The Président， who that night lay with Adelaide， his daughter， having sported with her until he felt asleep about to claim him， had therewith relegated her to the pallet beside his bed in order that Fanchon might have her place， for he was ever eager to have the old duenna by his side when lust awoke him， which occurred almost every night； toward three in the morning， he opened his eyes with a start and fell to swearing and blaspheming like the true rascal he was. He would at such times be gripped by a lubric furor which now and again became dangerous. That is why he was so fond of having that trusty old Fanchon near him， for no one was so skillful at calming him， whether by offering herself or by immediately bringing him one of the objects lying in his bedchamber.
On that particular night， the Président， instantly recollecting some infamies he had perpetrated upon his daughter just before falling asleep， called for her at once with the intention of repeating them； but she was not there. Imagine the consternation and the commotion created by such an incident. Curval springs from bed in a towering rage， asks where his daughter is； candles are lit， everyone hunts about， the place is ransacked， nothing’s to be found； the last place searched is the girls’ apartments. Every bed is examined， and at last the interesting Adelaide is discovered seated in her nightgown near Sophie’s cot. Those two charming girls， united by their similarly tender natures， their piety， virtuous sentiments， candor， and absolutely identical amenity， had been seized by the most beautiful affection for each other and they were exchanging comforting words， consoling one another for the dreadful fate that had been reserved for them. No one had perceived their commerce until then， but what followed proved that this was not the first time they had got together， and it was discovered as well that the elder of the was cultivating the other’s finer sentiments， and had especially pleaded with her not to stray from her religion and her duties toward God， Who would one day comfort and console them for all their woes. I leave it to the reader to picture Curval’s fury and stormy reaction when he located the lovely missionary； he seized her by the hair and， overwhelming her with invectives， all very harsh， dragged her to his chamber， where he tied her to his bedpost and left her until the next morning to ponder over her indiscretion. All of the friends having rushed to the scene， it will also be readily imagined with what haste and decision Curval had the two delinquents’ names written down in the register. The Duc argued passionately in favor of instantaneous correction， and what he proposed was not by any means mild； but the Bishop having countered with a very reasonable objection to what his brother was urged to do， Durcet was content simply to include them on the agenda. There was no way of attacking the duennas； they were all four bedded in Messieurs’ chambers that night. This fact accounted for the imperfect administration of the household， and arrangements were made whereby， in future， there would always be at least one duenna in the girls’ quarters and another in the boys’. Their lordships retired to bed again， and Curval， whom anger had rendered more than cruelly impudicious， did things to his daughter we cannot yet describe， but which， by precipitating his discharge， at least put him quietly to sleep. All the hens in the chicken coop had been so terrified that， on the morrow， no misbehavior was discovered， and amongst the boys， only Narcisse， whom， the evening before， Curval had forbidden to wipe his ass， wishing to have it nicely beshitted at coffee， which this child was scheduled to serve， and who had unfortunately forgot his instructions， only Narcisse， I say， had cleaned his anus and he had done so with extreme care. It was in vain the little chap explained that his mistake could be repaired， since， said he， he wanted to shit there and then； he was told to keep what he had， and that he would be none the less inscribed in the fatal book； which inscriptions the redoubtable Durcet instantly performed before his eyes， thus to make him sense all the enormity of his fault， a veritable sin and possibly by itself capable of upsetting or， who knows？ of preventing Monsieur le Président’s discharge. Constance， whom they did not hinder because of her state， Desgranges， and Bum-Cleaver were the only ones who were granted chapel permission； everyone else received the order not to draw the cork until the evening toasts. The preceding night’s events provided the dinner’s conversation； they made game of the Président for permitting the bird to fly from its cage， etc.； some champagne restored his gay spirits， and the company sallied forth to coffee. Narcisse， Céladon， and Zelmire distributed it， so did Sophie， who was greatly ashamed of herself； she was asked how often the thing had happened， she replied that it had occurred only twice， and that Madame de Durcet gave her such good counsel that indeed she thought it most unjust to punish them both for it. The Président assured her that what she called good counsel was， in her situation， the very worst， that the devotion wherewith Madame de Durcet had been filling her head would serve no purpose save to get her punished every day， and that， in her present circumstances， she was to have no masters and no gods save his three confreres and himself， no religion save that of blindly serving and obeying them in everything. And， all the while he was delivering this sermon， he had her kneel between his legs and bade her suck his prick， which the poor little thing did all atremble. As always partisan to thigh-fuckery， the Duc， obliged as he was to abstain from the capital practice， impaled Zelmire in this style， meanwhile having the little girl shit in his cupped hand and gobbling it up as quickly as it was received， and all that while Durcet was inducing Céladon to discharge into his mouth， and the Bishop was industriously extracting a turd from Narcisse. A few minutes， no more， were set aside for the nap that they found such an