Quills
Dear reader,|I've a naughty little tale to tell,
plucked from the pages|of history-
tarted up, true-
but guaranteed|to stimulate the senses.
but guaranteed|to stimulate the senses.
The story|of Mademoiselle Renare,:
a ravishing, young aristocrat|whose sexual proclivities...
ran the gamut|from winsome to bestial.
Who doesn't dream of indulging|every spasm of lust ?
Feeding each depraved hunger?
Owing to her noble birth,
Mademoiselle Renare was granted|full immunity to do just that:;
inflicting pain and pleasure|with equal zest.
Until one day...
Mademoiselle found herself|at the mercy of a man...
every bit as perverse as she.
A man whose skill|in the art of pain...
exceeded her own.
- How easily, dear reader,
- one changes from predator...|- No.
- to prey.
And how swiftly|pleasure is taken from some...
and given to others.
There goes another one.
Your linens, please.
Your linens, please.
- Move yourself.|- We're going outside.
Come on, Pitou.|That's right.
- It's breakfast time.|Good morning.|- Good morning.
- I'm going outside.|- Go on.
Stop doing that. Everybody up.
Your linens, please.
- Psst.
- It's me.
Careful.|The ink's still wet.
Now, hurry.
- That you, Maddie ?
Yes, Mother.|Here are the dirty ones for you.
Just, uh-
Just taking|the bleached ones out to dry.
Aren't you|gonna give us a hand then ?
Bouchon!
Remember your manners.
Here it is.|It's the last chapter.
Monsieur Masse says|he'd like another manuscript|quick as he please.
- He can't print them fast enough.|- I'll pass the word on.
I'll pay you another visit with|a share of the profits once it's sold.
- I'll be waiting.|- Perhaps, one day,|you'll tell me your name.
All right, we're all clear.
- Thank you.|- Marquis de Sade's Justine.
Latest edition, straight|from the printer's. Justine.
Marquis de Sade.|Justine.
"Our story concerns|a nymph named Justine,;
"as pretty a maid as ever|entered the nunnery,
- "with a body so firm and ripe...|- Come on, boy.
"it seemed a shame|to commit it to God.
One morning, the bishop placed|his hand upon her thigh."
"'Holy Father, 'cried she,
"'I've come to confess my sins,|not commit them anew. '
"Heedless, the old priest|turned her over on his knee...
"and lifted her skirts|high above her hips,
"exposing the pink flesh|of her backside.
"There between the orbs|of her dimpled ass...
"lay a blushing rosebud...
"begging to be... plucked.
" Before Justine could wrestle|from his grasp,
" Before Justine could wrestle|from his grasp,
"this most ungodly man|took a communion wafer,
"the body of our Lord,|Jesus Christ,
and placed it on the girl's|twitching orifice."
Must I, Your Majesty ?
"As he loosened his manhood|from beneath his robes,
"the bishop muttered|a Latin prayer...
"and then,|with a mighty thrust,
drove it|into her very entrails."
The novel's lewd subject matter|and its overripe style...
reveal it to be the work|of the Marquis de Sade.
He composes his prose|from inside a madhouse.
Enough !|Seize every copy !
We'll torch them all on|the palace lawn in full public view !
As for the author, shoot him.
A note of caution, Sire.
We all remember what happened|to Robespierre, Danton.
Put the marquis to death and history|might even regard you as a despot.
But I am history.
Of course, Your Majesty.
Nevertheless,|cure the Marquis de Sade,
succeed where countless...
physicians and priests|have failed-
No one can fault Napoleon...
for bringing a man|to his senses.
Might I suggest...
an appraisal|at the asylum of Charenton ?
A rather notorious inmate|in her care.
I have the perfect|candidate for the job:
Dr. Royer-Collard,
a distinguished alienist|who's a staunchly moral man...
of impeccable character...
and iron resolve.
- My colleagues have|called me old-fashioned.
- Even barbaric.
But here we favor an aggressive|course of treatment.
- Quite.
I do not seek popularity|or renown, Monsieur Delbene.|Mine is a higher mission.
To take God's tiny blunders|and those He has forsaken...
and condition them with|the same force, the same rigor...
one would employ to train|a feral dog or a wild stallion.
- This may not be pretty,
but it is mercy|just the same.
A few more months of this,|and he'll be fine.
- It is the emperor's hope...
that you bring your expertise,|your proficiency...
- to the asylum at Charenton.|- I'm much better now.
Charenton ? The administrator|there is quite well-loved, isn't he ?
He's young, an idealist.|You'll have to be politic.
- You know how|I define "idealism" ?
Youth's final luxury.
Not so hard. Don't force it.
Good.
Slowly.
We mustn't|just copy the words.
It's important|that we know what they mean.
St. Augustine tells us that angels and|demons walk among us on the Earth...
and that sometimes they jointly|inhabit the soul of a single man.
Then how can we know...
who is truly good|and who is evil ?
Well, we can't.
All we can do is guard|against our own corruption.
So you'll practice reading|tonight on your own for me ?
'And so the professor lifted|Columbe's skirt...
"high above her waist.
"'Let me be your tutor,' said he,|'in the ways of love.'
"With that,|he slid her pantalettes down,
"down, down over her knees.
'And there,|nestled between her legs,
"waspink of the tulip...
as slick as an eel-"
We oughtn't to be reading|his nasty stories.
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"Quills" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Mar. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/quills_16469>.
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