and refuses to share her embraces with
a female rival, unless she promises him her aid
with Emilie, or to arrange that they all three
may be happy together. Hence a quarrel, and to
be avenged he informs Madame d'Orval that he
has been the hermaphrodite's lover while she
was swearing fidelity to her. Emilie reproaches
Adeline with her duplicity, so that the double-
sexed lady is left without lover or mistress.
The most curious event and ingenious
intrigues now
BOOKS 203
follow so quickly and thickly that it is a very
arduous task to sketch them here.
Madame Dorvigny, disguised in man's attire,
tries to carry off Emilie by force, but fails, and
everyone now knows the secret of her unique
conformation, although M. d'Orval does not
suspect that his wife has ever been unfaithful to
him
with a woman. (When starting to give an
idea of this bizarre book, I never thought it
would be so difficult to explain things plainly.)
The shock of the emotion brought about by
the failure of the abduction causes the death of
M. Delmot, and Madame Dorvigny has to
confess her secret to his widow, who tries to get
her to leave Marseilles, but she refuses, as she is
still madly in love with both Emilie and the
colonel. He still hankers after Emilie and gets
into her room at night, according to his custom,
but she successfully repulses him. Madame
Dorvigny hears of the nocturnal, clandestine
visit and thinking Emilie has given way to her
old swain, causes M. d'Orval to be informed by
an anonymous letter. He treats it with contempt
and shows it to the colonel. The latter, out of
spite, thereat, tells the story of Madame
Dorvigny's life to all his brother officers, who
create a scandal at the theatre by crying out:
"Long live the beautiful hermaphrodite!" when
she appears in her private box. She publicly
slaps the colonel's face, and then challenges
him to a duel with pistols, but in return he sends
her a most clever and sarcastic letter which
causes her to seek him out and in male attire
strike him again, this time with the flat of a
sword blade. The fresh affront is the cause of
the combat really coming off, a bullet from the
weapon of his former mistress lays him low, but
his life is saved by the transfusion of blood from
her beautiful body. They are then reconciled,
and from gratitude he takes an oath of fidelity,
while his mistress
204 FORBIDDEN
swears she will give up thinking of Emilie. But
at a masked ball, Madame Dorvigny, disguised
tries to seek out her lady-love, and her lover is
also there, to prevent her attaining her object
and in order to declare his passion to Madame
d'Orval himself. The events of the night are
curiously interwoven, but Madame Dorvigny
nearly succeeds in enjoying the lovely creole
again by an ingenious stratagem, as she
assumes the same costume as that lady's
husband. The colonel also persecuted Madame
d'Orval, who reveals that fact to Madame Dor-
vigny while in her arms, thinking she is telling
her husband.
The revolution now breaks out in Paris and is
echoed in Marseilles, when the ladies of that
town, headed by Madame Dorvigny, fight like
amazons. But they are defeated and publicly
flagellated, our hermaphrodite heroine alone
escaping that indignity, thanks to her valour.
The mansion of General d'Orval is in flames,
and Emilie is about to be violated by the
sans-
cullotes, when Adeline arrives on the scene and
saves her for the second time, both from
dishonour and death in the burning house. The
old love returns, and Madame Dorvigny is
about to prove again the power of her second
sex, when they are once more assailed, and
while fighting sword in hand to protect her
mistress and herself, the double-sexed darling is
killed. During these riots M. d'Orval has
likewise lost his life, and finally the colonel
marries his widow.
The perusal of this peculiar novel is very
refreshing by its old-time flavour,
foreshadowed by the quotation on the title-
page, translated from the English—"From
grave to gay, from lively to severe." It will be
remembered that in the thirties, novel readers
were pleased to have the saddest incidents
framed. round with what seems nowadays like
out-of-place horseplay. There is
BOOKS 205
plenty of fun in this book, which is exactly in
the style of Paul de Kock. In my brief analysis I
have puposely [sic] left aside the lively and
comic underplot, confining myself to leading
incidents. But I hope I have been able to prove
that these two volumes are really curious in
every sense of the word, by reason of their
rarity, as well as through the novelty of the
subject treated, while the happy lightness of the
author's style is also to be commended. It is not
possible to convey here how easily he acts up to
the motto he has chosen and paints Madame
Dorvigny's vain struggles against the alternating
influence of her two sexes; her lust, remorse,
jealousy, and grief, but never forgetting to make
us laugh outright whenever he chooses.
206 FORBIDDEN
Lettres de M. de Fronsac, fils du Due
de Richelieu, au Chevalier Dumas, ou
son histoire de quelques mois a la cour
de Russie, publiee par V.R. Barbet. A
Paris, chez Michelet, Imprimeur-
Librare, rue Maonmarte, No. 224,
entre la Cour Mandar et la rue
Ticquetonne. An X—1801.
2 vols. 12mo., of 222pp. and I numbered page for the
"Table," and "Errata;" and 263pp. including
2pp. for the "Table." Frontispiece.
