By dawn, thanks to my youth and vigorous temperament, some of my strength was restored.
When at length they called off the dogs and set me free I had retrieved what few rags I
could and dragged myself along to that same spot where I had slept before under
circumstances almost as unhappy, and now, still greatly terrified of that baneful chateau,
I found a doctor nearby who gave me shelter and cured me of my wounds in a few weeks. I
heard that Madame was dead, poisoned by a chambermaid who had taken flight that same day;
she was to be put to death as soon as found.
	The doctor who had befriended me, penniless as I was, was called Rodin. Rodin was forty
years of age, dark of hair, with shaggy eyebrows and a sparkling bright eye; there was
something about him that spoke of strength and health but also, perhaps, he had the look
of a libertine. In wealth he had risen far above a doctor's station; he practiced his
surgical art not out of necessity but from taste; he had a very attractive house in
Saint-Marcel which, since the death of his wife two years previously, he shared with two
girls, his servants, and with Rosalie, who was his own daughter.
	In Rosalie were gathered all the charms most capable of exciting admiration in one so
young: the figure of a nymph, an oval face, clear, lovely, extraordinarily animated,
delicate pretty features, very piquant as well, the prettiest mouth possible, very large
dark eyes, soulful and full of feeling, chestnut-brown hair falling to below her waist,
skin of an incredible whiteness... aglow, smooth, already the most beautiful throat in all
the world, and, furthermore, wit, vivacity, and one of the most beautiful souls Nature has
yet created.
	With respect to the other two, they were both peasant girls. One was a governess, and
could have been twenty-five, the other, the cook, was eighteen or twenty. Both were
extremely attractive. Their looks suggested a deliberate choice and this caused the birth
of some suspicion as to why Rodin was pleased to accommodate me.
	Monsieur Rodin kept a home for young people of both sexes; during his wife's
lifetime he had obtained the required charter and they had not seen fit to deprive him of
it after he lost her. In all there were only fourteen young women and fourteen young men,
all aged between eighteen and twenty, all chosen for their looks; never had a monarch
prettier subjects than Rodin.
	It was Rosalie who opened my eyes to the true nature of this man with two professions,
her father.
	"Listen," said that charming girl, speaking with all the candour proper to her
youth, "listen to me, Therese, I am going to tell you everything, for I see you are a
well brought up girl who will not betray the secret I am going to confide in you... he
practises medicine because he has a liking for it and takes pleasure in using his skill to
make new discoveries, he has made so many of them that he is generally acknowledged the
most accomplished man in France at this time. And why does he run the school? He has a
passion he carries to extremes. My father finds in his pupils of either sex, objects whose
dependence submits them to his inclinations and he exploits them. Come with me," said
Rosalie, "and you shall see. Everything is visible from a closet in my room which
adjoins the one where he concludes this business."
	Hardly had we taken up our post when Rodin enters, leading a girl, blond and as pretty
as Love; the poor creature is sobbing away, all too unhappily aware of what awaits her;
she comes in with moans and cries; she throws herself down before him, entreats him to
spare her, but all this does is to fire the sparks of his pleasure in the situation. His
heart is already aglow and his savage glances spring alive with an inner light.
	"Julie," he cries, "this fault happens far too frequently. I repent my
forbearance and leniency, their sole result has been repeated misconduct on your
part."
	"Do not believe a word of it," whispered Rosalie to me. "These are
trifles he invents. That little creature is an angel. It is because she resists him that
she is his favourite."
	Meanwhile Rodin, greatly aroused, had seized Julie's hands and tied them to a ring
fitted high upon a pillar standing in the middle of the punishment room. Julie is without
any defence. Her superb hair is in disarray, and tears inundate the most beautiful face in
the world, the sweetest, the most interesting. Rodin dwells upon the picture, is fired by
it, he covers those supplicating eyes with a blindfold, approaches his mouth to hers and
dares to kiss...
	Julie sees nothing now and, more able to proceed as he wishes, Rodin starts to remove
her clothes, her blouse is unbuttoned, her stays untied, at last she is naked... what
whiteness! what beauty! Here are roses strewn upon lilies by the Grace's very hands.
	What is the monster that can seek pleasure in the depths of tears and suffering and woe?
Rodin contemplates, his inflamed eye roves, his hands dare profane the flowers his
cruelties are about to wither; all takes place directly before us, not a detail can escape
us.
	Although the temple of Love is within his reach, Rodin casts not so much as a glance in
that direction; to judge by his behaviour he fears even the sight of it; but now the
libertine opens and peers into those anal features that enchant him, now he closes them
again; he offers them to us under every form, but he confines himself to these only.

      Finally his mounting wrath exceeds all limits. At first he gives vent to it through
invectives, with menaces and evil language he affrights this poor little wretch trembling
before the blows that she knows are about to come. Rodin is beside himself, he snatches up
a cat-o'-nine-tails that has been soaking in a vat of vinegar. "Well,
there," says he, "prepare yourself, you have got to suffer." He swings a
vigorous arm and the lashes are brought whistling down upon that shrinking body.
