The Misfortunes of Virtue and Other Early Tales (Oxford World's Classics)
David Coward
Language: English
Pages: 336
ISBN: 019954042X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The name of the Marquis de Sade is synonymous with the blackest corners of the human soul, a byword for all that is most foul in human conduct. In his bleak, claustrophobic universe, there is no God, no human affection, and no hope. This selection of his early writings, some making their first appearance in English in this new translation by David Coward, reveals the full range of Sade's sobering moods and considerable talents. This is a fully annotated edition including an introduction, a biographical study, and a history of the censorship of these writings.
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are married! And would you be a member of the Antler Club by any chance? I’d be obliged to know.’ ‘Did I not say that husband and cuckold are synonyms? The moral depravity of modern manners, the taste for luxury,* so many stumbling-blocks to make a woman trip and fall.’ ‘That, sir, is true, very true indeed.’ ‘You speak like a man well versed in these matters.’ ‘Not I, sir. But I take it then that it is a very pretty woman who consoles you for the absence of a neglected wife?’ ‘You are quite
enduring agonies from my wounds which still bled, stricken by the grief of my thoughts and the sorrows of my heart, I spent the cruellest night that can be imagined. The resilience of my youth and my constitution both gave me a little strength as the new day dawned and, filled with dread by the proximity of that cruel chateau, I made off promptly, left the forest and, resolving to strike out at random for the first dwellings which I should meet with, entered the little town of Claye,* some six
acceptable potage, a piece of boiled meat, a dish of vegetables, sometimes a little fruit, and a bottle of wine which we share. Punctually each day, winter and summer, the Regent calls on us at five o’clock. It is then that he hears the Doyenne who informs on her companions. The only complaints she is authorized to make concern the behaviour of the girls in her chamber: whether any words of ill humour or sedition have been spoken; whether all rose at the appointed time; whether face and hair were
morning we went on our way again, still heading in the same direction. At about four o’clock in the afternoon, we reached the foot of the mountains. Our way now becoming virtually impassable, Dalville ordered the stable-boy to stay close by me for fear of accidents and we picked our way through the gorges. Constantly turning and climbing, we made no more than four leagues, by which time we had left all human habitation and frequented roads so far behind us that I believed I had got to the end of
my conscience.’* ‘That may be,’ said I, ‘but pray allow me to dwell a moment on the philosophical principles you have invoked. By what right do you insist that my conscience should be as firm as yours, for mine has not been accustomed from childhood to overcome the same scruples as you have? On what grounds do you say that my mind, which does not work like yours, can adapt to your way of thinking? You admit that there is a finite quantity of good and evil in Nature and that it follows therefore