I HAVE before me a stout volume which is
I a library in itself: "Dictionnaire des
Romans anciens et modernes ou methode
pour lire les romans d'apres leur
classement par ordre de matieres. Dedie aux
abbones de tous les cabinets de lecture. Paris,
Marc, et Pigoreau, Libraire pour les Romans
(sic), 1819." 8vo; with a number of yearly
supplements, reaching as far as the year 1828.
This is a curious and naive production, where
all the novels from the beginning of the century
down to the date we have named are classified
in several ways; alpha-
BOOKS 207
betically, by author's names, and even by the
sexes! The supplement dated 1828, contains a
list of lady novel-writers, and worthy old Marc,
who kept a circulating library, has given us two
portraits of charming blue-stockings. Here is
Madame Barthelemy Hadot—who knows her
now?—a masculine, but good-tempered looking
lady, of about fifty years of age, her bust
emerging from what is probably meant for dark
clouds. She wears a tremendous mobcap
decorated with flowers, from which escape
some sausage—like curls, and a high muslin
cravat is swathed round her neck, which is fur-
ther protected by a gigantic ruffle. A belt brings
up her portly bust right under her arms, and the
buckle thereof is a man's face, undoubtedly her
husband's, whoever he was. She seems to have
written over a score of novels, most of them
historical, and nearly all running into four
volumes. She must have been greatly in vogue,
to have her counterfeit presentment engraved,
but what have become of her entrancing stories?
Who remembers "Atelwold et Clara, ou la
Montagne de Fer;" "La Vierge de l'Industan, ou
les Potugais au Malabar;" "Jaques Premier, roi
d'Ecosse, ou les Prisonniers de la Tour de
Londres?"
The other lady-authoress, Madame Adele de
Cueullet, is younger and prettier. She has large
eyes and a longish, pointed nose, with the
pleasant simper, so often seen in miniatures. She
also wears a close cap, but her locks are
agreeably frizzed, and a breezy scarf thrown
round her head and shoulders is clasped to the
breast, in such a manner that we can guess that
delightful Adele was thin—let us say a
fausse
maigre, so as not to be ungallant after all these
years. This portrait must be like her, as it is
signed by the authoress herself, with "pinx" at
the end of her name, if you please, and the
engraver; is Konig. She does not seem to have
written
208 FORBIDDEN
much. There are only three titles to her credit;"
Rose Mulgrave," (4 vols.); "Le Stratageme, ou
le Chateau de Mont-Yvon," (4 vols.); and "Le
Voile, ou Valentine d'Alte," (3 vols.)
The most extraordinary part of this novel
dictionary of novels is where they have been
divided according to their contents. We have
"sentimental novels, and those that are pathetic,
touching and tearful. Histories of convents,
monks and nuns. Adventures, jokes, fun, folly,
and extraordinary incidents. Magic, charms, en-
chantments and necromancy. Phantoms, ghosts,
shades, apparitions, spectres and visions. Novels
of mystery impenetrable secrets, mysteries on
mysteries, and secrets revealed. Black novels,
calamities, assassinations, poisoning,
subterraneans, prisons, caverns, old castles, ab-
ductions, revenge and frightful crimes. Stories
of brigands, coiners, robbers, rascals, banditti,
and swindlers!"
The reader had but to search under these
headings, of which I have given the exact
translations, and he was thus sure to find
something to make his flesh creep.
The category which I have most studied is
here printed under the title of "novels of gaiety,
love and gallantry," and there I find all the
faithful friends who have graced or disgraced
the shelves of my poor little library, to which I
often fled for consolation when the world grew
cold for me; when coqettish [sic] maiden played
me false, did not keep her appointment, and
begged for money to silence an impotunate [sic]
dressmaker; or sometimes when so-called
friends betrayed their trust and repudiated
transactions. All these little accidents will
happen, and then the best refuge is a room-full
[sic] of books; no matter what, as long as they
please you. It is better than flying to drink or
suicide; or going and telling your troubles to
some stranger, who is either utterly
BOOKS 209
indifferent, or very glad to see that you are in
trouble. I once had a friend, who when his wife
eloped sought comfort in an Arabic grammar.
Remember, we are not children, and so I will
toddle back to my childish bibliography, for
who knows? I am perhaps criticising [sic] these
amusing volumes, to divert my mind from
some great sorrow, and there may be a trace of
a tear amid the "copy," relating to the
escapades of the hermaphrodite. Who can tell?
The titles complacently set forth under the
heading I mentioned before I got so mournful
just now, remained in my head as I crept lazily
down the sunny quays, where the boxes of
second-hand books are aligned, and many a
bundle of rubbish have I returned with. But the
uncut copy of "Lettres of M. de Fronsac," was
one of my most pleasant finds. It was so cheap
that I have forgotten the price, but it was not so
advantageous as "The Works of the Earl of
Rochester," (London, 177. 2 vols. 12mo., port.
and fig.) which I got for a franc, near the Rue
du Bac.
The lively letters of M. de Fronsac cropped
up in the second sale of Charles Monselet, and
the gifted bibliophile, in his short note, rightly
threw doubts on their authenticity and went on
to say that this was:
An incredible work. Printed by the father of Miche1et, our
great historian. It is full of curious details on the Russian
court during the emigration, amidst a thousand
debaucheries. The vignette accompanying this volume is
charming.