aid to digestion； then， having taken up their posts in the auditorium， Duclos faced the gathering and began the day’s narrative. The gallant octogenarian Fournier had in mind for me， Messieurs， was an official from the auditing bureau， short， pudgy， and with an extremely unpleasant face. He set a pot between us， we squatted down back to back and shitted simultaneously； he seizes up the pot， with his fingers stirs the two turds， mixes them， swallows the batter while I promote his discharge， an eruption which takes place in my mouth. He barely even glanced at my behind. Nor did he do any kissing， but his ecstasy was very sharp and compelling all the same： he pranced all about the room， swearing while he gulped and ejaculated， and then took himself off， giving me four louis for this strange ceremony. However， my landowner became more fond of me with each passing day， and more trusting too， and this trust， which I lost no time in abusing， soon became the cause of our eternal separation. . . . One day when he had left me alone in his library， I noticed that， before going out for the day， he had filled his purse with money taken from a deep drawer entirely filled with gold. “Ah， what a capture！” I said to myself， and having from that very instant conceived the idea of making off with this sum， I set to watching for the means and opportunity whereby to appropriate it： d’Aucourt never locked the drawer， but he carried with him the key to his library， and having discovered that this door and lock were both very frail， I fancied it would take little effort to break the one and the other. Having adopted the plan， I concentrated upon nothing but taking advantage of the first time d’Aucourt was absent the entire day； that used to be the case twice a week， when he went off for private bacchanals in the company of Desprès and the abbot； Madame Desgranges will perhaps describe what occurred during these outings， they lie beyond my province. The favorable moment was soon at hand； d’Aucourt’s valets， as libertine as their master， never failed to go with him to these parties， and so I found myself almost alone in the house. Full of impatience to put my project into execution， I go straightway to the door of the library， break the thin panel with a blow of my fist， rush to the drawer， find it unlocked as I knew it would be. I remove everything it contains； my prize amounts to not less than three thousand louis. I fill my pockets， rifle other drawers； a splendid jewel case catches my eye， I pick it up， but what was I not to find in the other drawers of that bountiful secretary！ . . . Fortunate d’Aucourt！ What great good luck for you that your imprudence was not discovered by anyone else but me； the secretary contained enought to have had him broken on the wheel， Messieurs， that is all I can tell you. Quite apart from the transparent and expressive notes addressed to him by Desprès and the abbot pertaining to their secret commerce， there was every kind of furniture needed for the performing of those infamies. . . . But I halt myself here； the boundaries you have prescribed to my depositions prevent me from saying more； Desgranges will treat the whole matter. As for myself， the theft once effected， I left at once， shuddering to think of all the dangers I had perhaps been exposing myself to by frequenting the company of such scoundrels. I crossed over to London and， as my sojourn in that city， where for six months I dwelt in the most comfortable style， offers nothing that could be of any outstanding interest to your Lordships， you will permit me to pass quickly over this part of my story. I had maintained contact with no one in Paris but Fournier； however， she advised me of the hue and cry the landowner had raised over this paltry little robbery， and I finally resolved to put an end to this blathering： I took up pen and paper and very coolly informed him that she who had happened upon his money had also discovered other things， and that if he were determined to continue to search for the culprit， I would as bravely as possible endure my fate and very certainly depose， with the same judge who would question me upon what I had done with the contents of the small drawers， a detailed statement of what I had found in the larger ones. Our man fell as silent as a tomb； and as six months later their three-partied debauchery came broadly to light and as they themselves left France for security abroad， I returned to Paris and， must I avow my misbehavior？ I returned， Messieurs， as poor as I had been before dispossessing d’Aucourt， and such were my straits I was obliged to put myself back in Madame Fournier’s safekeeping. As I was no more than twenty-three at the time， I did not want for adventures； I am going to ignore those exterior to my domain and recount， with your Lordships’ indulgent permission， only the ones wherein I know now that you take some interest. A week after my return， a barrel brimming with shit was placed in the chamber appointed for pleasures. My Adonis arrives； he proves to be a saintly ecclesiastic， but one so habituated to those pleasures， so blasé， that he was no longer capable of being stirred save by the excesses I shall describe. I was naked when he entered. For a moment he regards my buttocks， then， after having fingered them rather brutally， he tells me to undress him and help him get into the barrel. I remove his garments， aid him to climb in， the old pig slides down into his element； a hole has been specially bored for the purpose and， fifteen seconds after having immersed himself， his prick， almost stiff， pops through the aperture； he orders me to frig it， covered as it is with filth and horrors. I do as I am told， he ducks his head down into the shit， splashes in shit， swallows shit， shouts， discharges， and， clambering out， trots off to immerse himself in a bath， where I leave him in the hands of two house servants who spend a quarter of an hour scrubbing him clean. Another one appeared shortly afterward. I had shitted and pissed into a pot a week before and had carefully preserved the mixture； this period was necessary