Quills Page #4

- bringing her here|to this secluded chateau.|- Quickly.

-Stand still and be quiet.|- Was that good ?

Little does she know|that terror's in store...

when I tutor her in|les crimes...

de l'amour.

Take this side of the curtain.|One, two, three-

Quickly, my suckling,|out of your clothes.

My scepter awaits.|How solid it grows.

- Stop it, I beg you.|Have pity I say.

You're not my lover.|You're a monstrous roue.

- Do as you're told.

-Stick your legs in the air.|- Leave at once.

- But it's just begun.|- Do as I say.

Madame.

It's true, I'm a pig.

And you've truffles down there.

- Oh, God !|Oh, God, what's this ?

- Such a wicked sensation.

A feeling somewhere|between shame and elation.

- Oh, God !

Use your tongue like a wand|in much the same manner|as Sister Semfone.

Leaving already ?|Of course, you've seen it all before.

I had a suspicion|the sister was sapphic.

I'd tell you more,|but it's simply too graphic.

Suffice it to say|she's a preference for lasses.

Even at Vespers,|she always made passes.

My darling, dainty morsel,|get on your back.|Let's try it dorsal !

I won't escape.|He wants to take me|in every way.

I'll plunder every lovely pore|till you're weak and cry,|" No more !"

- No, more, more !

Give me this !|More ! More !

Everybody, come forward quietly|for the next bit.

Then to prove you're truly mine,|I'll plunder you, darling,|from behind !

Yes, yes, yes,|let's do it.

And what of my lips ?|Will you soil them too ?

When you've broken|every other taboo ?

- ...every slippery hollow.

If you're obliging,|then you'll swallow!

Manners !

- Now that body has been|broken and swollen,|- Yes !

Lust, power and greed|are no longer-

Juliette !

Take him to the infirmary.|Maddie ?

- Has he hurt you ?|- His breath made my eyes run,|that's all.

- It's all right.

- Madeleine ?

Do you mean to take us|all down with you ?

Don't be absurd.

Disgraceful!

It's only a play.

- It was disgusting.

I wonder who's to blame,|the author or his muse ?

- It was fiction, of course.|- Of course.

- It was not inspired by circumstance.|- It certainly was not.

You ought to be ashamed, Abbe,

exploiting these pathetic cretins|for financial gain.

This is not our intention.

It was a freak show for tourists|and curiosity seekers.

Charenton is a sanatorium,|not a circus !

The theater is henceforth closed.

"Closed" ?

As for your friend,|playwright emeritus of the madhouse-

I'll do everything in my power-

Do more, or I shall be forced|to inform the ministry...

that the inmates are,|indeed, running the asylum.

Mmm. Mmm.

Well, I hope you're satisfied.

He shut down our theater.

He can't do that to me.

How can one man be so selfish ?

We merely held up a mirror.

Apparently,|he didn't like what he saw.

- What the devil are you|doing with my quills ?|- You've left me no choice.

I kept my promise.|I didn't publish.

Perhaps, in time,|you can earn them back.

You can't.

I've all the demons of hell|in my head.

My only salvation|is to vent them on paper.

Try reading for a change.

The writer who produces more|than he reads-

A sure mark of an amateur.

Here.

Start with the Bible.

It's cheerier|and more artfully written.

This monstrous God of yours ?

He strung up His very own son|like a side of veal.

I shudder to think|what He'd do to me.

Why are you doing this to me ?

Stop it.

I'll die of loneliness.

I've no company|but the characters I create.

Whores and pederasts !

You're better off|without them.

- I have a proposition.|- You always do.

Madeleine.|She's besotted with me.

She'd do anything I asked.|She could pay you a visit.

I don't know who you insult more,|her or me.

- Part the gates of heaven, as it were.|- That's enough !

You're too tense, darling.|You could do with a long,|slow screw.

Good night, Marquis.

Then bugger me !|Goddamn you, Abbe !

Have you no true sense|of my condition ?

Of its gravity ?

My writing is involuntary,|like the beating of my heart.

My constant erection !

I've done just as you bade me.

I've paid a visit|to the craftsmen.

He laughed|and called me a whore.

Took my money|just the same.

I don't know which|gives you greater pleasure:

the objects themselves...

or the humiliation I endure|procuring them on your behalf.

And last, but not least,

I brought you|some aniseed drops...

and some|chocolate pastilles.

Did you now, madame ?

They're filled with cream, yes ?

You know I shan't touch them|unless they're positively...

bursting,

erupting with cream.

What else have you brought|that I might nibble upon ?

- Donatien, you mustn't.|- Hmm ?

Tell me.|What other little treats ?

Shame on you, truly.

For f***'s sake, woman.|Bonbons ?

Am I to sit here gorging myself|on useless trifles,

sucking on your little sweetmeats,

when what I truly require,|what I truly need...

are a few quill pens,|perhaps a pot of ink ?

- Forgive me. I beg you.|- Don't you see ?

I've been raped.

- Far more egregiously than any|of my wretched characters.|- How was I to know, darling ?

How was I to tell you,|by writing a letter ?

With what, my asinine bride ?

I beg you, Donatien,

as your wife, your only ally,|you must stop making a monstrous|spectacle of yourself!

- You have come to lecture me ?|- To flaunt your deviance|in public upon a stage ?

They have put you up to this,|haven't they ?

You should court the doctor's favor,|not his contempt.

The doctor ? I ought to|carve my name into his backside|and fill the wounds with salt !

You're here, safe,|surrounded by brick and mortar.

My prison is far crueler.|It has no walls.

Everywhere I go,|they point and whisper.

At the opera, they hiss at me|when I take my box.

When I went to church, the priest|refused to even hear my confession.

He said I was already damned.

Why must I suffer|for your sins ?

That's the way|of all martyrs, isn't it ?

Give me back my anonymity.|That's all I ask.

Let me be invisible again.

You tell me, have you ever done anything|to secure my release ? No.

Have you petitioned|the courts ? Never !

- Sought an audience with the emperor ?|- How ? He refuses to see me !

It's a convenience|having your husband locked away.

You no longer have to hold your tongue|or hoist your skirts...

or crack your mouth so I can|put it to its one pleasurable use.

You're not my wife !|No, you're one of|my many jailors ! Out !

- What in God's name ?|- Take this cow away !

I can't look at her !

Perhaps you'll find a place for her|in the west wing among the hysterics !

Lock her up as well|so she knows how it feels !

The sow !

For a woman of humble origin,|your wife has refined tastes.

When I suggest granite for the foyer,|she's quick to counter|with Peruvian marble.

Peruvian marble.|It costs a fortune to import.

Whatever her heart desires,|Monsieur Prouix.

I would like nothing better than|to grant her every wish, sir,

but on the modest sum|you have accorded me-

I'm an architect,|not a magician.

I must see the doctor at once.

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