The character of the fantastical work, which
by the way, although a stained and cut-down
copy, fetched 60 francs, is thus so clearly
shown that I shall have very little to add by way
of criticism, contenting myself by the most racy
parts.
But it strikes me that the printer must have
made a specialty of licentious publications, for
I find another
210 FORBIDDEN
little book of the same kind, entitled: "La Vie et
les Opinions d'un Bijou," Paris, Michelet, an
XII—1804, 2 parts, 18 mo. I once possessed this
rare but worthless work, and if I remember
rightly it was a dull allegorical romance. The
"bijou" was nothing more than the private parts
of a woman, supposed to be telling the story of
its adventures. It will be remembered that
Diderot's "Bijoux Indescrets," translated into
English under the title of "Indiscreet Toys",
turns upon certain facetious incidents where
artificial aids to voluptuous enjoyment, known
in Spanish as
consoladores de goma, play the
principal part.
The hero of the lascivious letters, supposed to
be written by himself, Fronsac, grandson of the
great Richelieu, to a friend in France, is seen in
the pretty frontispiece, where he is in
neglige,
writing at a very tasty Louis XVI table. In the
few copies I have seen of this engraving, which
is by Clavereau, engraved by Bovinet, the table
is blank, and there is no lettering, so I suppose
all are before letters. As I take the epistles to be
entirely apochryphal [sic], it would be waste of
time to resort to biographical dictionaries. I
leave that to such of my readers, who may now
be lucky enough, thanks to my indications, to
put their hands on a copy of this sprightly
compilation. I may also mention that the
libidnous [sic] incidents are sandwiched in
between huge chunks of theology and
philosophy, in the style of the latter half of the
XVIIIth century, and thickly powdered with
mythological allusions and comparisons,
according to the flowery fashion of the
Directory.
Fronsac is the usual young French nobleman
in exile during the Revolutionary epoch, and he
is, although not yet twenty, as fickle as Faublas,
and as villanous [sic] as Valmont. He falls in
love with a married beauty of the court,
Princess Nausicoff, who poses as a virtuous and
BOOKS 211
inaccessible spouse. Fronsac, probably having
nothing better to do than to do chop logic with
his preceptor, the Reverend Father Mandar,
(another historical lay-figure), falls in love with
the haughty beauty, and disguised as a lackey,
under the name of Lepine, lays seige [sic] to her
femme de charge, Elizabeth, who is of course a
very pretty girl. He soon gets into her good
graces and dines with her and her dog, Patau,
described as a "gros chein lion," whatever that
may be, and which is the soubrette's special
favourite. During the repast, in the midst of the
tender
tete-a-tete, he manages to worm out of the
confiding Elizabeth that her proud mistress
often calls her to her bed to enjoy her Lesbian
approaches, and Elizabeth, deft of tongue and
medius, is jealous of her rival, a lusty peasant,
who with his enormous feet, with brushes
buckled to them, waxes and polishes the oak
flooring of the lecherous patrician lady's
palatial dwelling. Elizabeth then confessed and
describes how she has fallen a victim to the
passions of an ugly old courtier, Comte N .... ,
who enchants her by the ravishing manner in
which he provokes her pleasure by the use of his
lips and tongue. Lepine-Fronsac is permitted to
pass the night with her; and to please her, he
treats her like the lecherous old courtier, and
then they settle to sleep.
Four o'clock was striking, as I told you, and I am
awakened by a movement executed with indiscreet
prudence; I feel that my bed-fellow is lifting the coverlet;
then I hear her calling in a whisper: "Patau, my dear Patau!"
The docile Patau, erect on his hind-legs, slips into the bed at
its foot and with sufficient skill takes up the proper position
for his habitual exercise. My pen, more modest than this
saucy Agnes, refuses to retrace the details of the monstruos
[sic] scene. That could only be done by the lyrical trumpet
which was used by the mouth of audacious Voltaire to sing
the sacriligious [sic] love of the evangelical ass with the
virginal Joan of Arc. You guess, chevalier, what my, eves
have seen.
212 FORBIDDEN
It would seem as if Nature found pleasure in seeing herself
so outrageously profaned: the delights of love are
evanescent, its joy is like the lightning; but here the flash
was a fiery trail on which the wheel of time rolled with
affected slowness. What a continuous force of lubricity there
was in Patau! what an inexhaustible source of unnatural
voluptuousness, in which the impure Elisabeth seemed to
amorously lose her senses! Five o'clock struck and the
infamous act was not yet consumated [sic].
Ah! Chevalier, I know I ought to have put an end to this
abominable sacrilege, by transports of the most indignation,
my vengeful hand should have wrought punishment on the
face and bosom of the infamous girl for the alluring charm
which she thus debased by such prostitution. I ought, I know
to have sprung from the bed of the impure creature, and have
implored just but too patient Jehovah to reopen that abyss in
which he buried for the same transgressions, Core, Dathan
and Abiron; but I cannot tell you what magical talisman then
swayed my senses. The electrical action of concupiscence
circulated in my veins, inflamed my blood; guilty desires
made me already the accomplice of this monstrous crime; I
carefully witheld [sic] my fiery breath, so as to seem as if
buried in profound slumber, for Elisabeth, thinking she had
tired me out the night before by the exercise to which I was
unaccustomed, believed that she could safely give way with
Patau to her ordinary diversions. So I feared that if I
destroyed her illusion, her satanical fury that associated me
with the most secret mysteries of the Sabbath, might fade
away.
