s/z

~ItS

BY ROlAND MaTHBI

A &niles R-*rc.mc.. LwitJJ,
CriIiaIJ &s.,s
TAe Eiffel T-.w . . 0Mer Myt/IoIofies

EIerrtnIIs of ~TAe &.pire of SipI
TAe FtuIIitM s,nn.
TAe c;,.;" ofyI.....-Mruie-Tat
A Ltwer's Dist:owse
MidINI
Myt/IoIofies'*

New CriIiaIJ &s.,s0. RMiIre
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RoItmJ &niles
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TAe Semiotic CWienfe
S/Z
Writing Degrw Zeros/zRoland Barthes
TRANSLATED BY
R.idYtrl Miller
PREFACE BY
Ridunl HowanJ• A Blackwell

Translation © 1974 by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, Inc.
Originally published in French as S/Z
Copyright © 1973 by Editions du Seuil, Paris
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First published in the United Kingdom 1990 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd
Reprinted 1992, 1993, 1995, 1996, 1998, 2000, 2002
ISBN 0·631·17607·1 (paperback)A catalogue record for this title is available fi"om the British Library.
Printed and bound in the United Kingdom
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Contents

S/Z 3
APPENDICESI

SamlSine, by Honore de Balzac

n Sequence of Actions z 55
m Summary of Contents z60
IV Keyzli9znThis book is the trace of work done during a two-year seminar(1968-1969) at ~ Ecole pratique des Hautes Etudes.
I hope that the students, auditon, and friends who took pert
in this seminar will accept this dedication of a krt
which was written according to their attention to it.

A Note onS/Z-It will afford profit and pleasure to that numerous class of persons
who have no instinctive enjoyment of literature," writes a British
Jr:Viewer of the French text of S/Z. Irwtinctiw mjoynwnt rIf liNnI...., Surely all of Roland Bartha's len books esist to unmask such
ID eKpression, to ezpose such a myth. It is precisely our "inst:iDctive~joyment" which is acculturated, detenDined, in bondage. Only
when we mow-and it is a knowledge pined by taking pains, by_unclng what Freud calls instinctual gratification-what we are
fIaing when we read, are we free to enjoy what we read. As long as@ ~joyment is-or is said to be-instinctive it is not enjoyment,
it is terrorism. For literature is like love in La Rochefoucauld: no. - would ever have &:Kperienced it if he had not first read about it• books. We require an education in literature as in tftc senti.alb in order to discover that what we assumed-with the comfIicity of our teachers-was nature is in fact culture, that what was
is DO more than a way of taking. And we must learn, when
,We take, the cost of our participation, or else we shan pay much
JIIIR. We shall pay our capacity to read at aU.
\ Barthes calls his study an essay, and in it a consideration of more.-.n just the tale by Balzac is desirable if we hope to discern what
:J iI that is being tried here. For the work on the text by Balzac. the:6Iection-into 561 numbered fragmenb, or lems, varying in:....... from one word to several lines-of Sclmuinc, is not per,...." for the sake of identifying the five notorious codes (her-

,;wn

vii

meneutic, semantic, proairetic, cultural, and symbolic), or evenfor the sake of discriminating the classical text (with its ptlTsimoniow plurality of interpretation and its closure of significance) fromthe modem text which has no such restrictions, no such closure(for the final closure of the modem text is suspension). Rather,
the work so joyously performed here is undertaken for the sake of
the 93 divagations (I use MaUarme's term advisedly, for it is with
Mallarme, Barthes has said, that our "modernity" begins) identified
by Roman numerals and printed in large type. amounting in eachcase to a page or two. These divagations, taken together, as theyinterrupt and are generated by the lexias of the analyzed text, constitute the most sustained yet pulverized meditation on reading 1
know in all of Western critical literature. They afford-though
Barthes can afford them only because of the scrupulous density of
his attention, his presence of mind where one is used to little morethan pasturage-a convinced. euphoric, even a militant critique ofwhat it is we do when we read. For reading is still the principal
thing we do by ounelves in culture, and it has too long been granted-as when Valery Larbaud calls it the one unpunished vice-theamnesty of our society. We have "forgiven" masturbation in ourerotic jurisdiction, but have we even learned to "indict" reading?
"What do you read now?" the hungry interviewer asked thefamous writer, a woman of commercial success in the theater whose
autobiography has defined a character of considerable literary s0phistication. And the famous writer answered:
1 don't read novels any more, I'm sorry to say. A writer should
read novels. When 1 d'o, 1 go back to the ones I've read before.
Dickens. Balzac
1 find now when I go to get a book off
the shelf, I pick something I've read before, as if 1 didn't dare
try anything new.
Aside from the underlining fact that it is a writer speaking, this isa familiar experience, this preference for what Barthes calls theredderly over what he calls the writerly (I believe Richard Miller
has been both plausible and adroit in his translation of lisible andviii

ICrifJtibk; the dilemma is characteristic of the problem any translator of Barthes confronts, and the solution is characteristic of Mr.
Miller, properly concerned with his reader's comprehension, nothis comfort). I t is a familiar experience because only what is authentically writerly can become readerly. If we were to set out toMite a readerly text, we should be no more than hacks in bad
faith; yet, as readers, how hard it is to face the open text, the plumlity of signification, the suspension of meaning. It explains that
hesitation at the bookshelf, the hand falling on the Balzac story,
the known quantity. Known
How often we need to be assured of what we know in the old ways of knowing-how seldom
we can afford to venture beyond the pale into that chromatic fantasy where, as Rilke said (in 1908!), "begins the revision of catepies, where something past comes again, as though out of the
future; something formerly accomplished as something to be completed." (A perfect description, by the way, of the book in hand.)Why we read in this repressed and repressive way; what it is, inthe very nature of reading, which fences us in, which closes us off,
it is Barthes's genius to explore, not merely to deplore. His relmIChes into the structure of narrative have granted him a conviction (or a reprieve), a conviction that all telling modifies what isking told, so that what the linguists call the message is a parameRr of its performance. Indeed, his conviction of reading is thatwhat is told is always the telling. And this he does not arraign, he"alcbrates.
So exact are Barthes's divagations, so exacting are their discover. . about the nature of reading, that we may now and again be
l4ismayed-if we are in the main readers of the readerly-by thehe has come to (he usually assumes Greek has a word for it)• which they must be rendered. For Barthes's text is writerly-at~. . . his divagations are. This criticism is literature. It makes upon~. strenuous demands, exactions. And because of them, precisely,;;~ too are released, reprieved; we are free to read both the readerly,(_ can we ever again read Balzac in aU innocence? can we ever
_ t to?) and the writerly, en conrutissance de CdU8e, knowing the~~n why. Essentially an erotic meditation, then, because it con~ what is inexpressible (which is the essence of eros), Barthes's

:tams

IX

essay is the most useful, the most intimate, and the most suggestive
boole I have ever read about why I have ever read a boolc. It is, by
the way, useful, intimate, and suggestive about Balzac's tale Sdr·
rdline, which the reader of the readerly will find reassembled at theend of this writerly book, en .".~, as the French say.
RJCa.uD HOWAD

s/z

I. EVALUATION

There are said to be certain Buddhists whose ascetic practices
enable them to see a whole landscape in a bean. Precisely what
the first analysts of narrative were attempting: to see all theworld's stories (and there have been ever so many) within asingle structure: we shall, they thought, extract from each tale
its model, then out of these models we shall make a great narrative structure, which we shall reapply (for verification) toanyone narrative: a task as exhausting (ninety-nine percent
perspiration, as the saying goes) as it is ultimately undesirable,
for the text thereby loses its difference. This difference is not,obviously, some complete, irreducible quality (according to amythic view of literary creation), it is not what designates theindividuality of each text, what names, signs, finishes off eachwork with a Bourish; on the contrary, it is a difference which
does not stop and which is articulated upon the infinity oftexts, of languages, of systems: a difference of which each text
is the return. A choice must then be made: either to place all
texts in a demonstrative oscillation, equalizing them under the
scrutiny of an in-<lifferent science, forcing them to rejoin, inductively, the Copy from which we will then make them derive; or else to restore each text, not to its individuality, but toits function, making it cohere, even before we talk about it, by
the infinite paradigm of difference, subjecting it from the outset to a basic typology, to an evaluation. How then posit thevalue of a text? How establish a basic typology of texts? The
primary evaluation of all texts can come neither from science,3

for science does not evaluate, nor from ideology, for the ideological value of a text (moral, aesthetic, political, alethiological) is a value of representation, not of production (ideology"reflects," it does not do work). Our evaluation can be linked
only to a practice, and this practice is that of writing. On the
one hand, there is what it is possible to write, and on the other,what it is no longer possible to write: what is within the practice of the writer and what has left it: which texts would I
consent to write (to re-write), to desire, to put forth as a force
in this world of mine? What evaluation finds is precisely thisvalue: what can be written (rewritten) today: the writerl)'.
Why is the writerly our value? Because the goal of literarywork (of literature as work) is to make the reader no longer
a consumer, but a producer of the text. Our literature is characterized by the pitiless divorce which the literary institution
maintains between the producer of the text and its user, between its owner and its customer, between its author and its
reader. This reader is thereby plunged into a kind of idleness-he is intransitive; he is, in short, serious: instead of functioning himself, instead of gaining access to the magic of the signifier, to the pleasure of writing, he is left with no more thanthe poor freedom either to accept or reject the text: reading
is nothing more than a referendum. Opposite the writerly text,
then, is its countervalue, its negative, reactive value: what canbe read, but not written: the recuferl),. We call any readerly
text a classic text.

II. INTERPRETATION

There may be nothing to say about writerly texts. First of all,where can we find them? Certainly not in reading (or at least
very rarely: by accident, fleetingly, obliquely in certain limit4

works): the writerly text is not a thing, we would have a hardtime 6nding it in a bookstore. Further, its model being a productive (and no longer a representative) one, it demolishes
any criticism which, once produced, would mix with it: torewrite the writerly text would consist only in disseminating it,in dispersing it within the 6eld of in6nite difference. The
writerly text is a perpetual present, upon which no consequentlanguage (which would inevitably make it past) can be superimposed; the writerly text is ourselves writing, before the infinite play of the world (the world as function) is traversed,
intersected, stopped, plasticized by some singular system (Ideology, Genus, Criticism) which reduces the plurality of entrances, the opening of networks, the infinity of languages.
'!fie writerly is the novelistic without the novel, poetry without the poem, the essay without the dissertation, writing without style, production without product, structuration without
structure. But the readerly texts? They are products (and not
productions), they make up the enormous mass of our literature. How differentiate this mass once again? Here, we requirea second operation, consequent upon the evaluation which
has separated the texts, more delicate than that evaluation,
based upon the appreciation of a certain quantity~f themore or less each text can mobilize. This new operation isinterpretation (in the Nietzschean sense of the word). To
interpret a text is not to give it a (more or less justi6ed, moreor less free) meaning, but on the contrary to appreciate what
plural constitutes it. Let us 6at posit the image of a triumphant plural, unimpoverished by any constraint of representation (of imitation). In this ideal text, the networks are manyand interact, without anyone of them being able to surpassthe rest; this text is a galaxy of signi6m, not a structure ofsigni6eds; it has no beginning; it is reveaible; we gain access to
it by several entrances, none of which can be authoritatively
declared to be the main ODe; the codes it mobilizes extend dB
5far as the eye can reach, they are indetenninable (meaning
here is never subject to a principle of detennination, unless bythrowing dice); the systems of meaning can take over this absolutely plural text, but their number is never closed, based as
it is on the infinity of language. The interpretation demanded
by a specific text, in its plurality, is in no way liberal: it is nota question of conceding some meanings, of magnanimously
acknowledging that each one has its share of truth; it is a question, against all in-difference, of asserting the very existence ofplurality, which is not that of the true, the probable, or eventhe possible. This necessary assertion is difficult, however, for
as nothing exists outside the text, there is never a whole of thetext (which would by reversion fonn an internal order, a reconciliation of complementary parts, under the paternal eyeof the representative Model): the text must simultaneously
be distinguished from its exterior and from its totality. All ofwhich comes down to saying that for the plural text, there
cannot be a narrative structure. a grammar, or a logic; thus, if
one or another of these are sometimes pennitted to come forward, it is in proportion (giving this expression its full quantitative value) as we are dealing with incompletely plural texts,
texts whose plural is more or less parsimonious.

III. CONNOTATION: AGAINSTFor these moderately plural (i.e., merely polysemous) texts,
there exists an average appreciator which can grasp only a certain median portion of the plural, an instrument at once toodelicate and too vague to be applied to univocal texts, and too
poor to be applied to'multivalent texts, which are reversible
and frankly indetenninable (integrally plural texts). This
modat instrument is connotation. For Hjelmslev, who has
6defined it, connotation is a secondary meaning, whose signifier
is itself constituted by a sign or system of primary signification,
which is denotation: if E is the expression, C the content, andR the relation of the two which establishes the sign, the formula for the connotation is: (ERC) R C. Doubtless because it
has not been limited, subjected to a typology of texts, connotation has not had a good press. Some (the philologists, let ussay), ~eclaring every text to be univocal, possessing a true, canonical meaning, banish the simultaneous, secondary meanings to the void of critical lucubrations. On the other hand,
others (the semiologists, let us say) contest the hierarchy ofdenotated and connotated; language, they say, the raw material of denotation, with its dictionary and its syntax, is asystem like any other; there is no reason to make this system
the privileged one, to make it the locus and the nonn of a
primary, original meaning, the scale for all associated meanings; if we base denotation on truth, on objectivity, on law, it
is because we are still in awe of the prestige of linguistics,
which, until today, has been reducing language to the sentence
and its lexical and syntactical components; now the endeavorof this hierarchy is a serious one: it is to return to the closureof Western discourse (scientific, critical, or philosophical), to
its centralized organization, to arrange all the meanings of atext in a circle around the hearth of denotation (the hearth:center, guardian, refuge, light of truth) .

IV. CONNIDATION:

FOR, EVEN SO

This criticism of connotation is only half fair; it does not take
into account the typology of the texts (this typology is basic:
no text exists without being classified according to its value);~or if there are readerly texts, committed to the closure system7

of the West, produced according to the goals of this system,
devoted to the law of the Signified, they must have a particular system of meaning, and this meaning is based on connotation. Hence, to deny connotation altogether is to abolish thedifferential value of the texts, to refuse to define the specificappar.ltus (both poetic and critical) for the readerly texts-it
is to make the limited text equal to the limit-text, to deprive
oneself of a typological instrument Connotation is the way
into the polysemy of the classic text, to that limited plural on
which the classic text is based (it is not certain that there areconnotations in the modem text). Connotation must therefore be rescued from its double contestation and kept as the
namable, computable trace of a certain plur.ll of the text (thatlimited plUr.l1 of the classic text). Then, what is a connotation? Definitionally, it is a detennination, a relation, an anaph013, a feature which has the power to relate itself to anterior,ulterior, or exterior mentions, to other sites of the text (or ofanother text): we must in no way restrain this relating, which
can be given various names (function or index, for example),
except that we must not confuse connotation with associationof ideas: the latter refers to the system of a subject; connotation is a correlation immanent in the text, in the texts; oragain, one may say that it is an association made by the textas-subject within its own system. Topically, connotations aremeanings which are neither in the dictionary nor in the grammar of the language in which a text is written (this is, ofcourse, a shaky definition: the dictionary can be expanded, thegrammar can be modified). Analytically, connotation is determined by two spaces: a sequential space, a series of orders, aspace subject to the successivity of sentences, in which meaning proliferates by layering; and an agglomer.ltive space, certain areas of the text correlating other meanings outside thematerial text and, with them, fonning "nebulae" of signifieds.
Topologically, connotation makes possible a (limited) dis,8

~mination of meanings, spr<:ad like gold dust on the apparent

surface of the text (meaning is golden). SemiologicaUy, eachconnotation is the starting point of a code (which will neverbe reconstituted), the articulation of a voice which is woven
into the text. Dynamically, it is a subjugation which the text
must undergo, it is the possibility of this subjugation (meaning is a force). Historically, by inducing meanings that areapparently recoverable (even if they are not lexical), connota·tion establishes a (dated) Literature of the Signified. Functionally, connotation, releasing the double meaning on -principle, corrupts the purity of communication: it is a deliberate"static," painstakingly elaborated, introduced" into the fictive
dialogue between author and reader, in short, a countercommunication (Literature is an intentional cacography). Structural1y, the existence of two supposedly different systemsdenotation and connotation-enables the text to operate likea game, each system referring to the other according to the requirements of a certain illusion. Ideologically, finally, thisgame has the advantage of affording the classic text a certain
innocence: of the two systems, denotative and connotative,
one turns back on itself and indicates its own existence: thesystem of denotation; denotation is not the first meaning, but
pr~tends to be SO; ~nder this illusion, it is ultimately no more
;tJ:1~n the ldst of the connotations (the one which seems bothto establish and to close the reading), the superior myth bywhich the text pretends to return to the nature of language, tolanguage as nature: doesn't a sentence, whatever meaning it
releases, subsequent to its utterance, it would seem, appear to
be telling us something simple, literal, primitive: somethingtrue, in relation to which all the rest (which comes afterwtITtU,
on tOf') is literature7 This is why, if we want to go along withthe classic text, we must keep denotation, the old deity, watchful, cunning. theatrical, foreordained to represent the collective innocence of language.
9

v. READING, FORGETI'ING
re4d the text.
This statement, consonant with the "genius". of the language (subject, verb, complement), is not always
true. '[!te more plural the text, the less it is written before I
read it; I do not make it undergo a predicative operation, consequent upon its being, an operation known as redding, and I
is not an innocent subject, anterior to the text, one which willsubsequently deal with the text as it would an object to dismantle or a site to occupy. This "I" which approaches the text
is already itself a plurality of other texts, of c;Qd~ which are
infinite or, more precisely, lost (whose origin is IQst). Objectivity and subjectivity are of course forces which can take over
the text, but they are forces which have no affinity with it.
Subjectivity is a plenary image, with which I may be thought
to encumber the text, but whose deceptive plenitude is merely
the wake of all the codes which constitute me, so that my subjectivity has ultimately the generality of stereotypes. Objectivity is the same type of replenishment: it is an imaginary
system like the rest (except that here the castrating gesture ismore fiercely characterized), an image which serves to nameme advantageously, to make myself known, "mismown," evento myself. Reading involves risk$ of objectivity or subjectivi~(both are imaginary) only insofar as we define the text as an
expressive object (presented for our own expression), sublimated under a morality of truth, in one instance laxist; in theother, ascetic. Yet reading is not a parasitical act, the reactive
complement of a writing which we endow with all the glamourof creation and anteriority. It is a form of work (which is why
it would be better to speak of a lexeological act-even a lexcographical act, since I write my reading), and the method of
this work is topological: I am not hidden within the text, I am
simply irrecoverable from it: my task is to move, to shift systems whose perspective ends neither at the text nor at the "I":.I

10

in operational tenns, the meanings I find are established notby "me" or by others, but by their systenuJtic mark: there is noother proof of a reading than the quality and endurance of its
systematics; in other words: than its functioning. To read, in
f~ct, is a labor of langua&e. To read is to find meanings, and tofind meanings is to name them; but these named meanings are
swept toward oth~r P!lJIlC;:S; names call to each other, reassemble, and their grouping calls for further namin.g: I name, I unname, I rename: so the text passes: it is a nomination in thecourse of becoming, a tireless approximation, a metonymic
labor. -With regard to the plural text, forgetting a meaning
cannot therefore be seen as a fault. Forgetting in relation towhat? What is the sum of the text? Meanings can indeed beforgotten, but only if we have chosen to bring to bear upon the
text a singular scrutiny. Yet reading does not consist in stopping the chain of systems, in establishing a truth, a legality ofthe text, and consequently in leading its reader into "errors";
it consists in coupling these systems, not according to theirfinite quantity, but according to their plurality (which is abeing, not a discounting): I pass, I intersect, I articulate, I
release, I do not count. Forgetting meanings is not a matterfor excuses, an unfortunate defect in performance; it is anaffirmative value, a way of asserting the irresponsibility of thetext, the pluralism of systems (if I closed their list, I would
inevitably reconstitute a singular, theological meaning): it isprecisely because I forget that I read.

VI. STEP BY STEP

If we want to remain attentive to the plural of a text (however limited it may be), we must renounce structuring thistext in large masses, as was done by classical rhetoric and by
11

5eCOndary-school explication: no construction of the text:
everything signifies ceaselessly and several times, but without
being delegated to a great final ensemble, to an ultimate structure. Whence the idea, and so to speak the necessityJ of a
gradual analysis of a single text. Whence, it would seem, several implications and several advantages. The commentary ona single text is not a contingent activity, assigned the reassuring alibi of the "concrete": the single text is valid for all the
texts of literature, not in that it represents them (abstracts andequalizes them), but in that literature itself is never anything
but a single text: the one text is not an (inductive) access toa Model, but entrance into a network with a thousand e!1trances; to take this entrance is to aim, ultimately, not at a_legal structure of norms and departures, a namtive or poetic
Law, but at a perspective (of fragments, of voices hom othertexts, other codes), whose vanishing point is nonetheless cease- ~lessIy pushed back, mysteriously opened: each (single) text isthe very theory (and not the mere example) of this vanishing,of this difference which indefinitely returns, insubmissive.
Further, to study this text down to the last detail is to take up
the structural analysis of namtive where it has been left till
now: at the major structures; it is to assume the power (thetime, the elbow room) of worlcing back along the threads ofmeanings, of abandoning no site of the signifier without endeavoring to ascertain the code or codes of which this site isperhaps the starting point (or the goal); it is (at least we may
hope as much, and work to this end) 19 s'"ubstitute for the simple representative model another model, whose very gradualness would guarantee what may be productive in the classict~t; for the step-by-step method, through its very slowness
and dispersion, avoids penetrating, reversing the tutor text, giving an internal image of it: it is never anything but the decomposition (in the cinematographic sense) of the work of reading: a slow motion, so to spealc, neither wholly image norwholly analysis; it is, finally, in the very writing of the commentary, a systematic use of digression (a fonn ill-accommodated by the discourse of knowledge) and thereby a way ofobserving the reversibility of the structures from which the text
is woven; of course, the classic text is incompletely reversible{it is modestly plural) : the reading of this text occurs within anecessary order, which the gradual analysis will make precisely
its order of writing; but the step-by-step commentary is of necessity a renewal of the entrances to the text, it avoids structuring the text excessivel)" avoids giving it that additional structure
which would come from a dissertation and would close it: itstars the text, instead of assembling it.

VII. THE STAlUlED TEXT

We shall therefore star the text, separating, in the manner of aminor earthquake, the blocks of signification of which reading
grasps only the smooth surface, imperceptibly soldered by the
movement of sentences, the flowing discourse of narration, the"naturalness" of ordinary language. The tutor signifier will be
cut up into a series of brid, contiguous fragments, which weshall call ~, since they are units of reading. This cutting
up, admittedly, will be arbitrary in the extreme; it will imply
no methodological responsibility, since it will bear on the signifier, whereas the proposed analysis bears solely on the signified. The lexia will include sometimes a few words, sometimes
several sentences; it will be a matter of convenience: it will
suffice that the lexia be the best possible space in which we canobserve meanings; its dimension, empirically determined, estimated, will depend on the density of connotations, variableaccording to the moments of the text: all we require is thateach lexia should have at most three or four meanings to beenumerated. The text, in its mass, is comparable to a sky, atonce flat and smooth, deep, without edges and without landmarks; like the soothsayer drawing on it with the tip of his
staff an imaginary rectangle wherein to consult, according tocertain principles, the flight of birds, the commentator traces
through the text certain zones of reading, in order to observe
therein the migration of meanings, the outcropping of codes,
the passage of citations. The lexia is only the wrapping of asemantic volume, the crest line of the plural text, arranged likea berm of possible (but controlled, attested to by a systematic
reading) meanings under the flux of discourse: the lexia andits units will thereby form a kind of polyhedron faceted by theword, the group of words, the sentence or the paragraph, i.e.,with the language which is its "natural" excipient.

VIII. THE BROKEN TEXT

What will be noted is, across these artificial articulations, theshifting and repetition of the signifieds. Discerning these signifieds systematically for each lexia does not aim at establish,; ing the truth of the text (its profound, strategic structure), but;' its plurality (however parsimonious )'; the units of meaning(the connotations), strung out separately for each lexia, will
not then be regrouped, provided with a metameaning which
would be the ultimate construction to be given them (we shallmerely reconnect, as an appendix, certain sequences whichmight have become lost in the unraveling of the tutor text).
We shall not set forth the criticism of a text, or a criticism of
this text; we shall propose the semantic substance (divided but
not distributed) of several kinds of criticism (psychological,
psychoanalytical, thematic, historical, structural); it will thenbe up to each kind of criticism (if it should so desire) to come14

into play, to make its voice heard, which is the hearing of oneof the voices of the text. What we seek is to sketch the stereographic space of writing (which will here be a classic, readerly
writing). The commentary, based on the affinnation of theplural, cannot therefore work with "respect" to the text; thetutor text will ceaselessly be broken, interrupted without any
regard for its natural divisions (syntactical, rhetorical, anecdotic); inventory, explanation, and digression may deter any
observation of suspense, may even separate verb and complement, noun and attribute; the work of the commentary, once
it is separated from any ideology of totality, consists precisely
in mdnlumdling the text, interrupting it What is thereby denied is not the qlUllity of the text (here incomparable) but its"naturalness. "IX. HOW MANY READINCS?

We must further accept one last freedom: that of reading thetext as if it had already been read. Those who like a good story
may certainly tum to the end of the book and read the tutor
text first; it is given as an appendix in its purity and continuity,
as it came from the printer, in short, as we habitually read it.
But for those of us who are trying to establish a plural, we cannot stop this plural at the gates of reading: the reading mustalso be plural, that is, without order of entrance: the "first"
version of a reading must be able to be its last, as though thetext were reconstituted in order to achieve its artifice of continuity, the signifier then being provided with an additionalfeature: shifting. Rereading, an operation contrary to the commercial and ideological habits of our society, which would
have us "throwaway" the story once it has been consumed("devoured"), so that we can then move on to another story,

buy another book, and which is tolerated only in certain marginal categories of readers (children, old people, and professors), rereading is here suggested at the outset, for it alone
saves the text from repetition (those who fail to reread are
obliged to read the same story everywhere), multiplies it in its
variety and its plurality: rereading draws the text out of its internal chronology ("this happens before or ttfter that") andrecaptures a mythic time (without before or after); it contests
the claim which would have us believe that the 6rst reading isa primary, naive, phenomenal reading which we will only, afterwards, have to "explicate," to intellectualize (as if there werea beginning of reading, as if everything were not already read:
there is no first reading, even if the text is concerned to give usthat illusion by several operations of rusfJenSe, artifices more
spectacular than persuasive); rereading is no longer consumption, but play (that play which is the return of the different).
If then, a deliberate contradiction in terms, we immedidtely
reread the text, it is in order to obtain, as though under theeffect of a drug (that of recommencement, of difference), not
the re4l text, but a plural text: the same and new.

X. SARRASINE

The text I have chosen (Why? All i know is that for sometime I have wanted to make a complete analysis of a shorttext and that the Balzac story was brought to my attention
by an article by Jean Reboul,. who in tum is supposed tohave been inspired by Georges Bataille's reference; and thus
I was caught up in this "series" whose scope I was to discover by means of the text itself) is Balzac's StzrrdBine.1
1 'canReboul: "Salmine ou ]a castration penonnific!e," in c"m.,. flourr Andi)'ll, March-April, 1967.

I ~ de I/J Vii P/ll'ilNnu.

( 1) SARRASINE • The title raises a question: Wildt iI s..
raine? A DOun? A name? A thing? A man? A woman? This question will not be answered until much later, by the biography ofthe sculptor named Samsine. Let us designate as Mrnwrwutic
cod. (HER) all the units whose function it is to articulate invarious ways a question, its response, and the variety of chance
events which can either formulate the question or delay its
answer; or even, constitute an enigma and lead to its solution.
Thus, the title SarrllliM initiates the first step in a sequence which
will not be mmpleted until No. 153 (HER. Enigma I-the story
will contain others-: question). . . The word Smram. has anadditional connotation, that of femininity, which will be obvious
to any French-speaking person, since that language automaticallytakes the final "e" as a specifically feminine linguistic property,
particularly in the case of a proper name whose masculine form
(Scmcuin) exists in French onomastics.. femininity (connoted) isa signifier which will occur in several places in the text; it is a
shifting element which can combine with other similar elements
to create characters, ambiances, shapes, and symbols. Although
every unit we mention here will be a signifier, this one is of a very
special type: it is the signifier par excellence because of its emmatation, in the usual meaning of the term. We shall call this element
a signifier (without going into further detail), or a II..... (semantically, ~ seme is the unit of the signifier), and we sball indicate
these units by the abbreviation SEM, designating each time by
an approximate word the connotative signifier referred to in thelcxia (SEM. Femininity).
(2) I Well dufJ in OM of thole dttydredml • There will be noth·ing wayward about the daydream introduced here: it will be solidly
constructed along the most familiar rhetorical lines, in a series ofantitheses: garden and salon, life and death, cold and heat, outside
and interior. The lexia thus lays the groundwork, inintrociuctory
form, for a vast symbolic sbucture, since it can lend itself to many
IObstitutions, variations, which will lead us hom the garden to thecastrato, from the salon to the girl with whom the narrator is inlove, by way of the mysterious old man, the full·bosomed Mme de
Lanty, or Vien's moonlit Adonis. Thus, on the symbolic level, animmense province appears, the province of the antithesis, of which

17this forms the first unit, linking at the start its two adversative
terms (AlB) in the word daydredm. (We shall mark all the units
in this symbolic area with the letters SYM. Here-SYM. Antithesis: AB.)The state of absorption formulated here (I WdS
deep in) already implies (at least in "readerly" discourse)
some event which will bring it to an end (.
when 1 WdS roused
by d conveTSdtion
No. H). Such sequences imply a logic inhuman behavior. In Aristotelian terms, in which prdXia is linked topro4irem, or the ability rationally to determine the result of anaction, we shall name this code of actions and behavior prOdiretic(in narrative, however, the discourse, rather than the characters,
determines the action). This code of actions will be abbreviated
ACT; furthermore, since these actions produce effects, each effectwill have a generic name giving a kind of title to the sequence, andwe shall number each of the terms which constitute it, as they
appear (ACT. "To be deep in": 1: to be absorbed).

**( 3) which overtdke even the shdllowut of men. in the midst of the
TJ10Bt tumultuous parties.
The fact "there is a party" (given
here obliquely), soon to be followed by further data (a privatehouse in the Faubourg Saint-Honore), forms a pertinent signi6er:
The phrase
the wealth of the Lanty family (SEM. Wealth).
is a conversion of what might easily be a real proverb: "Tumultuous parties: deep daydremrut." The statement is made in a collective and anonymous voice originating in traditional humanexperience. Thus, the unit has been formed by a gnomic code, andthis code is one of the numerous codes of knowledge or wisdom towhich the text continually refers; we shall call them in a very general way culturdl codes (even though, of course, all codes are cultural), or rather, since they afford the discourse a basis in scienti6c
or moral authority, we shall call them reference codes (REF.
Gnomic code) .

***XI. THE FIVE CODESAs chance would have it (but what is chance?), the first threelexias-the title and the first sentence of the story-have al18

ready provided us with the five major codes under which all
the textual signifiers can be grouped: without straining a point,
there will be no other codes throughout the story but these
five, and each and every lexia will fall under one of these fivecodes. Let us sum them up in order of their appearance, without trying to put them in any order of importance. Under theherm~ut!~c.04e, we list the various (fonnal) terms by which·an enigmii'can be distinguished, suggested, formulated, held insuspense, and finally disclosed (these tenns will not always
occur, they will often be repeated; they will not appear in any
fixed order). As for the ~es, we merely indicate them-without, in other words, trying either to link them to a character( or a place or an object) or to arrange them in some order sothat they form a single thematic grouping; we allow them theinstability, the dispersion, characteristic of motes of dust,
Rickers of meaning. Moreover, we shall refrain from structuring the symbolic grouping; this is the place for multivalence
and for reversibility; the main task is always to demonstratethat this field can be entered from any number of points,
thereby making depth and secrecy problematic. Actions (tennsof the proairetic code) can fall into various sequences whichshould be indicated merely by listing them, since the proairetic_sequence is never more than the result of an artifice of reading:whoever reads the text amasses certain data under some generic titles for actions (stroU, murder, rende:cvous), and this-ti!le embodies the seq,~enc~; the sequence exists when and because it can be given a name, it unfolds as this process of naming takes place. as a title is sought or confinned; its basis istherefore more empirical than rational, and it is useless toattempt to force it into a statutory order; its only logic is thatof the "already-done" or "already-read"-whence the variety ofsequences (some trivial, some melodramatic) and the variety
of terms (numerous or few); here again, we shall not attempt
to put them into any order. Indicating them (externally and19intema1ly) will suffice to demonstrate the plural meaning entangled in them. Lastly, ~e c~tural codes are references to ascience or a body of knowledge; in drawing attention to them,
we merely indicate the type of knowledge (physical, physiological, medical, psychological, literary, historical, etc.) referred to, without going so far as to construct (or reconstruct)
the culture they express.

XlI. TIlE WEAVING OF VOICESThe five codes create a kind of network, a tapas through which
the entire text passes (or rather, in passing, becomes text).
Thus, if we make no effort to structure each code, or the fivecodes among themselves, we do so deliberately, in order toassume the multivalence of the text, its partial reversibility.
We are, in fact, concerned not to manifest a structure but toproduce a structuration. The blanks and looseness of theanalysis will be like footprints marking the escape of the text;
for jf the text is subject to some form, this form is not unitary,architectonic, finite: it is the fragment, the shards! t:)l~ br9ken
or obliterated networi-=-~l the mo_y'~rgCDt$ and in8ections ofa vast "dissoly~" which permits both overlapping 1l!1~10S5 ofmessages. Hence we use Code here not in the sense of a list, aparadigm that must be reconstituted. The code is a perspectiveof quotations, a mirage of structures; we know only its departures and returns; the units which have resulted from it (those
we inventory) are themselves, always, ventures out of the text,
the mark, the sign of a virtual digression toward the remainderof a catalogue (The KidTUJPfJing refers to every kidnapping
ever written); they are so many fragments of something thathas always been alreddy read, seen, done, experienced; the codeis the wake of that alreddy. Referring to what has been written,
20

i.e., to the Book (of culture, of life, of life as culture), it makes
the text into a prospectus of this Book. Or again: each code isone of the forces that can take over the text (of which the text
is the network), one of the voices out of which the text iswoven. Alongside each utterance, one might say that off-stage
voices can be heard: they are the codes: in their interweaving,these voices (whose origin is '1ost" in the vast perspective ofthe tIlreGdy-written) de-originate the utterance: the convergence of the voices (of the codes) becomes wdtini. a stereopaphic space where the five codes. the five ~cs, intersect:
the Voice of Empirics (the proairetisms), the Voice of the
Person (the semes), the Voice of Science (the cultural codes) ,the Voice of Truth (the hermeneutisms), the Voice ofSymbol.
( .. ) Midnight htld jU8t BOUnded from the cloc1c of the Elysk-Bourbon.
A metonymy leads from the Elysee-Bourbon to the seme
WfkIlth, since the Faubourg Saint-Honore is a wealthy neighborhood. This wealth is itself connoted: a neighborhood of nouvedUX
riches, the Faubourg Saint-Honore refers by synechdoche to theParis of the Bourbon Restoration, a mythic place of sudden fortunes whose origins are suspect; where gold is produced without an
origin, diabolically (the symbolic definition of speculation) (SEM.
Wealth).

*(5) Se4ted in a window recess* The development of an antith-

Gis normally includes the exposition of each of its parts (A. B).

A third term is possible: a joint presentation. This term can be
purely rhetorical, if we are concerned to introduce or mmmtll'iu
the antithesis; but it can also be literal, if we are concerned todenote the physical conjunction of antithetical sites: a function
which here devolves upon recesa, an intermediate place between
prden and salon, death and life (SYM. Antithesis: mediation).

(6) and hidden behind the sinuous folds of a Bille curtain,-nMIing place": I: to be hidden.

* ACf.

(7) I could contemplate at my leisure the garden of the mansion
where I was spending the evening. * I could contemplate means
I am going to describe. The first term of the antithesis (garden) is
introduced here from a rhetorical viewpoint (according to thecode): there is a manipulation of the discourse, not of the story(SYM. Antithesis: A: introduction). We may note here, to return
to it later, that contemplation, a visual posture, the arbitrary delimitation of a field of observa"tion (the templum of the augurs),
relates the whole description to the model of painting. ** SEM.
Wealth (a party, the Faubourg Saint-Honore, a mansion).

XIII. CITAR

The Party, the Faubourg, the Mansion are anodyne data,
seemingly lost in the natural How of the discourse; in fact, they
are touches designed to bring out the image of Wealth in thetapestry of the daydream. Thus, on several occasions the semeis "cited"; we would like to give this word its tauromachian
meaning: the citar is the stamp of the heel, the torero's archedstance which summons the bull to the banderilleros. Similarly,!m.e cites the signified (wealth1 to make it come forth, \\,!!i!~avqiding it in the discourse. This Heeting citation, this surreptitious and discontinuous way of stating themes, this alternatingof Hux and outburst, create together the allure of the connotation; the semes appear to float freely, to form a galaxy oftriHing data in which we read no order of importance: the narrative technique is im'press~onistic: it ll.!'eaks ~ the signifier
iI!~~ parti~!es of verbaLmatter~~~!1l_:lk~ s~ns~~!!lyJ)l'_~'!-:
alescing: it plays with the distribution of a discontinuity (thuscreating a character's "personality"); the greater the syntagmatic distance between two data, the more skillful the narrative; the performance consists in manipulating a certain degreeof impressionism: the touch must be light, as though it weren't
22worth remembering, and yet, appearing again later in anotherguise, it must already be a memory; the readerly is an effectbased on the operations of solidarity (the readerly "sticks");
but the more this solidarity is renewed, the more the intelligible becomes intelligent. The (ideological) goal of this tech!!ique is to naturalize meaning and thus to give credence to thereality of the story: for (in the West) meaning (system), weare told, is antipathetic to nature and reality. This naturalization is possible only because the significant data released-or
summoned-in a homeopathic rhythm are carried, borne along,by a purportedly "natural" medium: language: paradoxically,language, the integral system of meaning, is employed to desystematize the secondary meanings, to naturalize their production and to authenticate the story: connotation. is concealed beneath th~ ~lar s01,1nd QfJhc. "sentences':~."we.altb.:~mbeneath .YtLeili' na~tax (subi~t ~nd _adverbi~l. Ql>iect.)..
which says that a ~!!Y ~ ~iQg.g:i.ven in a_IDiIl.s.tQD which is)ocate<Jl~~~Erticular n~~ghborhood.

(8) The trees, partitJUy covered with snow, stood out dimly cJgainst
the grayish bdc1cground of d cloudy sky, btuely whitened by themoon. Sun amid these ftl1ltcJStic WTToundings, they vdguely reaembled ghosts ludf out of their shrouds, d gigcJntic representtttionof the fcJmoUB DcJnce of the Dettd. SYM. Antithesis: A: the outThe snow here refers to cold, but this is not inevidoors.
table, it is even rare: the snow, a soft, downy cloak, rather connotes
the wannth of homogeneous substances, the protection of a shelter.
Here the cold is created by the partial nature of the snow covering:
it is not the snow but the partialness that is cold; the sinister fonn
is the partially covered fonn: the plucked, the skinned, the patchy,
everything left of a wholeness preyed on by a nothingness (SEM.
Cold). The moon, too, contributes to this deficiency: frankly sinister here, fonning a defect in the landscape it lights; we will comeapon it again endowed with an ambiguous softness when, in the

*

-**

23

*

(9) Then, tuming in the other direction,
Here the passage from
one term of the Antithesis (outside, the garden) to the other (inside, the salon) is a bodily movement; thus it is not an artifice of
discourse (part of the rhetorical code) but a physical act of conjunction (part of the symbolic level) (SYM. Antithesis: mediation) .

*( 10) 1 could culmire the DClnce of the Living'
The Dance of the
Dead (No.8) was a stereotype, a fixed syntagm. Here, dlis syntagm
is divided, a new syntagm is created (the DtmCe of the Living).
Two codes are simultaneously understood: a code of connotation(in the dcJnce of death the meaning is universal, arising from acoded knowledge, that of art history) and a code of denotation (inthe dcJnce of the living, each word, according to its dictionary
meaning, is added to its predecessor); this divergence, this sort of
double vision, defines the play on words. This play on words isconstructed like a diagram for an Antithesis (a form whose symbolic importance we know): a common stem, dcJnce, is diversified
into two opposing syntagms (death/life), just as the nanator's
body is the unique dividing line between the garden and thesalon (REF. Play on words).
1 could contemplClte set forth
the first part (A) of the Antithesis (No.7). "I could CldrniTe"
symmetrically announces the second (B). The contemplation had
reference to an actual painted picture; admiration, bringing forthshapes, colors, sounds, and scents, makes the description of thesalon (still to come) like a theatrical scene (the stage). We wiD

**

2.4

return to this subjection of literature (particularly in its "realist"form) to other representational codes (SYM. Antithesis: B: statement).
( II) 4 ,plendid Sdlon decorated in Bilver cJnd gold, with glitteringch4ndeliers, spcalcling with Cdndks. There, milling dbout, whirling
ClrOUoo, flitting here 400 there, were the most bedutiful women of
Paris, the richest, the noblest, donling, stately, resplendent withdUlmonds, flower, in their Mir, on their bosoms, on their heCJdB,
Jtrewn over dresses or in gdrlands at their feet. Light, rustling movements, 'Voluptuous steps, rntlde the lcIces, the Billc broc4des, thefIl'J%G, flo4t Clrouoo their delicelte forms. Here 4nd there, some
O'Veny 4nimated gUmces dtJrled forth, eclipsing the lights, the fireof the dUtmonds, 400 stimulttted 4MW some tOCHtrdent hedrts. One
might also catch movements of the he4d me4ningful to lo'Vers, 400...pve gestures for husbdnds. The BUdden outbursts of the gamblers' VOK:a cit eoch unexpected tum of the dice, the clinic of gold,
mingled with the mu.ic 4nd the murmur of con'VerSCItion, 4nd tooomplste the giddiness of this m48B of people intoxicated by everydUng seductive the world can hold, a Iuue of perfume 400 general
inebridtion pUzyed upon the fevered mind.
SYM. Antithesis:
The women are transformed into flowers (they
B: indoors.
me wearing them everywhere); this seme of (lor4 will later be attached to the woman the narrator is in love with (whose outlines
IK "verdant"); further, flora connotes a certain conception of life
iD its pure state (because organic) which forms an antithesis withdie dead "thing" the old man will represent (SEM. F1ora). The_ling of laces, the gauzy floatings, the haze of perfumes, evoke
JItc seme Y4/lO r9JP, antithetical to 4nguldr (No. SO), to the g~.mical (No. 76), the wrinkled (No. 82), all of which are forms
which will be semes for the old man. In the old man, by way of
CllDtrast, what is intended is the nJIIChine; can we conceive (at least• n:aderly discourse) of a 'Vaporous J1UJChine? (SEM. Vaporous.),"'" SEM. Wealth.
Allusively, an adulterous ambiance is
Alaignated; it connotes Paris as an immoral city (Parisian fortunes,•• Lantys' included, are immoral) (REF. Ethnic psychology:

*

**

****

Iaris).
1

f,(U) Thus, on my right, the ddrlc and silent im4ge of deelth; on my,.". the seemly b4cchanali.cls of life: here, cold nclture, dull, in25mourning; there, hunutn beings enjoying themselves.
tithesis: AS: resume.

* SYM. An-( 13 ) On the borderline between these two so different scenes,
which, a thousand times reputed in various guises, make Paris theworld's most amusing and most philosophical city, I WClS making
for myself a moral nwcedoine, half plecasant, half funerul. With
my left foot I beat time, and I felt dB though the other wre in thegrave. My leg WClS in fact chilled by one of those insidious drttfts
which freeu half our bodies while the other half feels the humid
heat of rooms, em occurrence rather freq~nt at balls.
doine connotes a composite, the mixture without combination of
disparate elements.,This seme will move from the narrator to Sarrasine (No. 195). thus weakening the notion that the narrator is _~rely a secondary, introductory character: symbolically, the two ,are equals. The composite is set against a condition which will
have vast importance in Sarrasine's story, since it will be .linked
with the discovery of his first pleasure: the lubricdted (No. 213).
The failure of the narrator and of Sarrasine is the failure of a substance which does not "take" (SEM. Composite).
Two cultural codes make their voices heard here: ethnic psychology (REF.
"Paris") and popular medicine ("an easy way to catch cold is to
stand in a window recess") (REF. Medicine).
The narrator's
participation in the profound symbolism of the Antithesis is here
made ironic, trivialized, minimized by reference to a physical causation which is vulgar, contemptible: the narrator pretends to reject
the symbolic, which in his eyes is a "draft"; however, he will bepunished for his disbelief (SEM. Asymbolism).

* Mace-*****XIV. ANTITHESIS I: THE SUPPLEMENT

The several hundred figures propounded by the art of rhetoric
down through the centuries constitute a labor of classification
intended to name, to lay the foundations for, the world.
Among all these figures, one of the most stable is the Antithesis; its apparent function is to consecrate (and domesticate)by a name, by a metalinguistic object, the division between%6

opposites and the very irreducibility of this division. The antithesis separates for eternity; it thus refers to a nature of opposites, and this nature is untamed. Far from differing merely by
the presence or lack of a simple relationship (as is ordinarily
the case with paradigmatic opposites), the two terms of an
antithesis are each marked: their difference does not arise outof a complementary, dialectical movement (empty as opposed
to full) : the antithesis is the battle between two plenitudes set
ritually face to face like two fully armed warriors; the Antithesis is the figure of the given opposition, eternal, eternally recurrent: the figure of the inexpiable. Every joining of two antithetical terms, every mixture, every conciliation-in short,every passage through the wall of the Antithesis-thus constitutes a transgression; to be sure, rhetoric can reinvent a figure
designed to name the transgressive; this figure exists: it is thepu4doxism (or alliance of words): an unusual figure, it is thecode's ultimate attempt to affect the inexpiable. Hidden in theNCeSS, between outside and inside, installed at the interior
limit of adversation, spanning the wall of the Antithesis, theaarrator brings this figure into play: he induces or supports abansgression. This transgression is in no way catastrophic, forthe moment; ironized, trivialized, tamed, it is the object of an
iDnocuous word, without relationship to the horlOr of thesymbol (to the symbol as horror); and yet its outrageousness isimmediately clear. How? Rhetorically, the antithesis of garden
ad salon has been saturated: the whole (AB) has been stated,each term has been individually introduced and described, andIhen once again, to sum up, the whole antithesis has been recapitulated in a harmoniously closed loop:

Now an element has thrust itself into this group which has
been (rhetorically) completed. This element is the narrator's
position (encoded as "mediation").
AS

/:~~

A

I

mediation ' "B

~4'oo;/
ASI

mediationMediation upsets the rhetorical-or paradigmatic-harmony of
the Antithesis (ABI A/BI AB) and this difficulty arises not outof a lack but out of an excess: there is one element in exc~
and this ~ard supplement is the body (of the narrator).
~ supplement. the body is the site of the transp:ssion e!h;cted by the narrative: it is at the level of the body that th~
two inconci1itJbilitJ of the Antithesis (outside and inside, coldand heat. death and life) are brought together, are made totouch, to mingle in the most amazing of figures in a composite
substance (without holding together), here whimsical (themactdoine) and later chimerical (the arabesque created by
the old man and the girl when seated side by side). I t is bI..
way of this excess which enters the discoUrse after rbetoricJlu...
properly saturated it that something can be told and the nar:.rative begin.

XV. THE FULL SCORE

The area of the (readerly) text is comparable at every point toa (classical ) musical score. The divisions of the syntagm (in its
2.8

gradual movement) correspond to the divisions of the sonicflow into measures (one is hardly more arbitrary than theother). What stands out, what flashes forth, what emphasizes
and impresses are the semes, the cultural citations and thesymbols, analogous in their heavy timbre, in the value of theirdiscontinuity, to the brass and percussion. What sings, what
80ws smoothly, what moves by accidentals, arabesques, andcontrolled ritardandos through an intelligible progression (likethe melody often given the woodwinds) is the series of enigmas, their suspended disclosure, their delayed resolution: thedevelopment of an enigma is really like that of a fugue; bothcontain a subject, subject to an exposition, a development(embodied in the retards, ambiguities, and diversions bywhich the discourse prolongs the mystery), a siretto (a tightened section where scraps of answers rapidly come and go),and a conclusion. Finally, what sustains, flows in a regular way,
brings everything together, like the strings, are the proairetic
sequences, the series of actions, the cadence of familiar ges-tures:LEXIAS

Semes

2

1

"'Hidden"

5

7

8

..h

m

6

~

)\

J

j

Alltithesis

~inu

i

~ ~

~

Cultural codes

Enigma 1

3

9

10

11

12

13

m n
~ ~
n

J J J J J

j

J

....
.'"
-....

';J", r-... i-"j". t-........

The analogy can be carried even further. We can attribute to
two lines of the polyphonic table (the hermeneutic and theproairetic) the same tonal detennination that melody andhannony have in classical music: the readerly text is a toJ14l
text (for which habit creates a reading process just as conditioned as our hearing: one might say there is a reading eye as
there is a tonal ear, so that to unlearn the readerly would be
the same as to unlearn the tonal), and its tonal unity is basically dependent on two sequential codes: the revelation oftruth and the coordination of the actions represented: there is
the same constraint in the gradual order of melody and in theequally gradual order of the narrative sequence. Now, it isprecisely this constraint which reduces the plural of the classic
text. The five codes mentioned, frequently heard simultaneously, in fact endow the text with a kind of plural quality (thetext is actually polyphonic), but of the fixe codes. only three~tablish pennutable, reversible connections, outside the con.straint of time (the semic, cultural, and symbolic codes); theother two impose their tenns according to an irreversible order(the henneneutic and proairetic codes). The classic text, therefore, is actually tabular (and not linear), but its tabularity isvectorized, it follows a logico-temporal order. It is a multivalent but incompletely reversible system. What blocks its reversibility is just what limits the plural nature of the classic text.
These blocks have names: on the one hand, truth; on theother, empiricism: against~r between-them, the modern
text comes into being.

(H) "Monsieur de lARty lutsn't owned this howe for very long.
Iuts her'"Oh yes. Mareclull Cariglidno sold it to him nearly ten years

ago."
"M/"
"These people must have a huge fortune.""They must have."

"Wlutt a partyllt's shockingly elegant.""Do you thinJr they're dB rich dB M. de Nucingen or M. de Gondreviller'
ACf. "To be deep in": 2: to come back again.
REF. Chronological code (ten years .. ). *** Here the Lantys'
wealth (already indicated by linking the party, the mansion, andthe neighborhood) is openly stated; and since this wealth will be
the subject of an enigma (where does it come from?), the lexia
must be regarded as a term of the hermeneutic code; we shall designate as theme the object (or subject) of the enigma; the enigma is
not yet formulated, but its theme has already been introduced, or,if we prefer, speaking casually, brought out (HER. Enigma 2:
theme).

***(15) "You mean you don't knowr'
I stuck my head out and recognized the two sf>eakeTS dB members of tlutt strange race which, in Paris, deals exclusively with"whys" mad "hows," with "Where did they come from?" "Wlutt's~ngr' "WIutt hdB she doner' They lowered their voices and
WtJlJted off to talk in greater comfort on some isolated sofa. Never
Itdd a richer vein been offered to seekers after mystery.
ACI'.
.....iding place: 2: to come out of hiding.
REF. Ethnic psychology ( Paris, worldly, slanderous, ta1etelling). *** Here wehave two further terms of the hermeneutic code: the proposal of
fIae enigma each time the discourse tells us, in one way or another,"'There is an enigma," and the avoided (or suspended) answer: forbad the discourse not moved the two speakers off to a secluded
sofa, we would have quickly learned the answer to the enigma, the
JOUI'CC of the Lanty fortune (however, then there would have been
DO story to tell) (HER. Enigma 2: proposal and suspended answer) .

***(16) Nobody knew wlutt country the Lanty family came from,* Ii. new enigma, thematized (the Lantys are a family), proposed(there is an enigma), and formulated (What is their origin?):these three morphemes are here combined in a single phrase (HER.
Enigma 3: theme, proposal, and formulation) .
(17) or from wlutt buBineu, wlutt plunder, wlutt piratical activity,,. wlutt inheritance derived a fortune estimated at several millions.
HER. Enigma 2: (the Lanty fortune) : formulation.

*

( 18) All the members of the family spoke I talian, French, Spanish,
English, and Germ4n perfectly enough to create the belief that theymust have spent a long tilTUt among these various peoples. Were
they gypsia? Were they freebooters? * A seme is hinted at here:
the international character of the Lantys, who speak the five cultivated languages of the day. This seme points to the truth (thegreat-uncle is a former international star and the languages mentioned are those of musical Europe), but it is far too soon for it toserve in unveiling it: the important thing, for the morale of the
discourse, is that the seme not contradict the truth prospectively(SEM. Internationalism).
Narratively, an enigma leads from aquestion to an answer, through a certain number of delays. Of
these delays, the main one is unquestionably the feint, the misleading answer, the lie, what we will can the snme. The discourse has
already lied by preterition, by omitting from among the possible
sources of the Lantys' fortune (commerce, plunder, piracy, inheritance) the real one, which is the stardom of an uncle, a famousand kept castrato; here the discourse lies positively by means of anenthymeme with a false premise: 1. Only gypsies and freebootersspeak several languages. 2. The Lantys are polygot. 3. The Lantys
are gypsies or freebooters (HER. Enigma 3: snare, set by the discourse for the reader) .

