Madame de Lorsange, I say, as soon as she saw her young guest a little more at ease, a little consoled by the caresses and attentions lavished on her and the interest taken in her, induced her to describe in some detail the events which had brought such an honest and sensible-looking creature into such disastrous circumstances.
‘To tell you the story of my life, Madame,’ said the beautiful unfortunate, addressing the Comtesse, ‘is to offer you the most striking example of the misfortunes of innocence. It would be to accuse providence to complain of it – it would be a sort of crime, and I dare not do it…’
Tears flowed abundantly from the eyes of the poor girl. But, having given way to her emotions for a few moments, she regained control of herself and commenced her narrative in these terms.
You will permit me to conceal my name and birth, Madame; without being illustrious it is honourable, nor was I originally destined to the humiliation to which you now see me reduced. I lost my parents while quite young, and thought that, with the little money they left me, I could wait for satisfactory employment. I refused many offers of work because of their dubious nature. And so, without perceiving it, I exhausted my small capital in Paris – where I was born. The poorer I became, the more I found myself despised; the greater my need of assistance, the less did I expect to obtain any. But of all the trials I experienced during the early days of my unhappy situation, of all the horrible proposals made to me, I shall only tell you of the events which befell me at the home of Monsieur Dubourg, one of the wealthiest landlords in the capital. I was sent to him by the woman who kept the boarding-house where I was lodging, and she recommended him as a gentleman whose good name and riches could the most surely alleviate the rigours of my condition. After waiting a very long time in the ante-room of Monsieur Dubourg, I was at last introduced to him. This odd-looking creature, about forty-eight years old, had just got out of bed. He was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown which scarcely hid his disorder; and, when I entered, his servants were dressing his hair. He dismissed them immediately and asked me what I wished for.
‘Alas! sir,’ I replied, very much confused, ‘I am a poor orphan, and despite the fact that I’m not yet fourteen years of age, I am already acquainted with every shade of adversity. I come to beg your pity, to implore your compassion…’
And so I related to him every detail in the story of my misfortunes, the difficulty I had experienced in finding work, and the shame I felt about accepting any, especially as I had not been born into such a lowly position. I told him how my money had slowly gone, how I could not find employment, and how I hoped he would be able to offer me a means of livelihood. To be brief, I unburdened myself with all the eloquence dictated by misfortune; an eloquence which rises quickly in a simple and sensitive soul – yet one which is abhorrent to the mind of the opulent…
Monsieur Dubourg listened to me, indulging in many distractions the while. He then asked me if I had always been good.
‘I should neither be so poor nor so embarrassed, sir,’ I replied, ‘did I wish to cease being so.’
‘But,’ exclaimed Monsieur Dubourg, ‘by what right do you claim that the wealthy should assist you, while you refuse to be of service to them?’
‘Of what service do you pretend to speak, sir?’ I enquired, informing him that I desired nothing better than a chance to render those which decency and my age permitted.
He answered me at some length: ‘The services of a child like you are but little use for domestic purposes; you are neither old enough nor even strong enough for such a position as you wish. You had far better occupy yourself in pleasing men, and in trying to find some fellow who will consent to take care of you. All this virtue of which you make such a fuss is worthless in the world; you may bow continually at the foot of its altars, yet its vain incense will never feed you. What pleases men least, what they hold in the least esteem, and what they despise above all else, is the so-called wisdom of your sex. Here, in this world, my child, we value only what brings us profit or delight – and of what profit is a woman’s virtue to us? Her caprices and her disorders serve us and amuse us, but her chastity never interests us in the slightest. In other words, when men like us grant a request, it is always in the hope of receiving something in return. And how can a little girl like you repay what is done for her, unless she abandons herself completely to us, allowing us all that we may desire of her person?’
‘Oh, sir!’ I replied, my heart grown heavy with sighs, ‘have honesty and benevolence altogether disappeared from the intentions of men?’
‘Very nearly,’ replied Dubourg; ‘people talk about them a great deal, yet why would you have things so? Don’t you realise that people have recovered from the mania of obliging gratis? – they have discovered that the pleasures of chastity are but the enjoyments of pride; and, as nothing is so rapidly dispersed, have come to prefer more genuine sensations. They realise, for example, that with a child like you, it is infinitely more profitable to reap, as the fruit of their monetary advances, all those pleasures offered by the refinements of lust, rather than the very chilly and unsatisfying ones of handing out alms for nothing. The knowledge of his reputation, enjoyed by a liberal, open-handed, and generous man, never equals in pleasure – even at the instant he enjoys such actions most intensely – the slightest delights of the senses.’
‘Oh, sir! When mankind is ruled by principles such as these, there can be nothing left for the unfortunate except to perish!’
‘What matter? The population of France is much greater than is necessary; providing its machine always has the same elasticity, what does it matter to the State whether its body is composed of a few more or a few less individuals?’
‘But do you believe that children can respect their fathers or their elders when they are ill-treated by them?’
‘What does it matter to a father whether the children who trouble him love him or not?’
‘It would, then, have been far better had we been smothered in our cradles!’
‘Certainly! – Such was once the custom in many countries; amongst the Greeks for instance; and such is the custom of the Chinese: in that country unfortunate children are exposed, or put to death. What is the good of letting such creatures live when they cannot rely on the assistance of their parents – either because these happen to be dead, or because they disclaim their offspring? If such children are allowed to live they only serve to overburden the State by increasing a population which is already too great. Bastards, orphans and deformed children should be condemned to death at birth; the first two classes because they no longer have anyone to watch over them and care for them – and because a childhood endured under such conditions may one day make them dangerous to society; the others because deformed weaklings can be of no use to society. All children coming within these categories are to society what excrescences become to the flesh: they nourish themselves on the sap of the healthy members, and at the same time weaken them causing them to degenerate. They might be compared with those parasitic plants and vegetables which, attaching themselves to healthy growths, completely spoil these by drawing off their nutritious essence. The funds collected to feed such scum are crying abuses; particularly those richly endowed establishments which are built for such creatures, and at such an expense! As if the human species was so exceedingly rare, so infinitely precious, that it becomes necessary to consider the welfare of its lowest segment! But let us leave the discussion of these policies of which you cannot, my child, comprehend a thing; and as for yourself, why complain of your predicament when the remedy lies within yourself?’
‘At