Soon it seemed as if a hideous gnome had been belched
forth from hell expressly to initiate me in these infamous
mysteries. Yes, I, Yes, I, myself, Chevalier—let this avowel
[sic] be my humiliation! but I am accustomed to hide
nothing from you—I silently covet what Patau neglects, and
which I can see by the flicker of the night-light. I become at
last the comrade of Patau to share of his libertine quarry
what was then within reach of my charity. You know the by
way of Cytherea where it is the fashion among the amiable
rakes of the court and the roues [sic] of the town to call a
halt, as it is the duty of every religious Mussulman to visit at
least once in his life the kaaba of Mecca; Patau master of the
town, and happy therein, cared little or nothing for this
suburb. An obscene instinct led me to it and I felt quite
astonished to find myself established there like the bourgeois
familiar de Seans. (1)
BOOKS 213
Thus this accursed land becomes a terrestrial paradise for
audacious crime, while timid virtue can only find its reward
in ethereal regions. Voluptuousness weaves days of gold and
silk for all the roues [sic] of this sublunary world. Solitude,
sadness and boredom form the earthly portion of innocence;
but the most lascivious prostitution to which the greatest
abandoned whore could give herself up intoxicated Elisabeth
with venereal delight, unknown even to the most lecherous
Olympian divinities. As for me, miserable sinner, never was
I so guilty and never had pleasure proffered me more sensual
enjoyment. The tender abandonment of Elisabeth caused my
brain to wander deliciously; the brutal and tenacious
lubricity of Patau, which I envied like the veriest celestial
favour, caused to flow through all my veins the boiling lava
of a voluptuous pleasure that nature wisely keeps away from
caressing love, so as not to wither and dry up her procreating
virtue: ah! the powerful king of Babylon changed into an ox
and browsing on the grass of the fields presents a picture less
degrading to the dignity of mankind that this grotesque
group of which I was one of the actors.
No, Chevalier, this convulsive crisis is not true felicity. In
the latter case, the feelings of the heart are materially ab-
sorbed, the faculties of the soul have suspended their func-
tions, and our senses are as the vile agents of low bruitality
[sic]. When I fancy I still hear Elisabeth crying out in the
midst of her convulsive delirium: "Ah! my dear Lepine, my
good Patau; ah! my good Lepine, my dear Patau!" my
imagination pictures those women of Juida giving
themselves up indiscriminately to the lascivious ourang-
outang or to the black African whose genius does not rank
beyond the instinct of a monkey."
Fronsac upbraids the bestial creature, but she
conquers him by her tears and he pours out a
last libation on the altar devoted to the dog. He
then returns home and in order to slip in
unawares, goes and wakes up little Suzette, the
chambermaid. He begins to make love to her,
when his father comes to the serving-girl's
room and he just has time to hide himself.
From this place of concealment he is able to
see that his revered parent and the lass are on
the best of terms, and assists
214 FORBIDDEN
at the copulation of the author of his being! He
sits down in mistake on Suzette's oval vase full
of water and betrays his presence. He explains
all to his good father, who in his turn, is kind
enough to explain his intrigue and the .reasons
for committing adultery, as Fronsac's mother
dwells with them, and discusses oninism and
religion with his son and heir.
The end of the adventure is briefly chronicled.
Our hero and Count N .... often meet in the
room of the soubrette, and one night they hide
until they catch her in the embrace of her canine
adorer. A slip-knot is then thrown around
Patau's neck and he is slowly strangled.
Elizabeth faints away, after a fit of rage, and the
next day disappears forever. Fronsac does not
succeed with the Princess, but disguised as an
old beggar he acts as go-between for the
husband in an intrigue that nobleman has with
an actress, and the unscrupulous young libertine
forges notes in the handwriting of the queen of
the footlights, intending them to be shown to the
Princess later on. He then makes the
acquaintance of M. Matheweus, a rich, elderly
philosopher who masquerades as a beggar out of
mere pleasure, and is invited by the eccentric
old gentleman to witness a scene that takes
place at his residence. The actors are a pretty
girl, a young lad and the old amateur-beggar.
In front of the altar of love, the two young
people lay down a couple of large cushions, on
which the sacrifice is to be consummated and of
which Jones and Fatma, (for thus the couple was
called) will be at the same time the priests and
the holocaust.
"Come, my children," said he, as he kissed them both on
the forehead, "we will amuse ourselves with the magic
piano."
The instrument is at once placed in front of his arm-chair.