**(19) "Even if it's the devil," SOITUt young politici4ns said, "theygive a marvelous party.""Even if the Count tU Ldnty IuJd robbed a btlnk, I'd m.tIIT)' hiI
daughter any tilTUt'" crUd a philosopher.
REF. Ethnic psychol-*ogy: cynical Paris.
(20) Who wouldn't lutve ~d Marianina, a girl of sixteen
whose beauty embodied the fabled imaginings of the Eastern
poets' Like the sultan's daughter, in the story of the Magic Lmnp,
she should lutve been kept veiled. Her linging put into the sluuJe
the partial talents of Malibran, Sontdg, and Fodor, in whom one
dominant quality has IIlways excluded over~ perfection; whertuIB
MarUmina was able to bring to the smne level purity of sound,sensibility, rightness of mO'VelTUtnt and pitch, soul and ~nce, correctness and feeling. This girl was the embodilTUtnt of that secret
poetry, the common bond among IIll the arts, which always eludathose who SUTch for it. Sweet and modest, edUCllted tmd witty, no
one could eclipse Maridni1Ul, save her mother . • REF. Chronology (Marianina was six years old when her father purchased the
Carigliano mansion, etc.) .•• REF. Gnomic code ("There is in
every tilt," etc.) and literary code (Oriental poets, The ThoUSdnd
and One Nights, Aladdin) . . . . Why is Marianina's musicianshipso perfect? because she unites talents which are usually scattered.
Similarly, why does Sarrasine find La Zambinella so seductive? because her body unites perfections the sculptor has only seen divided
among many models (No. 220). In both cases, we have the themeof the dismembered body-or the body as a whole (SYM. The reassembled body) . . . . . The young girl's beauty is referred to acultural rode, in this instance literary (it can elsewhere be pictorial or sculptural). This is a vast commonplace of literature: the
Woman copies the Book. In other words, every body is a citation:of the "already-written." The origin of desire is the statue, theI!linting, the book (Sarrasine will be identified with Pygmalion,
No. 229) (SYM. Replication of bodies).

XVI. BEAUTY

Beauty (unlike ugliness) cannot really be explained: in eachpart of the body it stands out, repeats itself, but it does notdescribe itself. Like a god (and as empty), it can only say: I
dm wluzt I ctm. The discourse, then, can do no more than assert
the perfection of each detail and refer "the remainder" to thecode underlying all beauty: Art. In other words, beauty cannot
assert itself save in the fonn of a citation: that Marianina retcmbles the sultan's daughter is the only way something canbe said about her beauty; it derives from its Model not only
beauty but also language; left on its own, deprived of any anterior code, beauty would be mute. Every direct predicate is
dcmed it; the only feasible predicates are either tautology (dlJerfectly oval idee) or simile (lovely Q8 d &phul MtUlonJUJ,
33

like d dredm in stone, etc.); thus, beauty is referred to an infinity of codes: lovely CIS Venus? But Venus lovely as what? As
herself? As Marianina? There is only one way to stop the replication of beauty: hide it, return it to silence, to the ineffable,_
to aphasia, refer the referent back to the invisible, veil the sUltan's daughter, affinn the code without realizing (withoutcompromising) its original. There is ODe rhetorical figure
which fills this blank in the object of comparison whose existence is altogether transferred to the language of the object towhich it is compared: catachresis (there is no other possible
word to denote the "wings" of a house, or the "anns" of achair, and yet "wings" and "anns" are instdntly, dlrecJdy metaphorical): a basic figure, more basic perhaps than metonymy,
since it speaks around an empty object of comparison: the figure of beauty.

(21) Have you ever encountered one of those women whose striking bedut)' defies the inroads of age and who seem at thirty-six
more desirable than they could have been fifteen years earlier?
Their visdge is a vibrant BOul, it glows; edCh fedture sparleles withintelligence; eQCh pore has a specitJl briUiance, especially in arti{icitJllight. Their seductive eyes refwe, attract, sfJedlc or renunn silent;
their walle is innocently lcnowledgetJble; their voices employ the
melodious wealth of the most coquettishly soft and tender notes.
&sed on comparisons, their praises flatter the self-love of the mostsentient. A movement of their eyebrows, the ledBt rJ.ance, theirpursed lips, fill with a kind of terror those whose life and happiness
depend upon them. Inexperienced in love and influenced by words,(l young girl can be seduced; for this leind of woman, however, amtln must know, like M. de Taucourt, not to cry out when he ishiding in a closet and the maid brealcs two of his fingers as she
shuts the door on them. In lC?Ving these powerful sirens, one gambles with one's life. And this, perhaps, is why we love them so /JtUsionettely. Such was the Countess de IAnt)'.• REF. ChronologyH(Mme de Lanty is thirty-six when
the infonnation is either
functional or signifying, as it is here).
REF. The legends of love
(M. de Jaucourt) and the amorous typology of women (the mature woman as superior to the inexperienced virgin).
Marianina copied The ThoUStJnd and One Nights. Mme. de Lanty's bodyis drawn from another Book, the Book of Life ("Have you everencountered one of those women."). This book was written bymen (like M. de Jaucourt) who are themselves a part of thelegend, a part of what must be read in order for love to be spoken(~YM. Replication of bodies) . . . . In contrast to her daughter,
Mme de Lanty is described so that her symbolic role is clear: thebiological axis of the sexes (which would force us, quite pointlessly,
to put all the women in the story in the same class) is replaced by
the symbolic axis of castration (SYM. Axis of castration) .

**

***

*

XVII. THE CASTRATION CAMP

At fint glance, SdrrClSine sets forth a complete structure of thesexes (two opposing tenos, a mixed and a neuter). This structure might then be de6ned in phallic tenns: (1) to be thephallus (the men: the namttor, M. de Lanty, Sarrasine, Bouchardon); (2) to have it (the women: Marianina, Mme de
Lanty, the girl the namttor is in love with, Clotilde); (3) tohave it and not to be it (the androgynous: Filippo, Sappho);
not to have it or to be it (the castrato). Now this distribution
is unsatisfactory. The women, though they belong to the same
biological class, do not have the same symbolic role: the motherand the daughter are opposites (as the text tells us often
enough), Mme de Roche6de is divided, alterna tely child andqueen, Clotilde is a nothing; Filippo, who has both feminineand masculine features, has no relationship to the Sappho whoterri6es Samtsine (No. +13); 6nally, and most notably, themen in the story do badly where fuU virility is concerned: oneis shrunken (M. de Lanty) , another is maternal (Bouchardon),3Sthe third is in thrall to the Queen-Woman (the narrator), andthe last (Sarrasine) "run down" to the point of castration.
Thus, sexual classification is not the right one. Another pertinence must be found. I t is Mme de Lanty who reveals theproper structure: in opposition to her (passive) daughter,
Mme de Lanty is totally active: she dominates time (defying
the inroads of age); she radiates (radiation is action at a distance, the highest form of power); bestowing praises, making
comparisons, instituting the language in relation to which
man can recognize himself, she is the primal Authority, theTyrant, whose silent numen decrees life, death, storm, peace;
finally and above all, she mutilates man (M. de Jaucourt loses
his "finger" because of her). In short, the precursor of Sappho
who so terrifies Sarrasine, Mme de Lanty is the castrating
woman, endowed with all the hallucinatory attributes of the
Father: power, fascination, instituting authority, terror, power
to castrate. Thus, the symbolic field is not that of the biological sexes; it is that of castration: of CtlStrdting/ CtJStrdted, ctive/ fJdSSive. It is in this field, and not in that of the biologicalsexes, that the characters in the story are pertinently distributed. On the side of active castration, we must include Mmede Lanty, Bouchardon (who keeps Sarrasine away from sexuality), and Sappho (a mythic figure threatening the sculptor).
On the passive side, whom do we find? the "men" in the story:
Sarrasine and the narrator, both led into castration, which theformer desires and the latter recounts. As for the castrato himself, we would be wrong to place him of necessity among thecastrated: he is the blind and mobile flaw in this system; hemoves back and forth between active and passive: castrated, hecastrates; the same is true of Mme de Rochefide: contaminated by the castration she has just been told about, she impels
the narrator into it. As for Marianina, her symbolic existence
could not be defined apart from that of her brother Filippo.

( 22 ) FiliPPO, MtJrianiJ14's brother, shared with his Bister in theCountess's marvelous beduty. To be brief, this young I'J14n WCIS aliving inwge of ARtinous, even more slender. Yet how weU thesethin, delicate proportions are suited to young people when an olive
complexion, strongly defined eyebrows, and the fire of velvet eyes
give promise of future male /JCIBBion, of brave thoughts, If Filippo
resided in every girrs heart CIS an ideal, he also resided in the memory of every mother CIS the best catch in France.
REF. Antique

*
***

**

art.
SEM. Wealth (the best catch in France), and Mediterranean type (olive complexion, velvet eyes).
Young Filippo
exists only as a copy of two models: his mother and Antinous: thebiological, chromosomatic Book, and the Book of statuary (without which it would be impossible to speak of beauty: Antinous,"to be brief': but what else is to be said? and what then to be said
about Antinous?) (SYM. Replication of bodies). **** SYM.
Axis of castration. Filippo's feminine features, although quickly
amended by euphemism (atrongly defined eyebrows, male paslions), since saying a boy is handsome is already sufficient to feminize him, place him in the women's camp, on the side of active
castration: however, Filippo plays no part in the story: then what
purpose, symbolically, can Marianina and Filippo serve?

XVIII. THE CASTRATO'S POSTERITYIn the story, neither Marianina nor Filippo serve much purpose: Marianina only provides the minor episode of the ring(an episode intended to deepen the Lanty mystery) and Filippo has no semantic existence other than to form a link (by.1Iis ambiguous physique, his tender and concerned treabnentof the old man) with the women's camp. As we have seen, thisamp is not one of biological sex, but of castration. Now,
~ther Marianina nor Filippo have the characteristics of cas.tors. Then what symbolic purpose do they serve? This one:
W feminine, brother and sister create a feminine progeny:Iar
Mme de Lanty (their maternal atavism is emphasized); inr37

......... , . I.. ZrImbinell4 (whose niece Mme de Lantyit): ~ aiIt to embody a kind of explosion of Zambinellan( _ .- ·-'tt. The meaning is as follows: if La Zambinella had... c:IaiIckm (a paradox indicative of the deficiency which_ _ her what she is), they would have been these hereditarily :md delicately feminine creatures, Marianina and Filippo:
as though in La Zambinella there had been a dream of normality, a teleological essence from which the castrato had been
excluded, and this essence was femininity itself, a realm andposterity reconstituted in Marianina and Filippo above theblank of castration.

(23) The betlUty, the fonuM, the wit, the chttnns of these two
What is the source of
the Lanty fortune? To this enigma 2, there is now an answer: thecountess, the woman. Thus, acoording to the henneneutic code,
there is a solution (partial, at least), a scrap of an answer. Yet thetruth is submerged in a list whose parataxis sweeps it along, hides
it, holds it back. and 6nally does not reveal it at all: thus there is aderoy, a snare, an obstacle (or a delay) in the solving. We will caU
this mixture of truth and snare, this ineffective solving, an equivoctttion (HER. Enigma 2: equivocation).
(SYM. Replicationof bodies) (the bodies of the children copy their mother's).
children. Cdme lIOlely from their rnotMr.

***(2i) The Count die IAnty WdB B1JIIIll, ugly, and poc1c-rrIIIT1ced; dttr1c
dB d 5pttnidrd, dull dB d banker. However, he WCIB tdlten to be ddeeppoliticitm, perh4pB bectIUIe he rmely 1.tDJghed, dnd WdS tIlways quot-*

ing Mettemich or Wellington.
REF. Psychology of peoples andMonsieur de Lanty's role isprofessions (Spaniard, banker).
small; as a banker, host of the party, he links the story to the mythof Parisian High Finance. His function is symbolic: his deprecatory
portrait excludes him from the heritage of La Zambinella (fromfemininity); he is a negligible, lost father, and joins the discarded
men of the story, aU castrated, cut off from pleasure; he helps 611
out the paradigm CtJStrttting/ CdBtrdted (SYM. Axis of castration).

**38

(25) This mysterious {dmily had all the ap/Jedl of one of Lord
Byron's poems, whose difficulties eoch person in the fashionable
world interpreted in a different way: an obscure and sublime songin every stropM.
REF. Literature (Byron).
HER. Enigma
3: theme and proposal ("this mysterious family"). *** The family, out of the Byronic Book, is itself a book, set forth strophe bystrophe: the realistic author spends his time referring back tobooks: reality is what has been written (SYM. Replication of
bodies).

***(26) Til. reserve rnainttlined by M. and Mme de !Anty about
their origin, their past life, and their reldtionship with til. four
corners of til. globe IuJd not l4sted long as a subject of astonishment in Paris. Nowhere perhaps is Ve8f>t1SUJn's axiom better understood. There, even bloodstained or filthy money betrays nothing
41Id stdnds for everything. So long as high society knows til. amountof your fortune, you are cLused among those luNing tin eqUtJltJmount, and no one asks to see your family tree, because everyone
knows how much it cost. In a city where social problems are solved
Wee tJlgebraic equtltions, tldventurers have every opportunity intheir fdVor. Even supposing this fdmily were of gypsy origin, it wasso we4lthy, so tJttrdCtive, that society IuJd no trouble in forgiving its little secrets. * REF. Gnomic code (Non olet, the Latin
supplement of a dictionary) and the mythology of Parisian Gold.
SEM. Internationality. *** HER. Enigma 3 (origin of theLantys): proposal (there is a mystery) and snare (the Lantys areperhaps of gypsy origin). **** HER. Enigma 2 (source of thefortune) : proposal (no one knows where this fortune comes from).

**

XIX. INDEX, SIGN, MONEY

In the past (says the text), money "revealed"; it was an index,
it furnished a fact, a cause, it had a nature; today it "represents" (everything): it is an equivalent, an exchange, a representation: a sign. Between index and sign, a common mode,that of inscription. Shifting from a monarchy based on land to39

an industrial monarchy, society changed the Book, it passed
from the Letter (of nobility) to the Figure (of fortune), fromtitle deeds to ledgers, but it is always subject to a writing. The
difference between feudal society and bourgeois society, index
and sign, is this: the index has an origin, the sign does not: toshift from index to sign is to abolish the last (or first) limit,
the origin, the basis, the prop, to enter into the limitless proc~ ess of equivalences, representations that nothing will ever stop,orient, fix, sanction. Parisian indifference to the origin ofmoney equates symbolically with the non~rigin of money; amoney that has no smell is money withdrawn from the basic
order of the index, from the consecration of origin: this moneyis as empty as being-astrated: for Parisian Gold, what corresponds to the physiological impossibility of procreating is theimpossibility of having an origin, a moral heredity: the signs(monetary, sexual) are wild because, contrary to the indices(the meaningful regime of the old society), they are not basedon an original, irreducible, incorruptible, immovable othernessof their component parts: _in the index, what is indicated (nobility) is of a different nature from what indicates (wealth):
there is no possible mingling; in the sign, which establishes anorder of representation (and no longer of determination, of
creation, as does the index), the two elements interclumge,
signified and signifier revolving in an endless process: what isbought can be sold, the signified can become signifier, and soon. Replacing the feudal index, the bourgeois sign is a metonymic confusion.

(27) Unfortunately, however, the myrtery of the !Antys presentedof curiosity, rdiher Wee thdt contdined in thenove" of Ann Rtadcliffe. * REF. Literature (Ann Radcliffe).
HER. Enigma 3 (where do the Lantys come from?) : proposal.

d continuing source**( 28 ) Observers, people who J7'Idlce it a point to know in what .hop
you buy )'Our candlesticks, or who ask the amount of ),our rent
when they find ),our apmtment attractive, had noticed, now andthen, in the midst of the Countess's fHlrlia, concerts, bolls, and
REF. Code ofrouts, the af'Pearance of a strange personage.
Novelists, Moralists, Psychologists: observation of those who observe.
Here a new enigma is proposed (a strange feeling) andthematized (a personage) (HER. Enigma": theme and proposal).

*

**

*

The old man, in fact, is not a man: here,(29) It was a man.
the discourse is misleading the reader (HER. Enigma .. : snare).

XX. THE DISSOLVE OF VOICES

Who is speaking? Is it a scientific voice which from the type
"personage" infers, in passing, a species, "man," in order laterto give it another species, "castrato"? Is it a phenomenalist
l'Oice naming what it sees, the wholly masculine garb of theold man? Here it is impossible to attribute an origin, a point ofview, to the statement. Now, this impossibility is one of theways in which the plural nature of a text can be appreciated.
~Jn...9~_~I!.d.e.~~l!JljrulteJhe origin of the statement, the moreplural the text. In modem texts, the voices are so freatedlliat
any reference is' impossible: ~ the discourse, or better, the lanpje, spealcs: nothing mo~.: By contrast, in the classic text
the majority o.f the utterances are assigned an origin, ~e can
1iJcntlfy their parentage, who is speaking: either a consciouslIaS (of a character, of the author) or a culture (the anonyIDOUS is still an origin, a voice: the voice we find, for example,
in the gnomic code); however, it may happen that in the classic
Iat, always haunted by the appropriation of speech, the voice
Fb lost, as though it had leaked out through a hole in the
discourse. The best way to ~nccille the clagical plural is then~. listen t~ tne text
an iridescent exchange carried on byas41

multiple voices, on different wavelengths and subject fr.ol!!tim~_tQ t:ime to a sudden dissolve, leaving a gap which enables
the utterance to shift from-one pOint ot" vieW to anothc:~~ wi~..:out warning: the writing -is set -up across this tonal insta1>uity-"(which in the modern text becomes atonality), which makes
it a glistening texture of epbemeral origins.

( 30) The first time he htld apf:Je4red in the mansion WdS during dconcert, when he seemed to have been drawn to the Bdlon by Mmitt-*Rind" enchtmting voice.
SEM. Musicianship (the seme is atruthful indicator, since the old man is a former soprano, but itlacks as yet the strength to reveal the whole truth) .
(31) "1Jl of d rudden, I'm cold," d lttdy htld Bttid who WdS Bttmding with d friend by the door.
The stranger, who WdI rtdnding next to the womm, went
t1Way.
"Thttt', oddl I'm WClml now," ,he Bttid, after the strttnger htld
gone. "And )'ou'U BIl'I fm mttd. but I CdIl't help thinking thttt myneighbor, the mdn dressed in bl4c1c who just left, WdS the CdUBe of
my chill."
SEM. Cold (first proposed in the garden, the migrating signifier has attached itself to the old man).
SYM. Antithesis: cold/hot (the antithesis of garden and salon, animate andinanimate, repeated a second time) .

***( 32) Before long, the extJggeration ntttive to those in high society
gave birth to ttnd dCCUmuloted the most mnusing ided8, the mostoutrageous expressions, the most ridiculous d1UlCdotes ttbout thismysterious persondf,e.
REF. Worldliness.
HER. Enigma i(who is the old man?): false replies: statement. As a term in thehermeneutic code, the f . reply differs from the snare in thaterror is distinguished as such by the discourse.

***(33) Although not d vdmpire, d ghoul. or dn ttrtificiol mtln, dlind of FdUBt or Robin CoodfeUow, people fond of fdntdB)' Bllid
he htld something of ttll these dnthropomorphic ndtures ttbout
him.
HER. Enigma i: false reply No.1.
SEM. Extra-

**

*

.p

terrestrial and extra-temporal (the old man is death itself, whoalone does not die: in the dead man who does not die there is an
extra, supplemental death) .

( 34) Here dM there, one Cdme QCTOBS some Germclns who tlCcepted CI8 ftJCt these clever witticisms of Pd7'isidn settndtd-monger-*

ing. REF. Ethnic psychology: a paradigm of the period: thenaive Gennan, the witty Parisian.

*(35) The mcmger Wdl merely em old mdn.
HER. Enigma i:snare (the stranger is not "merely" an old man). ** The narrator(or the discourse?) reduces the mysterious to the simple; he stands
as the defender of fact, dismisses any recourse to fable, myth, symbol, renders language useless by means of a tautology (the old man
WC18 em old man): the narrator (or discourse) here resorts to an
irMginmy figure: asymbolism (SEM. Asymbolism) .

( 36) Many of the young men who were in the hdbit of settlingtM future of Europe every morning in d few elegtmt PhrCl8elwould Iutve Weed to ' " in this manger some great crimintll, thepoausor of l'CI8t wealth. Some storytellers recounted the life of
this old mdn d1Id provided reCllly curious detdils dbout the tltrocities
he htul committed while in the service of the MdhtJrdjd ofMysore. Some bdnkers, more fJoBitive by rutture, invented d ftJblc
tIbout money. "Bdh," they Sdid, shrugging their shoulders in pity,"this poor old man is d tlte genaise/"
HER. Enigma i: false
replies Nos. 2, 3, and i (the false replies derive from cultural*

codes: cynical youths, storytellers, bankers).

** SYM. Wealth.

(37) "Sir, without being indiscreet, could you pletlse teU me
whdt you medn by d tite g~noise?""A mdR, sir, with dn enormous lifetime cdfJitol dM whose
ftnnily's income doubtless depends on his good health." True,
there is a link between the fortune of the former star and the - Lantys' fortune; it is doubtful that the family's affection for theold man is an interested one, however: the whole creates anambiguity (HER. Enigma i: equivocation).

*(38) I remember having heard at M me cf Esparcfs d hypnotist/lroving on highly SU8pect historicol d4td that this old mdR,
43

preserved under gl4ss, was the famous Balsamo, Jmown as Caglio&tro. According to this contemporary alchemist, the Sicilian adventurer hdd e8Caped death and passed his tinw fttbricating gold
for his grandchildren. lAst, the Ixtiliff of Ferette mtJintained that
he hdd recognized this odd persoruJge as the Count of SdintGermain.
HER. Enigma 4: false reply No.5.
SEM. Beyond
time. Two (weakened) accessory connotations are heard here:
under rJ.oss recalls the revulsion some people feel at the sight of amummy, an embalmed, preserved body; and alchemist's gold isempty gold, without origin (the same gold as the gold of speculators) .

***( 39) These ltupidities, spolen in witty accents, with the mocling
air chartICteri8tic of atheistic society in our dtty, lept alive vap
suspicions ilbout the Ltmty farnUy.
REF. Psychology of peoples:
HER. Enigma 3: proposal and thematization
cynical Paris.
(there is an enigma, and it concerns the Lanty family). *** HER.
Enigma 4: false response No.6. In the hermeneutic sequence, thefalse replies create a byte (a basic or subroutine configuration incybernetic language); this byte is itself subject to a rhetorical code(the code of exposition): a statement (No. 32), six false replies, aresume (No. 39).

***

XXI. IRONY, PARODY

Stated by the discourse itself, the ironic code is, in principle, an
explicit quotation of what someone has said; however, irony
acts as a signpost, and thereby it destroys the multivalence wemight expect from quoted discourse. ~ mu'ti-J.Ienn:CSircarry ou! _i~ .basic- duplicity _Q!llf if it subv~ the oppositiORbetween true and false, if it fails to attribute quotation.!i~en
when seeking to discredit them) to explicit -authoPiies. if it
80uts all respect for origin, paternity, propriety, if it destroys
the voice which could give the text its ("organic") unity, inshort, if it coldly and fraudulently abolishes quotation marks

can-

44

which must, as we say, in all honesty, enclose a quotation andjuridically distribute the ownership of the sentences to theirrespective proprietors, like subdivisions of a field. For mult:ivalence (contradicted by irony) is a transgression of ownership. The wall of voices must be passed through to reach thewriting: this latter eschews any designation of ownership andthus can never be ironic; or, at least, its irony is never certain(an uncertainty which marks several great texts: Sade, Fourier,
Flaubert). Employed in behalf of a subject that puts its imaginary elements at the distance it pretends to take with regard
to the language of others, thereby making itself even moresecurely a subject of the discourse, parody, or irony at work, isalways cl4ssic language. What could a parody be that did notadvertise itself as such7 This is the problem facing modem
writing: how breach the wall of utterance, the wall of origin,
the wall of ownership7(10) FiMll)', through" str"nge combincrtion of cUcumstcrnces, themembers of this fermil), ~d everyone'B conjectures by behtrvin& BOrnewlutt m)'steriousl)' towcrrd this old mcrn, whole life Well
IDJ1Iehow hidden from crll investigcrtion.
HER. Enigma 4: proposal. The "mystery" surrounding the old man's identity will be
anbodied in a certain number of actions, in themselves mysterious.

*(41) Whenever this person croued the threshold of the room heWell supposed to inhcrbit in the Lcrnty mcrnsion. his ttplJetlf"nce crl-Wd)'B created " gredt senscrtion ermong the f"mil),. One might htrve
CtIlkd it ern event of grecrt imfJort4nce. Filif'/JO, Mcrrianincr, Mmea lARty, crnd ern old serv"nt were the only persons privileged to
GIist the old mcrn in wcrlking, rising, sitting down. EtJch of themwtched over his slightest movement. SYM. The feminine
camp. . . HER. Enigma 4: proposal (enigmatic behavior).

*("2) It seemed thcrt he WCII ern enchcrnted being ufJon whom de-#Jtmded the hcrppinetl8, the life, or the fortune of them crll. * SEM.
45

Fascination. This signifier could lead to the truth, it being the castrato's nature to enclumt, like a supernatural medium: thus Farinelli, who cured, or at least assuaged, the morbid melancholia of
Philip V of Spain by singing to him daily (always the same melody
for years on end) .

(H) W CIS it affection or (em7 Those in society were ufUlble to discover any clue to Mlp them solve this problem. • HER. Enigma.. : proposal and jamming of the answer.
( .... ) Hidden for whole months in the dept'" of d secret SttnCtuary,
this fdmily gem. would BUddenly come forth, unexpect.dly, dnd
would d/JIJe4r in the midIt of the Sdlons lilt. those fairies of bygone
dttys who dacended from flyin& drtJgOns to interrupt the rita towhich they hdd not been invited. • SEM. Fascination. ** REF.
FaiJy tales.

("5) Only the most avid onlooltm were then db,. to perceive theunedliness of the hectdI of the hOUle, who could concetd their fee'ings with unuswd slrill. • HER. Enigma .. : proposal (enigmatic
behavior).

(46) Sometimea, however, while d4ncin& d quttdrille, Mari4nintJ,
ndive CIS she WdB, would C4Bt d t~d gl4nce tit the old nurn when
.he spied him dmDn& the crowd. Or .,. Filippo would .lip quiclr.ly
through the thron& to his side dnd would Bttty netIT him, tender dnd
attentive, dB though conttJct with othen or the Ilightut breath
would destroy this stTdflBe creatur,. The Countess would mdIr., dpoint of drcrwin& netlf, without _mUng to have tnry intention ofjoinin& them; then, tlmJmin& d nurnMr dnd exfJraBion of rervitude
mixed with tenderness, submission, tJnd power, .he would Ny d
few words, to which the old mcm netlTly dlwd)'S deferred, dnd hewould disdpfJetJr, led off, or, more precisely, CtI1ried off, by her.
• SEM. Fragility and childishness.
HER. Enigma .. : proposal(enigmatic behavior).
Since the old man is a castrato andthe castrato is outside the sexes, he should be refclled to in theneuter; however, since there is no neuter in French, the discourse,when it is trying not to "lie," denotes the castrato in ambiguous
tenns: nouns morphologically feminine, semantically applicable to

**

***

46

both sexes (both masculine and feminine simultaneously): thus
the word crellture (and further, this feminine orgdniution) (SYM.
The neuter of castration) .
(i7) If Mme de lAnty were not present, the Count used d thouSdfId mtJtttgems to retJCh his side; however, he seemed to lutve difficulty mtJking himself hetJrd, dnd tretJted him like d sfJoiled child
whose mother gives in to his whims in order to avoid d scene.
HER. Enigma i: proposal (enigmatic behavior).
The Countis excluded from the women's camp: their elegant and successful
actions are contrasted to his, which are laborious and ineffectual.
M. de Lanty (the man of the family) is not a descendant of La
Zambinella. Yet once again the symbolic distnbution is set forth:
the woman (Mme de Lanty) has the effective conhol, that of thefather; it is the man (M. de Lanty) who exercises a haphazard anddisregarded authority, that of the mother (SYM. Axis of castIation).

***(i8) Some bolder persons having thoughtlessly ventured to question the Count de Lmaty, this cold, reserved rrum Iuld ~ednever to underrttJnd them. And 10, ttfter mtJn)' tries, till futile beCtJuse of the cUcumspection of the entire fllmily, everyone nappedtrying to f«hom such a weU-lcept secret. WetJr)' of trying, the com1Jdni0ntJble spies, the idly curious, tlnd the l'Olitic tJll gave up bothering tJbout this mystery.
The discourse declares the enigma it
has proposed to be unresolved: in the hermeneutic code, this isjamming (frequent in detective fiction) (HER. Enigma i: jamming).

*(-i9) However, even now perhdps in these glittering I4lons there
were some philosophers who, whik etJting tin ice or d sherbet, or/ll4cing tMir empty punch tJ.oss on d side ttIble, were saying toeeh other: "It wouldn't surprise me to letJrn tIult those fJeofJk tUe
crooks. The old mdn who hides dnd only mtJIces his tJPPedrtUlCe on
the first dtty of spring or winter, or « the IOlstices, loob to me like
.Iciller""Or d confidence mtJn..
"It's mmoBt the same thing. Killing d mtJn's fortune is sometimes worse than killing the mdn."
REF. Psychology of peoples*

47

(Paris) and gnomic code ( Killing cl mean', fortune. ). **
SEM. Fascination (the old man is said, albeit ironically, to appear
at the magical times of the year, like a sorcerer).

(50) "Sir, 1 have bet twenty louis, 1 ,hould get bDck forty.""But, sir, there care onl), thirty on the table.""M weU, ),ou see how mixed the crowd is, here. It's impossible
to play.""True
But it's now nurl)' six months since we've seen the
Spirit. Do ),ou think he', recall)' calive?""Hcaht at best"
These lttst words were spoken nscar me by people 1 did not know,
as they were moving off,
SEM. Supernatural (out of the worldand ultra-temporal). ** That which disappears in the gaming as
though blown away is symbolically equivalent to the gold whichappears without anyone's knowing or trying to find out its origin:without source and without destination, (Parisian) Gold is a substitute for the emptiness of castration (SYM. Gold. emptiness) .

*( 51) clnd as 1 was resuming. in dn d/terthought, m)' mixed thoughtsof white dnd black, life dnd death. M)' vivid imtJgination as weU asm)' eyes looked btJck cand forth from the 1JdrfY. which head reClChedthe height of its splendor, dnd the somber seens in the gcardens.

* SYM. Antithesis: AB: resume.

( 52) 1 do not know how long 1 meditated on these two ftlCU ofthe humean coin;
ACI'. "To meditate": 1: to be in the process
of meditation. . . The coin is symbolic of the incommunicabilityof the two sides: like the paradigmatic slash marlc of an antithesis,
metal cannot be traversed: yet it will be, the Antithesis will betransgressed (SYM. Antithesis: AB: double participation).

*( 53) but dU dt once 1 was dWdlcensd b)' the stifled laugh of d)'Dung womean.
ACf. "To meditate": 2: to stop meditating.
. . ACI'. "To laugh": 1: to burst out laughing.

*( 54) 1 was stunned by the dfJPeclrdRCe of the imcage which carose
before me.
The image: a generic term which announces (rhetorically) a third version of the antithesis: after the contrast ofgarden and party, heat and cold. we have here the groundwork for*48

the contrast of the girl and the old man. Like the other forms of
Antithesis, this one is also corporeal: the image will be that of two
mingled antithetical bodies. Now, this carnal antithesis is revealed,called forth, by a carnal act: laughter. A substitute for the cry, an
hallucinatory agent, laughter breaches the wall of the Antithesis,
removes from the coin the duality of reverse and obverse; erases theparadigmatic slash mark "reasonably" separating cold and heat,life and death, animate and inanimate. In addition, in the story itself, laughter is linked to castration: La Zambinel1a, "for a laugh,"participates in the farce prepared by her friends at Sarrasine's expense; in the face of laughter, Sarrasine protests his virility (SYM.
Antithesis: AB: statement).

(55) By one of those tricks of rutture, the htUf-moumful thought
tuming in my mind IuJd emerged, dnd it apfJetJred living before me,
it IuJd sprung like Minervd from the hetJd of Jove, tdll dnd Btrong, it
WdS tJt once d hundred yetUS old tJnd twenty-two years old; it Well
alive dnd dedd.
SYM. Antithesis: AB: mingling (the wall of
Antithesis is breached) . . . REF. Mythology. What is amazing in
the myth of Minerva is not that the goddess sprang from her father's head but that she emerged "tall and strong," already fully
armed and fully developed. The (hallucinatory) image for which
Minerva serves as model is not elaborated upon: we encounter it
abruptly, as a reality, in the salon; when born, it is tdretJdy written:
there is only a shift of writings, trans-saiption, without maturation,
without organic origin.
REF. Chronology. The girl is twentytwo, the old man is one hundred. Twenty-two: this precise figure
produces the effect of reality; metonymically, this precision leads
us to believe that the old man is euctly one hundred yean old(rather than being somewhere around one hundred).

**..

( 56) Escdped from his room like d lunCJtic from his cell, the little
old mtJn htJd obviously slipped behind d hedge of people who werelistening to MtJridnintJ', voice, finishing the CdVatintJ from Tan-*credi.
SEM. Supernature (madness is outside "nature") . . .
SEM. Musicianship. . . . REF. Music history (Rossini).
(57) He seemed to htJve come out from underground, impelled bysome p~ce of stdge 7ntJChinery.
SEM. Machine, mechanical-*

49

ness (likened to a machine, the old man is a part of the extrahuman, of the inanimate) .
(58) Motionless tmd somber, he stood for d moment gtlring tit the

party, the noiles of which held perh4f1s retlChed his e4TB. His edmonsoJTl1UJ1flbullltory preoccupation WClS so concentrated on things thdt
he WClS in the world without seeing it. • SEM. Supemature, outof-the-world. . . SYM. Antithesis: A: the old man.
(59) He hdd unceremoniously sprung up next to one of the mortravishing women in PtJris, • SYM. Antithesis: AB: mixture ofelements. The mixing of bodies (transgression of the Antithesis) is
signified not by proximity (next to) but by sudden appearance.
This implies that the space in which one appears was not expecting
one, that it was completely occupied by something other: theyoung woman and the old man both find themselves occupying thesame area. which was intended for only one of them.
(60) d young tmd elegdnt dtmcer, delicately foT'f'Md, with one ofthose fdCel CIS frah lIB thIIt of d child, pinJc tmd white, so frml tmd
trtm8fJllTent thdt d mem', fJ4nce seemB to penetrate it liie d rei)' of
sunlight going through ice. • SYM. Antithesis: B: the young
woman. . . The body is a duplicate of the Book: the young
woman originates in the Book of Life ("one of those ftICes".
the plural refers to a total of stored-up and recorded experiences)(SYM. Replication of bodies) . . . . It is premature to place theyoung girl in the symbolic field: her (semic) portrait has just begun. Moreover, it will vary: the child-woman, transparent, fragile,
fresh, will hemme, in No. 90, a fully drawn woman, outgoingrather than receptive, in short, fICtive (whereupon, as we have seen,
she wiD join the castrators); for the moment, probably due to theneeds of the Antithesis, the discourse can only contrast the oldman-machine with the child-woman (SYM. child-woman).

(61) They were both there before me, together, united, dnd so
close thdt the rtrtJnger bf'U8'hed ttgtJinrt her, her gdU%)' dress, her
gtJrlanch of flowers, her softly curled 1uDr, her flotJting Bt1Bh . • The
mingling of the two bodies is signified by two connotators: on the
one hand, the staccato rhythm of the short syntagms (both/t<>gether/urdted/dnd so Cw.), which are built up diagrammatically,sodescribes the breathless pressure of bodies; and on the other hand,
the image of a supple material (gauze, gar14nd, curled hair, flOtlting
1tIIh) has something of the vegetal in its development (SYM. Antithesis: AB: mingling).
Symbolically, we here witness the castrato's marriage: opposites come together, the castrato has talcen
the woman (who, with equivocal fascination which win be emphasized later, bends toward him): an active metonymy throughwhich castration will contaminate the young woman, the narrator, and Sarrasine (SYM. Marriage of the castrato).

**(62) I hdd brought thu young wonurn to Mme de Lmty', bdU.
Since thu WdS her first visit to the howe, I forgave her her stifled
Ltugh, but I quickly gave her a signal which completely silenced
her tIJId fiUed her with awe for her neighbor.
SYM. The childwoman (the young woman is treated like a child who has been
ACT. "To laugh": 2: to stop.
naughty).

***

XXII. VEIlY NATUllAL ACTIONSThere is a belief that great structures, serious symbols, grandmeanings are built upon an unimpressive foundation of ordiIW}' acts that the discourse notes as a matter of form, "tospeak truly": all criticism therefore rests on the notion thatthe text contdins insignificdnt elements or, in elect, nature:
the meaning is supposed to take its preeminence from an "overmeaning," which is noted, whose subordinate role is supposed
to be purely by way of contrast. Now, the notion of structure
does not support the separation of foundation and design, insignificant and significant; structure is not a design, a schema,a diagram: everything signifies something. For proof, we have
only to examine the basic (and thus seemingly unimportant)proairetisms, the usual paradigm of which is something like
begin/ end, continue/stop. In these common examples (in thepresent text: to l4ugh, to be deep in, to hide, to medit4te, tojoin, to thre4fen, to undertake, etc.), the nature of the phe-

nomenon established by the notation is capped by a conclunon and consequently seems to be subject to some logic (aslong as temporality appears: the classic narrative is basicallysubject to the logico-temporal order) . Writing "the end" (aphrase which is precisely both temporal and logical) thus p0sits everything that has been written as having been a tension
which "naturally" requires resolution, a consequence, an end,i.e., something like a criBiB. The crisis is a cultural model: thesame model that has marked Western thinking about theorganic (with Hippocrates), the poetic and the logical (Aristotelian Cdtluusis and syllogism), and more recently the socioeconomic. By participating in the need to set forth the end of
every action (conclusion, inteauption, closure, denouement),
the readerly declares itself to be hish-ncal. In other words, it
can be subverted, but not without scandal, since it is the
Mture of the discourse which then appears to have been betrayed: the girl Cdn not stop laughing, the narrator Cdn never
be aroused from his daydream, or at least the discourse could
suddenly think of something else, abandon its obsession withtelling the whole story, change direction in order to produce amore effective network; curiously, we call the knot (of thestory) what needs to be unknotted (dbwuement), we situate
the knot at the peak of the crisis, not at its outcome; yet theknot is what closes, tenninates, concludes the action in progress, like a Bourish below a signature; to deny this 6nal word
( to deny the end as a word) would in fact scandalously dismiss
the sigrulture we seek to give each of our "messages."(63) She Idt down next to me.

* ACT. "To join": 1: to sit down.

(64) The old mdn did not Wdnt to leave this lowl, CTedtuTe, towhom he htul dtttIched hinuelf with that Bilent cmd werningl,
btuelea rtubbomnea to which the ertrmwl, old dr. Fane, dnd
which mtJIca them dfJPe4r childUh.
REF. Psychology of the old.

*

** SEM. Childishness. *** The cabato is attracted to the young

woman, opposite to opposite, the reverse of the coin by its obverse(SYM. Marriage of the castrato).

(65) In ordM to lit ,.". Mr, he h4d to flIlce a folding clutir. Hil
Ilightut movements wr8 full of thdt cold hettvinea, the rtufJid i~
da:iIion, chmtICteristic of the gatura of a pardlytic. H. I4t BlowZy
dawn on hilMIt, with cirr:urrupection,
ACT. "To join": 2: tosit next to.

*** REF. Psychology of the old.

(66) muttmng 10,. unint.lligiIM wardl. Hil worn-out voice Welllile. the round rratUI. by a stone ftllling down a MD.
The noiseof a stone falling down a well is not a "worn-out sound"; however,the chain of connotation of the sentence is more important thanthe exactitude of the simile; this chain links the following elements: the inanimate inertia of the stone, the sepulchral depth of
the well, the discontinuity of the aged voice, antinomic to the perfect, unified, "lubricated" voice: the signified is the "thing," artificial and aeaky as a machine (SEM. Mechanicalness).

*(67) The young WOmdn held my htmtl tightly, ell if ...Jting
fJrot«tion on 10,. ~, tI1Id ".. ahiwrwd when thil mdn tit
whom"" WCllloolOng
SEM. Fascination.

*(68) turned ufJon Mr two eyes without WtImIth, f!}Aut:ou8 .,.,
which could only be comfJtlred to dull motMr-of-fJUr1.
Worsethan cold: chilled (dulled). The lexia connotes the corpse, deathin human form, by bringing out what is most disquieting about
him: his open ~.. (to close the eyes of the dead is to exorcise
whatever life remains, to make the dead die for good, to make thedead totally dead). As for fPrucOUl, it has no denotative importance here (the exact color of gltlucoUl is not important); connotatively (culturally), it is the color of a blind eye, a dead eye: adeath of color which is yet not colorless (SEM. Cold) .

*(69) "I'm tJfrtJid," ,he said, ledning toward my ear.
nation.

* SEM. Fasci-(70) "Yau can WJc," I aruwered. "H. iI very hard of """118.""Do you inow himl"
S3

"Yea." * The old man's deafness (justified by his great age)serves the following purpose: it informs us (obliquely) that thenarrator holds the key to the suspended enigmas: hitherto presented to us merely as the "poet" of the Antithesis, the narrator ishere presented as being in a position to narrate. A proairetism is
opened: "to bow tM nory/to t.ll it," etc. Taken as a whole, thisproairetism will, as we shall see, be heavily laden with symbolism"(ACT. "To narrate": 1: to know the story).

me(71) Thereupon,gathered up enough courtJge to looJt for CI
moment at thiI credtur. for which th. hurntJn l.tmgwJgc held noncune, CI form without rubmmce, CI being without """ or CI life
without CICtion.
The neuter, the gender proper to the castrato, issignified by lack of a soul (or animation: the inanimate, in the
Indo-European languages, is the determinant of the neuter): theprivative repetition (without ..) is the diagrammatical form of
castration, the appearance of life in one lacking life (SYM. The
neuter).
The old man's portrait, which will follow and which
is here rhetorically indicated, takes form within a frClffWWOrJt established by the young woman (gClthered up enough courage to look), but by means of a dissolve of the original voice, the description will be carried out by the discowse: the body of the old
man copies a painted model (SYM. Replication of bodies).

***

XXIII. PAINTING AS A MODEL

Every literary descriptiOIl is a view: It could be said that the
speaker, before describing, stands at the window, not so muchto see, but to establish what he sees by ib very frame: the win·
dow frame creates the scene. To describe is thus to place theempty frame which the realistic author always carries with him(more important than his easel) before a collection or continuum of objecb which cannot be put into words without thisobsessive operation (which could be as laughable as a "gag");in order to speak about it, the writer, through this initial rite,first transforms the "real" into a depicted (framed) object;having done this, he can take down this object, remove it fromhis picture: in short: de-depict it (to depict is to unroll the
carpet of the codes, to refer not from a language to a referent
but from one code to another). Thus, realism (badly named,at any rate often badly interpreted) c.onsists not in copying
the real but in copying a (depicted) copy of the real: thisfamous reality, as though suffering from a fearfulness whichkeeps it from being touched directly, is set farther awczy, postponed, or at least captured through the pictorial matrix inwhich it has been steeped before being put into words: code
upon code, known as realism. This is why realism cannot bedesignated a "copier" but rather a "pasticheur" (through secondary mimesis, it copies what is already a copy); naive or
shameless, Joseph Brideau has no scruple about painting aRaphael (since the painter too must copy another code, ananterior code), any more than Balzac has in declaring thispastiche to be a masterpiece. Once the infinite circularity ofcodes is posited, the body itself cannot escape it: the real body.( fictionally given as such) is the replication of a model set
forth by that code of the arts, so that the most "natural" ofbodies, that of Balzac's crayfish-gatherer (La Rttbouilleu.se), isalways only the promise of the artistic code from which it has
previously issued ("The doctor, who was enough of an anatomist to recogniu a delectable figure, understood cdl thdt thearts would lose, if this chdrming model were destroyed byworking in the fields"). Thus, even within realism, the codes
never stop: bodily replication cannot be interrupted save byleaving nature: either toward Superlative Woman (the "masterpiece") or toward the sub-human (the castrato). All ofwhich raises a twofold problem: first, where and when did thispreeminence of the pictorial code in literary mimesis begin?
Why has it disappeared? Why has the writer's dream of painting died out? What has replaced it? Nowadays, the representa55

tional codes are shattered to make room for a multiple space
no longer based on painting (the "picture") but rather on thetheater (the stage), as Mallarme predicted, or at least wished.
And then: if literature and painting are no longer held in ahierarchical reRection, one being the rear-view mirror for theother, why maintain them any longer as objects at on~e unitedand separate, in short, classed together? Why Dot wipe out thedifference between them (purely one of substance)? Why not_forgo the plurality of the "arts" in order to affirm more power_.-,'
fully the plurality of "texts"?

(72) She was under the spell of tlutt timorous curiosity which
Iuds women to seell out dangerous emotions, to go see clunned
tigers, to look at boa constrictors, frightening themselves because
they are separttUd from them onl)' b)' weal! fences. * SEM. Fascination.

** The Woman and the Snalce.

(73) Although the little old mdn's bdell was Btooped like a 14borer's, one could ed8il)' teU tlutt he muBt Me hdd at one time a
nonnlll shaf>e. His excesBive thinness, the delictlC)' of his limb"
proved tlutt he hdd always been slender.
REF. Rhetorical code:prosopography (the "portrait" was a rhetorical genre particularly
in favor in the neo-rhetoric of the second century A.D., a brilliant
and detachtJble fragment which the discourse will here imbue withsemic intentions). ** SEM. Beauty (past).

*(74) He was dressed in bUlcll Billl trousers which feU about hisbon)' thighs in folds, like an empty sail. SEM. Emptiness. The*

image of the empty sail adds a connotation of default; in otherwords, of temporality: the wind, the life have departed.
(75) An anatomist would Me promptl), recognized the symptoms
of galloping consumption by looking at the sltinn)' legs supporting
this strange body. * SEM. Monster (Extra·nature ). ** HER.
Enigma 4: theme and proposal (because of his body, the old manis the subject of an enigma) .

(76) You would have Bdid they were two bones crossed on a tombItons.
SEM. Death (the signifier connotes the angular, the geometrical, the broken line, a fonn antithetical to gauzy or vegetal,
i.e., to life) .

*(77) A feeling of profound horror for fJUJnkind gri"".d the heart
when ons SdW the mdrks that decrepitude had left on this fragile
mtlChins. * SEM. Mechanicalness.
(78) The stranger was wedTing an old-fashionsd gold-embroideredwhite waistcoat, and his linsn was dtuzlingly white. A frill of somewhat yeUowed 14ce, rich enough for a queen's envy, feU into ruffles
on his breast. On him, however, this ltJce seemed more like a rag
than like an ommnent. Centered on it was a fabulous diamondwhich glittered like the sun.
SEM. Superannuation, Femininity(coquetry), Wealth.

*(79) This outmoded luxury, this pttrticulm and tasteless jewel,
made the strange cretlture's face even more striking.
HER.
Enigma .. (Who is the old man?): theme and purpose. The lack oftaste refers to his dress, in which the feminine essence and wealthare displayed, with no concern for whether it is asethetically pleasingor socially fitting (the "particular jewel"): similarly, vulgarity suitsa transvestite's dress more strikingly than distinction, because it
makes femininity into an essence, not a value; vulgarity is on theside of the code (which enables it to be fascinating), distinction
on the side of performance.

*(SO) The setting was worthy of the portrait. This dark face wasangular and all sunk in. The chin WCII sunken, the temples were
sunken; the eyes were lost in yeUowish sockets. The jawbonss stoodout because of his indescribable thinnsBB, creating cavities in thecenter of e«h ch_k.
REF. Rhetorical code: the portrait. **The old man's extreme thinness is an index of age, but also of
emptiness, of reduction through deficiency. This latter seme is obviously in contrast to the stereotype of the fat, bloated eunuch,
puffed up with empty pride; this is because in this instance theconnotation can lead in two directions: syntagmatically, emptinessought not contradict the lines of old age; paradigmatically, thin-*57

ness seen as emptiness is in contrast to the strong, vegetal, fullbloom of the young woman (SEM. Emptiness).

(81) These defomumons, more or less illuminated b)' the cdndles,
fJroduCf8d shadows and strange reflections which succeeded in erasing an)' human chmClCferistics from his fdee. SEM. Out of the*World.

( 82 ) And the ),ears 1uuf glued the thin, ),ellow skin of his fdee soclosel)' to his skull tlult it was covered till over with a multitude ofcircular wrinlcles, like the rifJfJles on d pond into which a child has
thrown II pebble, or star-8hafJed, lUte d cracked window(JaJUl, buteverywhere deefJ lind close-set as the edges of pages in d closed
book. • SEM. Superannuation (the excessively wrinkled, themummy)_

XXIV. TRANSFORMATION AS GAME

The excess of metaphor (water, windowpane, book) is a gameplayed by the discourse. The game, which is a regula~ activity and always subject to return, consists then not in piling up
words for mere verbal pleasure (logorrhea) but in multiplying
one form of language (in this case, comparison), as though in
an attempt to exhaust the nonetheless infinite variety and inventiveness of synonyms, while repeating and varying the signifier, so as to affirm the plural existence of the text, its return.
Thus, in the elevator at Balbec, where Proust's narrator wants
to initiate a conversation with the young operator, the latterdoes not reply, "either bectlU8e of d8tonishment at my words,
attention to his work, " regClTd for etiquette, hctrdness of heCITing, respect for the surroundings, feCIT of ddnger, slow-wittedness, or orders from the marutger." The game here is gr~~­matical in essence (and therefore much more exemplary): it
consists in presenting. acrobatically, for as long as possible, the58

plural diversity of possibilities within a singular syntagm, to"transfonn" the verbal proposition behind each cause ("because he was hard of hetJring") into a double substantive("hardness of hetJring"); in short, to produce a constant model
carried out to infinity, which is to constrain language as one
wishes: whence the very pleasure of power.

( 83) SoJ1lfl old peopk have presented more hideous portrtJits; what
contributed til. most, however, in lending the tlfJpettrdnce of dn
dTtificidl creature to the specter which hdd risen up before us WdS
til. red lind white with which II. glistened. Til. eyebrows of his
mask took from the light d luster which revfkJled thdt they were
ptJinted on. Fortul14fely for til. eye depressed by the sight of ruchruin, his cdd4verous shU WdS covered by d blond wig whose innumerctble curls were evidence of dn extrdordindry pretension.
REF.
The physique of the aged. ** SEM. Outside nature. Femininity.
Thing. Beauty, as we have seen, cannot be induced through catachresis other than from some great cultural model (written or pictorial): it is stated, not described. Contrariwise, ugliness can beabundantly descnDed: it alone is "realistic," confronting the referent without an intermediate code (whence the notion that realism,in art, is concerned solely with ugliness). Yet here we have a turning back. a reversion to the code: the old man is himself "very wellpainted"; thus he is reintegrated with the replication of bodies; heis his own double: like a mask, he copies from himself whdt isundernedth; only, since he is his own copy, his duplication is tautological, sterile as the duplication of painted things.

*(84 ) For the rest, til. feminine coquetry of this phdntdSmdgoric4l
persondge WclS rdther strongly emphdSiud by til. gold orndJ1lflnts
hcmging from his ems, by the rings whose fine stones glittered on
his bony fingers, dnd by d wdtch dunn which shimJ1lflred like thebrilliltnts of d choker mound d WOmdn's neck.
SEM. Femininity.

*

Out of the world. Wealth.

*(85) Findlly, this sort of Jdf'dnese idol The Japanese idol (perhaps, strangely enough, Buddha) connotes an inhuman mixture of59

impassivity and malee-up: it designates the mysterious insensibilityof the thing, the thing copying life and making life into a thing(SEM. Thing).
( 86 ) htul on hil blwh lii" d fiud dRd frozen mUle, impLlcdble
cuuJ mociing, Wee d 1Itull.
The fixed, frozen smile leads to the*image of stretched skin (as in plastic surgery), of life lacking thatminimum skin which is the very stuff of life. In the old man, life
is endlessly copied, but the copy always offers the less of casbation(as in his lips, which lack the fresh red of life) (SEM. Fantastic.
Out of the world).
(87) Silent dnd motionless til d ~, it exuded the I'I'W8t)' odorof old clotlJa which the hein of lOme duchea ftIlce out for inwntory.

* SEM. Thing, Superannuation.

(88) Although the old mdR tumed his eyes towdrd the crowd, it
seemed tlutt the mol'emenfl of thole or"', incdlJdble of right, were
dCCOmplilhed only by med1I8 of some irnpm:eptible tJrtifice; dRd
when the eyes cmne to rat on IOmething, dRYORe loolcing dt themwould have concluded thdt they htul not moved dt dU. SEM.
Cold, artifice, death (the eyes of a doll).

*

xxv. THE POIlT1\AIT
M~n!.~gs_3:~..!l~~_~1! t~C:J~Clr~i~'proliferating through a f~~which nonetheless disciplines them: this form is both a rhetorical· order (declaration and detail) and an anatomical cataloguing (body and face); these two protocols are also codes;
these codes are superimposedE..I!!J1~_.aoarchy of signifiers, they
appear as the operators of natur~r of "rationality." The ultimate image afforded by the discourse (by the "portrait") isthat of a natural form, pregnant with meaning, as thoughmeaning were merely the ulterior predicate of a primal body.
Indeed, the naturalness of the portrait arises from the fact that60

in their superimposition the multiple codes undergo a shift:their units are no longer in the same place, do not have thesame size, and this disparity, built up unevenly, produces what
we shall call the "shifting" of the discourse-its fUlturcJlness:when two codes function simultaneously but according to unequal wavelengths, they produce an image of movement, animage of life-at this juncture, a portrait The portrait (in thepresent text) is not a realistic representation, a related copy,
an idea such as we might get from figurative painting; it is ascene made up by blocks of meaning, at once varied, repeated...
and discontinuous (outlined); out of the arrangement of theseblocks comes a diagram of the body, not its copy (in which theportrait remains totally subject to a linguistic structure, language recognizing only diagrammatical analogies: analogies inthe etymological sense: proportions): the old man's body is
not "detached" like a real referent from the background of thewords or of the salon; it is itself the semantic space-becoming
meaning, it becomes space. In other words, the reading of the"realistic" portrait is not a realistic reading: it is a cubist readill{: the meanings are cubes, piled up, altered, juxtaposed, andyet feeding on each other, whose shift produces the entire
space of a painting and makes this very space into a IlUI'PWmentary meaning (accessory and atopical): that of the human
body: the figure is not the sum, the frame, or the support of themeanings; it is an additional meaning, a kind of diacriticalparadigm.

