A curious event has happened lately, the divorce of a Mr. Cavendish from
his wife for adultery with the young Count de la Rochefoucault. The
details brought before the court were of the most scandalous nature,
especially the letters exchanged between them when the Count had to go
to Rome, where he was attaché to the French Embassy. When the husband’s
counsel handed up the letters with the sworn notary’s translation, he
remarked that he thought they were too horribly scandalous to be read in
court. The judge scanned a few of them, and, addressing the counsel
said—
“I am perfectly of your opinion, my learned brother, I shall take them
home and make a point of them in my address to the jury.”
It will be seen that they were of such a nature that doubtless the old
judge, who was no other than my dear old chum Harry Dale, gave his wife
two or three extra fucks on the strength of the lust produced by those
exciting and extraordinary lascivious letters from a young man of only
twenty-one years of age, showing quite as early an initiation into all
the luxury of the utmost depravity as any of my own details of my early
experiences with my darling old aunt.
Some of the letters are a string of imaginary events as to how far they
could carry their imaginations. The Count constantly alludes to the
inferiority of his descriptions to those given in her replies. Alas! as
he possesses those exciting replies of the lady, they cannot be got at,
but from his descriptions, and the remarks on certain gross
familiarities, it’s evident she was gifted with as lascivious and
lustful a temperament as either my aunt or the divine Frankland.
A chance threw these interesting letters into my possession, and I can
assure the reader they are the veritable sworn translations of the
letters found in Mrs. Cavendish’s davenport when it was broken open by
her husband, and produced on the trial. The Count had evidently dreaded
such an event, and it will be seen he constantly implores her to destroy
his letters as soon as read. But, with the infatuation of her sex, she
kept them to furnish the sole evidence by which she lost her place in
society and became a lost woman. It is added that she was a woman of
forty-five, and the mother of several children, but it is these randy
voluptuous matrons who have the most attractions to a young man who
feels flattered and is proud of, as he thinks, conquering a woman in a
good position in society. It is evident enough that she was no tyro in
every depravity of lust, and probably had passed through many hands
before he gained her. He appears to have been really cunt-struck, which,
as I have before observed, is one of the strongest infatuations that a
man can have.