I think that in no boudoir of Paris or London has anybody
formed the idea of having such a piano. Never did the
spirit
BOOKS 215
of lubricity inspire a libidinous old man with a sweeter aid
for the physical force he lacked in order to consummate the
pleasure of love. We see in "Justine" by what obscene
tortures, violence is often done to nature, to obtain sensations
which she refuses to worn-out organizations. Often does
blood flow beneath the murderous sword and the object of
enjoyment becomes the sanguined martyr to a man rendered
furious by the inertia of his lust. Ah! my friend! what
degradation of the understanding! what shame of our race!
We blush for our manhood, especially, when we think that
many of those whose old age we respect, evoke the faded
image of youth, long since dead, by such blasphemy against
nature and her holy laws. Oh thou, whose imagination still
keeps alight the fire of adolescence beneath the snow of
white hairs, go into the asylum of misfortune, become the
father of the helpless orphan, of the widow in affliction,
then wilt thou know what sweet enjoyment is yet in store
for thee. Instead of being a disgusting and cruel satyr, from
whom all fly with as much fear as aversion; try to make
someone happy and thou wilt not witness tears of gratitude
flow without feeling pleasure. Even thy senses will share
the enjoyment arising from the practice of virtue; the young
girl, whose benefactor thou hast become, will press thee to
her in a caressing embrace against her virginal breast.
Without repugnance her lips will approach the wrinkles of
thy face and voluptuously wilt thou be able to revel in the
perfume of. her breath. But if modem philosophy has used
up your moral affections, if charity, ceasing to be a feeling
of thy intellectual being, must offer thee more material
pleasures, imitate Mathemeus the epicurean: let the
spectacle of a happy couple giving way to the transports of
love in thy presence, reanimate thy benumbed senses and
bring back some sort of warmth to thy vital humours. If at
that moment desires should arise with no sign of
equivocation, remember that old age is always livid, and
offer up in secret, with no other witness than thy shame, the
feeble tribute that thou mayest yet gather up for the God of
Cytherea—in a word, invent a magical piano, following the
example of the sensual Matheweus.
The divine instrument is brought in front of the easy hair.
n must be said that to each note of the keyboard were at-
tached as many elastic cords, which all met together, tied to
a suspensory. This was a piece of the most silky flannel,
that by reason of its different folds formed a cushion worthy
of
216 FORBIDDEN
the load with which it was destined to be voluptuously bur-
bened [sic]. The sexagenarian disciple of Epicure placed
therein the enfeebled remains of the characteristic sign of his
sex. Then he played on the piano a musical accompaniment
which he had composed himself for the ballet that Jones and
Fatma were performing. Each movement of his fingers on
the keyboard, agitated the suspensory by the aid of the
elastic cords, and varied the emotions he sought to arouse
with refined sensuality: the most voluptuous waltz was the
principal dance of the ballet performed by the two young
folks. Their arms, amorously entwined, favoured lascivious
kisses. At one moment Jones would languidly let his head
drop on Fatma's bosom, and then Fatma passed her alabaster
arm round her friend's neck, whilst with the other hand she
frolicked with a prouder and more playful God than the
decrepid [sic] divinity which was imprisoned in the flannel
suspensory by the director of this ballet, verily worthy of
Paphian orgies. Sometimes the two actors turning back to
back caused to play together those round globes on which
the Supreme Artist has placed in both sexes, for one the
temple of generation, and for the other the candelabra of
three lights, which the poets call the hymeal torch.
Ah! my friend, what a ravishing sight was offered to my
gaze; what melodius [sic] sounds intoxicated me! M.
Matheweus, one of the greatest composers in Europe, had
adapted musical harmony to each of the voluptuous
sensations which move us in those pleasures envied by
immortals.
At first, the music dragged its slow sounds along with
sweet carelessness; modulated in such a way that it seemed
as if an echo was repeating the soft murmer [sic] of the
tender kisses that Jones stole from Fatma's mouth, or
received from his caressing sweetheart. When their bodies
swayed hither and thither in voluptuous undulations, these
movements seemed to communicate themselves to the
musician's fingers, and he repeated on the keys of the magic
piano. I seemed to hear the soft shudder of the wave, when
the happy shepherd, (sic) Actaeon, lightly caressed the
ebony moss that masks the pretty charms of the goddess he
has just surprised at her bath. At last, the quavering trills
follow quickly one upon the other to paint what are
passionate transports. What, are those the last sighs of nature
that I hear? Ah! my friend, the magic piano, the intoxication
of the perfumes, the spirituous liquors produced their
BOOKS 217
effect, and the fortunate Matheweus gave a pauper's mite to
the God of Pleasure, warning Jones and Fatma that the
moment for the sacrifice had arrived; and the two young
people falling on the cushions stretched at the foot of the
altar, made the burning sacrifice to love which causes the
God always to smile when youth presents it.
After a learned dissertation by Matheweus,
the old fellow tells him the story of his life and
we see that he has been a martyr to syphilis.