before matters reached the stage our latest libertine desired. He was a man of thirty-five， and my guess was that he was connected with finance. Upon entering he asked where the pot was； I handed it to him， he sniffed it experimentally. “You’re perfectly certain that was done a week ago？” he asked. “Monsieur，” I replied， “I am prepared to answer for its age； you will notice the first signs of mildew there， some moldiness near the edge.” “Why， indeed， it looks as if it will do very nicely，” he agreed， “it’s the mold I adore， you know. Never too moldy to suit me. Show me， if you please，” he continued， “the pretty ass that shitted what we have here.” I presented it. “That’s it，” said he， “put it right there opposite me so that I can see it while eating its creation.” We arrange ourselves， he samples a little tidbit， is thrilled by the taste， plunges directly ahead， and in no time has devoured that exquisite lunch， only interrupting his chewing to scan my bum； but there was no other episode， he did not even draw his prick from his breeches. A month passed， another unusual fellow came to our door， and this one would deal with none but Fournier herself. What an object he selected， Great God！ she had been sixty-eight summers， an erysipelas was eating every inch of her hide， and the eight rotten teeth decorating her mouth communicated so fetid an odor it was all but impossible to speak with her at a distance of under five yards； but it was these shortcomings and nothing else that enchanted the lover with whom she was to take a tumble. Most eager to observe the contest， I run to the spy hole： the Adonis was an elderly doctor， but younger nevertheless than she. He takes her in his arms， kisses her mouth for a good fifteen minutes， then， having her present an ancient， wrinkled ass such as you see on a very old cow， he kisses and sucks it avidly. A syringe is brought in， three half bottles of liqueur too； Aesculapius’ worshiper loads his syringe and pumps the healing drink into the entrails of his Iris； she receives the potion， holds it， the doctor does not cease kissing her， he licks every square of her body. “Ah， my friend，” the old lady cries at last， “I can contain myself no longer， not another second， prepare yourself， dear friend， I’m going to have to give it back.” Salerno’s scholar kneels， from his fly pulls forth a dark， wrinkled stub of a device， which he pounds and coaxes with emphasis， Fournier settles her great ugly ass upon his mouth， pushes， the doctor imbibes， a turd or two doubtless emerge with the liquid， he gasps but it all goes down， the libertine discharges and falls backward， dead drunk. ’Twas thus this debauchee satisfied two passions at a single stroke： his wine bibbery and his lewdness. “One moment，” said Durcet. “Those excesses always give me an erection. Desgranges，” he pursued， “I fancy you possess an ass closely resembling the one Duclos has just figured； come apply it to my face.” The old procuress obeyed. “Let it go， release it，” Durcet said in a muffled voice， for he was speaking from between that pair of awe-inspiring buttocks. “Give it to me， buggress， never mind if it’s not liquid， I am perfectly able to chew， and I always swallow whatever comes my way.” And the operation was concluded while the Bishop was performing a similar one with Antinoüs， Curval with Fanchon， and the Duc with Louison. But our four athletes， fully acquainted with all these extravagances and totally at their ease while committing them， performed with absolute effortlessness and even nonchalance： the four deposits were consumed without a single drop of fuck being shed in any quarter. “Well， on with your story， Duclos， finish up for the day，” the Duc said； “if we are no more tranquil than before， we are at least less impatient and better able to pay attention.” “Alas， Messieurs，” our heroine answered， “I fear that the anecdote I have still to relate this evening is far too simple， too mild for the state you are in. ’Tis a pity， but no matter； its turn has come， it must keep its place.” And she continued as follows： The hero of the adventure was an old brigadier in the King’s army； he had to be stripped to the skin， then swaddled like an infant； when he was thus prepared， I had to shit while he looked on， bring him the plate and， with the tips of my fingers， feed him my turd as if it were pap. Everything is done according to prescription， our libertine swallows it all and discharges in his swaddling clothes， the while simulating a baby’s cry. “Let us then have recourse to children，” said the Duc， “since you leave us with a children’s story； Fanny， my dear，” he continued， “come to your old friend and shit in his mouth， and remember to suck his prick while you are about it， for it seems to have to discharge again.” “Let thy will be done，” murmured the Bishop. “Come hither， Rosette； you have heard the orders given to Fanny. Then do as she.” “May the same orders apply to you，” Durcet said to Hébé， who responded to his call. “When in Rome，” said the wise Curval， “do as the Romans do， my little one. Augustine， emulate your companions， cause simultaneously to flow both my fuck into your mouth and your shit into mine.” And all these things were done； upon this occasion， all those worthies came； from everywhere the sounds of farting and falling shit were to be heard， discharges too， and， much lust sated， they betook themselves to the table， their appetite was passing strong. But at the orgies， refinements were employed， the little ones were sent off to bed. Those delicious hours were spent with none but the elite fuckers， the four ladies-in-waiting， the four storytellers. Messieurs became completely drunk and performed horrors of such absolute filthiness that I should not be able to describe them without doing an injustice to the less libertine tableaux I have yet to offer my readers. Curval and Durcet were carried away unconscious， but the Duc and the Bishop， quite as cool as if nothing had happened， were perfectly able to pass the rest of the night indulging in their ordinary riot.
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