XXVI. SIGNIFIED AND TRUTH~} the signifiec!~ w~ich c0!D~ tb.e. portrait. ~~e "true," for.

they "i"reall part of the definition of the old In.aIl: the Empty,
tfi~lDan~~~te, t~e Feminine~ the Superan.nuated. ~e Mon61

strous, the Wealthy, each of these semes stands in a congruent
relationship to the demonstrative truth of the old man, who
is an extremely old castrato, a fabulously wealthy ex-international star; all these semes distinguish the truth, but evenwhen taken together, they do not suffice to name it (and thisfailure is fortunate, since from the point of view of the story,
the truth must not be revealed prematurely). Thus, clearly,
the signified has a henneneutic value: every actio~ of th~
m~ning is an action of truth: in the classic text (dependent
upon an historical ideology), meaning is mingled with truth,
signification is the path of truth: .if we succeed in denoting theold man, his truth (castration) is immediately revealed . .Y.'e!.t.
in the henneneutic system, the connotative signified occupies
a special place: it brings into being an insufficient half truth,
powerless to name itself: it is the incompleteness, the insufficiency, the powerlessness of truth, and this partial deficiency
has a qualifying value; this birth defect is a coded factor, ahenneneutic morpheme, whose function is to thicken theenigma by outlining it: a powerful enigma is a dense one, so
that, provided certain precautions are taken, the more signs
there are, the more the truth will be obscured, the harder one
will try to figure it out. The connotative signified is literally anindex: it points but does not tell; what it points to is the name,the truth as name; it is both the temptation to name and theimpotence to name (induction would be more effective thandesignation in producing the name)- :,.i1is the tip of the tongqe
from which the name, the truth, will later fall. Thus, with its
designating, silent movement, a pointing finger always accompanies the classic text: t!te truth is thereby long desired andavoided, kept in a kind of pregnancy for its full term';"a pregnancy whose end, both liberating and catastrophic, will bringabout the utter end of the discourse; and the character, thevery arena of these signifieds, is only the enigma's passage, thepassage for this nominative form of the enigma with which

61

Oedipus (in his debate with the Sphynx) mythically impregnated all Western discourse.

(89) To see, next to this humtln wreckage, a young womtln
SYM. Antithesis: B: (young woman): introduction.

*(90) whose rwck, bosom, and tIT1TJ8 were bare and white, whose
figure was in the fuU bloom of its beauty, whose hair rose from her
al4bttster forehead and inspired love, whose eyes did not receive but
gave off light, who was soft, fresh, and whose floating curls and
BWUt breath seemed too heavy, too hard, too powerful for thissJuulow, for this man of dust:
SEM. Antithesis: B: (the young
woman). ** SEM. Vegetality (organic life). *** The young
woman was at the outset a child-woman, passively penetrated by
the man's gaze (No. 60). Here, her symbolic situation is reversed;
we find her in the field of action: "her eyes did not receive but
gave off light"; she joins the Castrating Woman, of whom Mmede Lanty was the first example. This mutation can be explainedby the purely paradigmatic needs of the Antithesis: in No. 60, as
opposed to the petrified old man, it required a fresh young woman,frail, 80real; here, as opposed to "human wreckage," it requires a
powerful vegetality that reassembles, that unites. TIlls new paradigm, which turns the young woman into a castrating figure, WIll
gradually establish itself and draw the narrator himself into its
orbit; he will no longer have control over the young woman (as inNo. 62), but, reversing his own symbolic role, he will shortly appear in the passive position of a dominated subject (SYM. The
queen-woman) .

*(91) ah! here were death dnd life indeed, I thought, in a fantastic

arabesqwe, half hideous chimera, divinely feminine from the waist
up.
"Yet there are rntrrridges lib that often enough in the world," I
B4id to myself.
From a realistic viewpoint, the old man and the
young woman, pressed close together into a single fantastic creature, ought to be vertically bipartite, like Siamese twins. Yet theforce of symbolism reverses-or redresses-this meaning: their bi-*

63partite nature is seen as horizontal: the chimera (half lion, halfgoat) has opposing top and bottom-leaving the castrated zone,of course, in its proper anatomical position ("female from the
REF. Code of
waist up") (SYM. Marriage of the castrato).
marriages.

**(92) "He BJ'JWUs like d graveytJTd," cried the terrified young WOmdn,* SEM. Death.

(93) pressing ttgmnst me for protection, tmd whose uneasy m(Wements told me she wets frightened.
SYM. The child-woman (thesymbolic mutation has not yet been stabilized: the discourse re-*turns from the queen-woman to the child-woman) .
(9'l) "Whttt d horrible Bight," .he went on. "I CdR't st4y here tmy
longer. If I look dt him ttgctin, I .1uJIl believe thttt death itself hlI8
come looking for me. I. he tdiver' * SEM. Death.
"I. hettlive?" The question could be purely rhetorical, merely varying the**funereal signified in the old man. Now, by an unexpected tum, thequestion (which the young woman is asking herself) becomes aliteral one and calls for an answer (or verification) (ACT. "Question": I: to ask oneself a question) .

(95) She redChed out to the phenomenon
2: to verify (ACT. "To touch": I: touching).

* ACT. "Question":(96) with thttt boldness women Cdn summon up out of the strengthof their desires; REF. Female psychology.

*(97) but .he broke into d cold sweat, for no sooner httd ,hetouched the old mttn thttn .he hedrd II cry like d rtlttle. This .hllTp
voice, if voice it wets, issued from d nedrly dried up thrOdt. * ACT.

**

"To touch": 2: reaction.
The rattle connotes a granular, discontinuous sound; the shaking voice, a problematical humanity;
the dried-up throat, a de6ciency of a kind specific to organic life:
the lubricated (SEM. Extra-natural). *** SYM. Marriage of thecastrato (here: its catastrophic conclusion).
(98) Then the .ound wets quiclcly foUowed by d litt", convulsive,childilh cough of d peculitJT 'OROTOumeBI. * SEM. Childishness

(the convulsive once again connotes an evil, funereal discontinuity,contrasted to the unified life uno tenore) .

XXVII. ANTITIlESIS II: TIlE MARRIAGE

The antithesis is a wall without a doorway. Leaping this wall
is a transgression. Subject to the antithesis of inside and outside, heat and cold, life and death, the old man and the young
woman are in fact separated by the most inflexible of barriers:that of meaning. Thus, anything that draws these two antipathetic sides together is rightly scandalous (the most blatantscandal: that of form). It was already shocking ("one of thoserare tricks of ""ture") to see the two terms of the antithesis so
closely linked, pressed together, the young woman's body andthe old man's; however, when the young woman touches theold man, there is a paroxysm of transgression; it is no longer~tricted spatially, it becomes substantial, organic, chemical.
The young woman's gesture is an acting out: whether taken as
conversion hysteria (a substitute for orgasm) or as a breachingof the Wall (of Antithesis and of hallucination), the physicalcontact between these two completely separate substances, thewoman and the castrato, the animate and the inanimate, produces a catastrophe: there is an explosive shock, a paradigmatic conflagration, a headlong flight of the two bodies
brought together in so unseemly a manner: each of the partners forms the locus of an overt physiological revolution: sweat
and exclamation: each, by the other, is reversed; touched by an
extraordinarily powerful chemical agent (for the castrato, thewoman; for the woman, castration), the depths are emptied, asin vomiting. This is what happens when the arcana of meaning are subverted, when the sacred separation of the paradigmatic poles is abolished, when one removes the separating barrier, the basis of all "pertinence." The marriage of the young65

woman and the castrato is doubly catastrophic (or, if we prefer, it creates a double-entry system): symbolically, it affirms
the non-viability of the dual body, the chimeric body, doomed
to the dispersion of its parts: when a supplementary body is
introduced, added to the distribution of opposites already effected, this supplement (ironically posited in No. 13, whichis there intended to exorcise it) is dammed: the excess explodes: gathering becomes scattering; and structurally, as weknow, the major figure of rhetorical wisdom, Aotithqis, ~_not be transgressed wi~ impunity: meaning (and if;$ classifying basis) is a question of life or death: similarly, in copjing
woman, in assuming her position on the other side of the sexual barrier, the castrato will transgress morphology, gramma~­
discourse, and because of this abolition of meaning Samsine'
will die.

(99) At tlUs sound, Maridni1Jd, Filippo, and Mme de lAnty
looked in our direction, and their tJ.ances were like boltl of lightning. The young wonutn wished ,he were tit the bottom of tluI
Seine. ACf. "To touch": 3: generalized reaction.
Thefeminine camp, its exclusive relationship to the old man, is here
reaftinned: Mme de Lanty, Marianina, Filippo, all of La Zambinella's feminine lineage (SYM. Axis of castration).

***(100) She took my tlTm and led me into a side room. Men, women,
everyone nutde way for us. At the end of the public 1OOms, wecame into a sJ7U1ll, semicircuUJr chamber.
ACf. "To touch": .. :Worldly intelligence: others make way for the blunderto See.

***ers; symbolic meaning: castration is contagious: the young woman
who has made contact with it is marked (SYM. Contagion of castration). The semicircular shape of the chamber connotes a theatricalsite, where the Adonis can fittingly be "contemplated."(101) My companion threw herself onto" divan, trembling withfright, oblivious to her surroundings.
ACT. "To touch": 5: to
hide.

*

66

(102) "MaddJ'J'UI, you are mad," I soid to her. * SYM. The childwoman. The narrator scolds the young woman as if she were anirresponsible child; in another sense, however, the young woman'smadness is literal: her gesture, touching, is indeed the eruption of
the signifier into reality through the wall of symbolism: it is a
psychotic act.
(103) "But," she replied, after a mOJ'J'UInt's silence, during which
I gaud at her in admiration, The narrator's symbolic role is*beginning to change: first presented as some sort of patron to theyoung woman, here he admires her, is silent, and desires her: he
now has something to ask (SYM. The man-subject).
( 1M) "is it my fault? Why does Mme de Lanty allow ghosts towander about in her house?" SEM. Supemature.

*(105) "COJ'J'UI," I replied, "you are being ridiculous, taking a little
old man for a ghost." The narrator's imaginary world, i.e., the*symbolic system in which he does not know his own position, hasexactly this asymbolic character: he is, he says, the one who does
SYM.
not believe in stories (symbols) (SEM. Asymbolism).
The child-woman.

**

XXVIII. CHARACTER AND FIGURE

When identical semes traverse the same proper name several
times and appear to settle upon it, a character is created. Thus,
the character is a product of combinations: the combinationis relatively stable (denoted by the recurrence of the semes)
and more or less complex (involving more or less congruent,more or less contradictory figures); this complexity determines
the character's "personality," which is just as much a combination as the odor of a dish or the bouquet of a wine. The proper
name acts as a magnetic field for the semes; referring in fact toa body, it draws the semic configuration into an evolving (bio-graphical) tense. In principle, the character who says "I" hasno name (Proust's narrator is an outstanding example); in
fact, however, I immediately becomes a name, his name. In
the story (and in many conversations), I is no longer a pronoun, but a name, the best of names: to say I is igcvitably toattribute signifieds to oneself; further, it gives one a biographical duration, it enables one to undergo, in one's imagination,
an intelligible "evolution," to signify oneself as an object witha destiny, to give a meaning to time. On this level, I (and notably the narrator of Scmasine) is therefore a character. The
figure is altogether different: it is not a combination of seIIl§concentrated in a legal Name, nor can biography, psychology,
or time encompass it: it is an illegal, impersonal, anachronistic
configuration of symbolic relationships. As figure, the character can oscillate between two roles, without this oscillation
having any meaning, for it occurs outside biographical time(outside chronology): the symbolic structure is completely
reversible: it can be read in any direction. Thus, the childwoman and the narrator-father, momentarily effaced, can return, can overtake the queen-woman and the narrator-slave. As
a symbolic ideality, the character has no chronological or biographical standing; he has no Name; he is nothing but a site
for the passage (and return) of the figure.

(106) "Be Bfil~" .he said, with tlutt forceful and moclting criT all
women ettBil)' CJS8Ume when they want to be in the right.
The
queen-woman orders silence (all domination begins by prohibiting
language), she forces (placing her partner in a subject position),she mocb (denies the narrator as father) (SYM. The queenwoman).
REF. Feminine psychology.

.0

*

**

(107) "Wlutt a pretty room'" .he cried, loolting mound. "Bluesatin alwtt)'. mtUces such wonderful wall httngings. How refreshing
it is' * ACT. "Tableau": 1: to look around. Blue satin, freshness,
68can either create a mere effect of reality (to create "truth," onemust be at once precise and insignificant), or they can connote the8ightiness of the young woman's words, speaking of furnishings amoment after having indulged in an outlandish act, or they pave
the way for the euphoric state in which the portrait of Adonis will
be read.
( 108) Oh! wh4t a bedutiful painting!" she went on, getting up andgoing to stmJd before a painting in a magnificent frame.
W II stood fOT a moment in contemplation of this nuJrvel,
ACT. "Tableau": 2: to perceive.

*( 109) which seemed to have been painted by some supenuttural
brush.
Metonymically, the trans-natural element in the referent(La Zambinella is outside nature) enters into both the picture's
subject (Adonis is "too beautiful for a man") and its fabrication(the "sufJenultural brush" suggests that the painter's hand was
guided by some god: so Christ, when the picture was completed,descended from heaven to superimpose himself on the icon which
the Byzantine artist had just completed) (SYM. Supemature).

**(110) The picture WdB of Adonis lying on a lion', .kin. The
portrait of Adonis is the theme (subject) of a new enigma (thefifth) which will shortly be formulated: of whom is this Adonis
the portrait? (HER. Enigma 5: thematization).
The "lion'sskin" of this Adonis harks back to countless academic representations of Greek shepherds (REF. Mythology and painting).

**( Ill) The lamp lumging from the ceiling of the room in an alabcuter globe illuminated this canvdB with a .oft glow which enabled
UI to make out all the beauties of the painting.

XXIX. THE ALABASTER LAMP

The light diffused by the lamp is outside the picture; however,metonymically, it becomes the interior light of the painted
scene: alabaster (soft, white)-a conducting rather than anemitting substance, a luminous and cold re8ection-this boudoir alabaster is in fact the moon which illuminates the young
shepherd. Thus Adonis, which No. 547 will tell us inspired
Girodet in painting his Endymion, becomes a lunar lover.
Here there is a threefold inversion of the codes: Endymiontransmits his meaning, story, and reality to Adonis: Endymion
is read with the same words which describe Adonis; Adonis isread according to the situation of Endymion. In EndymionAdonis, everything connotes femininity (cf. description in No.
113) : the "exquisite grace," the "contours" (a word used only
for the 8accid academic paintings of romantic women or mythological ephebes), the elongated pose, slightly turned, open topossession, the pale and diffuse color-white (beautiful womenof the period were always very white), the abundant, curling
hair, "everything, in short"; this final attribute, like any etcetertJ, censors what is not named, that is, what must be bothconcealed and pointed out: the Adonis is placed on the backwall of a theater (the semicircular chamber) and the Endymion is discovered, uncovered by a Cupid who pulls back thecurtain of greenery, like the curtain of a stage, thus focusing on
the very center of what must be seen, inspected: the sexual
member, shadowed in the Girodet, as it is in La Zambinella,mutilated by castration. In love with Endymion, Selena visitshim; her active light caresses the sleeping and unprotected
shepherd and steals into him; although feminine, the Moon is
active; although masculine, the boy is passive: a double inversion, that of the two biological sexes and of the two terms ofcastration throughout the story, in which the women are castrators and the men castrated: thus music will insinuate itself
into Sarrasine, lubricating him, giving him the most intense
pleasure, just as the moonlight possesses Endymion, in a kindof insinuating bath. This is the exchange which controls the
symbolic interplay: a terrifying essence of passivity, castration
is paradoxically superactive: its nothingness contaminateseverything it encounters: deficiency makes everything radiant.
Now, by a final-and curious-cultural reversal, we can see allthis (and not merely read it); the Endymion in our text is thesame Endymion which is in a museum (our museum, theLouvre), so that, retracing the duplicative chain of bodies andcopies, we possess the most literal image of La Zambinella: aphotograph. ~ince reading is a traversal of codes, nothing canstop its journey; the photograph of the fictitious castrato ispart of the text; retracing the line of the codes, we are entitled
to go to the Bulloz establishment in the rue Bonaparte and ask
to be shown the box (most likely filed under "mythologicalsubjects") in which we will discover the castrato's photograph.

*( 112) "Does such d perfect creature exist?" she Cl8ked me,
HER.
Enigma 5: fonnulation (does the model for the painting exist in"nature"?). ** SEM. Supemature (Outside of nature) .

XXX. BEYOND AND SHORT

Perfection is one end of the Code (origin or terminus, whichever); it exalts (or euphorizes) insofar as it puts a stop to theleak of replications, wipes out the distance between code andperformance, between origin and result, between model andcopy; and since this distance is part of the human condition,
perfection, which annuls it, lies outside of anthropologicallimits, in supernature, where it joins the other, inferior, transgression: more and less can be generically placed in the sameclass, that of excess, what is beyond no longer differs fromwhat is short of a limit; the essence of the code (perfection)
has in the end the same status as what is outside the code (themonster, the castrato), for life, the norm, mankind, are but
intermediary migrations in the field of replications. Thus, La
Zambinella is Super-Woman, essential, pedect woman (in any
theology, perfection is the essence, and Zambinella is a "masterpiece"), but at the same time, by the same impulse, she issub-man, castrated, deficient, definitively less; in her, absolutely desirable, in him, absolutely execrable, the two transgressions are united. This confusion is wamnted because trans-._gression is actually a Tn4rk (La Zambinella is marked both bypedection and by deficiency); it enables the discourse to engage in a game of equivocations: to speak of the "supernatural" perfection of the Adonis is also to speak of the "sub-natural" deficiency of the castrato.

( 113) after httving, with d soft smile of contentment, atlrrUrwd
the exquisite grtlCe of the contours, the pose, the color, the 1uJir; inshort, the entire picture. * SEM. Femininity. ** Described inthis way, the picture connotes a whole atmosphere of fulfillment,of sexual gratification: a harmony, a kind of erotic fulfillment 0ccurs, between the painted Adonis and the young woman, who expresses it by a "soft smile of contentment." Now, through the devices of the story, the young woman's pleasure is drawn from threedifferent sources, superimposed in the Adonis: (1) d nuln: Adonis
himself, the mythological subject of the painting; the narrator's
jealousy will be aroused by this interpretation of the young woman's
desire; (2) d WOmdn: the young woman perceives the feminine nature of the Adonis and feels herself in harmony, complicity, even
Sapphism, in any event once again frustrating the narrator, who isdenied access to the glamorous field of femininity; (3) d CdStrttto:
who obviously continues to fascinate the young woman (SYM.
Marriage of the castrato) .

(114) "He is too beautiful for d nuln," .he ddded, after dn exmnintttion IUCh dB she mi&ht Iutve nuule of some rivttl.
The bodies
in Stm08irw, oriented-or disoriented-by castration, cannot withany certainty be situated on either side of the sexual paradigm;*

72.

implicit in it are a Female beyond (perfection) and a Male shortof it (being-castrated). To say that the Adonis is not a man is torefer both to the truth (he is a castrato) and to a false clue, asnare (he is a woman) (HER. Enigma 5: truth and snare: equivocation).
(115) Ohl how jealous 1 then felt; something
desire.

* SYM. Narrator's( 116) in which a poet had vainly tried to make me believe, thejealousy of engrttvings, of pictures, wherein ttrtists eXtJggerttte humdn beauty QCCording to the doctrine which leads them to idealiu
everything.
REF. Literary code of passion (or code of literarypassion). ** SYM. Replication of bodies (to be in love with acopy: this is the theme of Pygmalion, developed in just this way in
No. 229).

*( 117) "It's a portrait," 1 replied, "the product of the talent of* SYM. Replication of bodies.

Vien.

(118) But that great pmnter never saw the original and rruzybe
you'd admire it less if you knew that this d4ub was copied from thestatue of a woman."
SYM. Replication of bodies (the duplication of bodies is linked to the instability of the sexual paradigm,
which makes the castrato waver between boy and woman).
The picture was copied from a statue: true, but this statue wascopied from a false woman; in other words, the statement is true
with regard only to the statue and false with regard to the woman;the lie is carried along by the sentence, made a part of the truth
with which it begins, as the genitive is a part of the statue: how
can a simple genitive lie? (HER. Enigma 5: equivocation).

***

XXXI. THE DISTURBED REPLICATION

Without the-always anterior-Book and Code, no desire, no
jealousy: Pygmalion is in love with a link in the code of statuary; Paolo and Francesca love each other according to the pas73

sion of Lancelot and Guinevere (Dante, Infemo, V): itself alost origin, writing becomes the origin of emotion. Into thisorganized drift, castration brings disturbance: emptiness perturbs the chain of signs, the engendering of replications, theregularity of the code. Deceived, Sarrasine sculpts La Zambinella as a woman. Vien transforms this woman into a boy andthereby returns to the original sex of his model (a Neapolitan
TagClUO): in a final reversal, the narrator arbitrarily stops thechain at the statue and makes the original a woman. Thus
three trajectories intersect: an operative trajectory, a "real"
producer of copies (retracing from the male Adonis to thefemale statue, then to the transvestite boy); a mystifying trajectory, deviously drawn by the jealous narrator (retracingfrom the male Adonis to the female statue and then, implicitly, to the female model); a symbolic trajectory, which passes
only through femininities: that of Adonis, that of the statue,that of the castrator: this is the only homogeneous a~~1 within
which no one tells a lie. This confusion has a hermeneuticrole: the narrator knowingly distorts the true origin of th~Adonis; he produces a snare designed for the young womanand for the reader; symbolically, however, this same 'lamtor;
through his bad faith, indictztes (by referring it to a womant_.
the model's lack of virility; his lie is thus an inductor of truth.

(119) "But who is it?"1 hesitated.
"I want to know," she added, impetuously.
SYM. The queenwoman (the narrator desires the young woman, the young woman
desires to know who the Adonis is; the terms of a contract are suggested). ** HER. Enigma 5: formulation (who is the model for
the Adonis?) .

*(120) '" believe," , replied, "thot this Adonis is aa rellltiveof Mme de unty."
ACT. "To narrate": 2: to know the story*7..

(we know that the nanator mows the old man's identity from No.
70; here we learn that he also mows the origin of the Adonis: thus,
lac has the power to solve the enigmas, to tell the story). •• HER.
Enigma 5: suspended answer.
SYM. Taboo on the noun
castrato.

***

XXXII. DELAY

Truth is brushed past, avoided, lost. This accident is a structural one. In fact, the henneneutic code has a function, theone we (with Jakobson) attribute to the poetic code: just as~yme (notably) structures the poem according to the expectation and desire for recurrence, so the henneneutic tenns
structure the enigma according to the expectation and desire
for its solution. The dynamics of the text (since it implies atruth to be deciphered) is thus paradoxical: it is a static dynamics: the problem is to mtJintdin the enigma in the initial
void of its answer; whereas the sentences quicken the story's"unfolding" and cannot help but move the story along, thehenneneutic code perfonns an opposite action: it must set up
delays (obstacles, stoppages, deviations) in the Bow of the discourse; its structure is essentially reactive, since it opposes theineluctable advance of language with an organized set of stoppages: between question and answer there is a whole dilatory
area whose emblem might be named "reticence," the rhetorical figure which interrupts the sentence, suspends it, turns). Whence, in the henneneuit aside (Virgil's Quos ego
tic code, in comparison to these extreme tenns (question andanswer), the abundance of dilatory morphemes: the mare (abnd of deliberate evasion of the truth), the equivocation (amixture of truth and snare which frequently, while focusing on
the enigma, helps to thicken it), the partitJI. answer (which
only exacerbates the expectation of the truth), the suspended
answer (an aphasic stoppage of the disclosure), and iamming75

(acknowledgment of insolubility). The variety of these te,rms(their inventive range) attests to the considerable labor the discourse must accomplish if it hopes to tJrrest the enigma, tokeep it open. Expectation thus becomes the basic condition
for truth: truth, these narratives tell us, is what is tJt the endof expectation. This design brings narrative very close to therite of initiation (a long path marked with pitfalls, obscurities,
stops, suddenly comes out into the light); it implies a returnto order, for expectation is a disorder: disorder is supplementary, it is what is forever added on without solving anything,
without finishing anything; order is complementary, it completes, fills up, saturates, and dismisses everything that risks
adding on: truth is what completes, what closes. In short,based on the articulation of question and answer, the hermeneutic narrative is constructed according to our image ofthe sentence: an organism probably infinite in its expansions,but reducible to a diadic unity of subject and predicate. To
narrate (in the classic fashion) is to raise the question as if itwere a subject which one delays predicating; and when thepredicate (truth) arrives, the sentence, the narrative, are over,
the world is adjectivized (after we had feared it would not be) .
Yet, just as any grammar, however new, once it is based on
the diad of subject and predicate, noun and verb, can only bea historical grammar, linked to classical metaphysics, so thehermeneutic narrative, in which truth predicates an incomplete subject, based on expectation and desire for its imminentclosure, is dated, linked to the kerygmatic civilization of meaning and truth, appeal and fulfillment.

XXXIII. AND/OR

When the narrator hesitates to tell us who the Adonis is (anddislocates or drowns the truth), the discourse mixes two codes:the symbolic code-from which is derived the ban on the noun

castrato, the aphasia this word provokes whenever anyonerisks saying it-and the henneneutic code, according to which
this aphasia is merely a suspension of the answer, required bytile dilatory structure of the narrative. Of these two codes,
simultaneously referred to in the same words (the same signifier), is one more important than the other? Or, more precisely: ~f we want to "explicate" the sentence (and consequently the narrative), must we decide on one code or theother? Ought we to say that the narrator's hesitation is determined by the constraint of the symbol (according to which
the castrato must be censored), or by the finality of the disclosure (according to which this disclosure must be at oncesuggested and delayed)? Nobody in the world (no knowing
subject, no god of narrative) can decide this. In narrative (andthis is perhaps its "definition"), the symbolic and the operative are non-decidable, subject to the rule of an tmd/ or. Thus,
to choose, to decide on a hierarchy of codes, on a predetenni~tion of messages, as in secondary-school explications, is im~nent, since it overwhelms the articulation of the writing
by a single voice, here psychoanalytic, there poetic (in the
Aristotelian sense). Furthermore, to miss the plurality of the~es is to censor the work of the discourse: non-decidability
defines a prtJXis, the perfonnance of the narrator: just as a successful metaphor affords, between its terms, no hierarchy andremoves all hindrances from the polysemic chain (in contrast
to the comparison, an originated figure), so a "good" narrative
ful61ls both the plurality and the circularity of the codes: ceaselessly correcting the causalities of the anecdote by the metonymy of the symbols and, inversely, the simultaneity of themeanings by the operations which lead on and use up expectation to its end.

77

(121) 1 had the pain of seeing her rll/1t in the contemplation oftlUs figure. She sat in Bilence; I sat down next to her and tooA: her
hdnd without her being awtlTe of itt Forgott.,. for tI painti~1
SYM. Marriage of the castrato (here. the union of the young
woman and the castrato is euphorized: we know that the symbolic
configuration is not subject to a diegetic development: what has
exploded catastrophically can return peacefully united). ** SYM.
Replication of bodies (to be in love with a portrait, like Pygmalion
with a statue) .

*( 122) At this moment, the light footstep, of tI WOmdn in tI rustling
dress broA:e the rilence.
The short episode which begins here
(and which will end at No. 137) is a byte (in computer terminology), a section of program fed into the machine, a sequence equivalent, as a whole, to only one signified: the gift of the ring reopens
Enigma 4: who is the old num1 This episode includes several proairetisms (ACT. "To enter": 1: to announce oneself by a sound).

*(123) Young MttrUmintJ Cdme in, and her innocent expression
nwde her even more ttlluring tlum did her grtlCe and her lovely
dress; ,he WtIB wttllting slowly lind escorting with mtttemttl CtlTe,with filitJl solicitude, the costumed Bf'eCter who had nwde us fIa
from the nWIic room,
ACT. "To enter": 2: the entr.lnce itself.
** HER. Enigma 3: proposal and formulation (enigmatic as they
are, the relations between Marianina and the Old Man strengthen
the enigma of the Lanty family: where do they come from? who
SEM. Childishness.
are they?).

****(124) and whom ,he WtIB lud.ing, wtJtching with what seemed tobe concern til he slowly tldwmced on his feeble feet.
HER.
Enigma 3: formulation (What can be the motive for Marianina's
anxious solicitude, what relationship between them? Who are theLantys?)*XXXIV. THE PR.AITLE OF MEANING

For any fictional action (given in the discourse of the classic
novel) there exist three possible realms of expremon. Either
78the meaning is stated, the action named but not detailed (toaccompany with dnxious solicitude). Or, while the meaning isbeing set forth, the action is more than named, it is described(to wdtch with concern the ground where the person one is
guiding is setting his feet). Or else the action is described, but
its meaning is kept tacit: the action is merely connoted (in thestrict sense of the word) from an implicit signified (to wdtch
the old man slowly ddvdnce on his feeble feet). The first two
realms, in terms of which signification is excessively named,
impose a dense plenitude of meaning or, if one prefers, a certain redundancy, a kind of semantic prattle typical of thearchaic-or infantile-era of modem discourse, marked by theexcessive fear of failing to communicate meaning (its basis);whence, in reaction, in our latest-or "new"-novels, the practice of the third system: to state the event without accompanying it with its signification.

( 125) They went together with some difficulty to d door hidden behind d tdpestry.
Acr. "Door I" (there will be other"Doors") : 1: to reach a door (moreover, the hidden door connotes
a mysterious atmosphere, which restates Enigma 3).

*(126) There, MarkmiT14 knocked softly.

* Acr. "Door 1": 2: toknock.
(127) At once, as if by magic, d taU, stem 7Tl4n, alcind of family
genie, appetl1ed. * Acr. "Door I": 3: to appear at a door (that**is, to open it).
REF. The novelistic (the appearance of a"genie"). The tall, stem man is the servant mentioned in No. 41,
associated with the female clan protecting the old man.
( 128) Before entrusting the old 7Tl4n to the care of his mysterious
Acr. "Farewell": 1: to entrust to another (before
leaving).

guardian,*79

( 129) the child respectfully kissed the walking corpse, and herchaste caress WClS not devoid of that grdCeful cajolery of which someprivileged women possess the secret. ACf. "Farewell": 2: toembrace.
HER. Enigma 3: proposal and formulation (whatkind of relationship can a "chaste caress," a "graceful cajolery"
imply? family? conjugal?).
REF. Code of proverbs: Superior
Women.

******( 130) .. Addio, "ddio," she said, with the prettiest inflection in her
youthful voice. ACf. "Farewell": 3: to say farewell.
SEM.

*

**

Italianness.

( 131) She added to the final '1Uable " JTUlTVelously well-executed
triU, but in " soft voice, CIS if to give poetic expression to the em0tions in her heart. * SEM. Musicality.

XXXV. TIlE REAL, THE OPERABLE

What would happen if one actually perfonned Marianina's"tJddio" as it is described in the discourse? Something incongruous, no doubt, extravagant, and not musical. More: is itreally possible to perfonn the act described? This leads to two
propositions. 1Jlc. .fiI:stis th31.the di.KQurs~..bas no res~nsibil­
iry vis-a-vis ~e lcoV: in the mostu:alisticn9vel~'~the r~f~t
has no "reality": suffice it to imagine the disorder the mostorderly narrative would create were its descriptions taken atface value, converted into operative programs and simply executed. In short (this is the second proposition), what we call"real" (in the theory of the realistic text) is never more than acode of representation (of signification): it is never a code of
execution: the nov.elistic retJl is not o.P.!rC!l]le. To identify-as it
would, after all, be "realistic" enough to do-the real with theoperable would be to subvert the novel at the limit of its genre(whence the inevitable destruction of novels when they are80transferred from writing to film, from a system of meaning toan order of the operable) .

(132) Suddenly muck by some memory, the old mdn rtood on
the threshold of this reern hidetrway. Then, thTough the ri1ence,
we hetlrd the heavy sigh that came from his chert: SEM. MusiACf.
cality (the old man remembers having been a soprano).
"Gift": 1: to incite (or be incited) to the gift.

***( 133) he took the mort buutiful of the ringt which ddomed
his skeletal fingers, mad fJl4ced it in Mdri4nin4s boIOm. ACf.

*

"Gift": 2: to give the gift.

( 1:W) The young girl broke into laughter, tOGA: the ring, madIlipped it onto her finger over her glow; * Aer. "Gift": 1: toaccept the gift (the laugh, the glove, are effects for the sake ofreality, notations whose very insignificance authenticates, signs, signifies "reality") .
( 135) then she walked quickly towtlTd the salon, from which tiler.
could be hetlTd the O/Jening metlBUres of d quddrilI.. Aer. "Toleave": 1: to want to leave.

*(136) She ItIW UI:"All, you were here," she StJid, blUlhing.
After htrving seemed dB if tJbout to question UI, ACf. '70
leave": 2: to delay. .As if is the basic operator of meaning, the key
that introduces the substitutions, the equivalences, that takes us
from action (to look tJt questioningly) to its manner (QI if tJbout
to question), from the operable to the signifier.

*(137) she rdn to her partner with the CtlTelea petulttnce of youth.

* ACf. "To leave": 3: to leave again.

8.

XXXVI. FOLDING, UNFOLDING

What is a series of actions? the unfolding of a name. To enter?
I can unfold it into "to appear" and "to penetrate." To leave?
I can unfold it into "to want to," "to stop," "to leave again."
To give?: "to incite," "to return," "to accept." Inversely, toestablish the sequence is to find the name: the sequence is thecurrency, the exc1umge vdlue of the name. By what divisions is
this exchange established? What is there in "Farewell,""Door," "Gift"? What subsequent, constitutive actions? Alongwhat folds can we close the fan of the sequence? Two systems
of folding (two "logics") seem to be required alternately. The
first breaks down the title (noun or verb) according to its constituent moments (the articulation can be orderly: begin/continue or confused: begin/stop/ letJve ). The second system
attaches contingent actions to a guide word (to say fdTeweU/toconfide/ to embrdce). These systems, one analytical, the othercatalyticalJ one definitiODar,fhe-other metonymica~JJ~a~fact no logic other than that of the diredd),-seen, dlretlfll.-reddL
dlredd)'-dOne: that ofempirics and culture. Th~ _unfol~g ~t
the sequence, O!!..!~verse1y, its .f<!Tding, occu~!?y and th!~the authori-tjt-of the great models, cultural (to give thtmb for
d-gift), Q.rganiCi (iodisturb the course of dn dCtion), ~r plle-nomenal( the sound precedes the phenomenon), etc. :!Jle pr~aire.ti,~'!.~~ce i~ in~eed2~~' i.e.t~·.~ multi'pli~,ty ~s­

iog a rule of orde.t~J Leibnitz ), bl!t th~. ru1e._~f ~n!er .h~~ iscultural' (hdbitJii shorth-and ling1,1i.~~c (!h~ ~~ibil!!y,«?Lthe~ord, the wor(fpr~nt with its possibilities). Similarly, sequences can be ariangedaiiiong-tJiemseIveS'Toonverged, articulated) in such a way as to form a kind of network, a table (asin the sequences "To enter," "Door," "Farewell," "To leave"),but the "luck" of this table (narratively, this episode) is linked
to the possibility of a metaname (the metasequence of theRing, for example). Thus, to read (to perceive the redderl)'-.

aspect of the text) is to proceed from name to name, from foldto fold; it is to fo~~taccording to one name and t:J!~}0_
un~~~~ i.~~ong ~e_ ne~ folds of t~is_~~~e. This is proairetllin:an ar!!6~]Or aI!~f reading that seeks out names, that tell(l$.
t()ward them: an act-of lexIcal transcendence, a laborc1assilcation carried out on the basis of the classification Qf l;m~e-:-a mtJ)'~~~tiVity, as the Buddhists would say, an accoun!
o!. ap~~E~-, bu~as~iscontinuous forms, as names.

of( 138) "What did that f'lWanl" my young companion asked me.
"Is he her husband?
HER. Enigma 3: fonnulation (What is
the family relationship of the Lantys and the old man?).
Even
if false, the hypothesis provides a name, that is, a way out, for thesymbol: it once again marries the castrato to youth, to beauty, tolife: a marriage achieved either with the young woman or with
Marianina :_~~e symbol has no regard for persons (SYM. Marriageof the castrato) .

***( 139) I must be clremning. Where am Ir'"You," I ref'l"d, "you, J1I4dame, superior as you are, ),ou who
understand so weU the mOBt hidden feelings, who know how toinspire in a J1I4n's heart the most delicate of feelings without blighting it, without breaking it at the outset, you who pity heartoche
and who combine the wit of a ParisWnne with a passioMte soul
worthy of Italy or spain-"
She perceived the bitter irony in my speech; then, without seeming to have heard, she interrupted f'lW: "Oh, you fashion me to yourown taste. What tyranny I You don't want me for myselfl""Ah, I want nothing," I cried, taken aback by her severity. *Here there are two cultural codes, one controlling the other: 1)"Flirtatious and witty conversation," all the more coded for being
labored, due either to voluntary parody on the narrator's part orto a Balzacian conception of the "lightness" of worldly conversation. 2) Irony, equally labored, probably for the same reasons
REF. Marivaudage, South(REF. "Flirtatiousness, irony").
ern passion
The narrator, at first fatherly, is here entirely thesuitor; the Woman has him in her power; at the slightest word

**

***

83

from his mistress (spoken "without seeming to have beard"), thesubject-male beats a retreat, emphasizing a subjection necessary
for the (immediate) continuation of the story (SYM. The QueenWoman and the nanator-subject).

(110) "I. it true, at '*-, tlutt you "';01 hearing noria of tho.
vivid fNlSSWru tlutt ravishing Southern wornen i• • in our heQlUr'* The narrator knows the story of the enigmatic old man and themysterious Adonis (Nos. 70 and 120); for her part, the young
woman is interested in hearing it (No. 119): the conditions aremet for a narrative contract. We now come to an explicit proposition of narrative. This proposition will fint of all (here) be tantamount to a propitiatory gift meant to compensate for the narrator's
offense against the Queen-Woman, who must be mollified. The
imminent narrative is henceforth constituted as an offering, before
beooming merchandise (in a transaction to be explained later on)(Aer. "To narrate": 3: to offer to tell).
REF. Passion (thedelights of analogy: a hotter sun creates burning passions, love
being a fI4me). Meridionality, already connoted in Filippo's olive
complexion, is the genus containing the species "Italy" in advance.
*** The utterance proposes a false enthymeme: (1) the story to
be told is the story of a woman; (2) it will be the story of La lambinella; (3) thus, La Zambinella wiD be a woman. The narrator
sets a snare for his listener (and the reader): even before the narrative begins, a false clue is given for Enigma 6 (Who il14 Zmrabinell41) (HER. Enigma 6: thematization and snare).

**

XXXVII. THE HERMENEUTIC SENTENCE

The proposition of truth is a "well-made" sentence; it contains
a subject (theme of the enigma), a statement of the question(formulation of the enigma), its question mark (proposal of
the enigma), various subordinate and interpolated clauses andcatalyses (delays in the answer), all of which precede the ultimate predicate (disclosure). Canonically, Enigma 6 (Who is
La Zctmbi~?) would be set forth as follows:Question:"TIW u La ZambinelltJ. Who u she(subject, theme)(formulation)'" will teU you:(promise of answer)dDelays:(suspended answer)

no one A:noWB.

?
(proposal)d creature(snare)outside nature(ambiguity)
reldtive oftM Lantys,(partial answer)d WOmdn,(jammed answer)

Answer:A C46trato dressed dB d WOrruln.
( disclosure)This canon can be modified (just as there are several kinds ofsentence), provided that the principal hermeneutemes (the"knots" or "kernels") are present at some point in the discourse: the discourse can condense several henneneutemes
ioto a single statement (into a single signifier) by making
some of them implicit (thematization, proposal, and fonnulation); it can also invert the terms of the henneneutic order:an answer can be given before the question has been asked (itis suggested that La Zambinella is a woman even before she
appears in the story); or a snare can remain set after the truth
has been revealed (Sarrasine continues to ignore La Zambinella's true sex even though it has been revealed to him). 'I'his~~m gf ~e herm,~_~lltic !~t.~ce (which is something lik~!:be h~Qm Qf tb~Jl~()na! ~t~~)em.q~~~ ~ ~s­~t- namtiv~ combi~~ ~o points ofyiew (~. pertinenccs) :a rule ~f co_IDmunication, which keeps the net;wO.Ib Qf 4_C$tinati~D"·separa.te, so that each one can continue to operate even if
i~ neighbor is already "burned out" (Samsine can continue
to receive a false message although the reader's circuit is already saturated: the sculptor's blindness becomes a new message, object of a new system henceforth destined solely for thereader); and a pseudo-logical rule, whicb tolerates a certain85

freedom in the order in which predicates are presented, oncethe subject has been proposed: this freedom actually reinforces
the preeminence of the subject (of the star), whose perturbation (literally, whose jeopardy) seems accidental and provisional; or rather: from the question's pr(:>visio"-al _~~~~_reJ weinfer its accidents: once the subject is proyjd.edwith its "true"
predicate, everything falls into place, the sentence can end.

(141) "Yes, so?"
"So, I'll call tomorrow around nine and reveal this mystery toyou." * In the sequence "To narrate" we could set up a sub-sequence or byte, "Rendezvous" (suggested/refused/accepted), inasmuch as the Rendezvous is a common weapon in the novelistic
arsenal (there is another later on in the story, given Sarrasine by
the duenna [No. 288]). Nevertheless, since this rendezvous, in its
specific structure (refused/accepted), diagrammatically represents
the bargain struck between the narrator and the young woman concerning the subject "Story," we shall integrate it directly into the"To narrate" sequence, where it will become an intermediate term:
ACT. "To narrate": 4: to suggest a rendezvous for the undisturbed
telling of a story (a fairly frequent act in the code of everyday life:"I'll tell it to you" ).

( 142 ) " No," she replied, "I want to know now.""You haven't yet given me the right to obey you when you S4f:
I want to." * ACT. "To narrate": 5: to discuss the time of therendezvous. ** The Queen-Woman appears to be demanding an
immediate narration out of pure caprice-a way of connoting her
domination-but the narrator reminds her of the precise-and serious-nature of the bargain: you haven't yet given me anything, andthus I am not obligated to you. Which means: if you give yourself
to me, I will tell you the story: tit for tat: a moment of love in
exchange for a good story (SYM. The Queen-Woman and the subject-narrator) .
(143) "At this moment," she replied with maddening coquetry,"I have the most burning desire to know the secret. Tomorrow, I86*might not even listen to you
SYM. The (capricious)
Queen-woman. To demand delivery of the goods on the spot (narration of the story) is to scant the other half of the bargain, since
the narrator's desire cannot be fulfilled in the Lantys' salon: theyoung woman has some desire to "cheat."( 1+4) She smiled and we parted; she ;ust as proud, ;ust as forbidding, and I ;ust as ridiculous as ever. She had the audacity to waltz
with a young aide-de-camp; and I was left in turn angry, pouting, admiring, loving, ;ealous. * SEM. The Queen-Woman andsubject-narrator. Here, the symbolic situation of the partners istranscribed by one of the interested parties in a psychological metalanguage.
(145) "Till tomorrow," she said, around two in the morning, as
the left the btIll.
ACT. "To narrate": 6: to agree to the rendezvous.

*(146) "I won't go," I thought to myself. "I'll give you up. You
tlTe more capricious, perhaps a thoUSdnd times more fancifulthan my imagination."
ACT. "To narrate": 7: to reject therendezvous. The complicated maneuver of the rendezvous (refusedby one, agreed to by the other, and vice versa) diagrammaticallyembodies the very esseoce of the bargain, which is a seesaw of proposals and refusals: through the rendezvous episode, a very precise
economy of exchange is established. - Th~ _stol}'_ of La Zambinella,
the narrator informs us in passing. is perhaps fict!tious, in the fieb~ri itself: counterfeit money surreptiously put in circulation.

*(147) The next evening, we were both seated before a good fire
ACT. "To narrate": 8: to have accepted the rendezvous.

*( 1is) in a small, elegant salon, she on a low sofa, I on cushions almost at her feet, and my eyes below hers. The street was quiet. The
14mp shed a soft light. It was one of those evenings pleasing to the
JOUl, one of those never-to-be-forgotten moments, one of those
hours spent in peace and desire whose charm, later on, is a matterfor constant regret, even when we met)' be happier. Who can erase
the vivid imprint of the first feelings of love?
SYM. The Queen-*

87

Woman and the subject-narrator ("lIlmoBt tit her feet, and my eya
below hers" ) . ]'he decor (a good fire, comfortable furnishings, soft
light) is ambivalent:lt is as propiti~us for th~tdlip, of a ~stt~!L~~itis fo~a~!~~of_lov= ** REF. Code of Passion, Re c.

(149) "Well," she Sdid, "I'm listening."* ACT. "To narrate":

9: to command to tell.
(150) "I don't dttre begin. The story hdS some dangerous ptJsstJgu* ACT.
"To narrate": 10: to hesitate to tell. Perhaps a special morphemeshould be constituted for this final hesitation of the discourse in
beginning a story, a suspense which is purely discursive, analogous
to the final moments of a striptease. . . SYM. The ~~!_!od_
castrati()n, R..llD11ing_~risk, as he says, of becoming too mJWed,the narrator identifies himself in advance witlnii(rrilSine's "passion"for La Zambinella-and, consequently, with the castratiori-whiClds
at stake.
for in teUer.If I become too moved, you muBt stop me."(151) "TeU."
tell.

* ACT. "To narrate: 11: to repeatthe command to*

ACT. "To narrate": 12: command ac(152) "I wiU obey."
cepted. By this final word, the narrative which now begins comesunder the sign of the Queen-Woman, the Castrating Figure.

XXXVIII. CONTRACT-NARRATIVES~! the origin <?LNarrative, desire. To produce narrative, how-ever, desire must vmy~usteiiter into a system of equivalents
and m.etonymies; or: In order to be produced, narrative ni~t-­
be susceptible ot chtmge, must subject itself to an economiC~
system. In StJrrasine, for example: the secret of the Adonis-lias
to do with his body; a knowledge of this secret is access to that88

body: the young woman desires the Adonis (No. 113) and its
story (No. 119): a first desire is posited that detennines a second, through metonymy: the narrator, jealous of the Adonis
by cultural constraint (Nos. 115-16), is forced to desire theyoung woman; and since he knows the story of the Adonis, theconditions for a contract are met: A desires B, who desires
something A has; and A and B will exchange this desire andthis thing, this body and this narrative: a night of love for agood story. Narrative: legal tender, subject to contract, ecoDomic stakes, in short, merclumdise, barter which, as here, canturn into haggling, no longer restricted to the publisher's office
but represented, en abyme, in the narrative. This is the theory
SamlBine offers as a fable. This is the question raised, perhaps,by every narrative. ~~t. rJao~_~ th~~1ffiY.~.~ ~~'¥f4
for? What is the ntUTative "worth"? Here, the narrative is
exchanged for a-body lacontract-of prostitution); elsewhere it
can purchase life itself (in The ThoU8(llld and One Nights,
one story of Scheherazade equals one day of continued life);
IDd elsewhere, in Sade, the narrator systematically alternates,
as in a gesture of purchase, an orgy for a dissertation, in otherwords, for meaning (philosophy is equivalent to sex, the boudoir): by a dizzying device, narrative becomes the representation of the contract upon which it is based: in these exemplary
fictions, narratiO&-.i.t_the..(ecopomic) ijIeory of narra~o~: ODedoes not ':!ll~!~ to_ "~muse," to "instruct," or t() ~ti~fy a~~n. a_~~!()pol~gical func~o~ of "!~_~i3i .~~e ~rrates in orderto obtain by exchanging; and it is this exchange that"is- represented in the narrative itself: narrative is bOth product-and
production, merchandise and commerce, a stake and the bearerof that stake: a dialectic even more explicit SirraiiiJe since'the very "contents" of the Narrative-as-Merchandise (a storyof castration) will prevent the bargain from being completed:the young woman, upset by the narrated castration, will withdraw from the transaction without honoring her pledge.

eer:

in

XXXIX. THIS IS NOT ANu

EXPUCATION DE TEXTE "Since narrative is both merchandise and the relation of thecontract of which it is the object, there can no longer be any
question of setting up a rhetorical hierarchy between the twoparts of the tale, as is common practice: the evening at theLanty mansion is not a mere prologue, and Sanasine's adventure is not the main story: the sculptor is not the hero and thenarrator is not a mere protactic character: _Stl!r~~.ii Dot thestory of a castrato, but of a contract; it is the s~IY ~!..~for~"( the-narrative)"· and the action of this force on .!1:!~.Ym' .tQ~
trac:t ~ntrolling it. Thus, the two parts of the text are notdetached from one another according to the so-called principle of "nested narratives" (a narrative within the narrative).
The nesting of the bloclcs of narrative is not (merely) ludicbut (also) economic. Narrative does not engender itself bymetonymic extension (subject to its passage through the stagesof desire), by paradigmatic alternation: narrative is deteI.:;.
mined not by a desire to narrate but by a deSire to exchange: it
is a mediu",!- of exclumge, an agent, a currency. a gold s1a!ndird.~at accounts for this central equiva1en~ is_ n.~t the "plan"of SturdSine, but its structure. The structure is no~·~-pfOLOJ ~pl~Q. Therefore, this is Dot an "explication de texte."( 153) EmeBt-Jedn Smrasine was the only son of d l4wyer in til.
Franche-Comte, I went on, after a pause. His fdiher IuuI tIJTItISSed
six or eight thoUltDld livres of income honutly enough, a ,,",fe.
Biorull's fortune which di that time, in the FOvinces, was considered to be colossal. The elder SmraBine, having but one child andtmXiow to overlooJc nothing where his educdtion was concerned,
hoped to nuzke a nwgistrdte of him, tII'Id to live long enough to sec,
in his old age, the grandson of Matthieu Sdrrasine, ftJTTner of Saint·
00, sedied beneath the lilies and Rdl'Ping through some tritIl forthe greater glory of the l4w; however, hedven did not hold thiI90

fJtIt-nue in store for the l4wyer. * A question was posed by the
limy's vel}' title (No.1): What is SmTClSine? Now that question
lias been answered (HER. Enigma 1: answer). ** SYM. Father
aad son: Antithesis: A: the favored son (he will be accuned in
No. 168). The antithesis corresponds to a cultural code: MagisIDle-Father, Artist-Son: by this inversion, societies are dissolved.
In this family chronicle, one place is empty: that of the.ather (SYM. Father and son: the absent mother).

***(1 H) The younger SmTdSine, entrusted to the Jesuits at (In emly
ACf. "Boarding school": 1: to go away to boarding school.

.' *(ISS) evidenced (In u1UJSlUJl turbulence. * SEM. Insubordination. Denotatively, turbulence is a character trait; here, however,this trait refers to a larger, vaguer, and more fonnal signified: the@te of a substance ~~at _~~n) "~k.~" QJCanDQ~ -be §lt~~ecI. a!ld

=i~:_~~~l=ii~~~:~~G~;li:~~o~;-~:~ ~ifa~~~~iJiCetyDl9.!~ql !!l~!li!t.&of the word ~urbulence which is its con~meanin~.

(156) He Iuul the childhood of d FnIIn of ftIlent.
(inde6nite for the moment) .

* SEM. Vocation(157) He would study only what pletJsed him, frequently rebelled,_sometimes spent hours on end plunged in confused thought,
c:uf1ied at times in watching his comrtJdes at pl4y, at times drumiIIg of Homeric heroes.
SEM. Unsociability. ** SEM. Voca·
tioo (artistic: perhaps literary?).

*(158) Then, if he mtlde up his mind to dmuse himself, he threw

IWruelf into gttmel with dn extr(lordi1Jtl:ry mdor. When d faght....e out between him dnd (I friend, the battle rcuely ended without bloodBhed. If he WdS the weder of the two, he would bite. *SEM. Excess (what exceeds nature). ** SEM. Femininity (tolite, rather than to use the ..E~all~ ~"s1 is a connotator of feminin-ity). The appearance ofbrOOCffn tTie sculptor's childhood alreadydramatizes his fate, however remotely.

( 159) Both active dnd /JdSSive by tums, without aptitude and not
overly intelligent, his biztJrre coordCter SEM. The composite.