Fronsac now discovers that an old gipsy is in
the habit of playing the hurdy-gurdy under the
windows of a pavilion where the Princess
Nausikoff takes her bath, and she is always
admitted to perform operations that are a kind
of suspicious "massage" and tell the lady's
fortune. Fronsac in disguise takes her place, and
is admitted to the bathroom. The high-born
dame is about to let Fronsac, in the disguise of
an old gipsy, approach his lips to her "black
aureola [sic]," when the husband arrives, and
takes his place, while our hero has to go and
play his discordant instrument in an adjoining
room. But the Prince does not stop long, and
soon after his departure, Fronsac is able to
throw off his rags, and fully enjoy at last the
woman he loves. He shows her the forged
letters and she is consoled by the idea that she
is revenged on a faithless husband. This happy
intercourse lasts three months, when Fronsac
suddenly becomes impotent in the arms of his
mistress, despite her efforts to break the charm.
In despair, he is about to commit suicide, when
Suzette comes to him and in her ambrace [sic]
he finds himself a man again. At that moment, a
young man bursts into the room. It is the
Princess in disguise, who has come to get news
of his health, and he cannot deny the truth of
the disorder in which she has caught him, for as
he says: "the profane incense that I had burnt
upon a strange altar was still smoking, so to
speak, beneath her eyes."
218 FORBIDDEN
Here the book ends abruptly, with the
promise of a sequel, which never appeared.
Without speaking of amorous and lascivious
verses, it would be an agreeable, but malicious
study to try and find out how many great
writers have at some time or other allowed their
talented pens to wander into the forbidden
realms of porographical [sic] literature: pages
simply designed to glorify or arouse the
passions. "Gamiani," is attributed to Alfred de
Musset and Georges Sand, in collaboration;
"Les Tableaux Vivants," and "un Ete a la
Campagne," are by Gustave Droz; "Les
Cousinesde la Colonelle," is credited to Guy de
Maupassant; and Alexander Dumas,
pere, is
supposed to have perpetrated "Le Roman de
Violette." The mysterious publishers who
carryon their sly trade in Brussels and
Amsterdam might tell us of many more, and
even staid dealers in smoky London could if
they listed cause the very walls of Sothbey's
[sic] sober auction rooms to blush with shame.
No one would believe that the great French
historian Michelet had ever sketched out an
obscene novel, although I hasten to declare it
was never published. Only a small fragment of
the father's mantle, had fallen upon the son and
he refused to wear it on his powerful shoulders.
Thanks to the indiscretion of M. Gabriel
Monod, who holds all the papers left by the
departed genius, it is known that Michelet
worked for years on a novel, on and off, which
he had called, "Sylvine."
It is while studying the reign of Louis XV that Michelet
got the idea of "Sylvine." The Duchess du Maine was on the
best of terms with her own brother, grandson of the
conqueror of Rocroi, and in so doing, she was but acting up
to the traditions of the Conde family. Are not princes of a
superior race, above the vulgar laws of human morality? In
the letters
BOOKS 219
exchanged between brother and sister they said pretty
things to each other in this style:
'That which is among mortals is real effrontery,
With us demi-gods is homest [sic] gallantry.'
On both sides there were accredited poets to fashion such
charming verses. Naturally they were Abbes: Chaulieu for
the duke de Bourbon, and Genest for the Duchess du
Maine. To vary her pleasures, the queen of Sceaux, as she
was called, did not content herself with only asking the
members of the clergy to write poetry for her. She tasted the
rare voluptuousness of sacreligious [sic] amours and
became satanical like many another woman. After her
brother, she made no one so happy as the handsome
Cardinal de Polignac,
In the midst of such a court Michelet proposed to make
his little Sylvine live, lady's maid to some great dame. His
subject was treated in the most scabrous limits. Step by step
the soubrette mounts in her mistress's favour. Their
connection becomes such that only the pen of a Catulle
Mendes could picture it. Then came the natural end of such
things: Sylvine was repulsed, and driven far away from the
woman who had so loved her.
At this juncture the author hesitated. What should be the
denouement? He had imagined two. At first, Sylvine died
abandoned by all. Then, she re-entered the social ranks,
purified herself, and got married.
But one day, in 1861, Michelet gave up the idea of his
"Sylvine." It appears there is a note to that effect in his
diary. 'My sentimental life has been sufficiently occupied
by the love I bear my wife; my intellectual existence has
been absorbed enough by history. It is really not worth
while for me to break my head over a novel.' (1)
This sneer put an end to his thoughts of
romance, and so the famous historian seems as
if he classed novels very low down in the ranks
of literature.
220 FORBIDDEN
The Double Life of Cuthbert Cocker-
ton, Esq., Attorney-at-Law of the
City of London. His history and that
of his daughter and some curious
anecdotes of other ladies and their
lovers, from the original MS. dates
1798, now published for the first
time. Haarlem, (Rotterdam) in the
year of our Lord: MDCCCXCV.
(1899) Price: Four guineas, net.
12mo., 447 pp. 250 copies issued, of which a few on China
paper.
IT would be difficult, if not impossible, to
find a filthier or more obscene work than
'The Double Life. ' Written with the
avowed object of counteracting the
influence of the Marquis de Sade's works, these
'Memoirs' are even more lewd, immoral and
debauched than anything that that famous man
and mental monster ever penned.
Perfectly correct in style, they are incorrigibly
wrong in sentiment. No book, we dare affirm, in
the world, contains in the same space so much
concentrated lis-
BOOKS 221
centiousness. In fact, beside the terrible, cold-
blooded ferociousness of Cuthbert Cockerton's
'Double Life' the pages of old-world
pornography shrink into Sunday-school text
books.
