Memoirs of a young Rakehell

CHAPTER SIX

Wearing slippers, I threaded my way as quietly as possible along the narrow corridor until I reached the wooden partition. I soon found the most likely spot from which to eavesdrop. The Capuchin had arranged things so that the person confessing was alone in the oratory, while those waiting their turn remained in the chapel.

It was therefore unnecessary for anyone to speak in a whisper, and the conversation was quite distinct. I surmised by the voice that a peasant was presently in the confessional.

The confession must have been already well along, for the Capuchin was saying:

The Confessor. — So you say that you always play with your member in the toilet? Why do you? How long do you play with it, and how often?

The Peasant. — Generally twice a week, but sometimes every day, until I come. I can't help it. I just plain enjoy it too much.

The Confessor. - And haven't you ever done it with women?

The Peasant. — Once, with an old woman.

The Confessor. - Tell me about it, and don't keep anything back.

The Peasant. — Once I was up in the hayloft with old Rosalie. I began to get a hard on, and I said: "Rosalie, is it a long time since you've had a man?" And she said: "Oh, you scoundrel you! Heavens to Betsy, can I have rightly heard my ears? At least 40 years. And I can't say that I'm hankering to have one now. I'm already 60 years old." So I said to her: "Come off it, Rosalie, I'd sure love to see a woman stark naked once in my life. Come on and get undressed." She said: "I'd be afraid, the devil might appear." Then I said: "The last time you did it he didn't appear." And then I pulled the ladder up, so that no one could take us by surprise. I took out my member and showed it to her. She looked at it and said: "Lordy Lou! It's even bigger than my buggered Jean's was." So I said to her, "And now Rosalie, you've got to show me your box." She didn't want to show it to me, but I pulled her skirts up over her head and took a good look.

The Confessor. — Come now, what happened next?

The Peasant. - At the bottom of her belly she had a large slit, purple as a late autumn plum, and above it a bush of gray hair.

The Confessor. — That's not what I asked you. I asked what you did.

The Peasant. — I shoved my sausage into her slit, right up to the balls, which I couldn't get in. As soon as I had it in, Rosalie began to shake her belly back and forth, and hollered to me: "Take me under the buttocks, Pig. Put your hands there and do like I'm doing." So we started shaking together, both of us, so that I began to get hot, and Rosalie, saving your presence, got so worked up that she discharged five or six times. And I discharged myself once, saving your presence. Then Rosalie began shouting, "Squeeze me tighter, Pig, it's coming, it's coming!" and damned if I didn't come again myself. But they fired her, poor Rosalie, because one of the stable girls had overheard us and went tattling over hill and dale. And that's why I never wanted to go running after the young skirts.

The Confessor. - Well, if that's not a nice kettle of mortal sins! What else do you have on your conscience?

The Peasant. — I never forgot Rosalie. One day in the cow barn while the servant girls were out eating, I noticed that one of the cows is in heat. "She's got a cunt just like Rosalie's," I say to myself. I take out my prick and shove it into her. But the cow didn't stay put like Rosalie had. But I lifted her tail up and was able to keep it in. And I managed to screw her all right, and enjoyed it more than with Rosalie. But, saving your presence, she shit all over me; my balls and trousers were covered with the stuff. That's why I never tried to screw her again.

The Confessor. - Yes, but what makes you stoop to such acts?

The Peasant. - Our shepherd does the same thing with his goats, and our hired girl Lucie one day lay down with a big gander between her thighs, because it's so very good for the belly, as she said to one of the neighbors. And the neighbor also gave it a try.

The rest of the confession was without interest. I left my hiding place and dashed into the chapel to see what the penitent looked like.

I was astonished to discover that it was the dull-looking clod who had so stupidly yielded to the peasant girl's frolics beside the pond.

He was the last of the men to confess. My mother rose to take her place in the oratory. My aunt and the saucy Kate were kneeling beside her. All the chateau's maids were behind them in one of the back pews.

I was surprised to notice that my sister Berthe was absent.

The bailiff's wife had been excused because of her advanced state of pregnancy.

My mother's confession was quite innocent, but interesting nonetheless: "I've got something else to ask you, Father," she said, after enumerating the list of her daily sins. "For some time now my husband has been making certain demands of me.

"On the night of our marriage he made me strip completely, and on several occasions since he has made me do the same thing. But now he persists in seeing me naked, and he even showed me an ancient book, written by a priest, in which it says, among other things: 'Married couples shall perform the carnal act completely naked, so that the man's seed may mix more intimately with the woman's.' But the older I grow, the more qualms I have on the subject."

The Confessor. — This book was written in the Middle Ages, when it was still not customary to wear nightshirts. Only persons of high station wore them. Common folk slept shirtless in the conjugal bed, and there are still some places in the country where that custom persists today. Our peasants, for instance, almost all sleep thus, especially because of bedbugs. The Church refuses to look upon this practice with an approving eye, but it does not, however, expressly forbid it.