*This maleficent seme has already appeared in other forms througla~
the first part of the text: the compoBite (in romantic terminolOCJ~ ~the bWme), connoted by the alternation of opposites, designatlS J
an inability to attain the homogeneity or unity whose model iI ~organic cohesion, in a word the lubric4ted (No. 213); not that j
Sarrasine laclcs virility (energy, independence, etc.), but such ~ ,ity is unstable, and instability leads the sculptor outside a plenuy.'
reconciled unity toward defeat, toward deficiency (or signifies it). :XL. THE BIRTH OF THEMATICS

To state that Sanasine is "dCtive or fJtI8Bive by ~" is t~~!:..
tempt to locate something in his character "whlclt ~oesn'.!..
take," to attempt to name that something. Thus begins a process of nomination which is the essence of the readers activirii
to read is to struggle to name, to subject the sentences of thetext to a semantic transformation. This transformation- is ei-ratic; it consists in hesitating among several names: if we are
told that Sanasine had "one of those strong wills tlutt know
no obsftJcle," what are we to read? will, mergy, obstinttcy, ~bomness, etc.? The con nota tor refers not so much to a nameas to a synonymic complex whose common nucleus we senseeven while the discourse is leading us toward other possibilities, toward other related signifieds: thus, rea~ing is absorbed..
in a ltipq, Qf.metonymic Ilj~. ~c!t syno~ym ~dding to its
nei&hbor SQ.IJ1e new trait, some new departure: ~e old m~1L
who was fiDt~nl!o.ted as frdgile is soon said to be "of g~"; animage containing signifieds of rigidity, immobility, and dry,
cutting frangibility. This expansion is the very movement of
meaning: !!te mea.,ning s~d~1 r~v~ itsel!! a..~~ a.d--y~~~ si.:multaneously; far from analyzing it, we should rather describe_
tt through its expansions, lexical ~nscenden~~- ~_e.'p~ric.
WO.rdit copJi!lu!IJly.atteInEl! .to jQ~!l: tJte obiect 91 _~~!ltics

·"mId be the synthesis of meanings, not the analysis of words.
r~~ay, thii~emantics_!lf_~m~iOI!s ~l~~dy exi~~: it is-alled Thematics. To thematize is, on the one hand, to leave
dictionary behind, to follow certain synonymic chains.~ (turbulent, murky, unstable, unresolved), to yield to an ex.pnding nomina tion (which can proceed from a certain sensualiIm) , and, on the other, to return to these various substantive
ltations in order to create some constant form ("which doesn't. .e"), for the exchange value of a seme, its ability to participate in a thematic economy, depends on its repetition: in Sarasine's aggressivity, it is worth noting a tendency (a repeateddue) toward petty destructiveness, since this element will crop
up in other signifiers; similarly, the old man's fctntdStic quality
has no semantic value unless the exceeding of human limits,which is one of the primitive "components" of the word (oneof its other "names"), can recur elsewhere. To read, to understa~~, to thematize (at least a classic text), is therefore to.!!'Iettt from name to name, starting from the signifying thrust(thus we retreat from Sarrasine's violence at least to the pointof excess, a clumsy name for wluJt exceeds the limits cmd trdfltcends nature). ~is r~treat is of course c~ed: when the UDDes~ng of na~~ ~.f ~ criticallevc;l is ~~J?l~hed, the work
~ closed, the language by which the semantic. tran~formati()nis ended becomes nature, truth, the work's secret. Only an
infin~~e thematics, open to endless nomination, can respect th~enduring character of language, the production of reading, and;;a"longer the list of its products. However, the metonYmic
produ~C:>1l of lanFge is not.Es~lat~ ~n the ci~~~_ t~:fwDence the inevitability of a dice throw which can arrest andfix the skid of names: this is thematics.

r.-(160) rruule his teachers tIS weary of him tIS were his cl4ssf11ltter.
• SEM. Danger.
93

(161) Instead of ledming the ekments of Greek, he drew theReverend Father as he expUJined a passage in Thucydides to them,sketched the mathematics teacher, the tutors, the Father in chmgeof discipline, and he scribbkd shapekBS designs on the walls.
SEM. Unsociability (Sanasine acts inappropriately, outside thenorms, outside the limits of "nature").
SEM. Vocation (drawing). The signified is deduced from a cultural code: the inspired
dunce succeeds outside regulated class activities.

***( 162) Instead of singing the Lord's praises in church, he distracted
himself during services by whittling on a pew; * SEM. Impiety.
Impiety here is provocation, not indifference: Sanasine is (andthus will be) a transgressor. Transgression consists not in ignoring
the service but in replacing it (in parodying it) with an inverted
SEM. ~i~!y"~~activity, erotic and hallucinatory: whittling.
The._~~truction of the whole obi~t. ~he(d~libexa~J_~I~n_
toward the partial object, the halluc:ination of~gme~t.~!!~~!Jh~quest for a fetish, win r~ppeaJ when SamLsiJl~ ~deavors to undfess La Zambinena mentally in order to draw her**

body:-' ------ ..-XLI. TIlE PROPER NAME

We occasionally speak of Sarrasine as though he existed, as
thougf~iha§a ful11fe.!. anun~~nscioys. saW; h.owe.v~~b~L
we a.re talking about is his figure (an impersona! nc:.twork ofsymbols combined under-the proper name "Sa~"!., not.
~is pers~n (a moral freedom endowed with motives and an
overdetermination of meanings): we are develosconnqtatiEn~~ot pUf!.uing in!estigatioos; wea-ie notsea.rching tQ[Jhetruth of ~~~asi~e, but for the systematics of a (transitory) si~eof the text: we mark this site (under the name Sarrasine) so it
will take its place among the alibis of the narrative operation,in the indeterminable network of meanings, in the plurality of
the codes. By restoring to the discourse its hero's proper name,
we are merely acting in accordance with the economic natureaof the Name_:...i!!.th~novelistic regime (and elsewhere?), it isan f~.trum.eDtof cxch-ange: it allows the substitution of anominal unit for a collection of characteristics by establishingan equivalent relationship between sign and sum: it is a bookkeeping method in which, the price being equal, condensed
merchandise is preferable to voluminous merchandise. Exceptthat the economic function (substitutive, semantic) of theName is stated with varying degrees of frankness. Whence thevariety of patronymic codes. To call characters, as Furetieredoes, /dYotte, Nicodeme, Beltlstre is (without keeping completely aloof from a certain half-bourgeois, half<lassic code)
to emphasize the structural function of the Name, to state its
arbitrary nature, to depersonalize it, to accept the currency of
the Name as pure convention. To say SarrctSine, Rochefide,
Lanty, ZambinelUJ (not to mention Bouchardon, who reallyexisted) is to maintain that the patronymic substitute is filledwith a person (civic, national, social), it is to insist that appellative currency be in gold (and not left to be decided arbitrarily). All subversion, or all novelistic submission, thus begins with the Proper Name: specific-as well specified-as is
the Proustian narrator's social position, his perilously maintained lack of a name creates a serious deflation of the realistic
illusion: the Proustian I is not of itself a name (in contrast to
the substantive character of the novelistic pronoun, XXVIII);because it is undermined, troubled by the disturbances of age,
it loses its biographical tense by a certain blurring. What is
obsolescent in today's novel is ~ot the QQyeHstic, it is the char~ctei;-whaf can no lonj~.r ~ ~t;t.en is the Proper Name.

(163) or wlum he IuJd stolen (J piece of wood, he carved some holy
figure. If he IuJd no wood, /Jdper, or pencil, he reproduced his idedS*with brud crumbs.
SEM. Vocation (sculptor). The kneadingof bread crumbs, prefiguring the moment when Sarrasine kneads
95the clay in which he copies Ul Zambinella's body, has a dual value:
informative (the definition of Sarrasine is created by resbiction
from the genus "Artist" to the species "Sculptor"); symbolic (referring to the onanism of the solitary viewer, returned to in thescene on the sofa in No. 267) .

(164) Whether copying the chtITtJCters in the pictures thttt decorated the choir, or improvising, he alwctys left behind him 'Omll
gross sketches whose licentiousness shocked the youngest Ftithers;
evil tongues nurintained tlult the older Jesuits were dJ1W/ll8d by
them.
SEM. Licentiousness (kneading is an erotic activity).
REF. Psychology of ages (the young are strict; the old, permissive) .

***(165) Finally, if we tlTe to believe school gossip, he WdS apelkd* ACT. "Boarding school": 2: to be expelled.

( 166) for lutving, while dWditing his tum tit the confessional on
Good Friday, shdped d big rtick of wood into the form of Chrirt.
The impiety with which this st4fue WdS endowed WdS too blttttmt
not to 1utve mllrited punishmllnt of the tDtirt. Hdd he not hdd the
dUddcity to pldCe this Bomewhttt cynicdl figure on top of thetdberRllCleI
SEM. Vocation (sculptor).
SEM. Impiety (thetransgression links religion and the erotic, cf. No. 162).

***(167) SttrrtlBine BOUght in PttriB d refuge from the effects"Career': I: to go to Paris.
(168) of d father', cuneo
the accursed SOD.

* ACT.

* SYM. Father and SOD: Antithesis: B:(169) Having one of those rtrong wills thdt brook no obltdcle, heobeyed the commdnds of his genius dnd entered Bouclutrdon', studio.
SEM. Obstinacy (Sarrasine will also insist on loving La
Zambinella, then on deceiving himself as to her nature; his "01>stinacy" is only the protection of his illusions).
ACT. "Career": 2: to study with a great master.

***(170) He worked all day, dRd in the evening went out to beg forhis living.
REF. Stereotype: the poor, courageous artist (earning
his living by day, creating at night or, as here, vice versa) .

*( 171) Monished at the yourIB artist'. progr"' and intelli&ence,
Bouchttrdon SEM. Genius (genius crowns the artist's vocation,
cf.No.173).

*(172) BOOn became aware of his pupil'. pcyerty; he helped him,grew fond of him, and treated him liIte his own son. Bouchardon replaces not the father but the mother, whose absence (No.
153) has led the child into licentiousness, excess, anomie; like amother, Bouchardon understands, cares for, helps (SYM. Motherand son).

**(173) Then, when SarrClSiM'. genius was revealed
SEM. Genius. Sanasine's genius is, three times over, necessary ("credible"):according to the cultural (romantic) code, it makes Sanasine asingular being, outside the norms; according to the dramatic rode,it exposes the wicked fate which "exchanges" a great artist's death
for a castrato's life, that is, everything for nothing; according to thenarrative code, it justi6es the perfection La Zambinella's statue will
have, the source of the desire transmitted to the Adonis.

(174) in one of those works in which future talent struggles withthe effervescence of youth,
REF. Code of ages and code of Art(talent as discipline, youth as effervescence) .

*XLII. CODES OF CLASS~~t ~s th~ \l~ of trying to reconstruct a cultural code, since
the regulations governing it are never more than a prospect (toquote Poussin)? And yet the locus of an epoch's codes forms akind of scientific vulgate which it will eventually be valuable todescribe: what do we know "naturally" about art?-"it is aconstraint"; about youth?-"it is turbulent," etc. If we collect
all such knowledge, all such vulgarisms, we create a monster,and this monster is id~lo&y. As a fragment of ideiJogy, thecultural code inverts its class origin (scholastic and social) into97

a natural reference, into a proy~ialstat~I!!~t..!.ike .~da~tj~_
language and political language, whic~ ~Js~ nev~ question ~c:.
-repetition of their utterances (their stereotypic essence),. ~cultural proverb vexes,.provokes an intolerant readinS!~e BaI:.
zacian -text is clotted with.. It: because of its cultural
codes, it. ..... -- ... _-'"
stales, rots, excludes itself from writing (which is always acontempordry task): it is the quintessence, the residual co~-_densate of what cannot be rewritten. This extrusion of thestereotype is scarcely averted 'by irony, for, as we have seen
(XXI), irony can only add a new code (a new stereotype) tothe codes, to the stereotypes it claims to exorcise. The writer's
only control over stereotypic vertigo (this vertigo is also thatof "stupidity," "vulgarity") is to participate in it without quotation marks, producing a text, not a parody. This is what
F1aubert did in Bou'VtJrd et Pkuchet: the two copyists are co~iers of codes (they are, one may say, stupid), but since they
too confront the class stupidity which surrounds them, thetext presenting them sets up a circularity in which no one (noteven the author) has an advantage over anyone else; and _th~,is in fact the function of writing: to make ridiculous,_t~ ~!mYl
the power (the intimidation) of one language over ~~Oth~!lt~dissolve any metalanguage as soon as it is constituted.
-.,,-.

( 175) the wtJnJ1hearted Bouchardon erukavored to reatore him to
the old lllwyer's good grClCes. Before the authority of the fctmow
sculptor, the pmental dnger rubsided. AIl BescJ",on rejoiced tJt httving given birth to d gretJt mtJn of the future. In the fim throes ofthe ecstasy produced by his fl4ttered vanity, the miserly lllwyer gave
his son the means to cut a good figure in society. We have noted
the paradigm: favored/ClCCUrsed. We might conceive here a third*

term: reconciled. However, this dialectic is unacceptable, for it isvalid only on the anecdotal, not the symbolic, level, where thecurse (the casting out) exists outside time. This reconciliation issignificant because of its agent, thereby confirmed in his maternalnature: as the stake of the struggle, the mother can resolve thecon8ict between father and son (later we will see Bouchardon, likea mother, protecting Sarrasine from sexuality) (SYM. Mother andson).

( 176) For tJ long time, the lengthy tJnd ltzboriOU8 studies demtJnded
REF. Code of Art (the difficult apprenticeship ofby sculpture*

sculpture). Sculpture is said to struggle with matter, not with representation, as in the case of painting; it is a demiurgic art, an art
which extracts rather than covers. an art of the hand that takes
hold.

( 177 ) ttJrned StJrrtJSine's impetuous rutture tJnd wild genius. Bouchardon, foreseeing the violence with which the fxt8Bions would
erupt in this young soul, SEM. Excess (the excessive, out of*bounds).

( 178) which WdB perhtJps dB predisposed to them tJS Micheldngelo's
htJd been, * REF. Art history, the psychological typology of agreat artist (if Sarrasine had been a musician and Balzac had beenborn fifty years later, it would have been Beethoven; in literature,
Balzac himself. etc.) .
(179) chtJnneled his energy into consttJnt ldbor. He succeeded in
keeping SorrtJBine's exUtJOrdinmy impetuosity within limits by forbidding him to work; by suggesting distractions when he SCIW him
being cmried away by the fury of some idetJ, or by entrusting him
with import4nt work when he seemed on the point of CJbtJndoning himself to dissifJtJtion.
SEM. Excess.
Like a bourgeois***

mother who wants her son to become an engineer. Bouchardon
keeps an eye on Sarrasine's work (but also, like the same bourgeois
mother, on his sexual activities) (SYM. Mother and son).
( 180) However, gentleness was tJlways the most powerful of weapons where this fxt8Biorutte soul was concerned, tJnd the master htJd
no greater control over his student thtJn when he inspired his
grtJtitude through fJttfernal kindness. * Gentleness is a maternal
weapon: symbolically, a gentle father is the mother (SYM. Motherand son).
REF. Gnomic code ("" soft answer tumeth away**

wrtJth").
99

XLIII. STYLISTIC TRANSFORMATIONThe utterances of the cultural code are implicit proverbs: they
are written in that obligative mode by which the disCOUISC
states a general will, the law of a society, making the proposition concerned ineluctable or indelible. Further still: it is because an utterance can be transformed into a proverb, a maim,
a postulate, that the supporting cultural code is discoverable:
stylistic transformation "proves" the code, bares its structure,
reveals its ideological perspective. What is easy for proverbs(which have a very special syntactical, archaistic form) is
much less so for the other codes of discouISe, since the sentence-model, the example, the paradigm expressing each ofthem has not (yet) been isolated. Nevertheless, we ~~ conceive that stylistics, which has hitherto been concerned onlywith departures and expressive phrases-in other words, withverbal individtultions, with an author's ideolects-wiIl radically change its object and concern itself essentially with isolating and classifying models (patterns) of sentences, clauses,
armatures, deep structures; in short, we can conceive that ~­listics, t()O., will become transformational; thereby it wouldcease to be a minor subdivision of literary analysis (limited toa few individual syntactical and lexical constants) and, transcending the opposition of form and content, would become
an instrument of ideological classification; for, once thesemodels are found, we could then, in the course of the text. expose each code as it occurs.

( 181) At twenty-two, Samuine was neceSSllTily removed from the
Bdlutary influence Bouchmdon Iuu1 aercised over his morah andhis hamt8.
REF. Chronology (Sarrasine is twenty-two when he
ACT. "Career": 3: to leave the master. ***leaves for Italy).
Since Sarrasine is "licentious," Bouchardoo's "salutary io8uence,"

*

**

100

even though finally for art's sake, must be a moral one: the son's
sexuality is protected, preserved, annulled by the mother. Sequestration from sex designates, in Sarrasine, ctphdnisis, castration, towhich he was subject well before knowing La Zambinella: the castrato appears to rescue him from it for a time (thus Sarrasine's"first" pleasure in the theater), only to subject him to it definitively ("You helve drctgged me down to your leYel," No. 525); thus,
in the end, La Zambinella will be for Samasine only the conicioUsnallof what "he has "been all along (SYM: Aphanisis) .
(182) He rectped the fruits of his genius by winning the sculpture

prize * ACT. "Career": 4: to win a prize.

(183) est4blished by the Mctrquis de Mctrigny, the brother of Mmede Pompadour, who did so rrwch for the arts. REF. History*(Mme de Pompadour) .

(184) Diderot Iutiled the st4tue by Bouchctrdon's pupil CIS ct masterpUzce. * ACT. "Career": 5: to be pr.aised by a great critic.
REF. History of liter.ature (Diderot as art critic) .

**XLIV. THE HISTORICAL CHARACTER

In The Guemutnfes Wd)', Proust writes: "We see
in agazetteer of the works of Balzac, where the most illustrious
personages figure only according to their connexion with theCOl11Bdie hUnuJine, Napoleon occupy a space considerably
less than that allotted to Rastignac, and occupy that spacesolely because he once spolce to the young ladies of CinqCygne." It is precisely this minor importance which gives thehistorical character its exlICt weight of reality: this minor is themeasure of authenticity: Diderot, Mme de Pompadour, later
Sophie Arnould, Rousseau, d'Holbach, are introduced into
the fiction laterally, obliquely, in passing, painted on the scenery, not represented on the stage; for if the historical character
101were to asswne its real importance, the discourse would beforced to yield it a role which would, paradoxi~iy: make itless real (thus the characters in Balzac's Ctltherine de Medicis,
Alexandre Dumas's novels, or Sacha Guitry's plays: absurdly
improbable): they would give themselves away. Yet if they are
merely mixed in with their fictional neighbors, mentioned ashaving simply been present at some social gathering, theirmodesty, like a lock between two levels of water, equalizes
novel and history: they reinstate the novel as a family, andlike ancestors who are contradictorily famous and absurd, J:ttey
give the novel the glow of reality, not of glory: they are superlative effects of the real.

(185) The King's sculptor, not without great SOrTOW, saw off to IttUy"young mcln
ACf. "Career": 6: to leave for Italy. ** Bouchardon's sorrow, his fear, is that of a mother who has lcept her son avirgin and who suddenly finds him sent off to do his military service
in some hot-blooded country (SYM. Protection against sexuality).

*(186) whom he htJd kept, tIS " matter of principle, in tottU ignor"nee of the ftICts of life.
The generous but abusive mother (abusive by her very generosity) has denied her son knowledge of the"facts of life" by overwhelming him with work (though allowing
him a few social outings); Bouchardon has condemned Sarrasine
to virginity and has played the role of his castrator (SYM. Protection against sexuality) .

*(187) For six ye"rs, SmrtlSine htJd boorded with Bouchtlrdon. *REF. Chronology (Sarrasine came to Bouchardon at the age of
sixteen) .
( 188) As ftlnatic in his tJTt tIS OIno)l" WtIS letter to be, he tlrGSe atdawn, went to the studio, did not emerge until nightfcdl,
SEM.
Excess. ** REF. History ofart (Canova).

*

102

*

(189) tJnd lived only with his Muse.
SYM. Protection against
sexuality.
SYM. Pygmalion. There is a dual (contradictory)
connotation: Sarrasine never makes love, he is in a state of aphanisis (or loss of sexuality); like a Pygmalion, Sarrasine sleeps withhis statues, he puts his eroticism into his art.

**

( 190) If he went to the Comedie-FrtJ~, he WdS ttJken by his
master. He felt so out of ploce at M~ Geoffrin's and in high society,into which BouchllTdon tried to introduce him, that he preferred
to be 1Il0M, and shunMd the pletJsures of that licentious Bra.
REF. Historical code: the century of Louis XV.
SYM. Protection against sexuality.

**

*

*

(191) He IuuI no other mistress but sculpture
Redundance ofNo. 189.
SYM. Protection against sexuality. *** SYM. Pygmalion.

**(192) tmd Clotilde, OM of the lumiFlllries of the opera.
"Liaison": I: to have a liaison.

* ACf:*(193) And n'en this affair did not ltIst.
ACf: "Liaison": 2:indication of the end of the liaison. The indication is interior to
the discourse, not to the story (to the liaison itself), in which caseone would have been given the facts which led to the break: it istherefore a rhetorical indication. The brevity of the liaison (signified by the "And even") connotes its insignificance: Sanasine's
sexual exile has not ended.

(19+) StmdSiM was rather ugly, lIlwqs Ixully dres84ld, tmd so freein his nature, so irreguLu in his private life, Romantically (thatis, by virtue of the romantic code), ugliness connotes genius, by the*intermediary stage of a sign, a sign of exclusion (SEM. Genius).
~~like _~_u!l'1- ugIin~ replicat~ no model, has no metonymic

oripl; its only reference (its only Authority) is the word ugliness,
w1iich_ct~o~ Jt.

( 195) that the celebrClfed nymph, fearing BO~ catastrophe, soon
relinquished the sculptor to hiB love of the Arts. ACf. "Liai-*son": 3: end of the liaison.
103

XLV. DEPRECIATION

To begin cJ lilJison/to indicate its end/to end it: the asyndetonsignifies the adventure's absurd brevity (whereas ordinarily"liaison" is open to a thousand novelistic expansions and incidents). Basically, by its very structure (clearly revealed in theutter simplicity of the sequence). proairetism comparatively
depreciates language ("action," it is said, speaks louder than"words" ): once restored to its proairetic essence, the operative
mocks the symbolic, dismisses it. By the asyndeton of behavioral statements, human action is trivialized, reduced to ahorizon of stimulus and responses, the sexual is mechanized,
voided. Thus, by the mere form of its sequence, the liaison ofSarrasine and Clotilde keeps the sculptor away from sex: prQ:
;liretism, when reduced to its essential tenos, like so -many
knives (the knives of asyndeton), it:seH be<:om.eS an.....-instrumentof castration, applied by the discourse to Sanasine.
",( 1(6) Sop,,", J.mould JTIlIde one of Mr witticinn8 on this rubject.
She confeaed Mr rurprise, I believe, that her frWnd held J1'Ul1IIJged
to triumfJh OWl" rtdttuIry.
REF. Historical code: the century oflDuis XV (licentious and witty).
SYM. Sequestration fromsex. *** Pygmalion.

*

**

*

(197) SarrcJBiM left for ItcJly in 1758. ACT. "Journey": 1: todepart (for Italy).
REF. Chronology (Sarrasine is twenty-two
in 1758, d. No. 181).

**( 198) During the journey, his vivid inurgination ettught pre benectth CI brillUJnt .ky cJnd CIt the Bight of the wonderful monuments
which tITe to be found in the birthplace of the Arts. He cJdmired the
BfdtueB, the frescoes, the pe!intings, Clnd thus i11lfJired, * ACT.
"Journey": 2: to travel (this term in a famous sequence is infinitely catalyzable).
REF. Art and Tourism (Italy Mother ofthe Arts, etc. ) .

**

104

(199) he came to RoJ'J'lll, • ACT. "Journey": 3: to arrive.
( 2(0) filled with desiTe to carve his nmrl. between Micheldngelo'.
tmd M. Bouclutrdon's. Accordingly, at the beginning, he divided his
tiJ'J1II between studio wb lind exllmining the worb of tII't in which
RoJ'J'lll ttbounds . • ACT. "Journey": 4: to stay.
ofM.

** REF. HistoryXLVI. COMPLETENESS

To depart/to travel/to drrive/to ltCI)': the journey is saturated.
I.~ end, to fill, to join, to unify-one might say that this is thebasic requirement of the redderly, as though it were prey tosome obsessive fear: that of omitting a connection. Fear of forgetting engende_rs_ th~ap~~!l~ _~f ~. IQgic of actions; terms
and the links between them are posited (invented) in such a
way that they unite, duplicate each other, create an illusion of~ntinuity. The plenum generates the drawing intended to"express" it, and the drawing evokes the complement, coloring: as if the redderly abhors a vacuum. What would be thenarrative of a journey in which it was said that one stays somewhere without having arrived, that one travels without having
departed-in which it was never said that, having departed,
one arrives or fails to arrive7 Such a narrative would be a scandal, the extenuation, by hemorrhage, of readerliness.

(201) He IuJd ttlreddy BfJent two wed. in the ecsttztic state which
overwhelml young minda CIt the sight of the queen of ruins,
REF. Ancient Rome. . . REF. Chronology. (This notation-two
weeb-will retroactively match the sculptor's ignorance of Italianand Roman customs: an ignorance of capital importance to theentire story, since it is the basis for all the snares by which Sana-*105

sine is sunounded-and by which he surrounds himself-conceming the sex of La Zambinella.)(202) when he went one evening to the Teatro Argentind, *ACf. "Theater": 1: to enter (the building) .
(203) before which a huge CTowd was assembled.
tion" (which will follow): 1: a fact to be explained.

* Aer. "Ques-(204) He inquired as to the causes of this gllthering * ACf.
"Question": 2: to inquire.
(205) and everyone CI1I8Wered with two ntmW: ZmnbineUtd 10* ACf. "Question": 3: to receive an answer. The preceding proairetism ("Question") has an over-all connotative value;
it serves to designate La Zambinella as a star; this signified has already been attached to the old man; it is linked to the international
character of the Lanty family and is the source of their wealth(SEM. International star).
Who is, or rather: what (sex)is La Zambinella7 This is the text's sixth enigma: here it is thematized, since its subject is emphatically introduced. (HER. Enigma
6: thematization).

**mellil***XLVII.

s/z

SClTTaSine: customary French onomastics would lead us to expect SamtZine: on its way to the subject's patronymic, the Z
has encountered some pitfall. Z is the letter of mutilation:phonetically, Z stings like a chastising lash, an avenging -insecti_
graphically, cast slantwise by the hand across the blank regularity of the page, amid the curves of the alpba1?et, like anoblique and illicit blade, it cuts, slashes, or, as we say in Fre~cht_
zebrQ8; from a Balzacian viewpoint, this Z (which appears in
Balzac's name) is the letter of deviation (see the story Z.
MarCdB); finally, here, Z is the first letter of La Zambinella.

106the initial of castration, so that by this orthographical error~mrriitted in the middle of his name, in the center of his
body, Sanasine receives the Zambi~~lla~._~jll its ~e~~~e­jhew'?i!!!.C!:()fc:lendeniY.-Furthe;., Sand Z are in a relation ofgraphological inversion: the same letter seen from the otherside of the mirror: Sarrasine contemplates in La Zambinella
his own castration. Hence the slash (!) confronting the S of
SarraSine and the Z of Zambinella has a panic function: it is
the slash of censure, the surface of the mirror, the wall of hal":lucination, the verge of antithesis., the abstraction of limit, the'obliquity of the signifier, the index of the paradigm, hence of
meaning.

XLVIII. THE UNFORMULATED ENIGMA

ZammneUa can be Bmnbinell4, little baby, or Gtmbinell4,
little leg, little phallus, each marked by the letter of deviation(Z). The name without its article (contrary to what OCCUIS
throughout the text, where discourse writes: La ZambinelltJ),
raised to its pure substantive state by the public's outcry, sbll
avoids sexual snares; a decision will soon have to be madewhether or not to lie, to say ZmnbinelltJ or La ZmnbinelltJ; forthe moment there is neither snare nor question but merely theemphasis of a subject, affinned before the enigma has been
proposed or fonnulated; in fact, the enigma never will be proposed; for to ask what someone's sex might be, or even simply
to hint at its mystery, would in itself be to answer too soon:
to characterize sex is immediately to make it deviant; until its
clisclosure, the enigma will therefore be subiect only to snares,
equivocations. Yet this enigma is already operative; for to propose a subject, to thematize, to emphasize, to punctuate La
Zambinella's name with an exclamation point, is to introduce107the question of its predicate, the uncertainty of its complement; the henneneutic structure is already wholly contained in
the predicative cell of the sentence and of the anecdote; tospeak of a subject ('Zdmbinelldl) is to postulate a truth. Like
La Zambinella, every subject is a stdT: there is a confusion of
the theatrical subject, the henneneutic subject, and the logicalsubject* ACf. 'Theater": 2: to enter the hall
toolr. seat in the orchatrtt, * ACf. "Theater": 3: to(206) He entered(207) dnd
be seated.

d*(208) squuzed between two notdbly fttt abbati;
ACf. "Discomfort": 1: to be squeezed, made uncomfortable. (The proairetism
to be uncomfortttbleito ignore it will be an over-all connotation ofSanasine's unawareness, captivated as he is by La Zambinel1a.)
REF. Italianness (dbbttti, not clerics: local color).

**(209) however, he WdS luclcy enough to be fttirly close to the Bt4ge.

* Proximity to the stage, and thus to the desired object, serves ata (fortuitous) point of departure for a series of hallucinatory feelings which will lead Sanasine to solitary pleasure (ACf. "Pleasure": 1: proximity to the desired object) .

* ACf. "Thearer": 4: curtain up.
( 211) For the first time in hill life, he hetud thttt mtJ8i.c * ACf.

(210) The curtlIin rOBe.

"Theater": 5: to hear the overture. ** We are soon to learn (213,
214, 215) that music has a frankly erotic effect on Sanasine: it
sends him into ecstasy, lubricates him, loosens the sexual constraints under which he has hitherto lived. Sanasine's sexual exile
is here broken for the first time. The 6rst (sensual) pleasure isinitiatory: it serves as a basis for memory, repetition, ritual: afterwards, everything is organized to recapture this fim time (SYM.
Aphanisis: 6rst pleasure) .

108

(212) whose delights M.Tean-Tacqtlfi Rouaeau IuId so eloqwntly
Imrised to him at one of Bcuon d'Hoibach', evenings. * REF. Historical code: the century of Louis XV (Rousseau, the Encyclopedists, the Salons) .

'0(213) The young ICUlptor', sensu were,to B(:Ie4k, lubricated by
the dCCCnts of Tomelli's sublime lutrmony. The lmaguorous novel_of these slriUfuUy mingled IftllUm voices plunged him into d delicious eCBt48y. * Although La Zambinella has not yet appeared,
structurally Sarrasine's passion has begun, his teduction inaugurated by a preliminary ecstasy; a long series of bodily states willlead Sanasine hom capture to conftagration (ACT. "Seduction":
I: ecstasy).
REF. Italian music. *** Hitherto, Sanasine has
been sequestered hom sex; thus, this evening is the firrt time heknows pleasure and loses his virginity (SYM. Initiation).

**

XLIX. THE VOICE

Italiao music, an object well defined historically, culturally,
mythically (Rousseau, Gluckists-and-Piccinists, Stendhal, etc.),
connotes a "sensual" art. an art of the voice. An erotic sul>stance, the Italian voice was produced d contrano (according
to a strictly symbolic inversion) by singers without 542: thisinversion is logictll ("Tlutt dngelie voice, tluJt delictlte voice
would be dn dnoff1llly, coming from dny body but yours," Sarrasine says to La Zambinella in No. +45), as though, by selective hypertrophy, sexual density were obliged to abandon therest of the body and lodge in the throat, thereby draining theorganism of all that connecf8 it. Thus, ~!~ by a cas~~.body, a wildly erotic frenzy is retum.ed to that body: the star
castIati are cheered by hysterical audiences, women fall in lovewith them, wear their portraits "one 00 each arm, one at theneck hanging from a gold chain, and two on the buckles ofeach slipper" (Stendhal). This music's erotic quality (at109

tached to its vOCtll Mure) is here defined: it is the power oflubrication; connection is a specific characteristic of the voice;the model of the lubricated is the organic:~ the '1iving," inshort, seminal fluid (Italian music "floods with pleasure);
singing (a characteristic generally ignored in aesthetics) has
something coenesthetic about it, it is connected less to an "impression" than to an internal, muscular, humoral sensuality.
The voice is a diffusion, an insinuation, it passes over the entire
surface of the body, the skin; and being a passage, an abolitionof limitations, classes, names ("His soul fJtI8Sed into his edTS.
He seemed to hear through every /JOre," No. 215), it possesses
a special hallucinatory power. Music, therefore, has an effectutterly different from sight; it can effect orgasm, penetrating
Sarrasine (No. 243); and when Sarrasine attempts to acclimatize himself (in order to repeat it at will) to the excessive
pleasure he seeks on the sofa, his hearing is the fiat thing hewill train; moreover, it is La Zambinella's voice that Sarrasine
is in love with (No. 277): the vo~ce, tJ.!~di~~ E.roduct of .cas~t:iQn, the complete, connected evidence of clefi~iency. The_
antonym of lubric«ed (already encountered a n~~times) is discontinuous, divided, creaking, compOSite, biza--"-e~everything that is excluded from the liquid plenitudeo( plc:asure, everything that is unable to unite"With the phrased, apreciously ambiguous value, since it is both linguistic ami
musical, unites in the one plenitude both meaning and sex.

(2H) He remdind speechlas, motionlesB, not ~en feelingcrowtkd by the two priuts.
Aer. "Discomfort": 2: to feelnothing.

*(215) HiI.oul posaed into his ettrs dM eyes. He .."..d to hem
through every pore. * Aer. "Seduction": 2: extraversion (thebody's "passage" toward the object of its desire is prehallucinatory;
the wall-of reality-is crossed) .
110

(216) Suddenly a bum of appl4we which shook the house greeted
ACf. "Theater": 6: entrance ofthe primtJ donrut's entrance
the star.
SEM. Star ("Stardom"). *** HER. Enigma 6:
thematization and snare (prima donna).

***(217) She ccrme coquettishly to the front of the stage and greeted
the audience with infinite grace. The lights, the general enthusiasm, the theatrical illusion, the glamour of a style of dress which inthose days was quite attractive, all conspired in favor
ACT.
"Theater": 7: greeting of the star.•• SEM. Femininity. Here thediscourse is not lying: of course, it treats La Zambinella as awoman, but it treats her femininity as an iTR/1Tession, the causes
for which are indicated.

**(218) of this womtJn.
However, the end of the sentence is asnare (the discourse need only have said "artist" to avoid lying);
truthful at the outset, the sentence ends in a lie: in sum t by the~ contir:tuity of i~ info!ctionsr the s.enten~ is t:h.aJ ~.!t\1~ ~~~c~controls t~~ mix gE the voia.:s, th~ ~1.~__Qf th.e..oricW (HER.
Enigma 6: snare).
(219) Smrasine cried out with pleasure . • ACT. "Seduction": 3:intense pleasure.
(220) At that instant he marveled at the ideal beauty he hadhitherto sought in life, seeking in one often unworthy model theroundness of a perfect leg; in another, the curve of a breast; in another, white shoulders; finally taking some girrs neck, some womtJn's
hands, and some child's smooth knees, • SYM. The body fragmented, reassembled.

L. THE REASSEMBLED BODY

Young Marianina's (vocal) perfection resulted from her combining in one body partial qualities usually shared among several singers (No. 20). The same is true of La Zambinella in111

Sarrasine's eyes: ~~~~t (aside from the insignificant Clotilde episode, XLV) knows the female body only as a divisionand dissemination of-partiaT o'6jectS:-leg, breast, shoulder:neck, hands.' FragmenfedWOman-is the object offered to Sarwine's love. Divided, anatomized, she is merely a kind of dictionary of fetish objects. This sunder~ dissected body (we arereminded of the boy's games at school) is reassembled by theartist (and this is the meaning of his vocation) into a whole
body, the body of love descended from the heaven of art, inwhich fetishism is abolished and by which Sarrasine is cured.
However, without the subject's realizing it as yet, and although
the finally reassembled woman is actually there before him,near enough to touch, this redeeming body remains a fictive
one, through the very praises Samsine addresses to it: its
status is that of a CTe4tion (it is the work of Pygmalion "COnN
down from its pedestdl," No. 229), of an object whose underneath, whose insides will continue to arouse his concern, his
curiosity, and his aggression: JIlldressing La Zambinella (by.!!rawing), qu~ti~I!in&..h~ and himse]~J_~ultimately brelking the hollow statue, the 'scUlptor vim continue to w1iIftl~ .tbi=
woman (just as he whittled his pew ill ch~1t..as!~hl1dl.. thereby returning to its (fragmented) fetish con4.ition_~ ~ __whose unity he supposed he had discovered in such am.aze~_
ment.

(221) without ever lutving encountered urum the cold PdTUitm,Icy the rich,.weet creations of dncWat Greece. REF. History of
Art: classical statuary (art alone can establish the total body).

*(222) lA ZdmbineUd displayed to him. united, living, dRd de1icdte,
thOle exqui6ite ferruU forms he 10 drdently deriTed, of which d• Jeau RebouJ was the first to DOte the prelCDCe of tJUa J...acanjen theme iD
StIn".;,.. (cf. •",,,, p. 16).
112

*ICUlfJtor is tIf once the teNrat and the most ~ ;.mg..
SYM. The reassembled body.
Psychology of Art (the Woman
and the Artist) .

**(223) Her mouth WdS exfJressive, her '1" loving, her comf:Jlexion
dczlingl., white.
SYM. The fragmented body reassembled (beginning of the "inventory").

*(22+) And ttlong with the. dettJih, which would Iuwe enr4fJfured/JtIinter, • REF. Code of Art: Painting. There is a division oflabor: to the painter, eyes, mouth, face, in a word lOW, exfJralion,
i.e., inwardness to be portrayed on the surface; to the sculptor,
owner of volume, body, matter, sensuality.

II

wo"'"

(225) were IIll theof thOl8 irJ'ldga of Venul rewr.d andmuIered by the chiJela of the Gr..a. * REF. Code of Art: classical statuary.
(226) The artist newr lHlIIWd of '"'miring til. inirrait4IU grtICC
with which the tImII were tlfttlched to tJa. torIo, tJa. rndr'WlouI
roundnea of the necl, til. harmonioul Ii,.., drtlWn by the ..,...
brOWl, til. ROle, and the fJerfect ovlll of the ftJt», til. ".,nty of ib
viWd contOU1J tmd til. effect of the thicl, c:urvcd La,.., which lined
her 1uutvy and l'OlufJtuoul eyelidI. • SEM. Femininity (heavy
curved lashes, voluptuous eyelids) . . . SYM. The fragmented
body, reassembled (the "inventory" mntinued).

LI. THE BLAZONThe .fJitefulness of UmgutJge: once reassembled, in order toutter itself, the total body must revert to the dust of words,
to the listing of details, to a monotonous inventory of parts, tocrumbling: l~nguage undoes the body, returns it to the fetish.
This return is coded under the term blcon. The blazon consiSts of predicating a single subiect, beauty, upon a certain
number f?f anatomical' attributeS: .he WdS beautiful for her

arms, neclc, eyebrows, nose, eyeltJshes, etc.: the adjective b&comes subject and the substantive becomes predicate. Similarly
with the striptease: an action, denudation, is predicated OD
the succession of its attributes (legs, arms, bosom, etc.). Stri~
tease and blazon refer to the very destiny of the sentence (bothare constructed like sentences), which consists in this (doomed
thereto by its structure): the sentence can never constitute .!toW; meanings can be listed, not admixed: the totif,the-s~m
are for language the promised lands, glimpsed cit the end of
enumeration, but once this enumeration has been completed,no feature can reassemble it-or, if this feature is produced, it
too can only be culded to the others. Thus with beauty: it can_only be tautological (affirmed under the very name of beauty)
or analytic (if we run through its predicates), never synthetic.
As a genre, the blazon expresses the belief that a comJUte inventory can reproduce a tot(ll body, as if the extremity of enumeration could devise a new category, that of totality: descri~tion is then subject to a kind of enumerative erethism: it
accumulates in order to totalize, multiplies fetishes in order toobtain a total, defetishised body; thereby, description refJresents no beauty at all: no one can see La ZambineU3. i06nitely
projected as a totality impossible because linguistic, written.

(227) This was more tlama d WOmdn, this was d mtl8terp;.ccl
SYM. Replication of bodies.

*

w. THE MASTERPIECEThe Zambinellan body is a real body; but this real body is~otal (glorious, miraculous) only insofar as it des~~ from abody already written by statuary (Ancient Greece, Pygma-

lion); it too (like the other bodies in Samuine) is a replica,iSiUng from a code. This code is infinite since it is written. Yet~e duplicative chain may ~er.t i~ ()rigin and Ute Code de~~~ itself grounded~ stoP~l jamme4. TIl~s &I:()~nding. thisIlEp~B~, this 'jamming of the Code, is tlte 1TIIl$terpiece. PreJeIlted at first as an unprecedented collection of separate parts,
as a concept induced from a vast number of experiences, themasterpiece is actually, according to Sarrasinean aesthetics,
what the living statue is descended from; by the masterpiece,
the writing of bodies is finally endowed with a tenn which is at
the same time its origin. To discover La Zambinella's body istherefore to put an end to the infinity of the codes, to find at~ the origin (the original) 9.f the copies, to ascc:!t.lin the co!:tural starting ~int, to assign perfonnances their supplemen~(~'more tluIl1 a wonum"); in the Zambinellan body as masterpiece, the referent (this actual body to be copied, expressed,
signified) and the Reference (the beginning which puts an
end to the infinity of writing and consequently establishes it)
theologically coincide.

(228) In thiB unhoped-for creotion could be found d love to enrtJf>tuTe dTr/ 11Id7I and belIutia worthy of IdtiBfying d critic.
REF.
Psychology of the artist.

*(229) With hiB eyes, Sctrrarine deYoured PygmtJlion's statue, COrM
down from it. peduUd.
SYM. Pygmalion, replication of bodies.

*(230) When L4 Zarnbin.lltJ IlIfI&,* ACT. "Theater": 8: thestar's aria.

*(231) the effect was delirium.
ACT. "Seduction": .. : delirium(the delirium is internalized, it is a coenesthetic state-cold/hot,whereas nurdneu-No. 235-entails a minor octing out, which will
be orgasm).

(232) Til. tI1tist felt cold;
cold.

* ACf. "Seduction": 5: Delirium:( 2 33) tMn II. felt d Iuutt which ruddenly began to f1ric1ck in tIM
inFl6l'm08t depth of hU being, in whdt we cflll tM Mmt, for ldci of*

may other wordl
ACf. "Seduction": 6: Delirium: heat. . .
REF. Euphemism ("Heart" can only designate the sexual organ:"for l«:i of may otMr wortr': this word exists, but it is indecorous,
taboo).

*(23+) He did not tJf>Pl4ud, he ItIid nothing,ACf. "Seduction":
7: Delirium: silence. The tJ.lirium is broken down into three stages,
three terms: thus in retrospect it becomes a generic word, the rh~torical statement of a subsequence. at once temporal and analytic( definitional) .

*Rhetorically,(235) II. ~ lin irrafml- of mtJd,..",
madness intensifies delirium; but whereas delirium is a (classic)
moment of amorous rapture, madness here denotes one of theterms (the second) in a progression which will covertly lead Sarmine, seated in close promnity to La Zambinella, to orgasm(which occurs in No. 2+4). MtUl,.." is to be cast in various terms
which will be the conditions, gradually established or clarified. ofpleasure. ACf. "Pleasure": 2: madness (condition of the dCtingout).
(236) d iind of frenzy which overcorna us only when \loW dre tit
tM ttge when deare htu something frightening dI1d infern4l CIbout
it.
REF. Psychology of ages.

*(237) Smraine wdnted to lup onto til. rtdge and tdie poaaaionof thil WOmdn: hil strength, incred8ed d hundredfold by d mordl

deprestJion imfJo88ible to expl4in, liRCfl theBe pMnorneflll occur indn dred hidden from hUmdR observcttion, .emed to rfIIInifut itself
with /Jdinful violence.
ACT. "Pleasure": 3: tension (to want toleap, to hold oneself back). The tension is hallucinatory, it coincides with a collapse of moral restraint. The clement of violence,
aggressiveness, anger, present in this 6rst desire, must be eradicatedwhen subsequent desires are to be invoked voluntarily: a ritual will*116

satisfy these requirements (No. 270).
depths.

** REF. Passion and its(238) LooJcing tit him, one would have thought him a cold and,.,.",z." man.
ACT. "Pleasure": .. : apparent immobility (theimminent ang out is secret).

*(239) Fame, Icnowledge, future, existence, Lru,ez., ..verything col,.sed. * The act of choosing (love or death) is here preceded by• formal phase of mental purification; the "cxCC3ive" (radical, liferisking) decision presupposes putting other commibnents, otherconnections in parenthesis (ACT. "To decide": 1: mental condition of the choice) .

(210) "To be loved by Mr, or to dier' Such WCII tM deeree Sm,dIine passed upon hiJNelf.
ACT. "To decide": 2: to propose
an alternative. The "decision" stops at the alternative, whose twotmos are diachronic (to be loved and then., if unsuccessful, to die);but the alternative itself, based on these two terms, opens a double sequence of features: the will-to-low and the wiIl-to-die.
The will-to-Iove (or to be loved) constitutes an enterprise whose
principle is given here, but whose development is brought up short:
to rent a box and gratify oneself by repeating the "first pleasure":
what follows will no longer be based on the sequence ("events tooJc
him by nuf1rise." No. 263) (ACT. "Will-to-lcwe": 1: proposalof the enterprise). *** Undoubtedly, once La Zambinella is lost,
Sarrasine will not choose to die; yet his death, prepared for by aof hints, premonitions, and challenges, hailed by the victim
himself (No. 510), is suicide, already implicit in the proposed alternative (ACT. "WiD-to-die": 1: proposal of the project).

*

**

.mcs

(H1) He was so uturly intoxicated thttt M no longer BdW tit.
thedter, the spectators, the octo,., 0' hemd the music.
ACT.
"Pleasure": 5: isolation.

*(2"2) MoreO\le1, tM distance between himself and La Zambinelld
had ceased to exist, he fJoIstU8ed Mr, his .-ya wer8
uf'On
her, he tooJc Mr for his own. An almost diabolicdl power enabled
him to feel the breath of this 'Voice, to nneU tM scented pow_

rivet.

cowring her hair, to sec the pltma of ,.", face, to count the blueveins sMdowing her satin skin. The proximity of La ZambineDa(prepared for by seating the subject close to the stage, No. 209) is*of an hallucinatory order: it is an aboption of the Wall, identification with the object; what is involved is -an-IiaDuonatory" embrace:
thus, LaammneDa's features are no longer described according tD
the aesthetic, rhetorical code, but according to the anatomical code(veins, planes, hair) (ACf. "Pleasure": 6: embrace).
SEM.
Diabolic (this seme has already been attached to Samsine, a transgressor; the "devil" is the name for the minor psychotic impulse
which overcomes the subject) .

**( 24 3) Lt1st, this ctgile voice, fresh cmd Bilvery in timbre, BUf'JPk III d
thredd shaped by the slighte8t brettth of ttir, roUing dnd uRTolli,."
cttSCdding cmd scdttering, this voice attoc1«ed his soul so vividly*

The voice is descri~ by i~.~~ qf _~~~ti~n, ~uatio~
flow;Dufhere it is the man who is penetratCd; like Endymion "receiving" the light of his beloved, he is visited by an active emanation of femininity, by a subtle force which "attacks" him, seizea
him, and fixes him in a situation of passivity (ACf. "Pleasure": 7:to be penetrated).

(244) tMt severed ti",," he gave vent to inl'olunt4ry cria tomfrom him by corrvuhive feelings of plusure
ACf. "Pleasure":
8: ejaculation. Ejaculation was achieved by chance, through a hallucinatory seizure; in the future, this "6rst" ejaculation is to be voluntarily repeated (so precious has it been for the subject, who,
sequestered from ful61led sexuality, has never experienced it) by( organized, albeit solitary) sessions on the sofa.

*(2"'5) which Me dll too rarely vouclwted by humcm passions.
REF. Human passions.
(2'16) He WdS presently obliged to ledve the thedter.
'Theater": 9: to leave.

** ACf.

(2"'7) His trembling legs "'molt refused to BUpport him. He Will
limp, wedk dB d sensitive mdn who 1uJs given wd)' to overwhelming
anger. He had experisnced such ple4aure, or perluJps he had auf118

#Ired so keenly, tlutt his life Iuul drdined dWeI)' liJce water from tt
Iroken VCJSe. He felt empty inside, tt prostration similar to the deWitation tlutt overcomes those convttiescing from tt serious illness.

'* ACf. "Pleasure": 9: emptiness. ** REF. Code of illnesses.

(Z-t8) Overcome by ttn inexpl.icttble sculness, * ACT'. "Pleasure":
10: "port coitum" sadness.
(Z49) he sat down on the steps of tt church. There, leaning bock.,mnst a pill4r, he fell into tt confused meditation, as in a dream.
He had been smitten by passion.

*

ACT'. "Pleasure": 11: to recuperate. Recuperation can be read according to various codes:
psychological (the mind regains control), Christian (sadness ofthe flesh, refuge near a church), psychoanalytical (return to thepillar-phallus), trivial (rest post coitum) .

UII. EUPHEMISM

Here is one story about Sarrasine: he goes into a theater; thebeauty, voice, and art of the star enrapture him; he leaves thehall overcome, determined to recapture the enchanhnent of
the 6rst evening by renting a box near the stage for the entire
season. Now here is another story about Sarrasine: he enters atheater by chance (206), by chance he is seated near the stage( 209); the sensual music (213), the beauty of the prima donna(220) and her voice (231) 611 him with desire; because of his
proximity to the stage, he 'h~ifuc{~'t~~ im7gines he is possessing La Zambinella (242); penetrated by the artist's voice(243), he achieves orgasm (244); after which, drained (247),
sad (248), he leaves, sits down and muses (249): this was infact his 6rst ejaculation; he decides to reexperience this solitarypleasure every evening, domesticating it to a point where hecan experience it whenever he wishes. -A diagrammatic relationship exists between these two stories which assures theiridentity: it is the same story, because it is the same design, thesame sequence: tension, seizure or possession, explosion, fatigue, conclusion. To read into this scene at the theater a.5.Q!i:_tary orgasm, to substitute an erotic story for the eupl1emis~cversion, this operation of reading is based not on a lexicon ofsymbols but on a systematic cohesion, a congruence of re~:­tionships. It ~w~.that the meaning of a text lies Dot in thisor that interPretation butln-thediagiiimmancfotality-of its
readings;' in their plural sySlem. ~ome-willSaY' thanhescene inthetheater "as told by the cruthor" has the privilege crt lit~f~litY: and thus constitutes the "truth," the reality of the text; thereading of the orgasm would therefore be a symbolic reading intheir eyes, an unwarranted elucubration. "The text tmd nothing but the text": this proposition has little meaning except
intimidation: th.e.htcraJity of the t~xt is ~ ~!~_li!c; anyother: the litC!~al in Balzac is, after all, notJ:tin& ~ytt~e. 'trim~.scription'~ of ~~~ther literality,.t:ha! of the s)'mQ9J:. ~..E!t~i~_
is a language. t~~_ct,Jhe m~.~i~&..of ~.~t ca~.~ n~~~i~.bu!
the plUJili~..of .itt.mtem!t..its i~~i!e (cir.sular}":'tra!!criba~ility''.;. .Qne ~y~tem transcribes another, but reciprocally as
well: with regarc;1 to ~e text, there is nO'-primarY," "natural,""nati~" "J!l9ther" critical language: from the outset: aslt iscreated, the text is multilingual; there is no entrance language
or exit language for the textual dictionary, since it is ~9t thedictionary's (closed) definitional power that the text possesses,
but its infinite structure.

(250) Upon returning to his lodgings,* ACf. "Theater": 10: toreturn home.
(251) he feU into one of those frenzies of activity which ~ose to
us the presence of new elements in our lives. A prey to this fim
fever of love derived equoJJ:y from both pleosure ond poin, he tr'Wd
to appeose hil impatience ond hil ckliTium by drowing Lo Zombi-uo*

neUa from memory. It was a kind of embodi.d meditdtion.
REF. Love sickness.
ACf. "Will-ta-love": 2: to draw. Here,the enterprise of love involves an erratic temporizing activity.
SYM. Replication of bodies: drawing. Drawing, an act which consists in recoding the human body by reintegrating it into a classification of styles, poses, stereotypes, is presented by the discourse
according to a rhetorical schema: a generic activity (drawing) will
be ttansfonned into three species.

**

***

(252) On one fJdge, LA ZarnbineUa appeared in that apparently
calm and cool pose favored by Raphael, Giorgione, and every greatf>dinter. * SYM. Replication of bodies: drawing (1): academic(unity is supported by a cultural code, by a Reference: the Book
of Art).

(251) On another, she was delictltely tuming her head after IuMng
prUshed a triU, and af>Petued to be listening to herself. * SYM.
Replication of bodies: drawing (2): romantic (the most Seeting
moment of a gesture, copied from the Book of Life).

(254) Sarrasine sketched his mistress in every pose: he drew her
unveiled, seated, sflInding, lying down, chaste or amorous, embodying through the delirium of his pencih every capriciow notion thatcan enter our he4d8 when we thinlc intently about a mistress.
SYM. Replication of bodies: drawing (3): hallucinated. The
model is subjected "freely" (that is, in confonnity with a code:
hallucination) to the manipulations of desire ("every capricious
notion," "in every pose"). In fact, the preceding drawings are already hallucinatory: to copy a pose of Raphael's, to imagine anunusual gesture, is to indulge in controlled doodling, to manipulate
the desired body according to "fantasy" (hallucination). Following
the realist notion of art, all painting can be defined as an enonnous
gallery of hallucinatory manipulation-whereiJ:t one does with bodies dB one wants, so that gradually they 611 every co.mpamr.ent ofdesire (which is what happens bluntly, that is, exemplarily, in
Sade's table4ux vivant.).
REF. Code of Passion.
SYM.
Undressing (La Zambinella is imagined unveiled).

*

***

**

(255) However, his fevered thoughts went beyond drawing.
SYM. Undressing.

REF. Excess (aggressiveness).