One would be tempted charitably to take
them for the uncontrolled observations of a
debauchee's nightmare, a species of lewd
madman's dilirium [sic] tremens, were not the
whole recounted with so much sincerity and
detail.
Happily no more than Two Hundred and Fifty
Copies have been done, and the amateur who
pays the heavy price will very well know what
sort of book he is buying.
I think that the unblushing impudence of the
above extract from the prospectus that heralded
the publication of "The Double Life," has never
been equalled [sic], and the wily Dutchman
who circulated it among his customers had
evidently gauged the extent of their literary
needs, as the thick volume found a ready sale,
and is now, if not entirely sold out, very rare
and difficult to find, even in the back-shops of
the most desperate vendors of forbidden
volumes. Unfortunately, I am forced to confess
that the above highly-coloured description is
perfectly true, and I am sure no more
liscentious [sic] work ever made a compositor
blush, or the "gentle reader" rub his eyes and
ask himself if he be dreaming or not, as he
peruses what is nothing more than a mass of
extraordinary filth. It is, to sum up, the most
unbridled concoction I have ever seen.
And yet it is but an adaptation of a very rare
French work, by Retif de la Bretonne, "L' Anti-
Justine," of which only one copy is known to
be in existence, and that is only an unfinished
set of proofs. It belongs under the Second
Empire to an eccentric Englishman, named
Hankey, who lived in Paris, and who was the
prowed [sic] possessor of one of the finest
collection of French
222 FORBIDDEN
erotic books that has ever been known. He had
some fine pieces of sculpture too, of the same
free style. One, by Epinay, representing to
Lesbian ladies in the closest conversation, he
had reproduced, and even now copies of it
occasionally crop up. Hankey lent his copy of
"L' Anti-Justine," to a bookseller in Belgium,
circa 1865, and several editions have since been
issued.
The translator of "The Double Life," seems to
have revelled [sic] in his ticklish task, for not
content with carefully adapting the story to
London manners and customs of the XVIIth
century, he has elaborated and intensified the
original text, forming a strange mixture of Gallic
refined tricks and inventions of obscenity with
the plainest and bolest [sic] English. But even
the "slim" bookseller of the Boompjes has
stopped short of a deliberate rendering of a most
blasphemous prayer, which the heroine—who
revels in incest and prostitution—addresses to
the "Holy and pretty Virgin Mary," for he has
freely interspersed the vile appeal with lines of
points.
There exists a set of 38 plates to illustrate this
book, and they are as obscene as they are badly
drawn and engraved.
BOOKS 223
Lives of Fair and Gallant Ladies by
the Siegneur de Brantome. Trans-
lated from the original by A. R.
Allinson, M. A. Paris, Charles Car-
rington, 13, faubourg Montmartre.
MCMI. Rights of reproduction re-
served.
2 vols. crown 8vo., xliv (Historical Note, by H. Vigneau,
Dedication, and Table of Contents) and 379 pp., for vol. I,
and xxvi-464 pp. for vol. II. Frontispiece and 50
illustrations, hors texte, by Lambrecht, coloured by hand.
Issue: 750 copies, numbered, on antique deckle-edged paper
and 500 unnumbered on Indian paper.
TRULY lordly book, neatly bound,
while each picture is accompanied by a
protecting piece of tissue paper, printed
with the text and number of the page,
where the incident depicted occurs. They are
only free in the puritanical sense, and far from
being obscene.
"La Vie des Dames Galantes," is a French
classic, and what made me muse and wonder
was when I found that this masterpiece of the
witty and sensual courtier of the XVIth century
in France had never been translated into
English before. But it is never too late, and
224 FORBIDDEN
to tell the truth the version is right royally got up.
It is well and clearly printed in Elzevirian type,
with divisions, or
mancnettes in Gothic; a style
and character of this great work. The same may
be said of the numerous charming plates, which
are conceived by the colouring and drawing in
true renaissance style, every detail of costume
being rigorously correct.
The work in itself is a perfect mine of gossip,
love tricks and amorous adventure, proving that
human nature is ever similar, and I do not doubt
that had there lived such an indiscreet, merry
observant cavalier at the court of Charles II, his
talk would have been much about the same. For
prudential reasons, I think it will be better not to
mention anything about Court manners and
customs in Europe at the present day, for are we
not entirely virtuous in these times of forced
education and cheap bibles? Of morganatic
marriages much might be said by carping critics,
who with radical and republican tendencies still
wish to spoil sport, and declare that rulers and
monarchs should set the example of virtue to
their faithful subjects. These are matters beyond
the ken of a simple bibliophile and I beg most re-
spectfully to inform the crowned heads of
Europe that they may lie easy as far as I am
concerned, and I hasten to admit that dear
Brantome was a gossipping [sic], scandal-
mongering hanger-on at court and saw evil lust
whereever [sic] he went. Nowadays there are no
cockolds [sic], with eyes open or shut, according
as it best serves their purpose, and when young
women put their trust in princes it is never
betrayed. There never was a noble lady who
trifled with her own sex; nor jealous wives who
caused the death of their husbands in various
ways; nor husbands who also put away their
better halves in all sorts of styles. Of such courtly
intrigues merrily chats Brantome, and as we
read, we see the naughty warriors,
BOOKS 225
kings, princes, and pages, dancing their sweet
saraband of elegant lusts, with maid, wife, or
widow. But they are all high-born dames!