Twenty-five times he strikes.
	Julie cries out, her piercing screams rend me to the soul, tears run down from beneath
her blindfold and shine upon her beautiful cheeks like pearls, whereby Rodin is made all
the more furious. He lays hands upon the lashed flesh, touches, squeezes, seems to be
readying it for further assaults; and indeed they follow fast upon the first. Not a cut he
bestows is without a curse. Rodin is in ecstasy; his delight is immense as he muses upon
the proofs of his ferocity. He can contain himself no longer, his erection is uncovered
now but Julie cannot see it...
	He moves behind her and hovers there; he would greatly like to mount as a victor but
dares not. Instead he begins to beat her anew, he whips with might and main and finally
manages, thanks to the leather strips, to open this asylum of the Graces and joy... he no
longer knows who he is or where, his delirium has reached such a pitch that the restraint
of reason is no more, he swears, he blasphemes, he storms, nothing is exempt from his
savage blows, all he can reach is treated with the same fury...
	He is in danger of ejaculating; risking his pleasure in what is to follow.
	"Dress yourself," he says to Julie, loosening her bonds and readjusting his
own costume, "but if you are once again guilty of a similar misconduct you shall not
get off so lightly."
	Julie returns to her room and Rodin goes into the boys' and brings back a youth,
lovely as the day, and scolds him. He wheedles and kisses while lecturing him. "You
deserve to be punished," he observes, "and you shall be."
	He oversteps the last bounds of modesty with this lad, for this time all of him is of
interest to Rodin, back and front, all veils are drawn aside, everything is fondled; Rodin
utters threats, caresses, kisses, curses; his fingers generate a rise in the youth, and,
Rodin in his turn, demands similar ministrations.
	"Very well," cries the satyr, seeing his success, "there you are in the
state I forbade! I dare swear that with two more movements you would have the impudence to
spit at me!"
	Sure of the titillations he has produced, the libertine advances to gather homage. His
mouth is to receive it; his hands milk it to jet forth. He meets the spurts, devours them,
and is himself ready to explode, but he wishes to save himself still...
	He takes the youth's two hands, he holds him tight, and assails the altar at which
his fury would perform a sacrifice. He opens it, his kisses roam over it, his tongue
drives into it, is lost in it.
	"Ah, little weasel!" he exclaims, "I must avenge myself upon the illusion
you create in me!"
	The whips are picked up, Rodin flogs; clearly more excited by the youth than he was by
the vestal, his blows become both more powerful and far more numerous. The lad bursts into
tears. Rodin in seventh heaven but new pleasures call, he releases the youth and flies to
other sacrifices. Rodin whips nine youths, four women, the last a youth endowed with a
delicious countenance. Rodin wishes to amuse himself, his victim resists; out of his mind
with lust, Rodin beats him, and, losing all control over himself, ejaculates upon his
charge's injured parts; he wets him from waist to heels; enraged at not holding
himself in check until the end, he releases the boy very testily and after warning him to
behave in future, sends him back to the class.
	"Dear Heaven!" I said to Rosalie, "how can he find pleasure in the
torments he inflicts?"
	"Ah," replied Rosalie, "you do not know everything. Listen," she
said, leading me back into her room, "he carries his horrors much further, he abuses
some of the women in the same way as the men. By this means, the women are not in the
least dishonoured, there are no pregnancies to fear, and nothing prevents them from
finding a husband…
	"But what of religion?" I asked. "What of confession?"
	"Oh but as he proceeds to pervert us he stifles in us the very seeds of belief, he
forbids us all religious devotions, he insinuates his poison so that he has nothing to
fear..." She drew me back into the closet. "Come, for that room where he
chastises the students is the same wherein he enjoys the other two; the lessons will soon
be over and I wish you to see how he will compensate himself for the restraint his
prudence sometimes imposes upon him with his students."
	Scarcely am I in place, the two women of the house arrive; and thereupon Rodin, all
restraints upon his behaviour removed, free to indulge his fancies to the full, gives
himself over in a leisurely and undisguised fashion to committing all the irregularities
of debauchery.
	The two peasants, completely nude, are flogged with exceeding violence; while he plies
his whip upon the one the other whips him. His agitation is extreme; he shouts, he
blasphemes, his thongs bite deep everywhere, and wherever they fall he presses his lips.
Both their private parts and their mouths, everything is devoured by his sucking. Rodin by
and by penetrates into his accustomed receptacle, the rosy little anus; he is again in
seventh heaven, he thrusts, he splits, he tears, a thousand kisses express his ardour, he
kisses whatever is presented to his lust; the bomb bursts and the besotted libertine
tastes the sweetest of delights...