**

1%1

*

LIV. BEHIND, BEYOND

Continually undressing his model, the sculptor Sanasine an-ticipates Freud, who (apropos of Leonardo) identifies sculpture
with analysis: each is avid di levare, or clearing away. Returning to a gesture of his childhood (he whittled the pews in orderto carve clumsy figures), the sculptor tears off La Zambinella's
veils to get at what he believes to be the truth about her body;for his part, the subject Sanasine, through repeated snares,
proceeds ineluctably toward the real condition of the castrato,
the void which is his center. This dual movement is that of
the realist ambiguity. The Sarrasinean artist tries to undress
appearance, tries always to get beyond, behind, according to
the idealistic principle which identifies secrecy with truth: one
must thus go into the model, benemh the statue, behind thecanvas (this is what another Balzacian artist, Frenhofer, aslcs of
the ideal canvas he dreams of). The same~le holds for therealist writer (and his critical posterity): he must go behindthe paper, must know, for example, the ~£!_rCbtiol,!Ship ~tween Vautrin and Lucien de Rubempre (though what is behind the paper is not reality, the Icfe,cnt, but ~~_P.~ferCl!~~the "subtle immensity of writings"). This impulse, which leads
Sanasine, the realistic artist, and the critic to tum over themodel, the statue, the canvas, or the text in order to examine
its back, its interior, leads to a failure-to FailuIC-()f which
Smrasine is in a way the emblem: behind the canvas Fren~ofer envisions there is still nothing but its surface, scri",,-",,-!~
lines, an abstract, undecipbCIab1e writiug. the unknown (~_-_
knowable) masterpiece which the inspired painter en4s up
with and '_vhich is in fact the signal of his death: benHth 4
Zambinella (and therefore inside her statue) there-is ~e nQthingness of castIation, of which Sarrasine will die after ~yjng
destroyed in his illusory statue the evidence of his failure: theenvelope of things cannot be authentica~ed,.thec;lilatory. movement of the signifier cannot be stopped.

(256) He BdW La Zd1nbiJ'U!Ua, spoke to her, beseecMd her, M,..d It thousmul years of life cmd h4PPiJ'U!S8 with her by pldcing
Iwr in every imagintJble position; A very precise definition of*hallucination: the hallucination is a scenario in which the object's
positions are innumerable ("every imagiruJble sitwltion") but always related, as in voluptuous manipulation, to the subject:. who isat the center of the scene ("he SCJW, he spoke, beseecMd, pttssed")(SYM. Hallucinatory scenario).

(257) in .hort, by Idmpling the future with her. * There is evena scenario for the future, the tense proper to hallucination (SYM.
The hallucinatory future).
(258) On the following day, he sent his vttlet to rent It box next to
the Btdge for the mtire settSon.
REF. Chronology ("the following day").
ACT. "Wil1-to-Iove": 3: to rent a theater box. In
Sarrasine's case, the amorous undertaking is based on pure impulse:what he plans is not the conquest of La Zambinella but the repetition of his first solitary pleasure; thus, once its beginning has beenproclaimed ("be loved by her or die"), the sequence has only two
dilatory terms: to draw, to contemplate; after which the progress of
events is no longer in Sarrasine's hands, and it is his wiU-to-die,Proximity to the stage-whose great advanwhich is engaged.
tages to pleasure the subject discovered by chance-is now deliberately sought, for this pleasure must now be repeated, organized
every evening throughout the entire season (ACT. "Pleasure": 12:
conditions for repetition) .

*

**

***

(259) Then, liIce aU young peofJk with lusty BOub,chology of ages.

* REF. Psy-

(260) he ~ttted to himself the diffiqlltieB of his undertttking
ttnd lint fed his pttaion with the /MttSUre of being ttble to ttdmire
his mUtrea without obstruction.
ACT. "Will-ta-Iove": .. : to*

pause. The pleasure the subject plans to take in his object is morehallucinatory than real; he therefore postpones the actual undertaking and first establishes conditions propitious to an hallucinatory
manipulation, and as an excuse for this very purposeful impulsivoness he creates the obstacle of difficulties, which he exaggerates because they are useful to his "dream," which alone interests him andwhich the difficulties excuse.

(261) This golden age of love, during which we We pletIsure in
our own feeling and in which we are haf>ITY almOBt by ourselva,
REF. Code of the ages of love.

*(262) was not destined to last long in Sarrasine's case.
Chronology .

* REF.

*(263) Nevertheless, events took him by surprise
Sarrasine actively directs only his hallucination; anything from outside (from"reality") is therefore a surprise to him. The notation thus estahlishes the end of the "will-ta-love"; however, since this notation isprospective (we must wait for some twenty more lexias before these"events" occur, namely the rendezvous with the duenna), thepause begun in No. 2'fO can still be turned into a series of hallucinatory terms (ACT. "Will-ta-Iove": 5: interruption of the undertaking) .

( 264) while he was still under the speu of this vernal hallucination, as ruUve as it WCIB voluptuous.
The pause introduced into
the amorous undertaking, although we have just been told it isover, will be filled with a number of occupations, actions, or impressions; these subsequent terms are here given their genericname: voluptuous hallucination (ACT. "Will-ta-Iove": 6: indication of terms composing the interlude) .

*(265) In a week he lived a lifetime, spending the mornings knead·ing the clay by which he would copy La Zambinelld,
REF.
Chronology (eight days in the box, on the sofa: this places themeeting with the duenna, the event which "surprises" Sarrasine, on
the twenty-fourth day of his stay in Rome-infonnation congruent
with his ignorance of Roman customs) . . . ACT. "Will-ta-Iove":
7: morning: to sculpt (the first item in voluptuous hallucination).

*

12.4

Kneading, mentioned in No. 163 as one of Sarrasine's adolescentactivities, symbolically implies the same act as whittling; the handmust be thrust in, the envelope penetrated, to apprehend the interior of a volume, to seize the underMttth, the true.
(266 ) despite the veils, skirts, corsets, and ribbons which conculed her from him.
SYM. Undressing.

*(267) In the evenings, installed in his box edTly, alone, lying on atofa like d Turlt under the influence of opium, he creerted for him.af a pleasure as rich dnd varied as he wished it to be.
Aer.
"Will-to-Iove": 8: evening, the sofa (the second item in the hallucinatory pause). The connotations indicate the nature of thispleasure, ritually arranged and repeated by Sarrasine on the basisof the "6rst pleasure" he discovered one evening by chance: solitary, hallucinatory (no distance between subject and object), atwill. As the deliberate, ritual production of a pleasure, it involves akind of ascesis, of labor: it requires purifying pleasure of every element of roughness, suffering, violence, excess: whence a techniqueof gradual tempering, intended not to forgo but to control pleasure, freeing it from all disparate sensations. This pleasure on thesofa will in its tum be transformed into action.

*(268) First, he gradlUJlly familimized himself with the overly vivid
emotions his mistress's singing afforded him;
ACf. 'Will-tolove": 9: to accustom the ear.

*(2fn) he then trained his eyes to see her, and ~nally he could con-t.mpi4te her * ACf. "Will-to-Iove": 10: to train the eye.

(270) without feming an outburst of the wild frenzy which held
leized him on the ~rst day. As his passion becdme calrner, it grew
deeper. The dual ascesis, of hearing and sight, produces a more
pro6table hallucination, freed of its first violence (No. 237: "hisrtrength. seemed to m4nifest itself with painful violence")(ACf. "Will-to-Iove": II: result of the two preceding operations) .

*(271) For the rest, the unsoci4ble sculptor did not allow his friends
to intrude upon his solitude, which was peopled with images,
adorned with fant~s of hope, and filled with helppiness.
ACf.
"Will-to-love": 12: protection of the induced hallucination. -Sar-*usrasine's deliberate solitude has a diegegc function: it_ -"~~ins"_
how Sanasine, isolated from any society, has -managed to ~I!_
ignorant of"i:he fact that in the Papal states, female ~iDP._~~
c:astrati; it performs the same function as the brevity of Samsine's
residence in Rome, which the chronological code stresses on several occasions; all of which is congruent with the elderly Prince
Chigi's exclamation: "Where (lTe ),ou from?" (No. 468).

.0.0(272) His lave was Btrong,
naive, tlutt he experienced till theinnocent scruples tluJt dSBdil us when we love fOr the first time.
REF. Code of Passion.

*(273) As he begtJn to realize tlutt he would soon have to tfCt, tof'/.ot, to inquire where lA Zambine& lived, whether she 1uuI amother, uncle, tfUlCher, fdmil)', to ponder, in short, on Wd)" to seeher, .f'edlc to her, these great, mnbitious thoughts JTatUJ. his M4rt
sweU .0 fNtinfull)' tlutt he fmt them off untilltJter,
Aer. "Willt~love": 13: alibi for the pause and prorogation of the respite.

*( 274) deriving as much satisfaction from his ph)'Bict1l suffering as
he did from his intelkctuol pledsures.
SEM. Composite (weknow Sanasine's paradoxical nature, in which opposites unite).

*(27S) "But," Mme de Rochefide interrupted me, '" still don't seedR)'fhing dbout either MtJridniRd or her little old mdn.""You (lTe seeing nothing but himr' , cried impatiently, liJce dR
dUthor who is being forced to .poil d thedtricdl effect.
Code of
Authors (through a metalinguistic act, the nanator indicates thecode of nanators).
HER. Enigma 4 (who is the old man?):request for an answer. *** The nanator's answer leads both to~rut:b_ (~mbinel1a is the oldmJIIjInaeriOi (we might think that
Sarrasine was the old man): it is an equivocation (HER. Enigma
4: equivocation).

***

LV. LANGUAGE AS NATURE

In practical tenns, Sarrasine's adventure concerns only two
characters: Sanasine himself and La Zambinella. Thus, the old126man is one of the two ("You are seeing nothing but him").
Truth and error are reduced to a simple alternative: the reader
is getting "warm," since he need only consider-for a split second--each term of the alternative, and thus La Zambinella, forthe soprano's identity to be revealed: to suspect a sex is to assign it a definitional class, that of anomaly: where sexual c1assiti~tion is coD~med, doubt insta~tly turns into "doubtful."
How~y'c;.!, .this is not what is read; the ambiguity, one might~y, is certain only on the analytical level; at ordinary reading
speed, the alternative's two elements (error/truth) are attached to a kind of swivel which neutralizes its revelatory
fOwer. This swivel,is t.h~.~~~~_ce._.E;.v~~~~.&..~~ut .!!a.thesimplia'1~~ J~ structure,.~ts brevity,_~ts . ~~~j which seems
borrowed, by metonymy, from the narrator's impatience)l~_~e truth (dangerous to the story's interest) ~way fromthe reader. Elsewhere (a further example), it will be no morethan-a syntactical inftexion, both expeditious and elegant, aresource present in the language itself-the reduction of astructural contradiction to a simple concessional morpheme:"despite the eloquence of eI few mutu4l gl4nces, he wetS dStonished elt the reserve Let Zctmbinell4 maintelined towelrd him"
(No. 351 )-which softens, lightens, dissipates the articulationsof the narrative structure. To put it another way, there is a
!Q!~ in the sentence (linguistic entity) that domesticates theartifice of the" narrative, a meaning that denies the meaning.
We might call this diacritical element (since it overhangs theiifiCulation of "the narrative units) : sentencing. To put it still
another way: the sentence is a nctture whose function-or scope
to jus~ry. ~e culture ofthe narrative.~~~~ ~ t1'!.enarratiVistructure, forming it, guidine it regulatin& ituhyfuI!l~~pOs1iifOnlrmoiP~emes of ~. purel}'~m~~~"cal lo~c!__th~sentence serves as evidence for the narrative. For language (inthiScil5e,Yienclir,-bytlie
it-IS learned (by children), by
its historical weight, by the apparent universality of its con-

..:]S

way

ventions. in short. by its ttnteriority. seems to have every rightover a contingent anecdote. one which has begun only sometwenty pages back-whereas language has lasted forever.
Whereby we see that denotation is not the truth of discoune: .
denotation is not outside-Strucfures~i-t has a structu~~ ~_~ljQi.
on a ~r with the others: that of ;umfying structure:; it f1!r-_nishes the codes··With--a lcind of precioUs excipient. but. in !...
circular fashion. it is also a particular•.specialized substance_~used by the other codes to smooth their articulation.

( 276 ) For severtll dttyB. I raumed after d " . , . . StIrraita8 Iuul ,..
fdithfull" in lUI box tmd lUI eya Iuul flXF-d lUCIa
love * REF. Chronology (from lexia 265 we know that these several days have been a week).
ACT. 'Will-ta-love": H: re.um~of the pause.
df'lJe4red.0**

LVI. THE TREE

Sometimes. as the utterance proceeds. the rhetorical code issuperimposed on the proairetic code: the sequence lists its actions (to choose/to draw/to rentd box/to fJtIu8e/to bre4k off
the undertdlt.ing), but the discourse expands by branching out
logically: a nominal genus (dmorous IuIllucindtion) is transformed into particular behavior (evening! morning). which tagether turn into result. alibi or resume. Starting from theimplicit nomination of the sequence ("will-ta-Iove"), we thus
arrive at a proairetic (often trellised) tree whose forb andnew joints represent the incessant transformation of the sentence line into textual volume:uS

11
Result~'.wing-8evening\(,\,dGlwing

J

1

2

3

To propose

To dnaw

To rent.. undcrtakd>g

sight

7

~hanUCinatory\.

10

hearingmorningromantic
drawing
_cmic

9

6

nominalindication\
4

5

To pause

To interrupt• .... ~tbe uadertakiog"-----" ~~~/ - - - )The rhetorical code, so powerful in the readerly text, produces
offshoots at certain places in the sequence: the tenn becomesa knot; a noun caps off, to indicate or summarize, an enumeration which will be or which has been detailed: the pause by
moments, the drawing by types, the hallucination by the organs affected. Through a structure which is strictly Aristote-lian, ~~ISC_C?On~nuany osc!lla!~ between th~ _(~~~al)genus and its (proairetic) species: as a system of generic andspeaaf names, the lexicon makes a basic contribution to structuring, indeed appropriates it, for meaning is a force: to name

is to subject, and the more generic the nomination, the stronger \the subjection. When discourse itself speaks of halluciruttion(not to mention subsequently f'roducing it), it commits thesame act of violence as the mathematician or logician who
says: let us call P the object which; let us aUl PJ theirnctge whichetc. Readerly discourse is thus shot throughwith pre~emonstrative nominations which ensure the text's
subjection-but which also, perhaps, provoke the nausea
brought on by any appropriative violence. ~~_ ~.!l.!!C?!ves, l>ynaming the sequence ("wiJl-to-Iove"), are only prolonging thewar of meaning, reversing the appropriation effected bytext itself.

t:h£-(2n) that his ptJssion for Ld ZmnbirwUti. voice would h4w beencommon Icnowkdge throughout PtJris, Md this ddventure h4p.
pened there; SYM. The castrato's voice (what might pass for acommon synecdoche-Zambinella being designated by her voiceshould here be taken literally: it is with the castrato's V9j~.I~th_
castration itself, that Samsine is in. love) .
REF. Ethnic psychology: Paris.

***(278) however, in Ittdy, nuulmne, everyone goes to the thedter for
hinuelf, with his own ptJssions, and with a heartfelt interest which
precluda .pying through opera gl.aB8a. * REF. Ethnic psychology: Italy.
( 279 ) N everthelus, the BCUlptor', enthusidml did not esctJt- theattention of the ringers for long.
Enigma 6 (Who is La Zambinella?) is a loaded enigma, it is based on a stratagem. Thus eachtime in Enigma 6 that the hick can be traced back to a machinating agent, we have a byte, a coherent sequence: Machination. However, La Zambinella's ruses will still be considered mtlTU, relating
to Enigma 6 in general, and not to machination, in order to respect
the (possible) ambiguity of La Zambinella's own feelings (HER.
"Machination": 1: the machinating group).

*

130

t'"

(280) One evening.
Frenchman saw that they were lttughing
wings. * REF. Chronology ("One evening" contulUes "events took him by surprise," No. 263).
HER. "MachiDation": 2: to laugh (motive of the stratagem). Laughter, thebasis for the machination, will in No. 513 be exposed as castrating( "LttughlLttughl You d4red pl4y with a man's feeling?") .

., him int'"**(281) It is hdrd to know what extreme actions ,.. might not havetaken • SEM. Violence, excess.
(282) had LA LDnbinell4 not come onto the stdge. S,.. gtIW Smrasine one of those eloquent glances * The "eloquent" glance of
La Zambinella is a snare set by the agency of the IIlachinatinggroup and intended for its victim (HER. Enigma 6: snare. by La
Zambinella. for Sanasine) .

LVII. THE UNES OF DESTINATION

One might call idyUic the communication which unites twopartners sheltered from any "noise" (in the cybernetic sense of
the word), linked by a simple destination, a single thread.~~rative communication is not idyllic; its lines of destination are~ple:SOthaianym~~j~~~_~!~~~~E!~~i~i~c::6n~({ only
Infis-~~d-whCl!ce it comes an~ wJ:tgeit ~ going: As regards-Enigma 6 (Who is La Zambinella7), SarrcJSine starts fivelines of destination. The first goes from the machinating group(the singers, VitagIiani) to its victim (Sarrasine); the message
is then traditionally constituted of lies, snares, stratagems, and,
if it is equivocal, of jokes and hoaxes designed to amuse thegallery of accomplices. The second line of destination goesfrom La Zambinella to Sarrasine; here the message is a pretense, an imposture, or, if there is some equivocation, a stifled
remorse, a pang of authenticity. The third line goes from Sar(asine to himself: it transmits alibis, prejudices, and fallacious
13 1

evidence by which the sculptor misleads himself, because of
his vital interest. The fourth line goes from the external world(Prince Chigi, the sculptor's friends) to Sarrasine; here what istransmitted is public knowledge, evidence, "reality" ("LaZambinella is a castrato disguised as a woman"). TIt~,~f~~of ~es!i~~tio_~g~~~~ the discourse to the reader; sometimes~~ transmits snares (iE order ~ot to reveal the s~ret oftTle
enigma too.~~n), sometimes amb~ties (to arouse the read'e?scuriosity). Wliif this multIplication- bas at stake is obvi-~,!~.JSl~~, ~~!..s~~:-i~y1lic- co!D~~~~o.!.
denies all theater, it refuses agy 'presence in front of which thedestin~t:1on ~-;'-bC achie-;ed, it ~ppresses' everything otheT;every ~ubject. Narrative communication is the opposite: each
destination 'is at one moment or another a spectacle for theother participants jq th.~ game: the messages that La Zambinella sends to Sarrasine or that Sarrasine sends to himself areheard by the machinating group; the snare, in which Sarrasine
persists after the truth has been revealed to him, is divined by
the reader, with the complicity of the discourse. Thus, like atelephone network gone haywire, the lines are simultaneoUsi
twisted and routed according to a whole new system of spliciogs, of which the reader is the ultimate beneficiary: over-all
reception is never jammed, yet it is broken, re&acted, caught
up in a system of interferences; the various listeners (here weought to be able to say kouteur as we say voyeur) seem to belocated at every comer of the utterance, each waiting for an
origin he reverses with a second gesture into the flux of thereading. Thus, !n contrast to i4y~~~_ ~1!!~.!lJlication, to purecommunication (which wou!~t ~. (Q!.exampiC-:thatortii~.
formalized sciences), reader!y WJ:iti.~ s~~. ~.~flaj;;~*'~
it is the writing of noise, of impur{.wmlD.1l~~On; _~'!.~ this..
noise is not confused, massive, unnameable; it is a clear noise
made up of connections, not superpositions: it is of a distinct"cacography."y'(283) which often revul much more tlutn women intend tMm to.

* REF. PsycbologyofWomen.

( 2Si) This gltmce Well d toftJl revelation. SmrdBine weIIlo'Vedl"If it', only d ctlflrice," he thought, dlreddy dCCUIing his mi.stTessof excessiw mdor, "she doem't bow wlutt she is subjecting herself
to. I cma hof1ing her CtJf1ric. will lcut In)' whole lif....
SEM. Excess, violence, etc.
HER. Enigma 6: snare (by Samsine, forhimself). The snare involves not La Zambinella's feeling but her
sex, since common opinion (mdOXll) holds that only a woman canloolc at a man "eloquently."***(28S) At tlutt moment, the cDti6t', dttention Wdl distrdCUd by
three soft ~nod, on the door of his box.
ACT. "Door II": 1: toIcnoclc (the three soft lcnoclcs connote a mystery without danger:complicity) .

*(286) H. opened it.

* ACT. "Door II": 2: to open.
*(287) An old WOmtUI entered with dn air of rrrptery. ACT.
"Door II": 3: to enter. If we want to make banality speale, we must
compare this "Door" to the one we have already encountered (No.
12S-27), when Marianina entrusted the old man to a servant
There we had: to tII'J'iw/to ~noc~/to df'fJeIIr/(to ~). Here we
have: to 1moc1c/to open/to enter. Now, it is precisely the o~issiou
of the ~~t t~Jt_o ~) ~t d~n~ ~e mystenr; ,..,4Q9J whidl;·~~~EJ·_~!.h~u~ ~y~~e'~ ha~."arrived at i!:(288) "Young mtm," ,he Idid, "if you wdnt to be 1uJppy. be ",..,dent. Put on d CdfJe, wedr d Iutt drdWn down OWl' your eya; tMn,
mound ten in the evening, be in the Vid tW CorIO in front of the
HoUl di SpdgntJ."
ACT. "Rendezvous": I: to arrange a rendez-

*

vous.

** REF. Mysterious and romantic Italy.

(289) "ru be there," ,.. replied,
give assent to the messenger.

* ACT. "Rendezvous": 2: to(290) /Jleing two loW in the dammtll wrinIcled hand.
"Rendezvous": 3: to thanlc, to tip.

133

* ACT.

(291) H.lefthisbox* ACf. '70 leave": l:a6rstlocality.

(292) aft~ Mving giwn 4 BigruJl to Ld ZtnnbiMlld, who timidly
lowered 1wr huvy .,.zidJ, We. 4 WOrndn f'lu-d to ". unMrrtood
at l4Bt. ACf. "Rendezvous": +: to give assent to the penon offering the rendezvous.
SEM. Femininity (heavy eyelids).
Lilc. 4 WOrndn ..; here is a snare, since La Zambinella is not a
woman; but by whom is the mare sefs-fQi wtio;:Ji-iS-it mtendedi by
Sarrasine for himself (if the utterance is indirect in style, reproducing Sanasine's thought)? by the discowse for the reader (plausible,
since the liJce gives a modality to La Zambine11a's putative membership in the female species)? In other words, who is responsible
for La Zambinella's gesture? The origin of the statement is indiscemable or, more precisely, indeterminable (HER. Enigma 6:

*

***

**

snare).

(293) Then II. r4n hOrM to draa him..zf tI6 .ductiwly tJB ,..
could. * ACT. "Dress'·: 1: to want to dress.

*(29+) As II. WdB leaving til. tMttter,
ACT. "To leave": 2: asecond locality. (Leaving is an action broken down into various
localities: the box, the building.)(295) 4 Itr~ num tooi his dmI.
"IN on your gutud, Fmv:hfflllll,'· M whiBp.r.d in lUI Mr. "Thisis 4 m.atter of life d1Id dath. c.diMl CicogntJt4 is Mr prot«:tor
d1Id doan·t trifk:·
ACf. "Waming": 1: to give a warning.
ACT...Murde... ·: 1: designation of the future murderer ("this man
is dangerous") .

***(296) At that rnornent, htJd 10".. dnaon Nt tM fJit of MIl ".twun SdnairuJ d1Id Ld ZdmbiMll4, M would htIN cra.d it with
one '*'P. Ulc. the hcma of the godl dacriIMd by Ho".." the aculp-

tor'. lolle htJd tTd'VerNd lIdBt dUttmca in the twinHing of 4ft .,..

* SEM. Energy, CKCCSS. ** REF. Litemry hiJtory.
(297) "If dath itaelf were Wditing for ".. ouuuu the hOUN, I*

would go even ftakr," M T."IMd.
ACf. 'Waming": 2: to ignore it.
ACT. 'Will-to-die··: 2: to Bout a warning. to tab a

**

risk.

LVIII. THE STORY'S INTEREST

SalT3sine is free to .!t.~.gr_~~r9.~~_~~.J!!l.mQ.wn_m~Jb_.~..m­irig~-This alternative freedom is structural: ~!mar~_~~!t_ te~
C?f!~eq~e!,ce anhnsufes- i:hes!~rY~~rog..ess iI.L:_·!~l?9.~nds."
f'l_o ~~s struc~!lll!i:Jlowev-e·r:~~~!~e ~.l1ot free to reject the
Italian's warning; if he were to heed it and to refrain flom pursuini~~s a.~veiitli!e,tliere-Woufcrbe!i~ ~~~ry. TI!--otlier weirds,
Sdrrasine is forced by the discourse to keep his rendezvous withfa Zambinella: the character's freedom is dominated by thediscoursersinstinCtfor preservation. On one hand an alterna'tiVe-;-on-Uie- other and simultaneously a constraint. Now, thisconflict is organized as follows: the constraint of the discourse("the story must go on") is modestly "forgotten"; the freedomof the alternative is nobly imputed to the free will of the c1i!lra~t~!: who_a.'ppea~-t~)ave~mplete responsibility for choicerathe~ ~an dyJng a .fHJPeT 4~"J t~e m~t temole for a character in a novel), to which the discourse constrains him. Thissfeight of hand permits the novelisticbigh tragedy to get off
the ground. For on~e posited far from the fHlper, in a referential utopia, the character's choice appears to be subject to internaraeterminations: Sarrasine chooses the rendezvous: (1)because he is naturally obstinate, (2) because his passion is thestronger element, (3) because it is his destiny to die. Overdetermi!!3JiC?~.t~.e!epy serves a dual function: it appears "to referto a freedom of the charaCtei-andofThe-slory, sinCe the action"Person;--and--aftne same time
falls wi~~~ . a.psycholo&y·Of
i£!P~!s._bl !!lpe~iti~n the implacable constraint of the dis~)QISC. This game is an economic one: it is to the story's interest that SalT3sine ignore the stranger's dissuasion; he must attill costs keep the duenna's rendezvous. In other words, hekeeps it to ensure the very survival of the anecdote, or,' if one
prefers, to protect an article of merchandise (the narrative)
which has not yet been put on the reading market: the story's

-the

135

"interest" is the "interest" of its producer (or its consumer);
as usual, however, the price of the narrative article is sublimated by an abundance of referential determinations (drawn
from the world of the soul, off the paper), which form thenoblest of images: the Destiny of the subject.

(298) "Poverinol" the mdnget cried dB he ~d.
Italianness (fJoverino and not fJoor wretchl).

* REF.

( 2W) SpetJlcing of dttnger to d lover is td1lttJmount to telling him
ple4sures, is it not?
REF. Proverbial code.

*( 300 ) SturdSine', l'tUet htJd newT I8eR his mtJ6ter tdltc so muchover his toiktte * ACT. "Dressing": 2: to dress (the soquell(:e "Dressing" has an over-all value as a signifier of love, ofhope).
We recognize this theme: Sanasine sequestered fromsexuality, kept in a state of virginity by the mother's (Boucbardon's) vigilance. This state was destroyed when Sanasine saw andheard La ambinella. 00 that oa:asion, an exprasion signified theaccession to sexuality, the end of virginity: for the (i.rrt ti"... This
lim ti".. is what reappears in Sarrasine's dressing: the lCUlptor is
drating for tM lim tj"..: we recall that Clotilde was unable todissuade him from hU "untidy dress" (No. 194) (understood: wasunable to dissuade him from his tIfJIuInUiB), which moreover was
CdTe

**

the reason she left him (SYM. End of sexual exile) .

(301) His linut sword, d gift fro", BoucluJrdon, the IdJh ClotiltJ.
htJd given him, his embroidered COdt, his Iilwr-brOCtJd. WtJiBtcotJt,
his gold muffbox, his jeweled wtJfcha, weT. tJll tam from theircofferl, Bouchardon and Cloblde were liokcd to constraint, consbiction, tJ/JhtJniBis; they therefore preside ritually, through theirgifts, over Sarrasine's initiation: those who sequestered now COIlSeaate what is released. The "deftowering" is accompanied by sym-*

bolic objects (a sash, a sword) given by the guardians of virginity(SYM. Initiation).

( 302) and he ddomed hirruelf liIee a girl about to dI>/JUI before
her lim lov.. * REF. Psychology of lovers. . . The hero dresses
himself in the manner of a young girl: this inversion connotes Sarmine's (already noted) Femininity (SEM. Femininity).
(303) At the appointed hour, drunlc with love and seething with
Here begins a long sequence articulated in three principal
terms: to hope/to be decaved/to com~. (ACI'. "Hope": 1:
to hope).

hope,

*

( 3(4) Santl8ine, concedled in his C4fJe, sped to the rende%l'OUI theold woman Iuu:I given him. The duenna was waiting for him.
"You too~ a long time," ,he BtIid.
ACf. "Rendezvous": 5:rendezvous kept (Yau too~ a long time is redundant in the light ofSarrasine's very careful dressing, No. 3(0).

*(305) "Come."
She led the Frenchman along several boele streets * ACI'.
"Route": 1: to set out . . ACI'. "Route": 2: to walk along. . . .
REF. Mysterious and romantic Italy (back streets).
( 306) and stofJPed before a rother handsome numsion.
"Door III": I: to stop at.
(307) She ~noc~ed.

* ACI'.

* ACI'. "Door III": 2: to knock.

*(308) The door operwd.
ACI'. "Door III": 3: to open. No
more banal (expected) or seemingly more useless proairetism canbe imagined; from the anecdotal viewpoint, the story would havebeen equaUy readerly had the discourse stated: She led the Fmtehrrtdn to a mansion and, hlIving entered it, led him to a room
The operative structure of the story would have remained intact.
So what does the Door add? semantics itself: 6rst, because ~cl09r is an ·obj~ of-some-vague"SjinbOlisml Ii- whole-"cOmpleX-ot".death. pleasure, limit, secret, is bound up in it); and next, because
this door which opens (without a subject) connotes an abIlesphere of mystery; last, because the open door and the end of theroute stiII remain uncertain, the suspense is prolonged, in otherwords heightened.
.

137

f-""

(309) SM led &maine along d Idbyrinth of IttIirwtql, gdllerW,
dnd rooms which were lit onl)' by til.
light of til. moon, dIIII
soon CtlJne to d door
ACT. "Route": 3: to penetrate.
REF.
Adventure, the Novelistic (labyrinth, stairways, darkness, themoon).

***( 310) through who. crdCb prned bright light. dnd from ".
hind which Cdrne til. joyful sounds of tlllVerdl voicer.
Aer.
"Orgy": 1: precwsory signs. The diegetic statement (interior ~the story) must not be confused with the rhetorical statement,
wJ:aereby the discourse merely names in advance what it wiIIlatei
on detail (here: diegetic statement).

*(311) When at d word from til. old WOmdn he WdI ddrnitt.d tothis mysterious room, Sttrraine WdS IUdcknly ~d at finding
himself in d StJlon dB brillUmtl)' lighted dB it WdB rumfJtuOUlfy furnished, in the center of which rtood d tdble ldtI.n with wnerdble
bottles dnd {ItJshing fl480ns .".lding with ruby f«¥b.
Aer.
"Route": 4: to arrive. ** REF. Wine (sad/joyous/murderer/
bad/loyal/tender/etc.). This code is accompanied by an implicitly
literary code (Rabelais, etc.) .

*(312) He recognized the singers from the theater,
ination": 3: the machinating group.

* HER. "Mach-( 313) dlong with BO",. chmming women, dll rudy to begin em
drtists' orgy tIS Boon tIS he WtlS cunong them.
ACT. "Orgy": 2:statement (Here the statement is more rhetorical than diegetic).

*( 314) &maine rufJPrUltld d feeling of di8d/>IJointnwnt"Hope": 2: to be disappointed.

* ACT.

*(315) dnd fmt on d good face.
ACT. "Hope": 3: to compensate (This term is close to the proverbial code: to face misfortune
bravely).

( 316) He hdd expected d dim room, his miItreBI 8fUlted by the fire,
Bome jetJlous person netJrby, death dnd loYe, dn exchdnge of confidencel in low voicu, hedrt to hedrt, ddngerous Itiaes dnd fdCa soclose thdt Ltt ZtJmbinelld' B Iutir would hdve ctJrUltld his forelwdd

138

*

throbbing with desire, fewriBh with haMJinal. Aer. "Hope":
4: to hope (retrospective reprise).
REF. Codes of Passion,
Fiction, Irony.

**

LIX. THJU:E CODES TOGETHEI\

The referential codes have a kind of emetic virtue, they bringOn nausea by the borecJoD.l, _c:;onfQnnism, and di~t with repetition that establishes them. The classic remedy, more or less~~!oy~_ a~~~_t~_~e_ ~.!1~~!;~.~-"!()-~~~-tb~IriniCaf,­i.e., to superimpose on the vomited code a second code which~resses'lt at a distance (the limit of this procedure has beenstated, XXlJ;I~-otlier ;ards, to engage a ~~n~s!!~~N':ess (the modem problem is not to halt this process, not to span
the Clistance taken with respect to a language). In saying that
Sarrasine "hdd expected d dim room, some jwous person,de4th dRd love," etc., the discourse mingles three disconnected
codes (each absorbing the others) from three different sources.
The Code of Passion establishes what Sarrasine is supposed to
be feeling. The Novelistic Code transforms this "feeling" into
literature: it is the code of an author in good faith, an author
who has no doubt that the novelistic is a just (natural) expression of passion (who, contrary to Dante, does not know that
passion comes from books). The Ironic Code absorbs t!te "naiyet~" of ~e 6rst two codes: as the novelist undertakes to spc;akof the character (code 2), the ironist underta!es to speak ~f.
the novelist (code 3): Sarrasine's "natural" (interior) language is spoken twice; it would suffice to produce, on themodel of this sentence 316, a pastiche of Balzac to back up
still further this terracing of the codes. What is the bearing of
this disconnection? Constantly exceeding the last span andaspiring to infinity, it constitutes writing in all its power as a

game. Classic writing does not go so far: it is quickly winded.
closes down. and signs its final code quite soon (for example.
by displaying. as here. its irony). Flaubert. however (as has al-.
ready been suggested), working with an irony Impregnatedwith uncertainty. achieves a salutary discomfort of writing: hedoes not stop the play of codes (or stops it only partially). sothat (and this is indubitably the proof of writing) one neverlenows if he is responsible for what M writes (if there is a subject behind his language); for the very being of writing (themeaning of the labor that constitutes it) is to keep !he question Who is spuleing? from ever being answered.

( 317) "Vive la folie" he cried. "Signori e belle donne. you willaUow me to ttJlce my revenge lttter and to show you my gratitude
for the way you Mve welcomed a poor sculptor." * ACT. "Hope":
5: to compensate (reprise).
REF. Italianness.

**(318) Having been greeted wtJrTnly enough by most of those p,esent. whom he knew by sight. HER. "Machination": .. : pretense("Those present" are the agents of the machination against Sarrasine; their greeting is a part of this plot) .

*LX. THE CASUISTRY OF DISCOURSE

Sarrasine is greeted warmly enough-a curious qualifier: by reducing a possible extremely or very. it reduces the positive itself: these warm enough greetings are actually something lessthan warm, or, at least, warm with embarrassment and reticence. This reticence of the discourse is the result of a compromise: on the one hand, the singers must give Sarrasine awarm welcome in order to mislead him and to further themachination they have undertaken (whence warm greetings);
on the other hand. this welcome is a pretense for which thediscourse would prefer not to take responsibility-without,
however. being able to assume its own detachment, whicb
would be tantamount to a premature exposure of the lies ofthe machinators, and the story would lose its suspense (bence,
the warmly enough). This shows us that ~~ ~'!JX i$ trying~o lie tIS~ ~ ~: just what is required to ensure theinterests- of reading,-that is, its own survival. Caught up in a
civilization of enigma. truth, and decipherment. the discourse
reinvents on its own level the moral terms elaborated by thatcivilization: there is a casuistry of discourse.

(319) he aought to d/'INOdCh the anncMir on which Ld ZcrmbiACT. "Conversation": 1: to approach.

nelUJ

*

(320) WtI8 C4BIUIlly reclining. * SEM. Femininity.
(321) Ahl how hiI hedrt be« when he.,n.d d tJ.lictD foot .hodin one of thOile .u",.,., which in tha. d4y1. mtrj I ray. rJ'I.tIdmr..,gave women'. feet au:h d coqu«tiIh tIIUI YolufJtuOlU looA: tIuJt I
don't know how men W8Te tJbk to raiIt them. TM w.ll-fitting
white Ifoclcings with green clocb, the .hort rIrirtJ. the iii",.,. withpointed toa. tJnd the high heelI of Low. XV. reign mtrj hIIN contributed IOrMthing to tM demordliution of EurC>p. tJnd theclergy.
"Something?" the MdTquUe replWd. "HtJYe ),OU Ndd nothm,r'* SEM. Femininity. ** La Zambinella's entire costume is a trickplayed on Samsine; this trick succeeds because Sanasine inevitably
turns the imposture into proof (coquetry proves the Woman):here one might call it the proof by foot (HER. Enigma 6: snare,by Zambinella. for Sanasine).
REF. The century of LouisXV. Furthermore, it cannot be a matter of indifference that the
moment when the young woman resumes contact with the nanative (by interrupting it) is that of an erotic allusion; a brief mari-***vaudage (in which the Marquise suddenly shows herself to be
emancipated, "knowing," almost vulgar) reactivates the contIact
which is in the process of being honored and which is of an amorous nature (the nanator is not deceived and answers the Marquise with a smile) .

(322) "IA Zambinell4," I continued, mUling, "htuI imtmdent1ycrossed her legs tmd Well gently rwinging the uf'PeT one with CI C8rtllin crttrcrctive indolence which BUited her C4f1ricious sort of beauty.
* La Zambinella's coquetry, signified very precisely by "crossed
legs," a conspicuous gesture condemned by the code of Good Manners, is Wlderstood as a provocation: here, therefore, it has thevalue of a pretense (HER. Enigma 6: snare, by La Zambinella, forSarrasine) .

(323) She herd removed her costume dnd Well wearing d bodicetlult accentuttted her ruurow wcrist dnd set off the Btltin fxmniers ofher dress, which Well embroidered with blu. flowers.
As long as
La Zambinella was on stage, her woman's costume was somehow*

institutional; but in private life, the musician is deceptive in retaining the appearance of a woman: there is a deliberate pretense.
Moreover, !t is hom clothing that Sarrasine will learn the truth(No. 466); for only the institution (clothin.&J f~ches Sanasine hisreading of the $eXes :if he did not beli~eclotbin.&. ~~WO«­
still be alive (HER. Enigma 6: snare, by La Zambinella, for Sarrasine).

(32-4) Her bosom, the treCIIUr.. of which were concedled, in ttn
excess of coquetry, by d covering of Idee, WCII dtJulingly white. In
order to analyze-and perhaps even to enjoy-the rather inb"icate
ambiguity of this sentence, we must break it down into two parallel snares, of which only the lines of destination are slightly divergent.
La Zambinella conceals her bosom (the text's only allusion
to an anatomical, and no longer cultural, femininity); along withher bosom, La Zambinella also conceals hom Samsine the very
reason for the concealment: what must be concealed is the factthat there is nothing: the perversity of the deficiency lies in the factthat it is concealed not by padding out (the vulgar falsehood of the artificial), but by the very thing which is WJually WJed*1.p

to conceal the full bosom (lace): deficiency bouows from fullness
not its appearance but its deception (HER. Enigma 6: mare, by
La Zambinella, for Sarrasine).
The discourse itself lies more
crudely: it alleges fullness (treoBura) as the only possible purpose
for concealment, and because it provides a motive (coquetry) for
this concealment, it makes its emtence undeniable (by drawing
attention to the cause, it avoids having to ascertain the fact)(HER. Enigma 6: snare, by the disc:oune, for the reader).
The deficiency is d4ulingl"j whit., it is designated on the castrato's
body as a source of light, an area of purity (SYM. Whiteness of
deficiency) .

**

***

(325) Her htDT arranged Bonwthing lilee that of M".. du &ny, her
ftJCe, though it Wdl (HIrti4Il"j1aitlMn untUJr a full bonfUlt, ~ed
onl"j the more delicdte, dIId fJOWdtn suited her. SEM. Femininity.
REF. Historical code.

***( 326) To . . her thus WdB toado,. her. * REF. Code of Love.

LXI. NARCISSISTIC PROOF

A commonplace truism (a completely literary en40X4 which"life" constantly disproves) maintains that there is an obligatory link between beauty and love (to Bee her so lovely if tolove her). This link derives its power from the fact that (novelistic) 12ve, which is itself a ~, IJ.lust be supported by .a ~,e_~~: .~uty provides this; not, A:S we have seen, because sucha code_~~ J)C lla:sede>P ~,:ly ~f"~tial traitJ: ,peauty cannot be·d~bed (other than by lists and tautologies); It has no refer-_en~ yet it does not lack references (Venus, the Sultan's daughter, Raphael's Madonnas, etc.), and it is this abundance ofauthorities, this heritage of writings, this anteriority of models,
which make beauty a secure code; consequently, the love established by this beauty is brought under the MtuTtIl rules ofculture: the codes meet, one rests on the other, there is a circu1,.3

larity: beauty obliges me to love, but also what I love is inevitably beautiful. Bj'declaringLa ~mbine1la ad~~ble, Samsine
establishes one of the three proofs (narcissistic, psychologicai,aesthetic) be wilt continoaHy use in ordetfo-cfeceive hiiiiSelr
about the castrato's sex: ram jusfified-i~ roVin.l!.t~~·~USe
she is-beautiful, and if I love her (I-·WhO cannot be mistaken),-~
it is because she is a woman.

(327) She gave the scull'for II grtICeful mUle.
snare, by La Zambinella, for Sarrasine.

* HER. Enigma 6:( 328) VnJuJppy tit not being ttble to Bf'e4Ic to her without witnesses present, SdTTdline
ACT. "Hope": 6: to be disappointed(reprise).

*(329) politely sat down nat to her ttnd tdlIced ttbout mwic, pr__ing her extrdOrdinmy tttlent;
ACT. "Hope": 7: to compensate(reprise) . . . ACT. "Conversation I": 2 and 3: to sit down and
talk.

*

( 330) but hi. voice trembled with love. with fur ttnd hope.
ACT. "Hope": 8: to hope (reprise).

*(331) "WMt tlTe you afrtIUI 0(7" ahd Vitdglitmi, the cornpttrry'.
no rill,," MH ...
HdYing ldid thill, the tenor mriled without dnother word. ThiI maW
Wdl repeated on the lip. of ttll the guem.
HER. "Machination":
5: index of machination (complicity of the machinating group) .
. . HER. Enigma 6: equivocation.
molt fllmous Binger. "Co tthedd; you nad,Mr*

LXII. EQUIVOCATION I: DOUBLE UNDERSTANDING

The tenor says "Yau Me no rivttl," because: (1) you are loved(Samsine's understanding); (2) you are wooing a castrato(understanding of the accomplices and perhaps, already. of the144reader). According to the first understanding, there is a snare;according to the second, a revelation. The braid of the twounderstandings creates an equivocation. And in fact the equivocation results from two voices, received on an equal basis:
there is an interference of two lines of destination. Put anotherway, the double undersfdnding, the basis for a play on words,
cannot be analyzed in simple terms of signification (two signifieds for one signifier); for that there must be the distinctionof two recipients; and if, contrary to what occurs here, bothrecipients are not given in the story, if the play on words seems
to be addressed to one person only (for example, the reader),this person must be imagined as being divided into two subjects, two cultures, two languages, two zones of listening(whence the traditional affinity between puns and "folly" ormadness: the Fool, dressed in motley, a divided costume, wasonce the purveyor of the double underrtcmding). In relation
to an ideaJly pure message (as in mathematics), tiiediViSio~~f reception constitutes a "no~~" it makes COP.l~unica.tion O~
scure, fallacious, hazardous: uncertain. Yet this noise, this un~inty are emitted by the diJcourse with a view toward a
communication: they are given to the reader so that he may-feed on them: what the reader reads is a countercommunication; and if we grant that the double underrttmding far exceeds
the limited case of the play on words or the equivocation andpermeates, in various forms and densities, all classic writing(by very reason of its polysemic vocation), we see that litera~es are in fact arts of "noise"; what the reader consumes isthis defect in communication, this deficient message; what thewhole structuration erects for him and offers him as the mostprecious nourishment is a countercommuniccrtion; the reader
is an accomplice, not of this or that character, but of the discourse itself insofar as it plays on the division of reception, theimpurity of communication: the discourse, and not one or an-:other of its characters, is the only I'oBitive hero of the story.
145

(332) whOle dttntion coraftIiMd d hid4m rntJUt:. d lowr wouW . .
not Jun. noticed.
On the one band, Sanuine is powerless to .
uncieIstand the stratagem because he is blinded by love: structurally, this is tantamount to his setting a snare for himself; on the .
other hand, in noting his blindness, the discourse presents thereader with the beginning of a solution, it proposes the stratagem
openly (HER. Enigma 6: equiwcation).
REF. the lover(blindfolded) .

***(333) Such op.nnar WCllliJr.e d ~ thruIt in SdrnaiM'. Mdrt.
Although endolWd with d CG'tdin Itrength of cMrdCt.r, tmd fIlthough nothing could chtmge Jail low,
Sarrasine takes the tenor's smile as an index not of malignity but of indiscretion; he deceives himself (HER. Enigma 6: srwe, by Sarrasine. for himself).

*** SEM. Energy.
( 334) it hdd

fJ«'" *not )'« occurred to him tIIIIl LtJ Zambi....u.

WdI virlwIlly d cowfadn,

Samsine's forgetfulness (wbich echoes the "ignortmcc of tM fllCb of life" in which Bouchardon bad
kept him) is a snare: to make La Zambiuella a courtaan is to confirm her in her femininity; to doubt her sodalidcu~ty i! to.~doubting her sexual identity (HER. Enigma 6: mare, by Sarrasine,for·himself) .
(335) tmd thdt he could not Jun. both tM ".". , . . " . tMt
mtIIte d )IOung gitl'. IaH 10 deliciow tmd 1M ~ trtlrllfKJrtI by which the hctJrdow iJoaaDOR of em dCtraI rnuat be fJurcluaed. • REF. Paradigm of Women: youug girl! courtesan.

(336) He refl«Ud tmd raigJwd hirruel{.
compensate, to resign oneself (reprise).
(337) S."",., WtII,.,-wd.

* ACf. "Hope": 9: to* ACf. "0Igy": 3: IUpper.

(338) 5drrai,.. cmd IA ZambirttlJd ItIt down informttlly . . byliM. • ACf. "Conversation II": 1: to sit side by side.
( 339 ) For tM font IuIlf of the fMdl, the 4I'tiItJ ",...,-v.d IOft'I8
cJ.corum, • ACf. "Orgy': of: initial calm.
1~(340) tmd the sculptor WdB dbk to clult with the linger.
"'Conversation II": Z: to chat.

(lil) He found her witty, acute,* ACI'.

* SEM. Mental acuity. Thisteme, a kind of h4fxtx in the account of La Zambinella's character,aves to correct, according to a euphemistic and confonnist intention, what would be injurious in the image of a retdrded woman.

(liZ) but monUhingly ignordnt, * La ZambineUa's ignQ"llce ~~!~I~t to hC!~ P!I~~!~~~!~ri!y.{SEM.. ImmaturityL*(li3) dnd alae mwled hAmelf to be wedJr tmd BUpentitiouB.
Weakness and superstition are equivalent to pusillanimity (SEM.
P.l$iJlanimity) .

(3+t) TM delic4cy of her orgtUII WdI reflM:Ud in her uruWrrt4ndIf one understands by La ZambineUa's "organs" her vocal
chords, nothing bas been revealed; but if these organs are her sex..I characteristics, everything has been suggested: thus there is adouble understanding (HER. Enigma 6: equivocation).
Psy-

ing.

*

**

chophysiological code: physical deficiency and mental weakness.
(3+5) WIJ.n Vittlglilmi uncorhd the ~ 00ttJ. of chmnpagne,* ACI'. "Orgy": 5: WiDc:s.

( 316 ) SdrrdIiM mu1 in IUs cOJRlNlnion', eyes d rtJJTt of t.rror dt
the tiny aploGon C4U1ed by the acd#'ing gao
HER. Enigma 6:
mare, by Sanasine, for himself (timidity "rova femininity: Sarrasine uses this psychological proof to deceive himself).

*

LXIU. PSYCHOLOGICAL PIWOF

Champagne serves to prove La Zambinella's pusillanimity. La
Zambinella's pusillanimity serves to prove her femininity.
Thus, the Sarrasinean snare shifts from proof to proof. Someare inductive, based on that old rhetorical deity: the e;um-

plum: from a narrative episode (champagne, later the snake),one induces a character trait (or, rather, one consbucts theepisode to signify the character). Others are deductive; theseare enthymemes, imperfect syllogisms (defective, or incomplete, or simply probable): all women are timid; La Zambinella is timid; therefore La Zambinella is a woman. The twological systems intermingle: the exemplum permits positing
the minor premise of the syllogism: La Zambinella is frightened by a popping cork, thus La Zambine1la is timid. As forthe major premise, it derives from the narcissistic zone (woman
is adorable), the psychological zone (woman is timid), theaesthetic zone (woman is beautiful); what establisbes thismajor premise is, in conformity with the definition of theenthymeme, not a scientific buth but "common knowledge,"an endoXd. Thus the snares Samsine sets for himself are basedon the most social discourse: completely immersed in sociality,
the subject takes from it his censures and his alibis, in short
his blindness, or even: his own death-since he will die fromhaving misled himself. ?~ychology-pu~ ~ .~_l:lrse­
thus appears as a murderous language which cond~ i'!l!d~this word we would like to put the inductive exem"'~~~~
the deductive
syllogism) the subject to the final castration..
. __ •... - ......

_-"(347) The love-stricken tlTtilt interpreted the invoiunttJTy ,hudderof this feminine conmtution dI the rign of dR exceaive te1IIitivity.

*

The Frenchmttn Wdl clumned by tm. wed1cness.
SEM. Pusillanimity (timidity, femininity) . . . Feminine corutitution is asnare if taken literally and a deciphennent if understood metaphorically (HER. Enigma 6: equivocation).
(348) How much is protective in d mttn',lovel"My Btrength your ,hieldl" Is thiI not written tit the heart of dll
declmdtions of love?
REF. Proverbial epde: Love.

*

148

(:H9) Too excited to .hower the buutiful ItdlUm with compliments, SdtrtlSine, like fill lovers, WCIB by turns seriouI, LJughing, or

refI«tM. * REF. Psychology of Loven.

(350) Although II. BUJned to be listening to the other guests, he
did not he4r d word they were arying, 80 dbso,bed WCIB he in tM~. of finding hirruelf baide her, touching her hdnd dB heserved her. He btlthed in d Bl8CTet jay.
REF. Love: actions and*feelings.
(351) DafJite the eloqumce of d ffIW mutrud tJtmca, * Mutudl
gltmces are signs of reciprocal love. However, sbucturally, Sarrasine's feeling has no pertinence, since it has long been establishedin the discourse and has nothing uncertain about it; the only thingthat counts here is the sign of agreement emitted by La Zambinella; this sign is a pretense (HER. Enigma 6~ snare, by La Zambinella, for Sanasine) .

(352) he WCIB tJBtonished at the ,uerve 1.A 'Lnnbinell4 mointained
towdrd him.
Were Sarrasine to extend his "astonishment" a triOe, he might discover the buth; thus this "astonishment" is a
decipherment Sarrasine performs incompletely in his own behalf(HER. Enigma 6: partial decipherment, by Sarrasine, for himself) .

*(353) I ndecd, she held begun by preaing his foot dnd taling him
with the flirttItiOUBJ1e8l of d WOmdn in love dnd free to show it; *HER. Enigma 6: snare, by La Zambinella, for Sarrasine. . . REF.
Typology of Women.

(3H) but ,he auddenly wrdf'Ped herself in the modaty of d ),ounggirl,
REF. Typology of Women . . . All of La Zambinella's reserve, whatever its motive (fear or sauple), is a s~ion of the*stratagem and is tantamount to an initial deciphenn.ent; here, howevtr. w~ cannot tell whether the message comes from ~ Zamhiudla
or from the disoowse, whether it p~QCCCds towar~ SamsineQr the~der: it is strictly unsituated: whereby we see once again thlt
writing" has this power of producing a veritable silence of destiQation: it is, literally, a countercommunication, a )'cacographi'(HER. Enigma 6: partial decipherment).
. ---,-,

149

( 355) after hetuing SdrrdBine dacribe d trdit which revetJled fir.
exceaiw violence of his chartJCter.
SEM. Violence (excess).
La Zambinella's pusillanimity (logical source of her femininity) iI
signified in several examples (champagne, snake), but also in certain of Sarrasine's offensives; the seme then assumes an operati\'evalue ( even though these offensives are not initially directedagainst La ZambineUa); it foons the conclusion of a long sequence("Danger") laid down by the threats of which La Zambinella wiD
increasingly be the object, until the moment when, the machination having been discovered, the singer is nearly hlled by Sarrasine. These fears, following certain threats (however abstract), an:harbingers of the final crisis (Acr. "Danger": 1: act of violence,
sign of a dangerous character) .

**

*

*

(356) When the flU""., becmne tJn orgy,
ACT. "Orgy": 6:
nomination of the orgy (here a rhetorical, denominative sta~
ment: the discourse gives an over-all name to what it will detail).
(357) the guests brolee into song under the influence of the PertJltd
dnd the Pedro-Xirnenes. There were ravishing duets, songs fromCalabritJ, SpdniBh seguidilltu, Neapolitlm CdR%Onettas. Acr.
"Orgy" : 7: t 0 slOg.
.

*(358) IntoxictJtion was in every eye, in the music, in hearts tJnd
voices alike. Suddenly dn mclumting vivtJCity weUed up, d gay
tJbdndon, dn ItalitJn wttnnth of feeling
ACT. "Orgy": 8: toabandon oneself (denominative statement).

*( 359) inconceivtJble to those tJCqUtJinted only with Pdri.sitJn gtJther·ings, London routs, or Viennese circles.
REF. Worldly Europe.

*( 360 ) Jolees dnd words of love flew like bullets in d bdttle throughltJughter, profdnities, dnd invocations to the Holy Virgin or il Bam-

*

bino.
ACT. "Orgy": 9: to abandon oneself (1) unbridled talk.
REF. ltalianness (il &mbino).

**(361) SorneoRil ltJy down on d 'ofd dnd feU tI6leep.
"Orgy": 10: to let oneself go (2) : to sleep.

* Acr.