My Mother. — You've reassured me on this point, Father. But my husband also makes me assume certain positions I'm ashamed of. Lately I had to get down naked on all fours while he watched me from behind. Each time he gives me a cane and makes me parade naked around the room, shouting orders at me as though he were commanding a military drill: 'Forward, March!' or 'Halt!' or 'By the right flank, March!', 'By the left flank, March!'

The Confessor. — This should not be; but if it is only by obedience that you submit to it, you are not committing a sin.

My Mother. - Ah, I have something else weighing on my heart, but I'm ashamed to speak of it.

The Confessor. - There is no sin too great to be absolved, my daughter. Unburden your conscience.

My Mother. - My husband is forever wanting to take me from behind, and he acts so that I come close to fainting with shame. Lately I feel him putting his finger, covered with ointment, in my… in my… anus. I try to get up, he reassures me, but nevertheless I feel him inserting his member. At first it hurt, but, why I don't know, after a little while I enjoyed it, and when he'd finished I had the same sensation as if he'd gone in the natural way. (The rest was spoken in such hushed tones that I couldn't make it out.)

The Confessor. — This is indeed a sin. Send your husband to me for confession.

The rest of her confession was boring. Shortly thereafter, my aunt took her place in the confessional, and I heard the pleasant sound of her voice. From what I could hear, she was admitting having often missed confession. But you could have bowled me over with a feather when she added, in low, halting tones, that although she had never before felt any carnal desires, she had been moved to passion upon seeing her young nephew in his bath, and had libidinously touched his body, but fortunately had been able to dominate these wicked desires. Except once when her nephew was sleeping: the blanket had slipped off the bed, leaving his sexual parts exposed. She had stood there looking at him for a long time, and had even taken his member in her mouth. She spoke with difficulty, as though the words were sticking in her throat. I experienced an extraordinary surge of emotion.

The Confessor. — Haven't you ever sinned with men, or haven't you ever polluted yourself alone?

My Aunt. — I am still a virgin, at least as far as men are concerned. I've often looked at myself in the mirror, and caressed my private parts with my hand. Once… (she hesitated).

The Confessor. - Courage, my child, conceal nothing from your confessor.

My Aunt. — Once my sister said to me: 'Our maid uses an exorbitant number of candles. She's certainly reading novels in bed, and one of these nights she's going to set the house on fire. You sleep near her, you want to be careful!' That very evening, seeing a light in Kate's room, here's what I did. I'd left the door open, and noiselessly entered her room. She was sitting on the floor, her back half-turned towards me, leaning forward in the direction of the bed. In front of her was a chair on which a mirror was placed, and on the left and right of the mirror two candles were burning. Kate was in a nightgown, and I clearly saw in the mirror that she was holding something long and white which she was manipulating back and forth between her well-spread thighs. She was sighing deeply and trembling all over. Suddenly I heard her cry out: 'Oh! oh! oh! it feels so good!' She bowed her head, closed her eyes and seemed completely out of this world. Then I moved. She sprang to her feet and I saw that she was holding an almost concealed candle in her hand. Whereupon she explained to me that she was doing this in memory of her lover who had been drafted into the army. I expressed amazement that one could do such a thing, but she begged me not to tell anyone. I left, but this performance had made such an impression on me that from then on, my Father, I couldn't help trying the same thing, which, alas! I've often repeated since. Yes, I've fallen low, Father. I've often lifted my nightgown and, following Kate's example, given myself up to these sinful pleasures.

The reader can easily guess, in the light of my aunt's and mother's revelations, what Kate's confession consisted of. But I learned besides that she was more and more desirous of having a man, and that her friendship with Berthe was growing by leaps and bounds. They often slept together, and frequently compared their buttocks in the mirror, after having mutually examined each other's bodies.

The maids' confessions were all simple. They'd let the hired men fuck them, but their tales were stripped of all adornment. And they had never allowed the men to enter the room in which they all slept together naked. But during the military maneuvers their precautions proved to be in vain. A whole regiment had passed through the neighborhood. Thus all the girls, and even one who was pretty well along in years, were obliged to take them on, even from behind, which last, moreover, seemed to the maids a mortal sin. When the friar asked them if they had never masturbated alone or with a girl friend, they replied: "Who'd want to stick her hand in such a smelly cunt?"

But they didn't consider it sinful to watch each other shit or piss, or to have used chickens, pigeons or geese to make them come.

One of them had once let a dog lick her love lips. When asked if she had let him screw her, she answered:

"I would have been only too glad to, but he wasn't big enough."

I took every possible precaution to escape being seen as I returned to my room.