As a change from personal adventures and
the loves and trickery of the anointed monarchs
and their favourites, which forms the "first
discourse," there is a second, all about the sense
of touch, power of speech, and sight in love,
which is very free, and very wonderful. He also
discourses at length on the defects, deformities,
and caprices of women, and cooly [sic]
describes the different kind of private parts of
the ladies of high degree he loves to babble
about.
I am glad to see that the English nation is not
responsible for having originated that
reprehensible practice of aphrodisiacal
flagellation, as my merry gossip plainly
demonstrates that it was well known at the
French court in his time.
I have heard speak of a noble lady of the great world, nay!
one of the very noblest of the land, who not content with her
natural lulbricity [sic], for in truth she was a desperate
harlot, had been married. and was now widowed, and was a
very handsome woman to boot, the better to excite and
provoke her passions, would have her ladies, wives and
maids alike, the fairest of them to wit, stripped naked, and
did take much naughty pleasure in gazing at them. Then
would she strike them with the flat of her hand on their
backsides with loud smacks and spankings, and good sound
knocks, and girls which had committed some delinquency
with good birch-rods. Then was contentment great to see
them wriggle, and all the motions and twistings and turnings
of their bodies and bottoms, the which they did exhibit
according to the blows they got, and which were right
curious and diverting.
At other times, without stripping them, she would have
their petticoats tucked up as they were (for in those days
they wore no drawers), and would slap and whip them on
the buttocks, according to the offence they had done her, or
just merely to make them laugh, or cry. And by dint of
looking at these parts and studying them, she was used so to
sharpen her appetites
226 FORBIDDEN
that afterward she would of times away and satisfy them in
good earnest with some good, strong, robust gallant.
What a woman! Nay! 'tis actually said that one day
seeing from the window of her castle, which did look onto
the street, a big cobbler gifted with extraordinary
proportions, pissing against the wall of the said castle, she
did ardently desire so fine and big an article. So, fearful of
losing the enjoyment of her wishes, she did charge him by
the mouth of a page to seek her in a secret wall, of the park,
whither she had withdrawn, and there did give herself to
him in such wise as to get with child by the fellow. This is
what the gift of sight did for this lady!
Nay! more, I have heard say that, beside the women and
girls that were regularly of her suite, such stranger ladies as
did come to visit her were in two or three days, or
sometimes every time they did come thither, quickly broken
in to this same game, making her own women first show the
way and tread the road first, then the others after. Whereat
some were sore astonished to see this kind of sport, other
not. Truly a merry pastime this and an agreeable!
I have heard speak likewise of a great nobleman which
did find pleasure in gazing at his wife so exposed, whether
stripped naked or dressed, and cuffing and slapping her, and
watching her move her body to and fro under the blows.
I have heard yet another story of an honorable lady who
when a girl was whipped by her mother twice every day,
not that she had done aught wrong, but because, as she
supposed, her mother did find a pleasure in seeing her so
wriggle her posteriors and the rest of her body, to the end
she might win better appetite for another sort of enjoyment.
And the nearer she did approach the age of fourteen, the
more did her mother persist herein and the more violent did
she become, in such wise that the oftener she did come a
nigh her, the more eagerly would she gaze upon her.
I have heard even a worse thing of a great Lord and
Prince, more than eighty years agone, how that before to
cohabit with his wife, he was used to have himself whipped,
not being able to be moved nor to lift his drooping engine
without this ridiculous remedy. I should greatly like some
competent physician to tell me the reason hereof.
That great and distinguished author, Pico della Mirandola,
doth declare himself to have seen a gallant of his day, who
BOOKS 227
the more he was thrashed with heavy blows of a stirrup-lea
ther, the more was he thereby fierce after women. Never was
he so valiant with them as after he had been so leatherd
[sic], though when it was once well done, he was as fierce as
any man. Truly here be some strange and terrible caprices!
At any rate to see others whipped is a more agreeable sort of
humour than this last!
From the above extract-and I regret that my
stem publisher will not allow me to make any
more-it will be seen that the translation of the
old French of the epoch has been rendered into
good and scholarly Anglo-Saxon, and that there
is no fatigue in reading it, for even the least
experienced, who may be only seeking some
light literature to while away an idle hour. In
fact, the various "omnivorous" reader, so
severly [sic] criticised [sic] by Lord Roseberry,
will be as much amused over Brantome' s [sic]
revelations of the polite society of his day as the
student who is able, if need be, to peruse old
black-letter as easily as the daily newspaper.
Brantome's [sic] chronicles are a Court Bible of
wit and malice, and there is not a yawn in all he
so quaintly describes, whether it be of men or
women that he weaves his story-telling web.
THE END