,(162) .A girl WCIS listening to a declaration of love, urutware that
ACf. "Orgy": 11: to• • WCIS sfJilling sherry on the tablecloth.

*.mndon oneself (3): to spill wine (this gesture is not in confor.uty with the Code of the Young Girl and this incongruity rein'fortes the sign of disorder) .

*(363) In the midst of this disorder,
ACT. "Orgy": 12: to aban40n oneself (denominative reprise). Abandon, a fragment of the~, is rhetorically constructed: a statement, three tenns, a reprise.

(36+) La Zetmbinella remllined thoughtful, CIS though terror-struck.
She refused to drinJc, • ACf. "Danger": 2: the victim's fear.

LXIV. THE VOICE OF THE READER

AI though terror-struck: who is speaking here? It cannot be
Sanasine, even indirectly, since he interprets La Zambinella's
icar as timidity. Above all, it cannot be the narrator, because
lie knows that La Zambine1la really is terrified. The modaliza~ (CIS thou8h) expresses th~ interests of only one character,
who is neither Sarrasine nor the narrator, but the reader: it is\vho-isconcerned thaftlie--truHl-be-si~'~1 ta~eously

tbe-ieaaer'!!!':!~.-~~~.. ~idea.-~D: ambiguity~wh!~~-~lli~~..d~91.l~ IP~ely~tes by CIS though, which indicates the truth and yet re-dyces, itdedaratively to a mere appearance. What we hear!
tber~fore, is the displ4ced voice which the reader lends, by~xy, to the discourse: the discourse is speaking according to
the reader's interests. Whereby we see that writing is not thecinnmunication of a message which starts from the author andproceeds to the reader; it is specifically the voice of reading itIdf: in the text, only the reader speaks. This inversion of our
prejudices (which make reading a reception or, to put matters
IDOre clearly, a simple psychological participation in the ad-venture being related), this inversion can be illusbated by •linguistic image: in the Inde>-European verb (for example,
Greek), two diatheses (specifically: two voices) were set in
opposition: the middle voice, according to which the agent
performed the action for his own sake (I BdCrifice for m)'Sel/).
and the active voice, according to which he performed thissame action for another's benefit (as in the case of the priest
who sacrificed on his client's behalf). In this accounting, writ·ing is active, for it acts for the reader: it proceeds not from an
author but from a public scribe, a notary institutionally ~sponsible not for Battering his client's tastes but rather forregistering at his dictation the summary of his interests, theoperations by which, within an economy of disclosure, he manages this merchandise: the narrative.

( 365) perluJp, ,he ate d bit too much; howeY." it is Idid thtJt
greediness in d WOmdR is d chtmning qwdity.
REF. Code of
Women (they are greedy).
Greediness",ova the Woman, as
does her timidity: this is a psychological proof (HER. Enigma 6:
snare: by Sarrasine, for himself? by the discourse, for the reader?).

*

**

*

(366) Admiring his miBtrea', modaty,
Deceiving himself, Sarrasine transfonns fear into modesty (HER. Enigma 6: snare, bySarrasine, for himself).

( 367) &masine thought seriously dbout the tutu,..
"She ",obdbly wcmts to be mmried," he thought. He then turned
his thoughu to the delightl of this 1nlIIT'iage. His whok lif.,."..dtoo ,hort to exIutu8t the ","rags of "."inea h. foUnd in thedepths of his soul. * Sarrasine's self-deception. 6rst concernedwith a denomination of fact (modaty instead of fright), extends
metonymically to motive, which is in tum placed under the authority of the Code governing bourgeois marriage (if a woman refuses
to give herself, it is because she wants to be married) (HER.

Enigma 6: snare, by Sarrasine, for himself).
imagininp.

** REF. The Lover's( 368 ) V itdglitmi, who Wd8 Bitting next to him, refilled his glIlJI8 80
often tMt, towtITd three in the morning,
ACT. "Machination":
6: the victim is made drunk.

*( 369) without being totttlly drunk, StlrrdBi,.. could no longer control his delirium.
Here begins a limited "Rape" which we will
distinguish from the final "Abduction" (ACT. "Rape": 1: conditioning of the ravisher ) (this rape is constructed as a "delirium," aminor dCting out) .

*(370) Im/'ftuou.zy, he piclced up the worrum,* ACT. "Rape":

2: to carry off the victim.
(371) esc4ping into d lcind of boudoir next to the Bdlon, * ACT.
"Rape": 3: to change locale.
(372) tOWdrd the door of which he hdd glmaced monr tlum once.

* ACT. "Rape": i: to have premeditated the abduction.

(373) The IftIlidn WOmdR WdB d1'1JWd with d ddgger.
"If you come dn}' clOBer," she Bdid, "I will be forced to "'unge
this wetJfJon into your he4rt.
ACT. "Rape": 5: the victim's
armed defense.
La Zambinella is defending not her virtue but
her lie; thereby she designates the truth and her action is tantamount to an index. Sarrasine, however, attributes this action to a
courtesan's wiles, he misleads hilllKlf: index and blindness create
an equivocation (HER. Enigma 6: equivocation). *** The discourse is on La Zambinella's side [in French, "I will be forced," ;eterm forck, the past participle is feminine]; obliged by no morethan orthography (agreement of the past participle), it has no
option but to become an accomplice in the imposture (HER.
Enigma 6: mare, discourse for reader). **** La Zambinella
threatens Sarrasine with mutilation-which will moreover be carried out in the end: "You have dr~d me down to your ,,,_,,''
No. 525 (SYM. Castration, the knife).

**

*

153

(37-t) Let me got You would des". me. I have conceived too
much respect for your c#UUtJCter to rurrender in this ftl8hion. I don't
wcmt to betray the feeling you Mve for me." * HER. Enigma 6:
equivocation (the reason La Zambinella gives can be either tacticalor sincere). ** REF. Honor of Women, Esteem and not love.
etc.

( 375) "Oh not" cried Sammne. "You C4nnot rtifIe d passion bystimulating itt
REF. Psychology and strategy of the passions.

*( 376) Are you tIlready so corrupt that, old in heart, you would cJCt
like cJ young courtesan who whets the emotions by which she fJlia
her trader'
REF. Typology of Women (the courtesan).
HER. Enigma 6: snare, by Sarrasine, for himself (Sarrasine misleads himself as to La Zambinella's motive).

***

LXV. THE" SCENE "La Zam binella and Samsine exchange lines of dialogue. Eachline is a snare, a misuse, and each misuse is justified by a code:
Honor of Women corresponds to Typology of Women: codes
are hurled back and forth, and this volley of codes is the "scene."
Thereby appears the nature of meaning: it is a force whichattempts to subjugate other forces, other meanings, other languages. The force of meaning depends on its degree of systematization: the strongest meaning is the one whose systematization includes a large number of elements, to the point where it
appears to include everything noteworthy in the world: thus
great ideological systems which battle each other with strokesof meaning. The model for this is always the "scene," the endless confrontation of two different codes communicating solely
through their interlockings, the adjustment of their limits(dual replication, stychomythia). A society aware of the-insome sense-linguistic nature of the world, as was medieval
154

society with its Trivium of the arts of speech, believing that it
is not the truth which brings an end to the confrontation of
languages, but merely the force of one of them, can then, in a
ludic spirit, attempt to encode this force, to endow it with aprotocol of results: this is the disputCltio, the function of certain of whose terms was to close off, arbitrarily but necessarily,
the infinite repetition of dialogue-"terminemes," in short,marks of abandonment that brought the interplay of languages to an end.

on) "But todtzy is Frid4y," 8M replied,(pusillanimity, timorousness).

* SEM. Superstition(378) frightened at tM FrenchrruJn's violence.

ger': 3: the victim's repeated fright.

* ACT. "Dan*(379) SmrtlSine, who WdS not devout, brolee into krughter.
SEM. Impiety. Sarrasine's impiety paradigmatically corresponds to
La Zambinella's superstition; this paradigm is (will be) actually
tragic: the pusillanimous being will draw the virile being into its
deficiency, the symbolic figure will contaminate the strong mind.

(380) !AI Zdmbinelld jumped up lib d young deer
"Rape": 6: victim's Sight.

* ACT.

*(381) and ran towdTd tM Idlon.
ACT. "Rape": 7: change of
locale (symmetrical to and the inverse of No. 371).

(382) WMn Samuine dppedTed in her pursuit,
8: pursuit.

* ACT. "Rape":*(383) M WCIB greeted by dn infernal burn of laughter.
HER.
"Machination": 7: laughter, signaling success of the sbatagem(collective laughter is the motive for the machination: "I onl)'
agreed to trick )'ou to pled8e m)' friends, who wt.'nted to laugh," No.

512) .

155

( 3M) He ICfW Ut ZdmbiMlld lying in a BWoon upon a sofa. SIa.
WdB f'dlIIand drained by the extrtlOrdinary effort ahe hdd;un 1J1IJd..

* SYM. Weakness, pusillanimity, timorousness, femininity.

*( 385) Mthough 5drrtUine At,..,., little ItdlUm,
REF. Chronology(the notation refers to the Dumber of days Sanasine has been iD
Rome: three weeks, by the evening of the orgy) .

LXVI. THE READERLY I:

It

EVERYTHING HOLDS TOGETHER "I t is necessary (likely) for Sarrasine to undrntand Italian,since his mistress's remark must confound him and end his
delirium; however, it is no less necessary (likely) that he notknow it well, since he has been in Italy only twenty-four days
(as we know from the chronological code); he cannot havebeen there longer, since he must be unaware of the Romancustom of putting castrati on the stage; he must be unaware of
the custom. since he has to mistake La Zambinella's identity,
etc. In other words, the discourse scrupulously keeps within acircle of solidtlrities, and this circle, in which "everything holds
together," is that of the readerly. As we might expect, the readerIy is controlled by the principle of non<antradiction, but by
multiplying solidarities, by stressing at every opportunity thecompdtible nature of circumstances, by attaching narrated
events together with a kind of logical "paste," the discourse
carries this principle to the point of obsession; it assumes thecareful and suspicious mien of an individual afraid of beingcaught in some 8agrant contradiction; it is always on the lookout and always, just in case, preparing its defense against theenemy that may force it to acknowledge the scandal of someillogicality. some disturbance of "common sense." The solidarity of notatio~ thus appears to be a kind of defenSIve
weapon, it says in its way that meaning is a force, that it isdevised within an economy of forces.

156

(386) he hetlTd his mistress tutying in d low voice to Vitaglidni:"But he will lciU me'" * HER. "Machination": 8: indication ofcomplicity between the instigator and the agent of the machination.
ACT. "Danger": 4: victim's premonitory fear.

**(387) The BCUlfJtor WClS utterly confounded by this strdnge scene.
He regdined his senses. At first he stood motionless; then he foundhis voice, 8tIt down next to his mistress, dnd ClSSUred her of his
respect. He WCIS tJble to divert his passion by dddressing the mosthigh-minded phrC1Se8 to this WOmdn; cmd in depicting his love, heu.ed all the resources ACT. "Abduction": 9: failure of the rape,
return to order.

*( 388 ) of that mcJgicdl eloquence, that inspired intermeditJry *REF. Code of passion.

(389) which women rdrely refuse to believe. * REF. Psychologyof Women.

( 390) When the guests were surprised by the first gletnns of morning light, d WOmdn suggested they go to FrClSC4ti.
ACf. "Excur-*sion": 1: proposal. ** ACT. "Orgy": 13: end (dawn).

LXVII. HOW AN ORGY IS CREATED

Someone, not the reader but a chal3cter (Sarrasine, in thisinstance), gradually approaches the scene of an orgy; it is announced to him by the sound of voices, by bright lights
glimpsed through cracks of a door: this is an announcement
interior to the story, analogous to the physical indices that enable us to decipher in advance a tempest. an earthquake: weare in a natural history of the orgy. Then the orgy is announced
interior to the discourse: it is named, which supposes that likea denominative resume (a chapter title, for example) we aregoing to analyze it, give its moments, the signifieds which com157

pose it: we are in a rhetoric of the orgy. These parts of theorgy are stereotyped items of behavior, created by a repetitionof experiences (supper, uncorking champagne, singing. liem.
tiousness): we are in an empirical knowledge of the orgy.
Further, a certain moment of this orgy, given under its genericname, Clbandonment, can no longer be analyzed like the orgy
itself, but illustrated by certain typical items of behavior (sleeping, spilling wine): we are in an inductive logic of the orgy(based on exempltJ). Finally, the orgy dies down, ends: we arein a physics of the orgy. What we have called the proaireticcode is thus itself made up of other diverse codes based on
different disciplines. The series of actions, natural, logical,
linear as it may appear, is not controlled by a single rule oforder; not only can it "divagate," accommodating endless expansions (as here, with the failed rape of La Zambinella), it
refracts different disciplines, orders, codes: it is a perspective
space: the materiality of the discourse is the point of view; thecodes are the vanishing points; the referent (the orgy) is theframed image.

(391) Everyone enthusi4sticdlly feU in with the idu of spending
the cLty at the V ilia Ludovisi. * Aer. "Excursion": 2: generalagreement.

(392) Vitagliani went down to hire some carriages. * Aer. "Excursion": 3: hiring of carriages.
(393) Sarrasine had the pleasure of leading La Zambinella to aphoeton. * Aer. "Amorous outing": 1: to get into the same
carriage.
( 39i) Once outside Rome, the gaiety which had been moment4rily repressed by each person's battle with sleepiness suddenly revived. Men and women ali1ce seemed used to this rtrdnge life, theNceaseless pleasures, this artist's impuhiveness which tur1l8 life into d
IS8

perpetUt1l ptIrty at which one ltrughed unreservedly.
cursion": 4: collective gaiety. ** Artist's Life.

* ACT. "Ex-(395) The sculptor', cOJTJ/Htnion WdS the only one who seemed
downcast.
"Are you iU7" SarrdSine dSlced her. "Would you rather go homer'"I'm not strong enough to stand aU these excesses," ,he replied.
"I must be very careful;
ACT. "Danger": 5: persistent fear.

*** Sarrasine continues to mislead himself: after having taken La

Zambinella's resistance for modesty or ftirtatiousness, he attributes
her depression to illness (HER. Enigma 6: snare, by Sarrasine, forhimself). *** La Zambinella's response is a snare if the fatigue
she alleges is due to the orgy; it is truthful if her illness results fromfear, it is a snare if her pusillanimity is attributed to her femininity;
it is truthful if it is due to "her" castration: there is a double understanding (HER. Enigma 6: equivocation).
ACT. "Amorous Outing": 2: t~te-a-t~te conversation.

****( 396) but with you 1 feel so well! Had it not been for you, 1 would
never have stayed for supper;
Two likelihoods make their voices
heard here, thereby producing a double understanding: (1) the
operative likelihood will say that La Zambinella is offering Sarrasine a discourse which is, if not amorous, at least amical, in order
to allay any suspicion of the stratagem in which he is caught; itwill then be a snare; (2) the "psychological" likelihood which considers logical the "contradictions of the human heart" will see in
La Zambinella's confidence an impulse of sincerity, the fugitive
suspension of the fraud (HER. Enigma 6: equivocation).
The
request for protection signifies: everything but sex; but thereby thevery deficiency of sex is designated (SYM. Asexual protection: thetheme will reappear) .

***( 397) a skepless night and 1 lose whatever bloom 1 httve.""You are so delicate," Sttrra.sine Sdid, loolcing at the chttrn'lingcreature's pretty face.
"Orgies ruin the voice."
SEM. Femininity.

*(398) "Now that we're alone," the ttTtist cried, "and you nolonger need fedT the outbursts of my fJdSsion, uU me that you loveme." * ACT. "Declaration of love": 1: request for an avowal.
159

LXVIII. THE BRAID

At this point in the narrative (it could be at another) several
actions are still underway at the same time: the "danger" runby La Zambinella, the hero's "will-to-die," his "declaration oflove" to his mistress, their "amorous outing." the group's"machination" and "excursion" are still in process, suspended
and interwoven. ~e text, w~i~, ~~Js be!~g_p~od~~_is li_~~__apiece of Valencienneilace creat~ bcfOIC.JlS-URc!~ t:l.!eJa~k­
er's fingers: each sequence undertaken hangs like the temporarily inactive bobbin waiting while its neighbor works; t~~~-wh~its tum comes, the hand takes up ~e_!hr~d ~n, ~ri~gs itback to the frame; and as the pattern is filled out, the progressof each thread is marked with a pin which holds it and is gradually moved forward: thus the terms of the sequence: they are
positions held and then left behind in the course of a gradualinvasion of meaning. This process is valid for the entire text.
The grouping of codes, as they enter into the work, into the
movement of the reading. constitute a braid (text, fdbric,
braid: the same thing) ;~cll thread, each code, is~ v9~~;_~~
braided-or braiding-voices form the writing: when it is alone._the voice does no labor, transforms nothing: it expr~-~\1tu
soon as the hand intervenes to gather and intertwine the inert
threads, there is labor, there is transformation. We mov..-thesymbolism of the braid: Freud, considering the origin of weaving. saw it as the labor of a woman braiding her pubic hairs toform the absent per.is. TI.!e text, in short, is a fetish; an~_ ~Q redqce it to the unity of meaning, by a deceptively univocal reading. is to cut the braid, to sketch the castrating gesture.

(399) "Why?" .he replied. "What would ". the we? • ACf.
"Declaration": 2: to elude the requested avowal. ** Like every
embarrdBICd attitude, La Zambinella's reply designates the truth by160

eluding it (or at least says that there is an enigma) (HER. Enigma
6: equivocation) .

(100) I IUnWd pretty to )'ou. But )'ou tIT. FTench dnd )'OUT feeli",. will /NIBS. • HER. Enigma 6: snare, by La Zambinella, for
Samsine (You will stop loving me because you are fickle; therefore I am truly a woman). •• "Declaration": 3: first basis for declining an offer of love (love is fickle). . . . REF. Amorous typology of nationalities: the fickle French . . . . . HER. Enigma 6:
snare (by the discourse: I seemed pretty UolieJ to )'ou puts ;ol;' inthe feminine, d. No. 373).
(40 1) All, )'ou would not love 1M as J long to be loved.""How ccm )'OU B4'/ thatr'"Not to satisfy dn)' vulgdT passion; pUTely.
ACT. "Declaration": 4: second basis for declining an offer of love (impossibilityof a suitable feeling) . . . SYM. Asexual protection. . . . SYM.
Alibi of castration: the Misunderstood Woman. Sincere or not (todecide that, one would have to go behind the PdfJeT), La Zambinella sublimates the condition of castration (or of exclusion) beneath a noble and plaintive theme: that of the Misunderstood
Woman. This theme will be taken up again by Mme de Rochefide
when the narrator's story has drawn her into castration: "No one
willluzve known 1M, I dm proud of thttt," No. 560..... "Not tosatisfy tmy vul.gtIT fJtI8Bion; puTel)," is an equivocation; for either
exile from sex is a physical deficiency (the truth) or it is a sublime
release granted, by the ideal, to the 8esh (snare) (HER. Enigma
6; equivocation) .

*(402) I ttbhOT 1Mn perhttp. even mOTe them I hate W01Mn. •SYM. The neuter (ne-uteT) of the castrato.
(403) I need to Beek Tefuge in friendBhip . • SYM. Asexual protection. . . HER. Enigma 6: equivocation (a sincere feeling or
an evasion determined by the toils of the machination) .

(404) FaT 1M, the wOTld is a desert. I am an occuTsed creatuTe,
condemned to underBttUld httppinea, to tu' it, to deWe it, dnd,
like mttR)' other•• fOT~d to Bee it flu from 1M continuall), . •ACT. "Declaration": 5: third basis for declining an offer of love
161

**

(excluded from normal affections).
SYM. Exclusion, curse (illthe untenable position of a ne-uter, the castrato is a creature ~longing nowhere: he is excluded from difference, from antithesis:
he transgresses, not the sexes, but classification).
SYM. E.
phemistic definition of the castrato: unfulfilled desire.
REF..
Code of acquired wisdom (happiness Bees from man) .

***
****

*

(405) Remember, BiT, thtrt I will not have deceived you.
The
future perfect refers to the moment when the machination will be
uncovered; a predictive and exorcising term (HER. "Machination": 9: prediction and exorcism of the outcome).
HER.
Enigma 6: equivocation. The equivocation arises because La lambinella's "frankness" takes the form of a statement general enoughto include the truth, but too general, in fact, to designate it.

**

LXIX. EQUIVOCATION II: METONYMIC FALSEHOOD

Equivocation (often) consists in disclosing genus (I tim em
excluded CTedtuTe) and silencing species (I (1m (I ClIStrdto) : onesays the whole for the part, a synechdoche, but in the ambivalence, metonymy is in a sense caught in the act, as statement
and no longer as thing stated; for the discourse (or, by proxy,th~_~halacter) ()n the ~ne hand a~y~nceS~~1.Oses. and§nt1ie
other holds back, conceals; it undertakes to impr~~~_ !h~_void of what it silences by the plenitude of what-it says, toidentify two different truths, the truth of speech and the truthof silence; of the two species of the genus Excluded (on one
hand the Inaccessible Woman, on the other the undesirable
castrato), the discourse implies one, the receiver the other;here again there is a divided reception. As we might expect,
this metonymic falsehood (since by stating the whole for thepart, it induces error or at least masks the truth, hides vacuum
under plenitude) has a strategic function: as the difference
between species and genus, it is La Zambinella's s~ty
which is silenced: now this specificity is both opera tionally de-.61cisive (it controls the disclosure of the enigma) and symbolically vi tal (it is castra tion itself) .
('f06) I forbid you to love me. * ACf. "Declaration": 6: to forbid to love.
( 4(7) I Cdn be your elevoted friend, for I ddmire )'Our strength dnd
your chtudCter. I need d brother, d protector. Be dll thdt for me,
ACf. "Declaration": 7: reduction of love to friendship.
SYM. Asexual protection (the alibi conceals sexual deficiency).
*** Can La Zambinella be a friend (un ami, masculine)? Since
there is a feminine form (une cnnie), a choice exists, and the use of
the masculine reveals the transvestite. Yet this disclosure has noreal effect on the reading: the giveaway word is carried along in theoommonplace generality of the sentence, covered by its similarity
to a stereotyped phrase (to be d elevoted friend) and thereby
blurred (HER. Enigma 6: disclosure, by La Zambinella to Sarrasine) .

*

**

*

(408) but no more."
Throughout the story, the excedent isobviously the sexual organ (SYM. Asexual protection) .

(409) "Not love you'" ScmdSine cried. "But my dedrest dngel, youare my life, my IutppineSB'" * ACf. "Declaration": 8: protestaREF. Rhetoric of love (dear dngel, my life).
tion of love.

**(410) "If I were to say one word, you would repulse me with horror." * If one word can alter a situation, it is because it has revelatory power, and thus there is dn enig1J1lJ (HER. Enigma 6: proposal).
SYM. Mark, curse, exclusion. *** SYM. Taboo on
the word cdstrdto.

**

LXX. BEINC-cASTRATED AND CASTRATION

To make being-costrcJted, an anecdotal condition, coincidewith costrcJtion, a symbolic structure, is the task successfully163carried out by the pedormer (Balzac), since the former doa
not necessarily entail the latter: witness many anecdotal nana-.
tives about Cd8trdti (Casanova, President De Bros5eS, Sade,
Stendhal ). This success hinges on a structural artifice: identifying the symbolic and the hermeneutic, making the search
for truth (hermeneutic structure) into the search for castration (symbolic structure), making the truth be tmeCdot4lq(and no longer symbolically) the absent phallus. The coincidence of the two paths is effected (structuIally) by keeping
one or the other from ever being determined upon .HJlg~t~
minacy is a "proof' of writing): aphasia concerning the word
CdStrctto has a double value, whose duplicity is insoluble: on
the symbolic level, there is a taboo; on the operative level, thedisclosure is delayed: ~e truth is suspended both by ceoso.J;..
ship and by machination. 'J1l~!e4!1erry.!~.s!YICQl the text i$thereby raised to the level of an analytical investigation; however, we can also, and more justifiably, say that, by becoming
anecdotal, the psychoanalytical progression of the subject(pedused throughout: through Sarrasine, the narrator, theauthor, and the reader) .bccQmcs u.nn~!y: the symbolic isin excess, useless (what we have here called rymbolic does notderive from psychoanalytic knowledge). Which accounts forthis story's perhaps unique value: "illustrating" castration by
being-castrated, like with like. it mocks the notion of illustration, it abolishes both sides of the equivalence (letter an4
symbol) without advantage to either one; the latent here 9CCupies the line of the manifest from the start. the sign is 8~tt~n~out: there is no longer any "representation."*("11) "Coquettel
HER. Enigma 6: mare, by Sanasine. for
himself. Sanasine penists in revnng the partial clues La Zambinella, either sincere or wary, offen him: he denies his partner's disclaimen. This second disclaimer is made in actual semantic terms:l~of La Zambinella's messages, Sanasine retains only the connotation associated with them by the cultural code of amorous pretense(here: coquetry).

***(i12) Nothing Cdn frighten me.
SEM. Stubbornness.
The
disclaimer of danger designates precisely the place where fate will
strike (or rather: fate is the very thing being denied) (ACf. "Willto-die": 3: to acceptany risk) .

(i 13) TeU me you will cost my future, tlutt 1 will die in twomonths, tlutt 1 will be dmnned merely for hcMng It.i8Bed you." *ACT. "Will-to-die": i: predictive term (1 will die) in the form of**a provocation of fate.
ACf. "Declaration": 9: gift of life (purchase of the desired object) .

(iIi) He Iriaed her,kiss.

* ACf. "Amorous Outing": 3: to want to

LXXI. THE TRANSPOSED ICISSA second reading, the reading which places behind the transparency of suspense (placed on the text by the first avid andignorant reader) the anticipated knowledge of what is to comein the story, this further reading-unjustly condemned by thecommercial imperatives of our society, which compels us tosquander the book, to discard it as though it were deflowered,in order to buy a new one-this retrospective reading bestows
upon Sarrasine's kiss a precious enormity: Sarrasine passionately kisses a castrato (or a boy in drag); the castration is transposed onto Sarrasine's own body and we ourselves, second
readers, receive the shock. Thus it would be wrong to say that
if we undertake to reread the text we do so for some intellectual advantage (to understand better, to analyze on good
grounds) : it is actually and invariably for a ludic advantage; .t<>multiply the signifiers, not to reach some ultimate signified.
16 5

(i15 ) despite LeI ZambiMll4's efforts to resist this fJdBIionate embrtlCe.
ACf. "Amorous Outing": i: to resist.

*(iI6) "Tell me you are a devil, that you want my money, fff1
name, all my fame I Do you want me to give up being a sculptor?
Tea me."ACf. "Declaration": 10: gift of one's most precious
possession (Art).

*(iI7) "And if 1 were not a womanr' * HER. Enigma 6: disclosure, La Zambinella to Sarrasine.
The impossibilities ofloving which La Zambinella has heretofore alleged (400, 401, 4(4)were all of a psychological order. What is now advanced is a physical limit. There is a shift from the banal contestation of feelings
based on certain psychological attributes (You are ficlcle, 1 am demanding, excluded), each of which was nonetheless deemed a
sufficient motive for refusal when it was presented, to the radical
contestation of being (1 am not a woman): we will admit this isan unusual term in the banal "Declaration of love" sequence: aterm whose content is anomalous, scandalous, but whose form
(impossibility of loving) leaves the sequence all its readerliness(ACT. "Declaration": 11: physical impediment).

***(iI8) LeI ZambiMlla asked in a soft, Bilvery voice.
SEM. Femininity.
(Connoted) femininity denies its own (denoted) disclaimer, the sign is more powerful than the message, associatedmeaning than literal meaning (this will of course be seized uponby Sarrasine, great devourer of connotations as he is, who understands in a sentence not what it asserts but what it suggests)(HER. Enigma 6: snare, by La Zambinella, for Sarrasine).

**(i19) "Wlutt a ;okel" ScurasiM cried. "Do you think you can deceive an artist's eye?
ACT. "Declaration": 12: disclaimer of thedisclaimer.
REF. Anatomical knowledge of the realistic artist.
HER. Enigma 6: snare, by Sarrasine, for himself: aesthetic
proof: artists are infallible.

***

**

*

LXXII. AESTHETIC PROOF

To ensnare himself (a task up:m which he lavishes a vigilant
energy), Sarrasine employs' three enthymernes: narcissistic(1 love her, therefore she is d womtln), psychological
proof (women dre weak, lA Zmnbinelld is weak, etc.), andaesthetic proof (beauty is solely the province of womtln, thereTOre). These false syUogisms can unite and reinforce
their errors, can form a kind of sorites (or abridged syllogism) :beauty is feminine; only dn dTtist Cdn know beduty; I dm em
artist; therefore I know beduty cmd therefore I know woman,
etc. A "realistic" reader might ask Sarrasine why, even if it isto triumph over it in the end, he shows no surprise, no shockat his partner's incredible remark ("if I were not d woman?");why he immediately accepts an (ill-founded) rationalization
against this appeal, however timid, however interrogative, to"reality" (we have aheady noted that to suspect a sex is definitively to deny it). The answer is: because the "realistic" artist~ places "reality" at the origin of his discourse, but only
and always, as far back as can be traced, an already written real,ap~Ospective code, along which we discern, as far as the eyecali'see, only a succession of copies. In this case, the code isthat of plastic art: it is the code which sustains beauty andlove, as reSected in the Pygmalion myth, under whose authority Sarrasine is placed (No. 229). By immediately advancing
an artist's reason in refutation of La Zambinella's avowal, thesculptor is merely citing the supreme code, the basis for all
reality, which is art, whence Sow truths and facts alike: t!t.f::
artist is infallible not by the sureness of his performance (he is
Dot merely a good copyist of "reality") but by the authority of-his competence; it is he who knows the code, the origin, thebasis, and thus he becomes the guarantor, the witness, theauthor (duc(or) 9.Lrcality: he has the right to determine
the difference between the sexes, against the very protestation

proof

167

of the interested parties, who, confronted by the original andultimate authority of Art, live in the contingency of phe.
nomena.

(420) Haven't I I/Jenf ten dayr devouring, scrutinizing, tldmiring
your perfectionl * REF. Chronology (this datum is just about
exact: one evening at the theater, eight days on the sofa, then rightafterwards the duenna's rendezvous, the orgy, the outing). **Sarrasine defines the nature-or the origin-of his admiration for
La Zambinella in relation to a seme which has already been applied
to him (162), his taste for whittling, for kneading, for what, inorder to grasp the form of this action, we would have to call driU·
ing, the urge to pierce, a kind of endoscopic energy which, remov·
ing veils, garments, will probe the object for its internal essence.
To IICrUtiniu means, literally, to acaYat., to probe, to visit, toexplore: in scrutinizing La Zambinella (for ten days), Sarrasine has
exercised a triple function: neurotic, since he repeats a childhoodact (No. 162); aesthetic (i.e., for him, the basis of existence), since
the artist, and specifically the sculptor, authenticates the copy of
appearance by his knowledge of its interior, its undernuth; andlast, symbolic-or inevitable, or even: absurd-since this excavation
whose triumphant product (La ZambineUa's femininity) Sarna·sine reveals woul~ if carried further, definitively bring to light thenothing which constitutes the castrato, so that once this nothing
was discovered, the artist's very knowledge would be voided andthe statue destroyed (SEM. Whittling).

(421) Only a woman could Iutve thiI round, wft arm, thae ele·gant curves. * Aesthetic proof rests on an enthymeme with a false
premise (only women are bedUtful), since at least castrati can be
as beautiful (HER. Enigma 6: snare, by Sarrasine, for himself).

*(422) Oh, you want complinwnt8."
HER. Enigma 6: snare, bySarrasine, for himself (psychological proof: coquetry).
(423) She mailed at him ltIdly, and ramng her 'Ifi huvenward,

w mumwred: "FdtlIl buutyr' * Derived from a compler: pieta168

rial code, La Zambinella here achieves her final incarnation, or reveals her ultimate origin: t1.. MCidonruJ with RtriBed Eyes. This is a
powerful stereotype, a major element in the Code of Pathos (Raphael, EI Greco, Racine's Junie and Esther, etc.). The image issadistic (we understand it as giving rise to Samsine's dumb rGge
in No. 430): it describes the pure, pious, sublime, passive victim(Sade's Justine) whose eyes raised heavenward are saying quite
clearly: see what I will not see, do as you like with my body, I am
disinterested, pursue your interest (REF. Code of Pathos) .
(424) At tlurt moment her gdU hod an indacribable expression ofhorror, so powerful. and vivid tlurt Sammne shuddered.
SYM.
The curse, exclusion ("horror").
La Zambinella clearly reveals
to Sarrasine the essence of her condition, which is horror (thecurse, the mark) -through the kind of alethic hierarchy of signs inwhich sounds (a cry, an exclamation) are more trustworthy thanwords, aspect more than sounds, and expression (the nee plus ultraof sincerity) than aspect. Sarrasine receives the message: he shudders (led to the verge of truth); but he is distracted from the signified (from its formulation, hom its accession to language, whichis the only thing that wou1d count) by a sadistic impulse: the signifier (eyes raised heavenward) leads him not to the castrato's
truth but to his own, which is to destroy La Zambinella, whatever
her sex (HER. Enigma 6: disclosure, La Zambinella to Sarrasine).

***(425) "FrenchJTldn," she went on, "forget this moment of J'J'JIJdness forever.
ACf. "Declaration": 13: command to forget.

**(426) I respect you,Three meanings are mingled here: refusalof sex (in the Code of Love, respect is the euphemism which permits rejecting the partner's desire without in8icting too deep anarcissistic wound) ; sincerity (led on for the sake of fun into a trickat your expense, I have come to know you and respect you); prudence (when you learn the truth, without having lost everything,
you will forgo your violence and thus we will end this adventure at
the least cost to me). These meanings are possible, i.e., indiscernible (HER. Enigma 6: equivocation).
(427) but til for lewe, do not tIIIc it of me; tlurt feeling is maothered
in my heart. I have no heartr' Uae cried, weeping. "The It4ge wherelfi9

you SCIW me, that aPfJl4we, that music, that fame' cam condemnMJ
to, BUCh is my life,' httve no other.
La Zambinella reverts again
to the definition of being-castrated. By a euphemism alreadyemployed, the "heart" designates the very thing removed from thecastrato. A deficient creature, he is condemned to an exterior CI:istence, mutilated at his core, in his plenitude, in that unclemedthwhich, for Sarrasine, defines in one impulse art, truth, and life.
This definition draws its support (by citing it) from a cultural
code: the actor is condemned to exteriority (the tragedy of theclown, etc.) (SYM. Castrato's condition).

*( 428) 'n ca few hours )'Ou will not see me in the BdfM wei)', tit.
HER. "Machination": 10: anticipation of the end.
The woman will be dead: (1) because I
will die; (2) because you will no longer love me; (3) because thefalse envelope of femininity will fall away, etc. This ambivalence isbased on what we have called the metonymic falsehood: Woman
sometimes designates the total person, sometimes the sex, so~times the imaginary object created by a sentiment of love; the pretense consists in playing on relations of identity between the whole
and the parts (HER. Enigma 6: equivocation) .
WOmdn ),ou love will be detul."

**

*

*

(429) The sculptor rFItUk rw reply.
The speeches of the Declaration here involve a significant blank, since it is in this silent "answer" that Sarrasine's sadism is located (ACf. "Declaration": H:
to remain silent) .
(430) He WdS overcome with ca dumb r . which oppreued hi.
hecart. He could only gaze with enflmned, burning eyes CIt this extrdOrdinary WOmdn. Lt Zcambinella's wed voice, her rJ14nner, her
movements cand gestures mcarked with sorrow, meuJncholy, dJ1d discourcagement, awakened all the wedlth of fJdSSion in his soul. EClCh
word WdS a good.
This sadistic configuration has two purposes
here: on the one hand, for a short while, it allows the subject toignore the truth his partner is offering him and dispenses him from
responding to the rejection he has been given; on the other, it fulfills in the situation the seme of violence, aggressiveness, assigned
to Sarrasine at the outset; meaning shifts to action (SEM. Violence, excess) .

*(431) At that moment they retlChed FrdSCati. * ACT. "Amorous
outing": 5: to come to an end.
"Excursion": 5: to arrive at thedestination.

**(432) As the ttrtUt offered his mistress his arm to asrirt her inalighting, • ACT. "Amorous outing": 6: to assist in alightingfrom the carriage (corresponds to No. 393: to get into the same
carriage) .
(433) he felt her shiver.
"What is wrong? You would kill me," he cried, seeing her gTow
pale, "if , were even an innocent cause of your Ilightut unlulpf1iness.""A S1IdIte," she StJid, pointing to d gTdBI S1IdIte which WdS gliding
along d ditch. '" am afraid of those horrid cretJtureB." SdrrdSine
crushed the S1IdIte', hedd with his heel.
The episode of the snake
is the element of a proof (a fJrobdtio) whose enthymeme (albeit
defective) we know: Women are timid; La Zambinella is timid;
La Zambinella is a woman. The snake episode serves as a minor
exemplum (SEM. Pusillanimity, timidity).

*

LXXIII. THE SIGNIFIED AS CONCLUSION

The snake episode is both an exemplum (inductive weapon of
the old rhetoric) and a signifier (referring to a character seme
attached in this case to the castrato). In the classic system,
semantic proof is indistinguishable from a logical process: one
must simultaneously work up from signifier to signified andwork down from the example to the generality that can be
induced from it. Between the signifier (to be frightened of amake) and the signified (to be impressionable as a woman)
there is the same distance as between an endoxal premise(timid people are afraid of snakes) and its abridged conclusion (La Zambinella is timid). Semic space is g!ued to her~~~tic. s.Fce: the point is always -to"lociteinthe"perspective
17 1

of the classic text a profound or final truth (the profound iswhat is discovered at the end) .
_. --.-----.. - -(Hi) "How Cdn )'ou be so brave?" La 'Ltrnbinelld continued,
looking with visible horror at the dedd ref:1tile. * SEM. ''Timidity." Timidity permits a recurrence of "protection," an alibi of love"minus sex."(435) "Ala," the artist replied, mUling, "now do )'ou dttre den)' ),OU
are d WOmdW'
The form of the sentence "Do )IOu dtue deny"attests the arrogant triumph of a fact. But this fact is merely theoonclusion of a defective enthymeme (You are timid, therefore you
are a woman) (HER. Enigma 6: snare, by Sarrasine, for himself:
psychological proof of femininity) .

*(436) They rejoined their companio,., dM BtroUed through thewoods of the V il1d Ludovisi, which in those days belonged to Cdrdirud CicogncJrd. * ACT. "Excursion": 6: to stroll in the woods.
Strictly speaking, the allusion to Cardinal Cicognara is insignificant(has no functional importance); however, in addition to introducing an effect of reality, it enables the name of La Zambinella's protector and Sarrasine's murderer to be reintroduced: this is !~"glue" of the readerly .

.-~---------?-(437) TIuJt morning fled too quicld)' fOr the eRdmored sculptor, •REF. Love and Time Passing.
( 438) but it WdB filled with d host of incidents which revealed tohim the coquetry, the wettknea, tmd the "'ictlC)' of tlail wit dM
enervated being. • SEM. Pusillanimity, Femininity.

(439) This WdB WOmdn herself, with her sudden f8tlT8, her irrdtiorud whims, her instinctive worries, her impetuous boldness, her(uBBings, dnd her delicious sensibility . • SEM. Femininity. The
source of the sentence cannot be discerned. Who is speaking? Is it
Sarrasine? the narrator? the author? Balzac-the-author? Balzac-the-

man? romanticism? bourgeoisie? universal wisdom? The intersecting of all these origins creates the writing.

(+to) It ~d that as they were wcmdering in the open countryside, the little group of merry singer. BCIW in the distdnce someheavily tJTTned men whow rRdnneT of dr888 WclS ftIT from red8BUring.
Someone said, "They must be highwaymen," ttnd everyone quicleened his fJdce towtITd the refuge of the Czrdindl'. grounds. At thiscritictll moment, &marine BCIW from LA ZtITnbinellti. ptJIlor tIutt
she no longer IuuJ the rtrength to walle; he toole her up in his tJrmIand ctlTried her for d while, running. When he CdJne to d nurby
tlTbor, he put her down.
The episode of the highwaymen is an
exemplum (SEM. PusilJanimity, Timidity, Femininity).

*

LXXIV. TIlE MASTERY OF MEANINC

A cla~~~~~ti.ve always ~ves t~_~_ i~'p.~~~on.:.. ~_~.!!tho~first conceives the signified (or the generality) and then finds~i~ according to the" chance of his imagination, "good" signifiers, probative examples; the classic author is like an artisan
bent over the workbench of meaning and selecting the best
apresl1ions for the concept he has already formed. For instance, timidity: one selects the sound of a champagne cork, astory of a snake, a story of highwaymen. However, the signifying imagination is even more profitable if it fills a double function; it then endeavors to produce doubly articulated signs,
committed to that solidarity of notations which defines thereaderly; for instance, impiety: one could be content to represent the subject playing games in church, but it is a greater art
to link impiety to the child's vocation (by showing Sarrasine
whittling licentious pieces during Mass) or to contrast it withLa Zambinella's superstition (which makes Sanasine laugh);for sculpture and pusillanimity belong to different nanative
networks, and the closer and better calculated the anastomosis173

of the signifiers, the more the text is regarded as "well written." In the old rhetoric, the choice of exempld and demonstrative premises constituted a vast department: inventio:
beginning with the very end of the demonstration (what one
wished to prove), one endeavored to marshal arguments anddirect them appropriately; certain rules helped in doing so(notably the topic). Similarly, the classic author becomes aperfonner at the moment he evidences his power of conducing
meaning (a marvelously ambiguous, semantic, and directionalverb). Indeed, i_t is the dir~ct#on of ~eaning which detennines
the two major management functions" of the cla'ssK:- text:-tbcduthor is always supposed to go from signified to signifier,from content to fonn, from idea to text, from passion to expression; and, in contrast, the critic goes in the other direction,
works back from signifiers to signified. The mtlBtery of medning, a veritable semiurgism, is a divine attribute, once thismeaning is defined as the discharge, the emanation, the spiritual efBuvium overflowing from the signified toward the signifier:_!h~duth'!.r is a god (his place of o~_n.~""!!te_~_~fiedJ;
as for the critic, he is~e-pri~t whQ~J~~k~tQJ:lCcipher.th~_
Writing of the god.

(441) "Explain to mil," he Iltlid, "how this extremll weakness,
which I would find hideous in dny other wornctn, which would displedse mil and whose slighten indicdtion would be almost enoughto choice my love, pleases dnd channs me in you? From the sym-*

bolic point of view, it is now the subject's tum to advancein avowal; he attempts to define that thing he loves in La Zal!lbi:._nella, and that thing is deficiency, n~!I:1Je:iri&,Cas~.tion~~~~e-_less, however far Sarrasine goes in this kind of self-analysis, hepersists in misleading himself by continuing to employ a languageof double understanding: for if the extremity of weakness is thesuperlative tenn of a hierarchy, pusillanimity connotes a superlative woman, a reinforced essence, a Super-Woman; if, on the otherband, extremity is defined as the lowest depth, it designates, in theambinellian body, its center, which is absence. These are, in asense, the two extremities that are superimposed, or that set up aninterference, in Sarrasine's statement: social language, saturated
with prejudices, endoXlli, syllogisms, cultural references (this language infallibly decides in favor of La Zambinella's femininity),and symbolic language, which persists in stating the agreement between Sarrasine and castration (SYM. Desire for Castration) .

(442) Ah, how IloWl you," he went on. "All your faults, your terrors, your resentments, tJdd tin inclefiruJble tltJCe to your soul.
Deficiency (faults, terrors, resentments, all the characteristic products of castration lis a supplement by which La Zambinella differs:(I) hom other women (snare of Sarrasine based on an origiTUllity
in La Zambinella), (2) hom women (truth of Sarrasine who loves*

the castrato in La Zambinella) (SYM. Supplement of deficiency).

(443) 1 tmnJc 1 would detest tI strong womtln, tI StJppho, tI courq,eous cretlture fuU of energy tlnd fXUJlrion. * Sarrasine could hardly
idenJ!!r. m~re clearly the woman he fears: tJie- Castiatirtg woman,~ned~y the "Inveited-pTacesDtnx:cupies-onlJi-e-:-sexua)'axi$"'CtIrij)pho). We recall that the texflw'aIrea:dy presented several
images of this active woman: Mme de Lanty, the young woman
the narrator loves, and substitutively Bouchardon, a possessive
mother who has kept her child sequestered from scx. Now, if
destiny is indeed that precise and "designated" action which causes
two extICtly opposite events suddenly to overlap and become identified, Sarrasine here states his destiny (or what is fdttJl in his adventure): for in order to See Sappho, the castrating woman, he seeks
refuge with the castrated being whose very deficiency reassures him;
however, this being.willlay hands on him more certainly than theredoubtable Sappho, and will drag him into its own emptiness:
it is for having Sed castration that Sarrasine will be castrated: thus
!be6gure faIriiliaihom dream and story'is fulfilled: to seek refu&ein the arms of the murderer who is seeking you (SYM. Fear of
castration) .

*(+H) Oh, soft, frctil cretJture, how could you be otherwise?
La
Zambinella's difference (that deficiency which is an absolutely precious supplement, since it is the very essence of the adorable) is
175

necessary: everything is justified, both the castrato and desire far
the castrato (SYM. Inevitability of castration).

tIRO""'.

(+4S) Tlutt tmgclic voice, thdt delic4U voice would be em
coming from tDrf body but )'oun." * The diJference, an essential"
adorable diHerence, is here given a specific site: the body. If Surasine were reading what he says, he could no longer pretend his
pleasure in the castrato was a mistake or a sublimation; he himself
formulates the truth, the truth of the enigma, of La Zambinella, ofhimself. The symbolic terms are here restated in their proper order:
to public opinion, to mythic language, to the cultural code uncia
which the castrato is a count.,-feit of woman and the pleasure be
can create an anomtlly, Samsine replies that the union of the adorable voice and the castrated body is right: the body produces thevoice and the voice justifies the body; ~() love La ~~~_i!l~~voice, as it is, is to love the body from which it proceeds, as it is(SYM. Love of the c a s t r a t o ) . - .--~-(+16) "I Cdnnot give)'ou tin)' hope," .he 1tIid.
tion": IS: command to give up.

* ACf. "Declam-( .....7) "Stop ~ng to me in tlail wCI)', * "Declaration": 16:
command to be silent.

*(.....8) becauIe they will mIlIee d fool of )'OU. HER. "Machination": 11: equivocation. La Zambinella's warning is equivocal: on
the one band she refers to the true purpose of the plot, laughter,and on the other she speaks of a risk, whereas the damage has already been done.
(+f9 ) 1 ClJnnot Itop )'ou from coming to the thettter; but if )'ou low
me or if )'ou are wile, )'ou will come tM' no mor..
ACf~ "Declaration": 17: final dismissal.

*

LXXV. THE DECLARATION OF LOVEThe declaration of love (a banal, tIlrettdy written sequence, if
ever there was one) merely alternates an assertion (1Io'Ve you)176

and a disclaimer (do not love me); fonnally, therefore, it isboth subject to variation (in the musical sense) and infinite.
Variation results from the poverty of terms (there are onlytwo), which requires finding for each of them a whole list ofdifferent signifiers; here these signifiers are redSORS (to love or
to reject); however, in other cases (in lyric poetry, for exampie) they can be metaphorical substitutes. Only a historicalinventory of the forms of the language of love could exploit
these variations and reveal to us the meaning of "Parlez-moi
d'amour," whether this meaning has evolved, etc. Infinitude,
on the other hand, results from repetition: repetition is, very
precisely, the fact that there is no reason to stop. By these two
characteristics (variation and infinitude) we already see thatthe declaration of love (accepted or rejected) is a contestantdiscourse, like the "scene" (LXIV): two languages with diff~t_ va~hi_ng points (metaphorical perspectives l are placed!J!a~~Jo pack; all they have in common is their participation in
the same paradigm, that of ya/no, which is ultimately thepure form of any paradigm, so that the contestation (or thedeclaration) appears as a kind of obsessive game of meaning,
a litany, comparable to the child's game of alternatives inFreud, or to the game of the Hindu god who eternally alternates the creation and destruction of the world, thereby making that world, our world, a mere plaything, and the repeateddifference the game itself, meaning as a superior game.

(450) Listen, monsieur," she said in a low voice.
Enigma 6: disclosure, imminent and delayed.

** HER.

(451) "Oh, be rtiU," the irn.ptJmoned fITtiat Bdid.
The namingof the castrato has been interrupted (for that is what La Zambinella was 6nally prepared to do, in a low 'Voice) (SYM. Taboo on
the word castrato).
HER. Enigma 6: snare, by Sarrasine, for

**

177

himself. The subject's vital interest is not ~o hear the truth, just.
the vital interest of the discourse is to contiDue"'to"siupend-HiC
answer to the enigma.
--

LXXVI. CHARACTER AND DISCOURSE

Sarrasine interrupts La Zambinella and thereby arrests the a~pearance of the truth. If we have a realistic view Qf cMrcJCter,if we believe that Sarrasine has a life off the page, we WlUlookfor motives for this interruption (enthusiasm, unconscious
denial of the truth, etc.). If we have a realistic v!,~ ~~_~
course, if we consider the story being told as a mechanism
WlUcli- must function until the end, we will say that since thelaw of narrative decrees that it continue, it was necessary thatthe word C4Strclto not be spoken. Now these two views, a!though derived from different likelihoods and in principle independent (even opposed), support each other: a commo~
sentence is produced which unexpectedly contains elementso!
various languages: Sarrasine is impassioned because .the discourse must not end; the discourse can continue because Sar·
rasine, impassioned, talks without listening. ~th circuits 3:renecessarily undecidable. ,~ narrative writing is of t!I~ v~~ndecidability. From a critical point of view, therefore, it is as
wrong to suppress the character as it is to take him off thepage in order to tum him into a psychological character (endowed with possible motives): the cMrcJCter and the discourse
are each other's accomplices: the discourse-creates inth~~h~r­
acter its own accomplice: a form of theurgical detachment bywhich, mythically, God has given himself a subject, man ahelpmate, etc., whose relative independence, once they havebeen created, allows for pUtying. Such is discourse: if it createscharacters, it is not to make them play among themselves178before us but to play with them, to obtain from them a complicity which assures the uninterrupted exchange of the codes:
the characters are types of discourse and, conversely, the discourse is a character like the others.

(.52) "Obsttlcla f114Ite my love more ardent."of passion.

* REF. Dynamics(.53) L4 Zambinelld' B graceful and modest attitutJ. did not
cIumge, but she f.zl silent fIB though a terribr. thought Iuu1 reYe4led
lOme misfortune to her.
misfortune.

* ACf. "Danger": 6: premonition of(is.) When it came time to return to Rome, she got into thefour-seated COtlCh, ordering the BCUlptor with imperious cruelty to
rft1lrn to Rome alone in the cdrTi4ge.
ACf. "Excursion": 7:
return.
ACf. "Amorous Outing": 7: separate return.

***(i55) During the journey, Sarrosine resolved to ltidnap L4 ZambiMild. He spent the entire day f114Iting pldns, eoch more outrageous
tlum the other. * REF. Chronology: the excursion and the kidnapping are separated by one day (however, a mere period sepa-

rates the "Excursion" from the "Kidnapping"). ** ACf. "Kidnapping": I: decision and plans.

(.56) At nightfall, fIB he "'dB going out to inquire where his mistress', fMl4zzo "'fIB located, ACf. "Kidnapping": 2: preliminary*

information.

(i57) he met one of his friends on the threshold.
"My dear felluw," he Bttid, "our ambCIBsddor hCIB asJced me toinvite you to his house tonight. He is giving a nutgnificent concert,ACf. "Concert": I: invitation.

*

I

I'

*

(.58) and when I tell you tlutt Zambinella will be there"
I~Wan normally calls for the article before a proper name. Thisrule, elsewhere insignificant, here has consequences of a hermeneu179

tic order, owing to the enigma of Zambinella's sex: for a Freoc:k~and English reader, the article (u.) emphasizes the feminine af~
the name it precedes (it is a common way of establishing the faai.~
ninity of transvestites), and the discoune, with an eye to ~]porting the sexual pretense of which Sarruine is the victim, _'~heretofore (with one or two exceptions) stated: La ZambineDL :Any loss of the article therefore has a hermeneutic deroding fuuo. .
tion, shifting the soprano from feminine to masculine ~Btll4). Whence a considerable play on this article, present or :absent according to the speaker's situation in relation to the c-. 'trato's secret. Here Sarrasine's friend, aware of Roman customs an4
speaking French to a French person, defeminizes the singer (HEll
Enigma 6: decipherment, common knowledge to Sarrasine).

("59) "Zdmbinelld," cried StaT. . ., int~ by tM 1IdIIII,"rm rI'UId about ,.,.'"*"You',. like everyone ""'," hiI frimd replied.
When Samsine repeats Zambinella's name without the article, he does so withan entirely di&erent inftection; 6rst: from the viewpoint of veris~
itude (that is, a certain psychological congruence of data), Sarrasine, with a poor knowledge of Italian (as the chronological code
has informed us) grants no pertinence to the article's presence orabsence; in addition, from the stylistic viewpoint, the ex!!~lJ!.Ijim
point puts the name at "degree zno," for it appears '&re in ib
essence, anterior to any morphological treatment "(this was ear1ic:f
the case with the shout by which acclaim, in No. 205, informed
Sarrasine of La Zambinella's existence). His friend's word info~
Sarrasine of the artist's masculinity no more than the masculine- hehimself employs signi6es the least awamle5S on hiS part of Zam:binella's secret (HER. Enigma 6: snare, by Sarrasine, for himself).
The two lines of dialogue ( .. 58 and "59) establish a further
ambivalence in the discoune: the friend is aesthetically mad about
Zambinella; Sarrasine is erotically mad about La Zambinella(HER. Enigma 6: equivocation).

**(-460) "If you me my friends, you, Vim, lAumbour& dnd AlJ.grain. will you help me do .omething afkr the partyr' Sm1(";'"
tIIud.
"It', not lOme CtlTdinol to ". JOD.d? .. not ... r'

180

"No, no," &marine Itlid, ''fm not dSlting you to do anything an
Iwnat person couldn't 00." * ACT. "Kidnapping": 3: recruitiog
ICCOmplices. ** By copying later on, as Adoois, the statue of La
Zambinella, Vien, introduced here, will ensure the continuity of
the chain of duplication (SYM. Replication of bodies).
(461) In a ahort time, tit. BCulptor Iuu1 4mmged ewrything for
the BUCCe8S of his uruJ.rtalting.
ACT. "Kidnapping": 4: anange·mentsmade.

*( 462) He WCII one of til. la6t to tJr1'iw at tit. ambaIIador'I, *ACT. "Concert": 2: to arrive late. In a banal sequence (to go to a
coocert) this equally banal term (to arrive ~t~) call have i~ense~rative force: .is it not because he arrives late at the Princess deCUennaotcs's concert thiat Proust's narrator is vouchsafed the reminisCences 00 which the work is based?
.

LXXVlI. THE READERLY II:

DETERMINED/DETERMINANT

We have discussed the law of solidarity which governs theladerly: everything holds together, everything must hold together as well as possible (LXVI). Vien is both Sarrasine's
accomplice and his heir (he will transmit La Zambine1la's
image to posterity); these two functions are separated in thesequence of the discourse, so that on the one hand Vim seems
to appear in the story for the first time by pure contingency,
without our knowing at the time whether he will "re-serve"some purpose (Vien's syntagmatic companions, Lauterbourgand Allegrain, no sooner brought into the discourse, disappear
from it forever), and on the other hand, reappearing later on(No. 516) to copy the statue of La Zambinella, Vien is thenrecogniud, a recognition which must afford logical satisfaction: is it not fitting that Vien copy the statue Samsine hascreated. since he was his friend? The moral law, the law ofvalue of the readerly, is to fill in the chains of causality; forthus each determinant must be, insofar as possible, deter181

mined, so that every notation is intermediary, doubly orient~caught up in an ultimate progression: the old man's deafness
determines the nanator to let it be known that he knows his
identity (No. 70), but the deafness itself is determined by his
great age. So here: Sarrasine arrives late at the amb~~daOconcert: this is explained (preparation for the kidI\app~nLhas
been time-consuming) and it expldins: Zambinella is alreadysinging, she will falter in public, Cicognara will notice it a~issue the order to have her watched and then to have Sanasi~
murdered. Sarrasine's lateness therefore is a crossroad ~~rm:
determined and determinant, it allows for a nttturtd anasto:mosis between the Kidnapping and the Murder. This is thenarrative fabric: seemingly subject to the discontinuity of messages, each of which, when it comes into play, is received as auseless supplement (whose very gratuitousness serves to authenticate the fiction by what we have called the retllity effect), but is in fact saturated with pseudo-logical links, relays.
doubly oriented terms: in short, it is ccdcul4tion which effects
the plenitude of this literature: here dissemination is not the
random scattering of meanings toward the infinity of the language but a simple-temporary-suspension of aHinitive, already magnetized elements, before they are summoned together to take their place, economically, in the same fJdClcage.

(463) but he had come in a traveling carrittge clrtlWn by POwerfulhorses and driven by one of the most entnprising vetturini ofRome. * ACT. "Kidnapping": 5: rapid means of escape. . .
REF. I talianness (vetturini).

*(464) The ambdssddor's polQ%ZD was crowded; ACT. "Concert": 3: large audience. . . SEM. Star (the crowd is an index of
LI ZambinelJa's popularity; this popularity is functional, since itwill justify the soprano's and consequently the Lantys' immense
fortune.

(165) not without some difficulty, the sculptor, who WdB d rtrdnger
to everyone present, lTIdde his wei)' to the Idlon where Zcambindl4
Wd8 singing cat thcat very moment.
ACf. "Concert": i: to reachthe music room. It takes Sanasine some time to reach the salon,
not only beC4USe there is a crowd; it is so thcat, retroactively, it canbe stated that Zambinella is famous.
REF. Chronology. Sarrasine is a stranger to those present becaUse he has not been in Romevery long (basis for his ignorance): "everything holds together."
In its tum, after Sanasine's friend, the discourse adopts the
masculine, even though the truth has hot yet been revealed either
to Sarrasine or to the reader; in fact, the (realistic) discourse adheres mythically to an expressive function: it pretends to believe intheprior existence of a referent (a reality) that it must register,
copy; communicate; now, at this point in the story, the referent,te~:·the soprano, is already bodily before the eyes of the discourse:
the discourse is in the salon, it already sees La Zambinel1a dressed as
alDan: it would be carrying the lie a moment too far to continue
to-refer to a character in the feminine (HER. Enigma 6: decipherment, discourse to the reader) .

*

**

***

(i66) "Is it out of consideration for the C4rdiruds, bishops, dnd
cabbes present," SmrcaBine dBked, "that she is dressed liJce d lTI4n,
thcat she is wedTing d snood, kinky hlIir, and d sword?" Theenigma of La Zambinella is situated wholly between two modes ofdress: as a woman (No. 323) and as man (here). Clothing appears(or would appear) to be the peremptory proof of sex: yet Sarrasine,
determined to preserve his snare at any cost, hopes to destroy factby disputing motivation (HER. Enigma 6: snare, by Sanasine, forhimself).
From now on, La Zambinel1a's femininity is "cited"(she): it would seem that no one can assume it any longer. However, the origin of this citation is enigmatic: is the discourse italicizing it? Is Sarrasine emphasizing it in speaking the pronoun?
(HER. Enigma 6: decipherment). *** "l(jnky hair"; this is a"realistic" detail. not because it is precise, but because it evokes
the image of a Neapolitan rcJt,dUO and because this image, in conformity with the historical code of c:astrati, helps to unmask theboy, decipher the enigma, more surely than the sword or mode ofdress (HER. Enigma 6: decipherment, and REF. Historical codeof castrati) .

***(167) "She? Whdt sher' tlB1ced the old noblnum to whom s.,dline IuJd been Bf'e4lcing. "IA 'Ltmbinelld." "IA 'Ltmbinelldr' , .
Roman prince repu.d. "Ar, ),ou jolting?
HER. Enigma 6: disclosure, by the collectivity, to Sarrasine. The disclosure occurs '"means of a kind of excbmatory and interrogatory agitation of thesnare; however, since the snare concerns sex, every contestation isalternative and immediately discloses the other term.

**(i68) Where are ),OU from?
Every chronological reference
tended to persuade us, "objectively," that Sarrasine's Italian experience was of short dwation; this chronological line culminates here
in a diegetic function: Sarrasme's innocence explains the snare inwhich he has lived and from which the elderly Prince Chigi isawakening him (HER. Enigma 6: disclosure: indirect expbnatioDof the snare) .
(469) HdB there ever been d woman on the Roman rtdge? And
don't )'OU 1cnow dbout the creatura who sing fmude ,ala in tM
PcJfNIl StIIta? HER. Enigma 6: disclosure (although euphemis-*

tic, stated in generalities, and without the word being spoken, thetruth could not be better put: ZambincUa is a castrato). ** REF.
History of music in the Papal States.

LXXVID. TO DIE OF IGNORANCE

Resumes of common knowledge, the cultural codes provide
the syllogisms iia the narrative (there are many, as we haveseen) with their major premise, based always on public 0P~I!­
ion ("probable." as the old logic said), on an endoxal buth, in~hort, on the discourse ~f othen. SamiSine;-whohas persisted
in proving to himself La Zambinella's false femininity by theseenthymemes, will die because of an inaccurate and inconclusive reasoning: it is from the discourse of others! ~om its s~~~Buity of reasons that he dies. !Jut it (~_~ -mY~!KJy a~4complementarily, a defect in this discou.r~ whidl.kill£.him: all
the cultural codes, taken up from citation to ~i~t:i~n-,-_!C?gether

184form an oddly joined miniature version of encyclopedic knowl~, a fairago:·'tl1iS- farrago forms tbe everyday "reality" in
relation to which the subject adapts himself, lives. gne defectin this encyclopedia, one hole in this cultural fabric, and death~~:result. Ignorant orthe code of Paparcus~C?~s. -·Sam~ige~~ ~!.'?~ a gap in knowledge ("Don't you know.,").lNm~_~lank in the discourse of others. ,It is significant that this
discourse finally succeeds (too late, but it would always havebeen too late) in reaching Sarrasine through the voice of anold, "realistic" (didn't he try to realize a good investment withhis ragauo's voice?) courtier, a spokesman for that vital knowledge on which "reality" is based. What is ha~hly contrasted
to the complex constructions of the symbol (which have taken
up-the entire story), what is rightfully called upon to triumphover them, is social truth, the code of institutions-the principle of reality.

(+70) I crm the one, monsieur, who gave Zmnbinell4 his YOke. I

fJtIid for everything thttt BCd"." ever hdd, even hiB singing te«her.
WeU, he Iuu so litt~ grdtiwde for the service I rendered him thtlt
he lUll never consented to set foot in my howe . • Evoking theboy instead of the woman or the castrato, thtlt flCdmp reestablishes(if only fteetingly) a normal-if one can use the word-axis of thesexes (garbled throughout the story by the castrato's uncertain situation, sometimes the essence of femininity, sometimes the disclaimer of all sexuality) (SYM. Axis of the sexes) . . . SYM. Before castration.

LXXIX. BEFORE CASTRATION

Beyond denoting the truth, Chigi's little speech is fatal in twoother ways, according to the images it releases. First, it denominates the boy in Zambinella, forces Sarrasine to retreat fromthe superlative Woman to the scamp (the Neapolitan boy
185with kinky hair): he produces in the subject what we mightcall a paradigmatic fall: two diametrically opposed tenns (DBthe one hand the Super-Woman, end and foundation of Art.
and on the other a dirty, tattered Neapolitan streP.t: boy) am
suddenly brought together in one person: the imfJOSSible co.
junction (to use Machiavelli's phrase) occurs; meaning, statutorily based on difference, is abolished: there is no more meaning, and this subversion is fatal. Further, by evoking the timeprior to Zambinella's castration (this is not speculation on ourpart but merely a development of the connotation), Chigi ~leases a scene, a whole little anterior novel: the rctgeJUO taken
in and kept by the old man who takes charge of both his operation (I paid for everything) and his education, the ingratitudeof the protege on his way to stardom, cynically taking a richer,more powerful, and visibly more amorous protector (the Cardinal). The image clearly has a sadistic function: it forces Sarmine to read his beloved as a boy (the only touch of pederasty
in the entire story); it vulgarizes castration, situated as a perfectly real surgical operation (dated, endowed with a before
and an after); last, it exposes Chigi as the literal castrator (theone who paid for the operation); now it is this same Chigi who
leads Sarrasine to castration and death through the insignificant froth of his prattle: a colorless mediator, lacking symbolic
scale, engulfed in contingency, a self-assured upholder of theendoxal Law, but one who, precisely because situated outside
meaning, is the very figure of "fate." Th~ ~ !h~~ive
function of chatter (Proust and James would say: gossip), theeSsence of the discourse of others, and thereby the ·deadliest
language i m a g i n a b l e . -*(HI) And yet, if he makes a fortune, he wiD owe it all to ",."In a hypothetical fonn, ZambineIla's enonnous success is predicted. We must here recall that in the eightccoth century a ca.

186

bato could occupy the position and amass the fortune of a greatinternational star. Caffarelli bought a duchy (San Donato), became a dulce, and built himself a magnificent palace. Farinelli ("II"¥fIUo") left England (where he had triumphed over Handel)
covered with gold; proceeding to Spain, he cured the mystic lethargy of Philip V by singing to him daily (moreover, always thesame song); and for ten years received from the King an annual
pension of 14 million old francs; discharged by Charles III, hebuilt himself a superb palace in Bologna. These facts show thefortune possible for a successful castrato like La Zambinella: theoperation paid for by old Chigi could be profitable, and in alluding to this kind of quite financial interest (aside from the fact thatmoney is never symbolically neuter), the discourse connects theLanty fortune (the initial theme in a chain of enigmas and the"subject" of this "scene from Parisian Life") to a sordid origin: acastration operation, paid for by a Roman prince (for profit or
debauch), perfonned on a young Neapolitan boy who later "threw
him over" (SEM. Star).

("72) Prince Chigi mtty well Iutve gone on tdlking for some time;
StmdSine Wdl not listening to him. A horrid truth htJd crept into his
aoul. It Wdl tIS though he 1uu1 been rtruck by lightning. He stood
HER. Enigma 6: disclosure confinned.
motionless, his eyes fixed
The complete disclosure is accomplished in three stages: (1) agitation of the snare, (2) explanation, (3) its effect.

*

LXXX. DENOUEMENT AND DISCLOSURE

In what Brecht calls dramatic theater, there is a passionate interest in the denouement; in epic theater, in the development.
Sarrasine is a drama tic story (what will happen to the hero? howWill he "end up"?), but the denouement is compromised ina disclosure: what happens, what constitutes the denouement,is the truth. This truth can have different names, according tolikelihoods (critical pertinences): for the anecdote, the truth
is a referent (a real object) : Zt2mbinelUt is d CdStrdto. For psy-18,

chology, it is a misfortune: I have lcwed d CdStrato. For tile
symbol, it is an enlightenment: in ZmnbinelUt, it is the _tredo whom I lutve loved. For the narrative, it is a predictioa:!
lutving been touched by CdStration, I must die. In any ev~:
truth is the predicate at last discovered, the subject at last pmoj
vided with its complement; since the character, if we grasped it:
merely on the level of the story's development, i.e., from _epic viewpoint, would always appear incomplete, unsaturated.
a subject wandering in search of its final predicate: nothing isshown during this wandering but snares, mistakes: the enigma
is this predicative lack; disclosing, the discourse completes thelogical formula and it is this recovered plenitude which affords
the denouement of the drama: the subject must ultimatdJ
be supplied with (own) an attribute, and the mother cell 01
the entire Occident (subject and predicate) must be saturated.
This temporary wandering of the predicate can be describal
in terms of a game. The draIOatic narrative is a &.1Ull~.w!th ~players: the snare and the truth. At first a tremendous indetermination rules their encounters, the wandering is wide of themark; gradually, however, the two networks move closer together, co-penetrate, determination is completed and with it
the subject; disclosure is then the final stroke by which theinitial "probable" shifts to the "necessary": the game is ended,
the drama has its denouement, the subject correctly "predicated" (fixed): the discourse can do nothing more than faRsilent. Contrary to what occurs in the epic work (as Brecht
conceived it), nothing Iuu; been shown (offered an immediate
critique by the reader) : what is shown is shown in on~ stroke,
and at the end: it is the end which is shown.

*(473) on the fol8e linger.
Enigmatic fonnulation (hi prhendu
cMnteur); we would expect instead the feminine (ld pretendua

188

chanteuse), for in Ut Zambinella, it is not the singing which isfalse but the sex, and since the sex here is masculine (the only
gender the language possesses for castrato (Ie CdStrat), it cannot
be "false"; but perhaps it is Zambinella's entire person which isaffected by pretension, falseness, imposture, whatever his appearance; in order for this appearance not to be "false," Ut Zambinella
would have to be dressed as a castrato, a costume that Papal society
had not provided for (HER. Enigma 6: disclosure).
(174) His fiery gcue exerted d sort of m4grwtic influence on Zcunbinelld,
ACf. "Incident" (at a concert, a perfonnance): 1:
gaining the attention of the artist on stage.

**(475) for the musico (intllly tumed to look at SttrrCJBine, ACT.
"Incident": 2: attention gained. ** REF. ltalianness (henceforth the discourse no longer refers to Zambinella in the feminine) .
("76) CJnd at that moment his hedVenly voice fCJlUTed. He trembledl
ACf. "Incident": 3: artist's difficulty. ** ACf. "Danger" (for Ut Zambinella) : 7: reaction of fright.

*("77) An involuntary mumwr esctlf'in& from the dUdience he had

kept han&in& on his lips completed his discomfiture; * ACT. "Incident": .. : collective discomfiture.

*("78) he B4t down dnd cut short his cnieJ.
ACT. "Incident": 5:interruption of the song, of the performance.

("79) Cmdintll CicognmQ., who held glanced out the COrMr of his
eye to see what held attracted his prot~ge', attention, then saw the
FrenchmCJn: ACT. "Murder": 2: indication of the victim. The"~.J!~.r" sequence develops on the basis of the Concert Incident,~j~~ ~ thereby justified functionally: without the incident (whicni~lf is due to Sarrasine's delay), ~~ would be no greeting for
Zambinella, no murder for Sarrasine.

*("SO) he le4ned over to one of his ecclesi4sticCJl tJide,-de~mp CJnd
dppetued to be dBkin& the sculptor" Mme.
ACT. "Murder": 5:request for infonnation.

*

( '181) Having obtllined the cmswer he sought,
4: infonnation received.

* ACf. "Munier":( 482) he regarded the artist with grut dttention
der": 5: evaluation and interior decision.

* ACf. "Mur-(483) dnd gave dn order to dn dbW, who quiclcly ~ed.•ACf. "Murder": 6: secret order. This portion of the sequence has
a semie as well as an operative function: it establishes a "shadowy"
atmosphere (oa:ult power of the Church, forbidden loves, secretorders, etc.), the very one which, ironically, Sarrasine had bcea
disappointed not to find when confronted with a carousing theater
party instead of a lover's tryst (No. 316).
(484) During this time, ZdmbinslUJ, having recovered himself.
ACf. "Incident": 6: to recover oneself.

(485) once more begdn the piece
mence singing.

** ACf. "Incident": 7: recom-(486) he IuJd so cdpriciously interrupted;* SEM. Star.

LXXXI. VOICE OF THE PERSONThe end approaches, the end of our transcription as well. We
must therefore reexamine one by one each of the Voices (eachof the codes) whose grid has formed the text. Here is one ofthe very last semes. What is it then that we have learned fromthe inventory of these semes? The seme (or the signi6ed ofconnotation, strictly speaking) is a connotator of persons,places. objects, of which the signi6ed is a CMrdcter. Characteris an adjective, an attribute, a predicate (for example:
raI, slutdowy, star, composite, excessive, impious, etc.). Even
though the connotation may be clear, the nomination of its
signi6ed is uncertain, approximative, unstable: to fasten a nameunnttfu:190

to this signified depends in large part on the critical pertinence
to which we adhere: the seme is only a departure, an avenue of

meaning. These avenues can be arranged to fonn various landscapes: these are thematics (we have done no such arranging
here, we have only given a list of these characters, without putting them in any particular order). If we set aside the semesof objects or atmospheres, actually rather rare (here, at least),
what is constant is that the seme is linked to an ideology of theperson (to inventory the semes in a classic text is therefore
merely fO observe this ideology): the person is no more than a.
collection of semes (inversely, however, semes can migrate
110m one figure in the text to another, if we descend to a certain symbolic depth, where there is no longer any respect of
persons: Sarrasine and the narrator have semes in common).
Thus, from a classic viewpoint (more psychological than symbolic), S~rrasine is the sum, the point of convergence, of: tur-bulence, artistic gift, independence, excess, femininity, ugliness, composite nature, impiety, love of whittling, will, etc.).
\vba! gives the illusion that the sum is supplemented by a precious remainder (something like individtuJlity, in that, qualitative and ineffable, it may escape the vulgar booklceepin..g Qf~~positional characters) is the Proper Name, the differencecompleted by what is proper to it. The proper name enables
the person to exist outside the semes, whose sum nonethelessconstitutes it entirely. As soon as a Name exists (even a pronoun) to Row toward and fasten onto, the semes become pred~.~es, inductors of truth. and the Name becomes a subjec.t: we
can say that what is proper to narrative is not action but thec.haracter as Proper Name: the senUc raw material (corresponding to a certain moment of our history of the narrative) completes what is proper to being, fills the name with adjectives.
The inventory and structuration of semes, the reception ofthis Voice of the person, can be of great service to psychological criticism, of minor service to thematic criticism, of minor

service to psychoanalytical criticism: everything depends OD
the level where we halt the nomination of the serne.

*(+87) but he Btlng it btully,
The remaining disturbance nolonger refers to the concert incident but to Zambinella's awarenessof the danger threatening him (Acr. "Danger": 8: feeling of
threat).

,..,..,.d(+88) and despite all the requem rruuIc to him, heto linganything else.
Acr. "Incident": 8: refusal to prolong the concert, the performance.

*(489) This WdB the {im ti",. he diJpltJyed thtJt ~ tyrararq
for which he would 14t~ be til ca.mdted dB for hiB tdlent SEM.
Star. Here we see clearly the nature of the connotative seme: the*"capricious" character of stars is not accounted for in any dictionary unless it be a dictionary of Accepted Ideas-which would be adictionary of customary connotations.
Articulated around the"Danger" run by Zambinella, a new sequence will shortly develop
around the very precise threat the sculptor will bring to bear on the
castrato during his kidnapping; the outcome of this sequence isalready suggested here: the future (LIter) assures us that Zambinella will survive Sarrasine's aggression (Acr. ''Threat'': 1: prediction of outwme) .

**(190 ) and his vast fortune, due, til they Sdid, no lea to hiB vonthan to hiB beauty. The chain of enigmas is almost reconstituted. As soon as we mow that the aged Zambinel1a is Mme de
Lanty's uncle, already aware from this 1exia of the casbato's fortune, we shall know the source of the Lanty fortune (HER. Enigma
2: the Lanty fortune: theme recalled). That ZambineIla's beauty
wonts for something in his vast fortune can only refer to the amorous "protection" alforded him by the Cardinal: therefore, the origin of the Lanty fortune is "impure" (deriving from a "prostitution") .

*(491) "It;' a woman," Sdrrtlli,.. IKIid, belining hi".." lIlo"..
"There ;, .0",. hidden intrigue here. Cdrdi1UJl Cicognma ;, cI«eiY-*ing the Pope dRd the whole city of Romer'
HER. Enigma 6:
snare, by Sanasine, for himself. The re8exive snare (Sanasine for~rrasine) survives the disclosure: we mow that the sculptor prefers the evidence of codes to the evidence of facts.
REF. MacbiaveUian code (a fictional network of secret intrigues, shadowy
impostures, subtle and preposterous deceptions: realm of paranoia
and the code of Florentine and Papal Italy).

**(492) The sculptor thereupon left the sedon,
S: to leave the music room.
(493) gdthered hil friends together,gathering of the accomplices.

* ACT. "Concert":* ACT. "Kidnapping": 6:(i94) dRd ported them out of light in the courtyard of the paLruo.• ACT. "Kidnapping": 7: ambush.
(49S) When Ztlrnbinelld wcu confident tlutt StlrrdBine IuuI deINDfed, he tlppeared to regtzin his composure.
ACT. "Danger":
9: to become calm again.

*(496) Around midnight, htJving wtlndered through the rooms liIce
REF. Chronology (around midnight, i.e., the evening of the ooncert).
ACT. "Danger": 10:
oontinued uneasiness. The ':Da~e(' ~lIen~ will hen~fo~hyield to the "Threat" sequencel whi£l1. ~l.~~e. p1a~ ~he s~diC?
!ili.e!'c -Sanasine holds ~mbinella prisoner: Although these two
proaireticisms are very close, they are not of the same order. DaneCf"here consists of a series of premonitions or of reactions to repeatedincidents; Threat is a seque~ce constructed according to the designof a crisis; Danger may be an open, infinite ~es; Threat is a
ClOSed strucfure,requiring an end. Nevertheless, the two are structurally related: the dispersal of the terms of Danger serves to marithe object of the threat; long since designated as the victim, Zambinella can then enter the crisis of the Threat.
tI mtIn seelring Bome enemy,

*

**

m

(497) the musico delJtlmd . • ACT. "Kidnapping": 8: the victim's innocent departwe.
(498) AI lOOn dB he croaed the threthold of the fHIl4uc, he WdB

tldroitly .aud by men who gtJ&ged him with tI lumdlcerclUef lind193*drew him into the cctrriage StmctSine htul hired.
ACf. "Kidnapping": 9: the act itself. This Kidnapping is structurally perfect: theaccomplices were recruited in No. 460, gathered together in No.
+93, stationed in ambush in No. 194, the (fast) carnage wasbrought in No. 463.

(499) Frozen with horror, Zo.mbinelld remtJined in ct comer, notdctring to move. He SdW before him the terrible ftlCe of the ctrtist,
who WClS silent CIS death. * ACf. "TIueat": 2: terrorized victim.

*(500) The journey WClS brief. ACf. "Kidnapping": 10: journey.
In other narratives, this term is open to an infinite catalysis thatlasts for an entire novel, an entire 6lm.
( 501) Ccuried in SctrrctSine', ttnnB, Zo.mbinelld soon found himMf
in ct dtuk, empty Btudio.
ACf. "Kidnapping": 11: arrival at the
hide-out.

*(502) Hctlf dectd, the singer remtJined in d cMir, * ACf. '''Threat'':
3: immobilized victim.
(503) without dctring to excmaine the st4tue of CI WOrnCIR in which
he recognized his own fecttures. Another, more logical versionof the text has: "in which he IuJd recogniud hil own fetttures."*ACf. "Statue": 1: thematization of the object which will central·ize a certain number of actions.
SYM. Replication of bodies:
the statue is one link in that long chain which duplicates the bod·ies of the Essential Woman, from La Zambinella to Girodet's
Endymion.

**(504) He mctde no ctttempt to ,peale, but his teeth cluJttered.
ACf. "Threat": 4: mute victim.

*(505) SdrrctSine fJtICed up ctnd down the room. Suddenly hestopped in front of Zo.mbinelld. "TeU me the truth," he pluded* HER. Enigma 6: disclosure: equivocation. The disclosure has
been made, but the subject is still uncertain. Tell me the truth im·plies: (1) that Sarrasine continues to doubt and hope; (2) that healready regards Zambinella as a "scamp" with whom he can194employ the familiar form of address (Sarrasine has heretofore addressed Zambinella as "tu" only twice, 444 and 445, but then as a
sublime being, deserving of the high lyric apostrophe) .

*(506) in a low, altered voice.
The low sound (coming from the_l!lufBed dept~s of the body) is (in the West1 supposed t~ connote the interiority-and thus the ~th~f an emotion: Sarrasinek'nows Zamhinella is Dot a woman (HER. Enigma 6: decipherment, Sarrasine for himself).

*(507) "You are a WOJTldnl
HER. Enigma 6: equivocation (thesnare implied by the statement is corrected by its interrogativeform).

*(508) Cmdinal Cicognara."
HER. Enigma 6: snare, bySarrasine, for himself (Sarrasine returns to the notion of someRoman intrigue [No. 491], an explanation that preserves Zambinella's femininity). ** REF. Machiavenian code.

(509) ZdmbiJ1liUa fell to his ~J1Iies, and in reply lowered his hedd.

* HER. Enigma 6: disclosure, Zambinella to Sarrasine.

(510) "Ah, you me a WOJTldn." the artist cried in a delirium, "foreven d." He bro~e off. "No," he continued, "he would not be
so cowmdly."
HER. Enigma 6: snare, by Sarrasine, for himself.
Psychological proof furnishes Sarrasine his last snare, and pr<>vides delirium its last refuge. This proof bases femininity on the
weakness of woman. Faced with this proof, which he has often
employed, Sarrasine is nonetheless encumbered with a new term,
the castrato, which he must situate in the moral hierarchy of biological creatures; since he needs to locate absolute, ultimate weakness in Woman, he gives the castrato an intennediate position("even a castrato would not be so cowardly");_the enthymeme, on
which an proof is based, is organized as follows: woman occupi~_the last stage of pusillanimity; Zambinella. by his submissive posture, the cowardliness of his behavior, attains this last stage; th~s
Zambinella is really a woman. ** SYM. Taboo on the word castrato. *** SYM. Graphological mark of the neuter: the underlined, cited he, whose masculinity is suspect.

*19~

(511) "Ala, do not au me," cried ZdmbinMl4, bursting into t8t1n.
* ACf. "Threat": 5: 6nt plea for mercy. Pleas for mercy do notnecessarily follow on an explicit threat, but a difuse threat, connoted by the situation and by Sarrasine's delirium.
( 512) "I only tJgTeed to triclc you to ",... my frWnda, who wnted
to l4ugh."
HER. "Machination": 12: disclosure of the motive
for the machination (we know that Laughter is a substitute castrator).

*(513) "lAughr' the aculfJfor r.pud in em inf.mtd tOM. "lAugh'lAughl You dmed pltq with d mem'B f_lings, your' The castratingrole of Laughter is confirmed here by the virile protest, linked tothe threat of castration, which Sarrasine offen in opposition to it.
We know that Adler had 6nt suggested the phrase rrttU Fotal
for the rejection of all passive attitudes toward other men, and thatit has subsequently been suggested that this protest be more Qplicitly de6ned as a refJudiation of femininity. Sarrasine is in fact
repudiating a femininity of which he himself bean traces"; the"paradox-"emphasizecrby" Samsine "himselris'that his ViriIityshould have been contested, under the castrating tool of l£ughter,by a creature whose very definition was that be bad been strippedof his virility (SYM. Virile protest).

(5H) "Oh, have mercyl" Zdmmnelld replied.
6: second plea for mercy.

* ACf. "Threat":( 515) "I ought to 1rill you." Stmdli,.. cried, drawing lUI ,.word
with d violent guture.
ACf. "ThQ:at": 7: first threat of death(the conditional already indicates the suspension of the threat) .

*(516) "However," he wmt on, in cold diJdlJin,
8: threat withdrawn.

* ACf. "Threat":(517) were I to SCOUT yOUT body with thU bldde, would I findtMre one feeling to Iti/Ie, 0,.. ~ to BtIti8fy? You 41W nothing. If you were d rRdn or d WOmtln, I would JcjJJ you,
SYM. The
nothing,.." of the castrato. The reasoning is as follows: "Youwanted to lure me into castration. In order to avenge myself and*196

punish you, I should castrate you too [to scour your body with thisbltule], but I cannot, since you are already castrated." The loss ofdesire puts the castrato beyond life or death, outside all cldssipeation: how to kill what is not classified? How to reach what
transgresses-;riOl'lli-elntemil order of the sexUal paradigm (a transvestite would have inverted this order but not destroyed it: If ),ou
were d J1UIn, I would Icill )'ou), but the very existence of difference
which generates life and meaning; the ultimate honor is not death
but that the classification of death and Hfe-slloUldbe broken of.

(518) but.
&mdGine J1UIde d gesture of disgust • SYM. Taboo on the word

castrato . . . SYM. Honor, curse, exclusion.

(519) which forced him to tum dWd)', whereufJon he saw thestdtue. • ACf. "Statue": 2: to see the object previously thematized.

LXXXII. GLISSANDOtWQ codes set side by side in the same sentence: this opera~on, a common device of the readerIy,

is not indifferent:
poured into the same linguistic unit, the two codes here form
_an apparently nttturtd link; this rutture (which is simply that ofage~ld syntax) is ful611ed each time the discourse can producell~ elegant relation (in the mathematical sense: an elegant solution) between two codes. 'Dtis elegance is associated with akind of causal glissttndo which allows the symbolic fact to join
the proairetic facts, for example, in the continuity of a single
sentence. Thus, we articQl~t~ disgust fQJ the castIato (symbolic term) and destruction of the statue (proairetic term) by
a whole chain of tiny causalities strung close together, likebeads sliding on an apparently smooth thread: (1) Sarrasine isdisgusted at the sight of the castrato; (2) disgust makes him
197avert his eyes from this sight; (3) averting his eyes makes him
tum his head; ( .. ) as he turns, his eyes fall upon the statue,etc.: a whole marquetry of articulations that enable us to pass,as if from lock to lock, from the symbolic to the operativeacross the great naturalness of the sentence ("Scurasine J1UIde
a gesture of disgust which forced him to tum dWCI)', whereupon he saw the statue.") Bro~ht to the surface of the discourse, the codal citation there loses its identity,ifieeeiveilike
a new garment theo'syntacticaroform dei'iving'"fromOOtbeO"etero!lal" sefltence, that fC?11J! justifies it and enthrones itio°the vast
nature of ordiruzry language.-*(520) "And it's an illusion," he cried.
ACf. "Statue": 3: to be
deceived (by the falsehood, the void, of the thematized object).
HER, Enigma 6: disclosure, Sarrasine to himself.

**(521) Then., turning to Zambinell4: "A wOmdn's heart was a
refuge for me, a home. Herve )'ou an)' sisters who resemble )'ou?

* SYM. Replication of bodies. ** Zambinella's sisters permit a

Seeting image of a female castrato, a corrected, cured castrato(SYM. The rectified castrato) .

LXXXIII. PANDEMIA~tion iscontagjousr ito to~c,hes~ve!Yl.hing)t ..!!>~ma(:hes(it will touch Sarrasine, the narrator, the young woman, ili..enarrative, the money): this is one of the "demonstrations" ~fSanasine. So with the statue: if it is an "illusion," this is not
because by artificial means it copies a real object whose materiality it cannot possess (banal proposition) but because thisobject (La ZambineUa) is empty. The "realist" work must belC)8guaranteed by the integral truth of the model which the copying artist must know to its innermost depths (we know thefunction of undressing with regard to the sculptor Sanasine);
in the case of La Zambinella, the internal holl~~ess of any
statue (which doubtless attracts many lovers of statuary andprovides iconoclasm with its entire symbolic context) rq:>fOduces the central deficiency of the castrato: the statue is-ironically true, dramatically unworthy: the emptiness of the model
has invad~ the copy. communiCating to it its sense ofhorror:
the statue has been touched by the metonymic force of castration. It is understandable that the subject should oppose thiscontagion with the dream of an inverse, favorable, saving metonymy: that of the essence of Femininity. The hoped-for sisters permit imagining a rectified, re-sexualized. cured castrato
who would slough off his mutilation like some hideous envelope. retaining only his correct femininity. In the mores ofcertain peC?ples. society prescribes marrying not a person but akind of family essence (sorority. sororal polygyny, levirate);~iIrtilarly, Sanasine is pwsuing, far beyond the slough of castration the castrato leaves in his hands. a Zambinellan essence-which later on, moreover. will Bourish anew in Mariaoina
and Filippo.

(522) Then diet • ACT. "Threat": 9: second threat of death.
(523) But no. you ,ludl live. Im't luving you dliv. condemning
you to something worse tMn death? ACT. "Threat": 10: withdrawal of the threat. . . SYM. The castrato outside any system.
Death itself is touched, corrupted. is disnamed (disfigured. as theexpression goes) by castration. There is a real death. an active
death, a cLurified death which is part of the system of life:. beingoutside the system. the castrato no longer even has access to thisdeath.

*

199

(52") It is neither m)' blood nor my ai6tenc. thttt I Tegr.t, but
tM future tJnd my hetlrt's fOTtuM. Your feeble htJnd htJs datroyedm)' hdfJpinas.
Samsine comments on his death, which he has*

therefore accepted (ACT. "Will-to-die": 5: to comment on one',death in advance) . . . SYM. Contagion of castration.
(525) WhtJt hope Cdn I strip from )'ou fOT tJll those ),OU hav.
blighted? You Iutve dTtJ&&ed me down to ),OUT Iev.l. To love, to be
loved I are Mnceforth muningless WOTds for me, tJS they are fOT)'OU.
SYM. Contagion of casbation: Samsinc casbated.

*

LXXXIV. LITERATURE REPLETE

The Zambinellan disease has overtaken Sarrasine ( "You lutve
drtJgged me down to your level"). I:!~~ _t!t_c; _£9ntaginus force....
of castration explodes. Its me~~~~~~~!~~,j.s }rreve~!~'~
touched by its void, not only is sex eradicated, but art too isJ?roken (the statue is destroyed) , language dies ;~§J~ve, to ~-:lovedl cue henceforth me41Iingless wort!s lc!'~ 1M"}: J>y which
we can see that according to Sarrasinean metaphysics, meaning. art, and sex form a single sustitutive chain: that of thereplete. As the product of an art (that of narration), the mobilization of a polysemic system (that of the classical text) anda thematics of sex, the story itself is an emblem of plenitude(though what it represents, as we shall soon state more clearly,is the catastrophic confusion of this plenitude): the text: is replete with multiple, discontinuous, accwnulated meanings.
and yet burnished. smoothed by the "natural" movement of its
sentences: it is an egg-text. A Renaissance author (Pierre Fabri)
once wrote a treatise entitled Le grand et vrai art de pleine rhetorique. In like manner, we can say that any classic (readerly)
text is implicitly an art of Replete Literature: literature that is
replete: like a cupboard where meanings are shelved, stacked,!

safeguarded (in this text nothing is ever lost: meaning recuperates everything); like a pregnant female, replete with signifieds which criticism will not fail to deliver; like the sea, repletewith depths and movements which give it its appearance of
infinity, its vast meditative sudace; like the sun, replete withthe glory it sheds over those who write it, or finally, acknowledged as an established and recognized art: institutional. This
Replete Litemture, readerly literature, can no longer be written: symbolic plenitude (culminating in romantic art) is thelast avatar of our culture.

( 526) 'shtJIl forever think of this imtJgiruJr)' WOmdn when , see arem wOmdn." He indicdted the statue with a gesture of desfJdir.
The statue, the imaginary (superlative) woman, and the real*

woman are links in the duplicative chain of bodies, catastrophicallybroken by the castrato's de6ciency (SYM. Replication of bodies).
ACf. "Statue": +: despair aroused by the thematized object.

**(527) '" sludl always have the memory of a celutial hllrpy who
thTUSt8 its talons into aU my mdnly feelings, and who will stamp
all other women with a se4l of imperfection! SYM. Contagion*of castration. The image of the Harpies connotes both castration(the creature with talons) and guilt (the theme of the Furies).
The code of female bodies, a written code if ever there was one,since it is the code of art, of culture, will henceforth be stamped
by deficiency.

*(528) Monster!
Here the apostrophe has its literal plenitude:
the monster is outside nature, outside any classi6cation, any meaning (this seme has already been attached to the old man) (SEM.
Outside nature).

(529) You who can give life to nothing. * SYM. Replication of
bodies.
201

LXXXV. INTERRUPTED REPUCATIONAs an "imaginary" woman-imaginary, that is, in the modem
sense, i.e., evoked in Sarrasine by the misreading of his unconscious-La Zambinella served as a relay between contingent,
fragmented speech (real women: so many fetishes) and thecode establishing all beauty, the masterpiece, both goal andpoint of departure. Once this relay is defective (it is empty),
the entire system of transmission collapses: we have the Sarrasinean de-ception, dis-connection of the entire circuit of bodies. The banal definition of being-castrated ( "You who Cdn
give life to nothing') thus has a structural bearing, it concerns
not merely the aesthetic duplication of bodies (the "copy" ofrealist art) but also the metonymic force in its generality:~.£..
fundamental crime or disaster ("Monster''') is in fact to~nterrupt the circulation of (aesthetic or biological) copies, to. .
disturb the controlled penneability· ofmeaniogs, their concateMtion, which is classification and repetition, as' withlanguage. Itself metonymic (and with what powerl), casbati~.!l_jams all metonymy: the chains of art and life are broken, as ina moment will be the;: statue, c;:plpJem of th~ !l~~()us ~nsmis­
sion of bodies (but it will be saved, and something will betransmitted to the Adonis, to the Endymion, to the Lantys, tothe narrator, to the reader).

*(530) For me, you httve wiped women from the earth."
SYM.
Pandemic castration. ** The hero's physical death is preceded bythree partial deaths: to women, to pleasures, to art (ACT. "Willt<HIie": 6: to die to women).

(531) SamlSine Sdt down before the terrified singer. Two hugefetUS weUed trom his dry eyes, roUed down his manly eheeb, andteU to the ground: two tears ot r6&e, two bitter and burning tetJTS.

* REF. Code of Tears. The code of the hero allows a man to cryzoz

within the very strict limits of a certain ritual, itself strongly historical: Michelet complimented and envied St. Louis for having had
the "gift of tears," audiences cried abundantly at Racine's tragedies,etc., whereas in Japan, in the Bushido, a code inherited from theSamurai, any physical sign of emotion is forbidden. Samsine has
the right to cry for four reasons (or on four conditions): because
his dream as an artist, a lover, has been destroyed; because he isabout to die (it would not be fitting for him to survive his tears);
because he is alone (the castrato being nothing); because the very
contrast between virility and tears inspires pathos. Further. histears are few (two) and burning (they do not participate in the unworthy humidity associated with femininity. but in fire. dryness.
virility) .
(532) "No more lovel I am dud to on pledBure. to every hUmdn
emotion."
SYM. Contagion of castration.
ACf. "Will-todie": 7: to die to pleasure. to feeling.

***(53 3) So Btl)'ing, he reiud d httmJ71llr d1Id hurled it dt the ~with ruch extrdordintlT)' force
ACf. "Will-to-die": 8: to die toArt.
"Statue": 5: destructive act.

*

**

I

(53-4) thdt he missed it. He thought he httd datroyed this monument to his folly,
ACf. "Statue": 6: statue spared.
SYM.
Replication of bodies: the chain, in e:drenUs, is saved.

***(535) ttnd then toolc up IUs Nord dnd brdndished it to 1rill theACf. "Threat": 11: third threat of death.

Binger.

**(536) Zambinell4 uttered piercing BCr8drrLS.
ACf. '''Threat'':
12: to caU for help. The victim's call for help will allow the twosequences "Threat" and "Murder" to combine: the victim will besaved because his attacker will be killed: the rescuers of the former
will be the murderers of the latter.

LXXXVI. THE EMPIRIC VOICE

Soon all the proairetic sequences will be closed. The narrative
will die. What do we know about them? That they are born

of a certain power of the reading, which tries to give a sufficiently transcendent name to a series of actions, themselves
deriving from a patrimonial hoard of human experiences; th~t
the typology of these proaireticisms seems uncertain or that atleast they can be assigned no logic other than that of the probable, ~f empirics, of the "aIr~dy-d~~" QI "ahcady-~t~eD~"
for the nwnber and the order of their terms vary, some deriving from a practical reservoir of trivial everyday acts (to knockat d door, to dTTdnge d rende%Vow) and others from a written
corpus of novelistic models (the Abduction, the Deckudtionof Love, the Murder); that such sequences are generally open
to catalysis, to branching, and can form "trees"; that whensubjected to a logico-temporal order, they constitute the strong-._
est armature of the readerly; that by their typically sequential
nature, simultaneously syntagmatic and organized, they canform the favored raw material for a certain structural analysis
of narrative.

*( 537) At that moment, three men entered ACT. "Threat": 13:
arrival of the rescuers . . . ACT. "Murder: 7: entrance of the murderers.
( 538) and at once the sculptor fell, rtdbbed by three ltiktto thrusts.

* ACT. "Threat": Ii: elimination of the aggressor. . . ACT.
"Murder"; 8: murder of the hero. The weapons are coOed: thesword is the phallic weapon of honor, of thwarted passion, of virile
protest (with which Samsine tried first to charm La Zambinella,
301, and then to kill the castrato, 535); t"~e stiletto (li~ E!t.~1l~is the contemptible weapon of hired killen, the weapon fit for thehenceforth castrated hero.
-.

(539) "On beMlf of Cordin4l CicogndTtI," 0,.. of them atDd.
ACT. "Murder": 9: signature of the murder.

204*

(510) "It is a good dud worthy of a ChristUrn," replied the Frenchman as he died. * ~j~ tile ironic allusion to the murderer's

religion, the victim's bless~ turns the murder into a suicide: thesubject·iWumes-lii$d~th~ !!ll!~rd ~th the pact he had madewith himself'(No-:l40) and with the symbolic fate to which con-tact with ·ostr.ltfc)n"Tias-~oll)mj~ted him (ACT. "Will-to-die": 9:to assume one's death) .

(HI) These Binister musenger.
below, the closed carri.age) .

* REF. Novelistic mystery (d.

LXXXVII. mE VOICE OF SCIENCE

The cultural codes, from which the Samsinean text has drawn
so many references, will also be extinguished (or at least will
emigrate to other texts; there is no lack of hosts): one might
say that it is the major voice of minor science that is departingin this fashion. In fact, these citations are extracted from abody of knowledge, from an anonymous Book whose bestmodel is doubtless the School Manual. For, on the one hand,
this anterior Book is both a book of science (of empirical observation) and a book of wisdom, and on the other hand, thedidactic material mobilized in the text (often, as we havenoted, as a basis for reasoning or to lend its written authority
to emotions) generally corresponds to the set of seven or eight
handbooks accessible to a diligent student in the classical bourgeois educational system: a History of Literature (Byron, The
Thousand dJ1d One Nights, Ann Radcliffe, Homer), a Historyof Art (Michelangelo, Raphael, the Greek miracle), a Historyof Europe (the age of Louis XV), an Outline of Practical
Medicine (disease, convalescence, old age, etc.), a Treatise on
Psychology (erotic, ethnic, etc.), an Ethics (Christian or Stoic:
themes from Latin translations), a Logic (for syllogisms), a
20 5

Rhetoric, and an anthology of maxims and proverbs about life,
death, suffering. love, women, ages of man, etc. ~tho¥h CDtire!y .~~riv~ .!!o~. ~~~ th_esc= codes, ~y a swiv~! cba~~_
is tic of bourgeois ideology, which turns culture into nature,~'~ppea~ to estalllish reality, "Life," '~Life" then, in the-cIaSslC"'t~t. ~omes a nauseating mixture of common opinions~'--a!smothering layer of received ideas: in fact, it is in these cultural
codes that what is outmoded in Balzac, the essence of what, inBalzac, cannot be (re) written, is concentrated. What is au!:moded, of course, is not a defect in performance, a~~~~al_inability of the author to afford opportunities in his work forwhat will l>e Ill~el)l, but rather a fatal condition of R~plete
Literature, Illortally stalked by the army of stereotypes it c()Il,,:.
tains. Thus, a critique of the references (the cultural codes)
ttas never been tenable except through trickery, on the very
limits of Replete Literature, where it is possible (buf at thecost of what acrobatics and with what uncertainty) to criticize the stereotype (to vomit it up) without recourse to a n~y.r
stereotype: that of irony. Perhaps this is what Flaubert did (weshall say it once again), particularly in BouYdTd et Pkuchet,where the two copyists of scholastic codes are themselves "represented" in an uncertain status, the author using no metalanguage (or a suspended metalanguage) in their regard. In fact,
the cultural code occupies the same position as stupidity: how
can stupidity be pinned down without declaring onself intelligent? How can one code be superior .to another withoutabusively closing off the plurality of codes? Qulx .wri!Lng, .byassuming tI:t~ lif..&.ru-RQjsible plu~U!!. Q~ ~~~_~ll~~~thout~p~.tQft:)~e the iIn:perialism of each la~:*.

(542) informed ZtJmbin.lld of the concern of hil protector, who
WtJI wtJiting tJt the door in tJ clcwd CtJTritIge, to ttJlc. him tlWq tJI

106

*

soon d8 heluul been rescued.
ACf. "Threat": 15: to return withthe rescuers.
ACf. "Murder": 10: 6nal explanation.

**(543) "But," Mme de Rochefide d8lced me, "whdt connection iB
there between this story and the little old J'7UJn we B4W at til.
Lantys'?" * HER. Enigma .. (Who is the old man?): formulation.
(544) "MacltJme, CardiMl Cicognma toolc possession of Zambinell4's statue and had it executed in J'lUJrble; todtty it is in tM Albani Museum. ACT. "Statue": 7: the statue (aimed at andmissed) rediscovered.
Yet another link in the duplicative chainof bodies: the statue was copied in marble. Desire is once again theagent of this duplicative energy: Cicognara, -who has no scruples
about appropriating his victim's work and con~emplatin, his favorite's effigy thro~l(hiui'lltsJ!y~~.asin a pme of "buttonbutton," his desire and the castration which is in this case attached
to it, on to post~tr:, th~'dgire_~iJl ~~~~~!~ ~p~~ate Vien's
Adonis (desired 'by Mme de RocJte6de) and Girodet's Endymion
visited b,y the moon (SYM. Replication of bodies) .

*

**

*

(545) There, in 1791, the Ldnt)' family found it
REF. Chronology. In fact, the item is a dead end, it cannot be connectedwith any other infonnation (nor is it incompatible with any other:
the life of Vien, for example, who died in 1809); it is a pure effectof "reality": nothing is more "real," we think, than a date.
HER. Enigma 3 (Who are the Lantys?): beginning of an answer(there is a connection between the Lantys and the statue) .

**(546) and asked Vien to copy it.

* SYM. Replication of bodies.

LXXXVIII. FROM SCULPTURE TO PAINTING

Sarrasine dead, La Zambinella emigrates from statue to canvas: something cldngerous has been contained, exorcised, pacified. In passing from volume to plane sudace, the copy loses

or at least attenuates the buming problema tics the story has
continually evoked. Free-standing, penemble. in short profound. the statue invites visitation. exploration. penetration:
it implies ideally the plenitude and truth of the inside (which
is why it is a tragedy that this inside is empty. castrated); according to Sarrasine. the perfect statue would have been an
envelope containing a real woman (supposing she herself werea 17UISterpiece). whose essence as reality would have verified.
guaranteed the marble skin applied to her (this relation. in
the opposite direction. gives us the Pygmalion myth: a real
woman is born from the statue). The painting, by contrast.
may have a baclc, but it has no inside: it cannot provoke theindiscreet act by which one might try to find out what there isbehind the canvas (except. as we have seen, in Frenhofer's
dream; he wanted us to be able to move within the picture. as
though in three-dimensional space, to walk around the 8esh ofpainted bodies, so as to test their authenticity). The Sarrasinean aesthetic of the statue is tragic, it risks the fBi.f of~esir~
plenitude into castrated emptiness, of meaning in outside---...--'"
meaning; the aesthetic of the canvas-less emblematic, moreindifferent-is mo(e easily satisfied: a statue breaks; ~_.~iivas.
more simply, blws (as happens, in its self-destruc~on, tc? ~e .
"unknown masterpiece"). Passed down along the duplicative
chain in the paintings of Vien and Girodet, the sinister storyof La Zambinella grows distant. no longer exists save as avague, moon -struck enigma, mysterious without being offensive (although the mere sight of the painted Adonis will reactivate the castrating metonymy: it is because she is seduced
by it that the young woman provokes the narrator to the narrative that will castrate both of them). As for the final avata..r.
the passage of the canvas to written "representation," it recuperates all the preceding copies, but writing extenuates stilt
further the hallucination of the inside, for it has no other substance than the interstice.

_(547) The portrait in which)'ou BcIW Zambinell4 at twenty. d , " ond aft., IulVing Been him tit one hundred. later served for Giro-def', Endymion; you will htnIe recognized its type in the Adonia."* REF. Chronology (Zambinella is twenty in 1758; if he is actu·
ally one hundred at the time of the Lanty party, then this mustoccur in 1838. eight years after Balzac wrote it, d. No. 55). **HER. Enigma 4 (Who is the old man?): partial disclosure (thedisclosure concerns the old man's public identity: he is La Zambioella; it remains to disclose his family identity. his relationship
HER.
to the Lantys). *** SYM. Replication of bodies.
Enigma 5 (Who is the Adonis?): disclosure (La Zambinella attwenty).

****(548) "But tlUB ZambineUa-he or she?""He, mtld4me. ill none other than MdTidnirui, great-uncle. *HER. Enigma 4: complete discloswe (the old man's family identity). ** HER. Enigma 3: disclosure (Who are the Lantys?relatives of La Zambinella). *** What grammatical gender toapply to the castrato? The neuter, probably. but French has none;
thus this alternative he/she, the oscillation of which, as in physics,
produces a kind of average sex, equidistant from masculine andfeminine (SYM. Neuter).
(549) Now 'You can reddily see what interest Mme de Lmty IuJB in
hiding the IOUTCe of d fortunll which COmel from-"
HER.
Enigma 2 (source of the Lanty fortune) : disclosure.

*

LXXXIX. VOICE OF TRUTH

All the enigmas are now disclosed, the vast henneneutic sentence is closed (all that will continue a little longer is what wemight call the metonymic vibration of castration, whose lastwaves will disturb the young woman and the narrator). We
now know the morphemes (or the "hermeneutemes") of thishermeneutic sentence, this period of truth (in the rhetoricalsense). They are: (I) themtlti%tJtion, or an emphasizing of the209subject which will be the object of the enigma; (2) fn'0/J0BtIl.
a metalinguistic index which. by signaling in a thousand different ways that an enigma exists, designates the hermeneutic(or enigmatic)' genus; (3) formulation of the enigma; (4)promise of an answer (or request for an cmswer); (5) BnlUe. apretense which must be defined, if possible, by its circuit ofdestination (by one character for another. for himself, by thediscourse for the reader); (6) equivocation, or double understanding, the mixture in a single statement of a snare and atruth; (7) ;amming, acknowledgment of the insolubility of theenigma; (8) suspended cmswer (after having been begun); (9)pmtilll answer, which consists in stating only one of the features whose total will form the complete identification of thetruth; (10) disclosure, decipherment, which is. in the pureenigma (whose model is always the Sphinx's question to Oedipus), a final nomination, the discovery and uttering of theirreversible word.

(550) "Enough'" she &did, gesturing to me imperiously. We BtIt for
moment plunged in the dee,,", silence. * SYM. Taboo on casbation. ** SYM. HOlTor of casbatiOD. The disgust attached to
the Lanty fortune (the theme of this "scene from Parisian life")
has several sources: it is a fortune tainted by prostitution (therdgdUO kept by old Chigi and later by Cardinal Cicognara), byblood (Sarrasine's murder), but especially imbued with the hOlTor
consubstantial with castration.

d(551) "Well?" lllllid to her.
"M," she exclaimed, Btdnding up dnd fJtlCing up dnd down theroom. She looled at me dnd .pob in em dltered voice.
Castration reaches the young woman: she shows symptoms of illness (agitation. confusion) (SYM. Contagion of castration) .

*(552 ) "You hdve gillen me d dilgUBt for life dnd for /JdISiOnl thatwill r.a.t d long time.
SYM. Contagion of castration. ** Cas-*

210

tration has arrived by the bearer of the narrative (ACT. "To narrate": 13: castrating effect of the narration) .

XC. THE BALZAClAN TEXT

A long time? Hardly. Bbtrix, Countess Arthur de Roche6de,born in 1808, married in 1828, and very quic1cly weary of her
husband, taken to the Lantys' ball by the nanator around1830-and stricken then, she says, by a mortal castration-willnevertheless three years later run oft to Italy with the tenor
Conti, will have a celebrated affair with Calyste du Cuenic tospite her friend and rival Felicite des Touches, will later become the mistress of La Palferine, etc.: castration is obviously
not a mortal disease, one can be cureclof it. However, to be~iired we musfTeave'-smTdsine and' emigrate'to other ~,.
(Beatrix, Modeste Mignon, One FIDe d'Eve, Autre Etude deFemme, Lea Secrm de 14 Princesse de Cadigrum, etc.). These
texts form the Balzacian text. There is no reason not to include
the Sanasinean teXt Within the' Balzacian text (we could havedone so had we wanted to continue, to develop this game ofthe plural) : by degrees, a text can come into contact with anyother system: the inter-text is subject to no law but the infinitude of its reprises. The Author himself-that somewhat decrepit deity of the old criticism-can or could some day become
a text like any other: he has only to avoid making his person
the subject, the impulse, the origin, the authority, the Father,whence his work would proceed, by a channel of expression; hehas only to see himself as a being on paper and his life as abi~gr""h)' (in the etymological sense of the word), a writing
without referent, substance of a connection and not of a tili4tion: the critical undertaking (if we can still speak of criticism)
will then consist in returning the documentary figure of theauthor into a novelistic, irretrievable, irresponsible figure,2.11

caught up in the plural of its owo text: a task whose adventure has already been recounted, not by critics, but by authon
themselves, a Proust, a Jean Genet.

( 553) Excepting for monsters, don't dll human feelings com.
down to the Sdme thing, to horrible dUdppointmenu? Motherl, ourchildren Irill us either by their bdd behavior or by their LJCIc ofaffection. W iveB, we lITe deceived. Mweaes, we tire foradltm,
tJbandoned. Does frientUhip even aUt? * Engaged, under the narrative action in a labor of aut{H2Stration, the young woman immediately elaborates the sublime venion of her disease; she dresses
up this retreat from sex, dignifies it by putting it under the comforting and ennobling authority of a high moral code (SYM. Alibi
of castration).
This code is the oode of universal pessimism,of the vanity of the world and of the ungrateful, stoic, and admirable role of noble victims, mothen, wives, mistresses, andfriends (REF. V Gnit4r Ydnitdtum) .

**( 55'f) I would become d nun tomorrow did I not A:now thdt I ccm
rerrutin unmoved Q8 d rocA: mnicl the 6tomu of life.
SYM. Alibi
of castration: Virtue (cultural code).

*(555) If the ChrVtidn', future iB dlBo dn illUBion, dt lust it iB not
destroyed until after delzth.
REF. Christian code.

*(556) Leave me.""All," I Sdid, "you A:now how to /1UnMh."*

Touched by castration, the young woman breaks the contract with the narnator, withdraws from the bargain and dismisses her partner (ACT. "To narrate": 14: breaking of contract).
SYM. The narnator drawn
into castration (he is punished for having "told").

**

XCI. MODIFICATION

A man in love, taking advantage of the curiosity evidenced byhis mistress about an enigmatic old man and a mysterious portrait, offen her a contract: the truth in exchange for a night of312

love, a namtiv~,in ~£h!l.I!~Jor<_~._~,! After having attempted-to bargain her way out of it, the young woman
agrees: the namtive begins; but it turns out to be the story ofa terrible disease animated by an irresistible contagious
strength; carried by the namtive itself, this disease ends bycontaminating the lovely listener and, withdrawing her fromlove, keeps her from honoring the contract. Caught in his own
trap, the lover is rebuffed: a story about castration is 110t tol<1'~ill:t!!np~nity. -This fable teaches us that namtion (object)modifies namtion (action): the message is paramebicallylinked with its performance; there is no question of an utterance on the one hand and on the other its uttering. Tdling is
a responsible and commercial act (are these not the samething? in both cases, a matter of weighing?) whose outcome(the virtuality of transformation) is "indexed" on the price ofthe merchandise, on the object of the namtive. This ob~t,therefore, is not final, it is not the goal, the term, the end of
the namtion (SarrdSine is not a "story about a castrato"): as
meaning, the subject of the anecdote harbors a recurrent
force which reacts on language and demystifies, ravages the innocence of its utterance: what is told is the "telling." mti~ately, the namtive has no ob;e(:t: the namtive concerns only
itself: the Rdrrdtive tells itlelf.

( 557) "Am I wrong?""Yes," I replied, with d kind of courttge. "In teUing this Rory,
which is fairly well known in IttJly, llutve been able to give you dfine exmnple of the progrea made by civilization todtly. They nolonger create these unfortururte creatures." * In a 6nal effortobviously doomed to failure, which is why he needs "a kind of
courage"-the narrator attempts to set up against the terror of an
all-powerful castration, which blints everything and of which he isllJe 6nal victim, the dam of historical motive and positive fact: let
us dismiss the symbol, he is saying, let us return to earth, to "reality," to history: there are no more castrati: the disMIe lads been

wiped out, it has disappeared from Europe like the plague, lib i
leprosy; petty proposition, insecure dam, absurd argument againll::
the torrential force of the symbolic which has just swept away the:entire personnel of Sarrasine (SYM. Denial of the contagion of,
castration).
SYM. Rationality, asymbolism (this seme had ~ ..
ready been attached to the narrator).
REF. History of cas- I
trati. The historical code to which the narrator refers informs .. ~that the last two famous castrati were Crescentini, who was given
the Order of the Iron Crown after Napoleon heard him in Vienna ;~in 1805 and brought him to Paris, and who died in 1846, and Vel- ~luti, who sang his final performance in London in 1826 and died 1
in 1861.
~

**

***

t
1
~

every-l(558) "Paris is a very hospitable pl«e," she Sdid. "It tlCCepts
thing, shameful fortunes and bloodstained fortunes. Crime and ~infamy can find asylum here;
REF. Paris, Gold, immorality of '*1.;

the new society, etc.

( 559) only virtue luis no altars here. Yes, pure souls have theirhome in heavenl
SYM. Sublime alibi for castration (heaven
will justify the castrati we have become).
REF. Moral code
(virtue is not of this world) .

***(560) No one will have known me. I am proud of thatl" • Like
La Zambinella, whose condition she has symbolically come toshare, the Marquise twns exclusion into "misunderstanding." The
Misunderstood Woman, a replete figure, an ennobled role, an image fraught with imaginary meanings, an object of language ('"am proud of that" ), profitably substitutes for the horrid emptinessof the castrato, who is the one about whom there is nothing to ,.
say (who can say nothing about himself: who cannot irrwgine himself) (SYM. Alibi of castration: the Misunderstood Woman).

XCII. THE THREE POINTS OF ENTRY

The symbolic field is occupied by a sing}!! o~ect from which
it derives its unity (and from which we have derived a certain

right to name it, some pleasure in describing it, and what may
for a privilege granted the symbolic system, the symbolic
aClventure of the hero, sculptor or narrator). This object is the
hu-man body. Str"asine recounts the topological transgressionsof this body. The antithesis of inner and outer: abolished. The
untkrnuth: empty. The chain of copies: interrupted. The
contract of desire: falsified. Now we can enter this symbolic@~- br..!hree routes, no one of which is privileged: provided
with equal points of entry, the textual network, on its symboliclevel, is reversible. The rhetorical route discovers the transgression of the Antithesis, the passage through the wall of opposites, the abolition of difference. The route of castration,
strictly speaking, discovers the pandemic void of desire, thecollapse of the creative chain (bodies and works). The econ~!oute discovers the disappearance of all fake currency,
empty Gold, without origin or odor, no longer an index but asign, a narrative corroded by the story it bears. These threeroutes are all conducive to stating the same disturbance inc:!~~~~.fication: it is fatal, the text says, to remove the dividing
line, the paradigmatic slash mark which permits meaning tofunction (the wall of the Antithesis), life to reproduce (theopposition of the sexes), property to be protected (rule ofContract). In short, the story represents (we are in a readerly-art) a generalized collapse of economies: the economy of lanusually protected by the separation of opposites, theeconomy of genders (the neuter must not lay claim to thehuman), the economy of the body (its parts cannot be interchanged, the sexes cannot be equivalent), the economy ofmoney (Parisian Gold produced by the new social class, speculative and no longer land-based-such gold is without origin, it
has repudiated every circulatory code, every rule of exchange,
every line of propriety-in French, a justly ambiguous word
proprihe, since it indicates both the correction of meaning andthe separation of possessions). This catastrophic collapse al-pass

gu-age:-ways takes the same fonn: that of an unrestrained metonymy.
By abolishing the paradigmatic barriers, this metonymy a~ishes the power of legdl submtution on which meaning isbased: it is then no longer possible regularly to contrast-'>~Posites, sexes, possessions; it is no longer possible to sa.:feguanl
an meier of just equivalence; in a word, it is no longer ~sible to represent, to make things rel>resentative, individuated,
separate, assigned; Sarrasine represents the very confusion ~representation, the unbridled (pandemic) circulation of signs.
of sexes, of fortunes.
.

*(561) And the Marquise remained penme. Pensive, the Marquise can think of many of the things that have happened or thatwill happen, but about which we shall never mow anything:,. ~in6nite openness of the pensive (and this is precisely its structuralfunction) removes this 6nallexia from any classification.
-.-_..

XCIII. TIlE PENSIVE TEXT

Like the Marquise, the classic text is pensive: ~lete wit~L
meaning (as we have seen). it still seems to be keeping in Ie~e some ultimate meaning, one it does not C?'press butwhose place it keeps free and signifying: this ~ degree of
meaning (which is not its annulment, but on the conbary its
recognition), this supplementary, un~ JDea~.whichis the theatrical sign of the implicit, is Pensiven~: the pensive(in faces, in texts) is the signifier of the inexpte:Ssi.ble,· not of
the unexpressed. For if the classic text has nothing more to
say than what it says, at least it attempts to '1et it be understood" that it does not say everything; this allusion is coded by:n6pensiveness, which is a sign of nothing but itself: as though,having filled the text but obsessively fearing that it is not inconteBt4bly 6lled, the discourse insisted on supplementing it~th an et cetera of plenitudes. Just as the pensiveness of aface signals that this head is heavy with unspoken language,sO-The (classic) text inscribes within its system of signs thesignature of its plenitude: like the face, the text becomes exIN_we (let us say that it signifies its expressivity), endowed
With an interiority whose supposed depth compensates for theparsimony of its plural. ~t its discreet urging, we want to ask
the classic text: What are you thiniing about? but the text,
than all those who try to escape by answering: about
iiOtmng, does not reply, giving meaning its last closure: sus-

;mer-

~ion.

21 7

AppendicesI

Honore de BalzaclSARRASINE
21 was dap in one of those daydredms Iwhich o~e even the
Bh4Ilowest of men, in the midst of the most tumultuous parties.

4Midnight hdd just sounded from the clode of the ElyHe-Bourbon.
"Seat.d in tJ window rec8118 'tJnd hidden behind the sinuous foldB
of tJ BiUc curttlin, TI could contempl4U at my leisure the gtITden of
the mttnsion where I was spending the evening. 'The trees, pttrti4Jly
covered with snow, stood out dimly ttgtJinst the grtJ)'ish boclcgroundof tJ cloudy sky, btJrely whitened by the moon. Seen tJmid these ftJnttJstic surroundings, they vttguely resembled ghosts httlf out of their.hrouds, tJ gigtJntic representtJtion of the ftJmous Dttnce of theDettd. 'Then, turning in the other diTection, 1°1 could tJdmire the
DtJnce of the LivingllltJ splendid StJlon decortJted in silver tJnd gold,with glittering chttndeliers, spttrIWng with ctJndles. There, miUing
ttbout, whirling tJround, flitting here tJRd there, were the most betJutiful women of PtJris, the richest, the noblest, dtJuling, rtateiy, resplendent with didmonds, flowers in their httir, on their bosoms, on
their hedds, strewn over dresses or in gtJrlttnds at their feet. Light,
rustling movement8, voluptuous steps, mtJde the ltJces, the sille bractJdes, the pus, flottt mound their delicate forms. Here tJnd there,some overly tJnimtJted g14nces dtJTted forth, eclipsing the lights, the221fire of the diamonds, dnd stimulated dReW ,ome tOCHll'dent hemta.
One might dlso cdtch movements of the hedd medning/ul to lovers.
dnd negdtiYe gestures for husbands. The BUdden outburm of ta
gamblers' voices dt etJCh unexpected turn of the dice, the clinic ofgold, mingled with the music and the murmur of conversdtion, cmd
to complete the giddiness of this mtISS of fJeople intoxicated ",everything seductive the world Cd1l hold, d haze of fJerfume cmd
genered inebritttion pl4yed upon the fevered mind. 12ThUB, on "'1
right, the d4rk dnd silent irooge of death; on my J.ft, the seemly
bacclulJudias of life: here, cold rutture, dull, in mourning; there, hu~­
mdn beings enjoying themselves. 1.IOn the borderline between
these two so different scenes, which, d thoUS4nd times repeated invmious guises, make Pcuis the world's moat cmwsing cmd mOlt phil.
osophicdl city, I WdB 11I4king for myself tI mored J'J1lIddoine, httlf
pledSdnt, httlf funereed. With myieft foot I bedt time, dnd I felt dB
though the other were in the grttve. My leg WdB in ftICt chilled by
one of those insidious drafts which freeze httlf our bodia whik tMother httlf feels the humid hedt of rooms, tin occurrence rtlther fre·quent crt bttl18.
u"Monsieur de Lttnty hdSn't owned this house for very long, hdS
he?""Oh yes. Mtlrechttl Cmiglidno sold it to him netlTly ten )'ftI11
ttgo.""Aht""These people must httve d huge fortune.""They must httve.""Whdt d pttrtyllt's shockingly elegtlnt.""Do you think they're dB rich dB M. de Nucingen or M. de Con·dreville?"
II"You medn you don't know?"
I stuck my hedd out dnd recognized the two spettiers dB membersof thdt strtlnge rdee which, in Pttris, dettls exclusively with "why,"tlnd "hows," with "Where did they come frow' ·'WhtIt', httppen.
ing?" "WhtIt hdS she done?" They lowered their voices tlnd wttUced
off to tdlk in grettter comfort on some isol4ted softl. Never httd tI
richer vein been offered to seekers ttfter mystery. IINobody knew
whtlt country the Lttnty ftlmily CtIJ'ne from, lTor from whttt businus,

wMt plunder, wMt piraticol tJCtivity, or wMt inheritance derived afortune eBtinutted at severol millions. 18All the members of thefamily spoke ltolian, French, Spanish, English, and German perfectly enough to create the belief tMt they muBt have spent a longtime among these various peoples. Were they gyPsies? Were they
freebooters?
l'''Even if it's the devil," some young politicians said, "they givea rnmvelous party.""Even if the Count de lAnty had robbed a bank, I'd marry his
daughter any time!" cried a philosopher.
2OWho wouldn't have married Marianina, a girl of sixteen whose
beauty embodied the fabled imaginings of the Eastern poets! Like
the sultan's ddughter, in the Btory of the Magic Lamp, she shouldhave been kept 'Veiled. Her singing put into the shade the partiol
tolents of Molibran, Sontag, and Fodor, in whom one dominantquality has olways excluded over-aU perfection; whereas Marianina
was able to bring to the Sdme level purity of sound, sensibility,
rightness of movement and pitch, soul and science, correctness andfeeling. This girl was the embodiment of that secret poetry, thecommon bond among aU the arts, which olways eludes those who
search for it. Sweet and modeBt, educated and witty, no one could
eclipBe Mttri4nina, save her mother.
21Have you ever encountered one of those women whose BtriJcing
beauty defies the inroads of age and who seem at thirty-six moredesirable than they could have been fifteen years earlier? Theirvisage is a vibrant soul, it glows; each feature sparkks with inteUigence; each pore has a speciol brilliance, especiolly in artificiollight.
Their seductive eyes refuse, attract, speak or renunn silent; theirwolk is innocently knowledgeable; their voiced employ the melodious weolth of the molt coquettishly soft and tender notes. Basedon comparisons, their praises flatter the self-love of the molt sentient. A movement of their eyebrows, the leaBt glance, their pursed
lips, fill with a kind of terror those whose life and happiness depend
upon them. Inexperienced in love and influenced by words, ayoung girl can be seduced; fo.r this kind of woman, however, a man
muBt know, liJce M. de Jaucourt, not to cry out when he is hiding
in a closet and the nutid brew two of his fingers as she shuts thedoor on them. In loving these powerful sirens, one gambles with
one's life. And this, perhaps, is why we love them 10 pttssioJUttely.
Such Wtts the Countess de IAnt}'.
22Filippo, Marianinct's brother, shttred with his Bister in theCountess's metrvelous bettuty. To be brief, this young metn Wttl dliving irnttge of Antinous, even more slender. Yet how well theBethin, delicttte proportions dre suited to young people when an
olive complexion, strongly defined eyebrows, and the fire of velvet
eyes give promise of future rnttle {JdBsion, of brave thoughts I If
Filippo resided in every gul's hettrt tts an idedl, he also resicUd in
the memory of every mother tIB the best ClItch in FrdnCe.
23The bettuty, the fortune, the wit, the cluDms of theBe two children, came solely from their mother. ··The Count de Ltmty was
BJ'nttll, ugly, and pock-mttrked; dtuk tts a Spaniard, dull as a btmJc.,.
However, he was taken to be d deep politicidn, (Jerh4ps becttUlle herdrely lttughed, emd was always quoting Metternich or WeUington.
2aThis myrterious fmnily had aU the tJfJI'eal of one of Lord Byron's poems, whose difficulties each person in the fttshionttble worldinterpreted in a different way: an obscure and mblime lOng in every
strophe. HThe reBerl'e rnttintained by M. and Mme de Ltmty dbout
their origin, their post life, and their reldtionship with the four
corners of the tJobe had not ldsted long tIB a subject of ttltoniBhment in Pttris. Nowhere perh4ps is Vupd8i4n's caiom better underIfood. There, even bloodstained or filthy money betrays nothing
and ItttndI for everything. So long tts high society knows the amountof your fortune, you CITe clttIsed among those htMng an equal
cnnount, dnd no one tIBia to '" your ftUnily tree, because everyone
howl how much it colt. In d city where toeitJl problenu tIr. BOlvedliJce CIlgebraic equ.ations, ddventurm have every opportunity intheir favor. Even suppoAng this family were oforigin, it WCI8
10 wealthy, 10 attractive, thttt society had no trouble in forgiving its
little teCTeU. 21UnfortuJUttely, however, the mylfery of the LtmtyB
prumted " continuing wurce of curiOllity, rttther like tlutt cantoined in the nov'" of Ann RmIcliffe.
"Obfenoer., people who 17Ittl:e it d point to know in whttt .hop
you buy your c"ndleIticb, or who cJd the cnnount of your rent
when they find your cJfJtIrlnumt attrdCtive, had nomd, now and8)'' ' 'then, in the midst of the Countess'. partiu, concerts, bdlls, tmd
routs, the tJPfJe4rtmee of tJ strtJRge persontJ{!,e. nIt WdB tJ mtJn. BOThe
first titfUI he htJd tJfJPetJred in the mcmsion WdB during tJ concert,when he seetfUld to have been drtJWn to the BtJlon b, MtJritJnind senchtJnting voice.
Il"AU of tJ sudden, I'm cold," tJ l4cl, htJd said who WcIS sttJnding
with tJ friend by the door.
The strtJ",er, who WdS sttJnding next to the women, went dWtJY.
"ThtJt's oddl I'm wcmn now." she said, after the strtJnger htJdgone. "And ,0u'U StJY I'm mtJd, but I ctJn't help thinking thtJt m,neighbor, the mtJn dressed in bltJclr. who just left, WdB the ceruse ofchill."
uBefore long, the exaggertJtion ntJtive to those in high society
gtIlIe birth to tJnd dCCUmu14ted the most tJmusing idetJs, the mostoutrtJgeous expressions, the most ridiculous tIlWcdotes tJbout thismysterious persontJ{!,e. I IAlthough not tJ vtJmpire, tJ ghoul, or tJn
tJrtificitJl mtJn, tJ Ir.ind of FtJust or Robin GoodfeUow, people fond of
ftJnttJSy said he htJd something of tJU these tJnthropomorphic Rdtures tJbout him. "Here tmd there, one CtJ11Je tJCrOSS SOtfUI GermtJns
who accepted dB foct these clever witticisms of PmisitJn sctmdtJlmongering. liThe strtmger WdS tfUlrel, tJn old mtJn. aeMtJny of theyoung tfUln who were in the htJbit of settling the future of Europe
ellery morning in tJ few eiegtJnt phrtJSe8 would htJ\le lilted to see inthis strtJnger SOtfUI gretJt crimiRtJi, the possessor of vtJst wetJlth.
SOtfUI storytellen recounted the life of this old mtJn tmd prOllided
retJUy curious dettJils tJbout the tJtrocities he htJd committed whilein the service of the MtJhtJrtJjtJ of Mysore. SOtfUI btJnkers, more positive by ntJture, invented tJ fable tJbout money. "BtJh," they StJid,
shrugging their .houlders in pity, "this poor old mtJn is tJ ~em,genoisel",OU

1'''Sir, without being indiscreet, could
pletJSe teU tfUI whtJt
you tfUltJn by tJ tete genoise?""A mtJn, sir, with tJn enormous lifmtfUI Cd/JittJl tJnd whose fttmil,'s incotfUI doubtless depends on his good hetJlth."
III retJUlmber lutving hetJrd tJt MtfUI d'Espord'. tJ h,pnotist proving on highly suspect historictJl dattJ thtJt this old mtJn, pruerved
under tJ.tm, WcIS the ftJmous BtJlstJmo, Ir.nown dB CtJgliostro. Accord-ing to this contemporary dlchemirt, tM Sicilidn adventurer hdd
ucdfJed duth and fJds8ed his time fdbricating gold for his grtmdchildren. lAst, the bailiff of F erette nuJintdined tIutt he hdd recognized this odd personage dB the Count of Sdint-Germttin. ItThae
stupidities, spoleen in witty accents, with the mocking dir chdrtJCteristic of atheistic society in our d4y, leept tIliv. vcrgue SUSpicioDS
dbout the LAnty fanul:),. f.°Findlly, through a mange combiMtionof circumstances, the members of this family ;umped everyone',conjectures by belutving somewhat mysteriously toward this old
mdn, whose life WdB somehow hidden from till investigdtion.
f.1 Whenever this person crossed the thr-.hold of the room he
WdB supposed to inMbit in the LAnty mdMOn, his tJPfJedrdnce tIlwd)'s created a great sensation crmong the family. One might Ium
Cdlled it an event of great importance. Filippo, MaridnintJ, Mme delAnty, and an old servant were the only persons privileged to dBIist
the old mdn in wdllcing, tJriBing, sitting down. &ch of them wdtchedover his slightest movement. f.2lt seemed that he WdB an enchanted
being upon whom depended the IuJpfJiJJe8l, the life, or the fortuneof them till. taWdB it affection or fem? TIuw in society were uRdbk
to discover d1I')' clue to help them wive this ",oblem. M Hidd4m forwhole months in the depths of a aecret BmICtuttT)', this family . " .
would tlUddenly come forth, unexpecudly, and would tJ/'I'e4r in the
midst of the salons lilce those fdiries of bygone dttys who dacended
from flying dragons to interrupt the rites to which they Iuul notbeen invited. f.l()nly the m06t avid onloolcerr were then ttble toperceive the uneasiJJe81 of the hedds of the house, who could conce4l their feelings with unUSUtll sJall. tlSometimes, holWlVer, while
dtJncing a quadrille, Mdridnina. ndive dB she WdB, would CtI8t a terrifUld glance at the old man when she spi6d him crmong the crowd.
Or elBe Filippo would slip quiclcly through the throng to his side
and would std)' near him, tender and attentive, dB though contact
with others or the slightest breath would destroy this mange credture. The Countess would mtIlre a point of drawing near, without
seeming to have any intention of joining them; then, dBtIUming amanner and expression of servitude mixed with tenderness, submisnon, and power, she would "y a few words, to which the old J11dR
nearly tIlwayr deferred, and he would disappem, led off, or, more:n6

precisely, ccmied off, by her. nlf Mme de Lanty were not present,
the Count used d thoUS4nd streatttgems to reach his side; however,
he seemed to luJve difficulty m.cJking himself heord, dnd treeated him
like d spoiled child whose mother gives in to his whims in order toavoid d scene. nSome bolder persons having thoughtlessly ventured
to question the Count de lAnty, this cold, reserved mdn Iuul dPpemed never to understcmd them. And so, after mdny biss, dll futile
becduse of the circumspection of the entire fdmily, everyone stopped
trying to leatham such d weU-kept secret. WedT)' of trying, the comfJdniorulble spies, the idly curious, dnd the politic dll gcwe up bothering dbout this mystery.
uHowever, even now perhdps in these glittering salons there
were some philosophers who, while ettting dn ice or d sherbet, or
pldcing their empty punch gltIS8 on d side tdble, were SlJYing to eachother: "It wouldn't surprise me to lecarn theat those peofJle tile
crooks. The old mdn who hide, dnd only m.cJkes his dppetJrdnce on
the first ddy of spring or winter, or dt the solstices, looks to me liked IcilkT""Or d confidence mdn"It's dlmost the Sdme thing. Killing d mdn's fortune is sometimes
worse tlum lciUing the mem."-1O"Sir, llutve bet twenty loWs, I should get bod forty.""But, sir, there tile only thirty on the tdble.""Ah weU, you see how mixed the crowd is, here. It's impossible
to play.""True
But it's now netllly six months since we've seen the
Spirit. Do you think he', redl.ly oliver'"Hoht tit best"

These lost words were spoken netI1 me by peofJle I did not know,
off, 610nd CIS I WClS resuming, in dJI afterthought,
my mixed thoughts of white ond block, life dnd deeath. My vivid
imdginotion CIS weU CIS my eyes looked bod mad forth from theparty, which hod reached the height of its splendor, ~nd the somber
Beene in the gordens. 121 do not know how long I mediteated onthese two faces of the hUmdn coin; II but dll eat once I WdS owakened by the sti~d lough of d young WOmdn. IH I WdS stunned by thetJfJpetlldnce of the iJ'J1d&e which orose before me. HBy one of those
CIS they were moving

tricks of ndture, the Judf-mournful thought turning in my mind
hdd emerged, ttnd it tlf'l'etIT.d living befen me, it htuI ",",ng lih
Minerva from the head of Jow, ftIlJ and nrong. it Well tit once dhundred )'"11 old ttnd twenty-two )'etIrI old; it Well dim and Udd.
"Escaped from his room liJc. d lunatic from 'hil cell, the little" oldman hdd obviouBly slipped behind a hedge of p.oplc who werelistening to Mttrianind', voice, ~niBhing the cavtltind from Tancredi.
IT He seemed to hdve come out from underground, impelled bysome piece of If4ge rrldChinery. "Motionless ttnd somber, he rtoodfor a moment gazing tit the fJ4rf)', the noises of which htuI perhdpl
reached his etITs. His tIlmort somndmbultltory I'reoccupation WdB'SO
concentrtlted on things tlult he Well in the world without _ng it.
UHe had unceremoniously ",",ng up next to one of the mort ravishing women in Paris, IOd young and elegant ddncer, delictltely
formed, with one of those ftlCes dB fresh dB that of a child, pinlc andwhite, so frcDl and transparent that d man's tJ4nce seems to penetrtlte it lilce d ray of sunlight going through ice. lIThe)' were boththere before me, together, united, ttnd so clOBe that the Btrdnser
brushed against her, her gaury drea, her gtITlttnds of flow"', hersoftly curled hair, her floating BdBh.
121 had brought this young woman to Mme de Lanty', btIll. Since
this was her ~rtd visit to the house, I forgave her her rtifled 14ugh,but I quidly gave her a signtll which com/'letely silenced her ttnd
~d her with awe for her neighbor. "She sat down next to me.
"The old man did not wdnt to leave this lovely cretlture, to whom
he had att«hed himself with that Iilent ttnd aeemingly
stubbornness to which the extremely old tlTe /'rone, ttnd which malees
them tJI'fJedr childish. -In orckr to sit netI1' her, he htuI to t41ce (Jfolding chair. His slightetd movements were full of that cold huvinea, the stupid indecision, CMrdCterirtic of the gestures of a /'tITdlytic. He sat slowly down on his seat, with circumspection, "muttering Bome uninteUigible words. His worn-out voice WdB liJc, thesound made by d rtone faIling down a well. "The young woman
held my hand tightly, dB if ..Icing /'rotection on some precifJice,and she shivered when this man tit whom she waloolcing tatum.d
ul'0n her two eyes without wttrmth, glaucow eyes which could only
be compared to dull mother-of~.

base_

2:18

.... I'm afraid," she said, letming toward m)' ear.
TO"You Cdn ttdlt," I answered. "He is very IuJrd of hearing.""Do you know him?"
71 Thereupon, she gctthered up enough courdge to look for a
moment ctt this CTettture for which the hUmdn language IuJd no
name, a form -without substance, a being without life, or a life without action. 12She was under the speU of that timorous curiosity
which leads women to seek out dangerous emotions, to go see
chained tigers, to look ctt boa constrictors, frightening themselvesbecause they are separctted from them onl), by wuk fences. TI Although the little old mdn's back was stooped lilee a laborer's, one
could etI8ily tell that he must luzve IuJd ctt one time a normal .luJpe.

His excessive thinness, the delicacy of his limbs, proved that he IuJd
always been slender. 'ofHe WCII dTessed in block riUt. trousers which
feU about his boR)' thighs in folds, liJce an empty 1Itlil. 111An ancttomist would have promptl), recognized the symptoms of gdlloping
consumption by loolting ctt the skinn), legs supporting this strangebod)'. flyOU would luzve said they were two bones CTOBsed on atombstone.
11A feeling of profound horror for mdMind gripped the heart
when one saw the m41b thctt decrepitude IuJd left on this fragile
mochine. TIThe stranger was wearing an old-fashioned gold~m­
broidered white waistcoat, and his linen was daulingl)' white. A
friU of BOl1IeWhat ),ellowed lace, rich enough for a queen's envy,
feU into ruflla on his breast. On him, hOWflWlr, this 14ce ,.."..dmore lilee a rag tluJn lilee an ornament. Centered on it was a fabulous clidmond which glittered liJce the sun. '''This outmoded luxury,
this particu14r and fllBteless jewel, made the strange CTectture's fdeeeven more striking. IOThe setting was worth), of the portrait. Thisdark face WCII angular and aU SUM in. The chin was SUMen, thetemplel were suMen; the eyes were lost in )'eUowiBh sockets. The
jawbones stood out because of his indescribable thinness, cruting
C4lVities in the center of eoch cheek. I1The.. deformations, more orless iUuminated by the candles, produced sluJdow. and strange
refkctions which BUCCeeded in erasing an)' hUmdn characteriBtia
from his face. U And the )'etJTIluJd glued til. thin, )'eUow .kin of hisface so closely to his slrull that it WClS covered cill over with d multitude of circul.ttr wrinkles, Wee the ripple. on d pond into which dchild IuI8 thrown d pebble, or Btar-Bhttped, like d crdCked windowptlne, but everywhere deep dnd close-set CIS the edges of pttges in dclosed book. ·Sorne old people have presented more hideous portraits; what contributed the moat, however, in lending the tJPfJeardRCe of dn ttrtificUU creature to the specter which httd risen up
before us WClS the red tJRd white with which he glistened. The eyebrow. of his mllSk took from the light d luster which revfUJled thatthey were ptlinted on. FortuntJtely for the eye depressed by thesight of such ruin, his CtJeUtverous skuU WClS covered by d blond wig
whose innumerttble curls were evtdence of dn extrdordiRllry pretension. "For the rest, the feminine coquetry of this phttnflumtJgoriettl
persoruJge was rtJther strongly emphasized by the gold omttments
httnging from his fUlTS, by the ring. whose fine stones glittered on
his bony fingers, dnd by d wtJtch chttin which shimmered like thebrilliltnts of d choker tUound d womtJn's neck. BlFincilly, this sortof Jdptlnese idol "httd on his bluish lips d fixed dnd frcnen smile,
implttcttble dnd mocking. like d .Jrull. "'Silent ttnd motionless CIS d
Bttttw, it exuded the musty odor of old clothes which the heirs ofsorne duchess tttlce out for inventory. IIAlthough the old mtJn
tumed his eyes towtUd the crowd, it seemed that the movernenu
of those orbs, inCtJptlble of sight, were dCCOmplished only by rnetJRS
of sorne imperceptible artifice; dnd when the eyes CtJrne to rest on
something, dnyone looking tJt them would httve concluded thatthey httd not moved tJt cillo "To see, next to this humtJR wreckage,
d young womtJn IOwhose neck, bosom, dnd tJTmS were bdre tJRd
white, whose figure was in the full bloom of its bemJty, whose httirrose from her cdcJbdSter forehead dnd inspired love, whose eyes did
not receive but gave off light, who WClS soft, fresh, dnd whose floating curls dnd sweet bretJth seemed too huvy, too htUd, too powerful for this shttdow, for this mtJn of dust: 11tJhl here were detJth dnd
life indeed, I thought, in d fdntdBtic mCJbesque, httlf hideous chimerd, divinely feminine from the wtJist up.
"Yet there me rn.cJTTi4ges like that often enough in the world," I
stJid to myBlllf.
n"He smells like d grdVeymd," cried the terrified young womtJn,

"preBBing ttgtJinst me for prot.mon, t1nd whose uned8)' movements
told me she Wt18 frightened . ....Wht1t t1 horrible light," she went on.
"I ct1n't st4y here t1ny longer. If Iloole t1f him ttgt1in, I ,Ml.l believethat death itself ht18 come looleing for me. Is he oliwr'"She retlChed out to the phenomenon "with that boldness
women Cdn summon up out of the rtrength of their desires; "but,he brolee into t1 cold swettt, for no sooner ht1d she touched the old
mt1n tht1n she heard t1 cry lilr.e t1 rt1ftle. This sharp 'Voice, if voice it
Wt18, issued from t1 nearly dried up throat. "Then the sound Well
quicldy foUowed by t1 little, convulsive, childish cough of t1 fJeCulim
sonorousness. "At this sound, Mari.t1nint1, Filippo, t1nd Mme de
LAnty ldell in our direction, mad their gl4nces were li.It.e bolts oflightning. The young womt1n wished she were t1f the bottom of theSeine. lflOShe toole my cmn t1nd led me into t1 side room. Men,
women, everyone mt1de wcry for us. At the end of the public rooms,
we Cdme into t1 smt1U, semicircultu cht1mber. lOlMy comfJt1nion
threw herself onto t1 divt1n, trembling with fright, oblivious to her
runoundings.
l02"Mt1dtmae, you me mt1d," l.aid to her.
10l"But," she replied, t1fter t1 moment's silence, during which I&dUd at her in tldrniration, lOt"is it my ft1Ult? Why does Mme de
Lanty t1llow ghOBts to Wt1nder i1bout in her howe?"lOO"Come," I repl.Ued, "you me being ridiculous, tding t1 litt"
old mt1n for t1 ghost."
loe"Be still," she Btlid, with tht1t forceful t1nd moclcing t1ir t1U
women so et1Sily t18BUme when they Wt1nt to be in the right.
lOT'Wht1t t1 pretty rooml" she cried, loolcing mound. "Blue S4tin
t1lwcrys mdes such wonderful wall ht1ngings. How refreshing it isl108()hl wht1t t1 bet1utiful pttintingl" she went on, getting up madgoing to stt1nd before t1 painting in t1 mttgnificent frt1me.
We stood for t1 moment in contemplation of this mt1TVel,l"which seemed to ht1ve been pttinted by some sufJem4turttl brush.
nOThe picture Wt18 of Adonis lying on t1 lion', slein. 111The li1mp
ht1nging from the ceiUng of the room in t1n t1ltJbt1ster tJobe illuminated this ct1nvt18 with t1 soft I!J.ow which eruJbled us to mde out
t1U the beduties of the painting.
112"Does such t1 perfect crei1fure exist?" ,he t1Sleed me, llIafter
2)1Mving. with II soft tmlile of contmtment, examined the exquisite
grtJCe of the contours, the pose, the color, the hdir; in ahort, theentire picture.
IW'He is too buutiful for II mem," .he added, after an exdmination BUCh tIS .he might have made of some rival.
'lll()hI how jedlous I then felt: IOmething 111 in which d poet IuJd
. vdirdy tried to rnal:e me beliew, the jedlOUBY of engravings, of pictures, wherein artists eMg&erdte human beauty dCCOrding to the
4e>¢iJUl which ,"ds them to idetJlize everything.
m"lt's a portrdit," 1 replied, "t~ I"oduct of the talent of Vien.
118But tlutt gredt pttinter never scrw the original dnd n1lI)'be~Yoil dadmire it less if you l:new tlutt this daub Well copied from the BttItw
of a womem."llI"But who is it?"1 hesitdted.
"I Wllnt to l:now," she added, impetuously.
120"1 belielle," I replied, "thot this Adonis is a
II reldtive ofi Mme de Ldnty."
1211 IuJd the pain of seeing her rapt in the contempldtion of thisfigure. She Bdt in silence; I lilt down nat to her dnd tool: her Iumd
without her being dWdre of itI Forgotten for d paintingI I_At thismoment, the light footsteps of d womem in d rwtUng drea b,ol:ethe silence. lilyoung MdridnirJIJ ClII1Je in. cmd her innocent Gl"eBsion made her even more alluring tlum did her grace tmd her lavely
dress; she WtlS wall:ing slowly and escorting with maternal Cdre,
with filial solicitude, the cortumed If»cter who 1uuI made us fla
from the music room mdnd whom .he Wtll leading. watching withwlutt seemed to be concern til he alowly advdJ1Ced on his fubl. feft.
'2IIThey went together with lOme difIiculty to d door hid4m behind a tapestry. 12eThere, MaridnirJIJ l:nocl:ed .oftly. UTAt once, til
if by JntJgic, a taU, stern man. a Idnd of fdmily genie, appedred.
'28Before entrusting the old man to the Cdre of hil m)'lterioul
grurrdian, I2Ithe child respectfully baed the Wdll:ing corpse, lind
her cluute Cdre.. WdB not devoid of tlutt graceful Clljolery of whichlOme privileged women poaea the teeret.
uO"Addio, adelio," she Bdid, with the prettiut infLu:tion in her
youthful voice.

IIISM tldded to tM ~nal '1lUJble d 11ItI1'Wlously weU-GeCUud
trill, but in d .oft voice, dB if to give I>oetic expreaion to til. emotiORB in her hemt. II2Suddenly mucic by .ome memory, tIN old
man stood on tM thre.hold of this secret hideawd)'. Then, throughthe silence, we hemd the hury sigh thdt Cdme from his chest:
IUhe toolc the most bedutiful of the ri~ which ddorned his .Iteletdl ~nger., dnd pldced it in MdruJRiRd'. bo.om. IUThe young girlbrolce into ldughter, toolc the ring, dnd slipped it onto her ~ngerover her glove; IUthen she wdllced quiclcly towmd the Bdlon, fromwhich there could be hemd the opening medBUrU of d quddrille.
II'She scrw us:"Ala, you were here," .he Bdid, blushing.
After having seemed dB if @Out to question UB, liT.he rdn to her
pmtner with the CClreless petulmace of youth.
1.... Whdt did thdt mednl" my young comfJdnion dBlced me. "Ishe her husbdnd? 1181 must be druming. Where dm I?""You," I replisd, "you, rf'ItUl4me, superior dB you Me, )IOu who
understandwell the most hidden feelings, who bow how toinspire in d man'. hedrl the most delicdte of feeli~ without blighting it, without bredlting it dt the outset, you who pity MtIT'tlIChe
dnd who combine the wit of d PdTisisnne with d /Jd88iondte soul
worthy of Itdly or Spain-"
She perceived the bitter irony in my .peech; then, without seeming to have hedTd, .he interrupted me: "Oh, you fdBhion me to yourown Ulste. Whdt tyrdnnyt You don't WdRt me for myselfr'"Ala, I wdnt nothing," I cried, tden dbdclc by her severity. IW'b
it true, dt leost, thdt you enjoy hedring stones of those vivid fJdIsioJU thdt ravishing Southern women inspire in our hedTtlr'
IU"Yu,"So, I'U Cdll tomorrow Mound nine dRd revedi this mystery toyou."lt2"No," .he replisd, "I wdnt to Icnow now.""You haven't yet given me the right to obey you when you Bd)':I wdnt to."It'''M this moment," ,he replisd with mtlddening coquetry, "I
have the molt burning deme to Icnow the secret. TomorroW,-"Y
might not even liBten to you
"

.0

.or'

lUShe smiled and we pcated; she just dB proud, jun dB forbidding,and I just dB ridiculous dB ever. She IuuJ the auddcity to walt% witha young Clide-de<amp; and I MIS left in tum angry, pouting, admiring, loving, jedlous.
l""TiU tomorrow," she scrid, cuound two in the morning, dB sheleft the bdll.
"'''1 won't go," I thought to rrryseif. "I'U give you up. You cue
more capricious, fJerluJps a thoUSdnd times more fanciful
tluna
my imtlgiruttion."l"The next evening, we were both sectted before a good fire
14'in a smtdl, ele.nt Sdlon, she on a low sold, I on cushions almost
at her feet, and my eyes below hera. The street WdB quiet. The lmnp
shed a soft light. It WdB one of those evenings ple4sing to the soul,
one of those never-to-be-forgotten moments, one of thOle hounspent in peClCe and desire whOle clutnn, later on, is a matter for constant regret, even when we may be h4ppi6r. Who can erdle thevivid imprint of the prst feelings of love?
l41"WeU," she ldid, "I'm listening."
110"1 don't dcue begin. The story has some dangerous ptJ8Btlges
for its teUer.lf I become too mewed, you murt rtop me."lIll"Tell."
112"1 will obey."lliErnest-/ean SttrrClBine WdB the only son of d lawyer in the
Frdnche-Comte, I went on, after d fJdUSe. His father held dmtl88ed
six or eight thoUBdnd livra of income honertly enough, d professional's fortune which at thtlt time in the provinces, WdB considered
to be coloatJl. The elder ScurClBine, having but one child and dnDoUS
to overloole nothing where his education WdB concerned, hoped tomellee d mtlgistrdte of him, dnd to live long enough to see, in his oldtJge, the grdndson of Mtltthieu ScurClBine, farmer of Sttint-Die,
seated beneath the lilies dnd ndpping throiJ&h some tri4l for thegredter f)ory of the law; however, huven did not hold this ~rein store for the lawyer.
ll4The younger SarrClBine, entrusted to the lesuits at an eculy tJge,
lilevidenced an unUSlUll turbulence. litHe IuuJ the childhood of ameln of tdlent. liTHe would study only whtlt pleQlCd him, fre-

qwntly rebelled, and sometimes spent hours on end plunged in
confused thought, occupied tit times in watching his comrtJda atpltty, tit times dreaming of Homeric heroes. II1Then, if he JTJdde up
his mind to amuse himself, he threw himself into games with an
extraordiTIIJry ttrdor. When a fight brolee out between him and afriend, tM battle rttrely eruJ.d without bloodshed. If he WClS the
wea1cer of the two, he would bite. II1Both active and fJCIS8iw by
turns, without aptitude and not overly inteUigent, his bi%drre chttrtlCter IIOrruuk his teachers CIS wary of him dB were his clamnata.
l11Instead of lettrning the elements of Greele, he drew the Rewrend
F tither CIS he explilined a fJtIsS4ge in Thucydides to them, sleetched
the mttthematics tfUlCher, the tutors, the Ftlther in chttrge of discipline, and he scribbled ShapeleS8 designs on the walls. IlJlnstead of
singing the Lord's praisa in church, he distracted himself duringservices by whittling on a pew; Il10r when he had Btolen a piece ofwood, he C41Ved some holy figure. If he had no wood, paper, or
pencil, he reproduced his idus with bread crumbs. 1MWhether
copying the chttrdCters in the pictura that decortlted the choir, or
improvising, he always left behind him some groa sleetcha whose
licen.tioumea shocleed the youngeBt Ftithers; .viZ tongua maintained that the older lauiis were amused by them. IIiFinaUy, if weare to beUne school gOllllip, he WClS expelled Il1(or lutving, while
awaiting #aU tum at the confessional on Good Fr1d4y, shaped a big
stid of wood into the form of Christ. The impiety with which thu~ WClS endowed was too bltttant not to Iutve nwrited punishment of the artist. Had he not had the audacity to place this somewhat cynical figure on top of the ttJberJ1IJcle,
II1Sttrrasine sought in Paris a refuge from the effects INof afather's curse. I"Having one of those strong wills that broole no
obsttICle, he obeyed the comJTJdnds of his genius and entered Bouchttrdon's studio. 17°He worleed all day, and in the evening wentout to beg for his living. I'll Astonished at the young artist's progress
and intelligence, Bouchttrdon 1T2soon became aware of his pupil's
poverty; he helped him, grew fond of him, and treated him li1ce his
own son. !TIThen, when Sttrrasine's genius WClS revealed In in oneof those worb in which future talent strug&les with the effervescence of youth, lTlthe warmhearted Bouchttrdon endeavored torestore him to the old lttwyer's good grtJCes. Before the ttuthority of
the famous sculptor, the pmentdl anger BUbBided. .All B~on rejoiced at htJving given birth to a grut man of the future. In thefirst throes of the ecstasy produced by his fldttered vanity, the miserly lawyer gave his son the means to cut a good figure in ,ociety.
n'For a long time, the lengthy and laborious studies demanded bysculpture 1TTtttnWd Samuine', impetuous nature and wild genius.
Bouchardon, foreseeing the violeJ'IU with which the passions would
erupt in this young soul, 1''which was perhaps as predisposed tothem as Michelangelo's had been, lTIchanneled his energy into constant labor. He succeeded in keeping Sarrasiruls extraordif'IIITY impetuosity within limits by forbidding him to work; by suggesting
distractions when he saw him being carried away by the fury of someidea, or by entrusting him with impoTtlJnt work when he seemedon the point of abandoning himself to dissipation. 1lOHowever,gentleness was always the most powerful of weapons where thispassionate soul was concerned, and the master had no greater control over his student than when he inspired his gratitude throughpaternalltindness.
181 At twenty-two, Sarrasine was necessarily removed from the
BlIlutary influence Bouchardon had exercised over his morals andhis habits. 182He reaped the fruits of his &miuB by winning the
sculpture 1'"%11 1Uestablished by the Marquis de Marign)" thebrother of Mme de Pompadour, who did so much for the arts.
186 Diderot hailed the statue by Bouchardon's pupil as a masterpiece. 181lThe King's sculptor, not without great sorrow, saw off toltdlya young man l"whom he had Jcept, as a 1I1IItter of principk,
in total ignorance of the facts of life.
11'For six ),eaT', Sarrasine had boarded with Bouchardon. 1NAs
fanatic in his art as Canova was later to be, he arose at dawn, went
to the studio, did not emerge until nightfall, 118and lived only withhis Muse. 1101f he went to the Comedie-FraFlfttise, he was talen byhis master. He felt so out of pl4ce at Mme Geoffrin', and in highsociety, into which Bouclutrdon tried to introduc. him, that he preferred to be alone, and ,hunned the pkalures of that licentious era.
111 He had no other mistress but sculpture 112and Clotilde, one of
the luminaries of the Dpha. 1NAnd even thil affair did not z.t.
:136

IIHS4rrasine was rather ugly, IIlways bttdly dreaed, mad so free in his
nature, so irregular in his private life, Il1fhat the celebrated nymph,
feming some C4ttl8trophe, soon relinquished the sculptor to his loveof the Am. l"Sophie Arnauld mtItU one of her witticimu on thisBUbject. She confessed her BUrpri.se, 1 believe, thdt her frUnd htu.:f
JTUlnttged to triumph over stattuDy.
IITScmasine left for ltllly in 1758. 118During the journey, his vivid
imtJgination caught fire benedth ca brillidnt slty mad at tM Bight of
the wonderful monuments which are to be found in the birthpltlceof the Arts. He cadmired the statues, the frescoes, the paintings, candthus inspired, l"he ccnne to Rome, JOOfilled with desire to carve his
ncame between Micheltmgelo'. cand M. Bouchardon'•. Accordingly,
at the beginning, he divided his time betwun studio tcasb candexamining the worb of art in which Rome cabounds. 101He htu.:f Ill·reddy spent two weeb in the ecBttJtic st4te which overwMl".,
young minds at the sight of the queen of ruins, IOSwhen he went
one evening to the Teatro Argmtinca, IOIbefCml which ca huge crowd
WClS tJSSembled. IMHe inquired as to the CdUSeB of this gathering
200cand everyone canswered with two ncames: ~i~lUJr 10meUir
20IHe entered aoTcand took ca selIt in tlw orchestrca, ...quuud be·
tween two notcably fat abbati; "however, he was luclty enough tobe fdiTly close to the st•• 21°The curf4in roat. IllFor the fim timein his life, he heard that music 2Uwhose delights M. 1f1Cln·TClCqtIfi
Roussecau htu.:f so eloquently prad to him at one of Baron d'Hol·bach'. evenings. IIIThe young sculptor's senBe8 were, 10 to 1IfJed1c,
lubricdted by the ClCcents of 'omelli's BUblime IuJrmony. TIw lcan·
guorous novelties of these skillfully mingled ltdlican voices plunged
him into ca delicious ecstasy. I1tHe rerncained speechka, motionlea,
not even feeling crowded by the two priests. IltHis soul ptvJ8ed into
his ear. cand eye•. He seemed to hear through every pore. II'Sud·
denly ca burst of applcause which .hook the house greeted the priJTUI
donnca's entrance. IlTShe came coquettishly to the front of the stage
and greeted the audience with infinite grace. The lights, the gen.
erlll enthusicasm, the theatriclll illusion, the glcamour of ca style ofdrus which in those days was quite attroctive, IIlI conspired in favor
2110f this WOmCln. 211S4rrasine cried out with plecaBure.
tao At that instant he mmveled at tlw idecal beauty he had hith·.no sought in life, _king in 0,.. often unworthy model tM roundness of a fIerfect Ie&; in another, the curw of a breaBt; in another,white .hould.r.; finlllly ttlking .ome girl'. ned, some woman'.
hmads, and 10,. chWI. lfRooth inees, 1I1without ever lutving encountered under the cold Parisilm .iy the rich, sweet creations of
d11Cient Greece. I2lLa Zambi,..Ua dUfJlttyed to him, united, living,and delicate, thoee exquUite femtllc farms he 10 tlrdently duired, of
which a sculptor is at one. tM severest and the most ~judge. lI2aHer mouth WdB expruriY., her eyes loving, her complexion
d4ulingly white. II~And along with these dettIils, which would
Iutve eruaptured a ptlinter, lllwere aU the wonders of those irn.ages
of Venw revered and rendered by the chilelB of the Greeu. IIITheartist never wearied of admiring the inimitable grdee with which
the arms were dtt4ched to the torso, the J1IdnIelow round,.." of
the ned, the harmoniOUI Ii"., drawn by the eyebrows, the nose,and the perfect oval of the ftlCe, the purity of its vivid contours andthe effect of the thici, curved ldshes which lined her he4vy and'Voluptuow eyelids. DTThis was more than a woman, this was amasterpiece/lllIn this unhoped-for creation could be found a loveto erutJf1ture any man, and buutia worthy of Btttisfying a critic.
lI2IWith his eyes, Sarrasine dnoured Pygmalion'. st4tue, co,.
down from its pedestal. JIOWIwn La ZmnbineUa rang, U1tM eff.ct
was delirium. IUThe artist felt cold; Daflwn he felt a hut whichsuddenly began to pricltle in the inrwrmort apth of his being, inwhat we call the heart, for ltIClc of any otJwr wordl ~He did not
appl4ud, he said nothing, IUhe experinced an imf1ulse of madness,
2Na land of frenz:y which overcoma UI only when lH tire at the age
when desire has something frightening and infernal about it. UTSar_rasine wanted to leap onto the IttIgfI and tdlce fJ08BUBion of thiswoman: his strength, increased a hundredfold by a moral Upreaion
impo.sible to explain, since these phenomena occur in em tired hidden from human obBer'Vation, seemed to manifest itself with painful violence. HlLoolang at him, one would have thought him a coldand "nselea man. "'Fame, Icnowledge, tutu", existence, laurels,

everything coll4peed.
2tO"To be loved by her, or dUJr' Such was the acru Sarrasine
fJd8sed upon hinvelf. 841He was .0 utterly intoxicat.d that he no338

longer saw the theater, the specttttOrB, the tlCtor., or hurd themusic. If2Moreover, the distdnce between himself dnd Ltt Zdmbinelltt htuJ cetllfld to exist, he p088e8Sed her, his eyu were riwted
upon her, he took her for his own. An ttlmort ditlbolicttl power enabled him to feel the bretSth of this voice, to rmeU the scented
powder covering her httir, to see the plarue, of her face, to count the
blw wins sluldowing her StJtin skin. 2UlAst, this ttgile voice, freshdRd silvery in timbre, supple dB d threttd slulped by the slightest
bredth of tJiT, rolling dnd unroUing, cCIBCdding dnd sctJttering, thisvoice dttttcked his soul so vividly 14ftlust severttl times he gdYe ventto involuntmy erie, tom from him by convulsive feelings of pledsure 21~hich tlTe ttU too rdrely vouclwtfed by hurrutn pttsBions.
2·'He WdB presently obliged to leave the theater. 2fTHis tremblinglegs ttlmost refused to support him. He WdB limp, W8dk dB d sensitive rrutn who htJB given wtty to overwhelming dnger. He httd experienced such p/.edSUre, or perhttps he IuId suffered so keenly, tlust hislife httd drttirued dWtty like wdter from d broken VtJBe. He felt empty
inside, d prostrdtion similtJT to the debilittJtion thttt overcomes thoseconvttlescing from serious iUness.
21SOvercome by dR inexplicttble Sddness, I4the StJt down on thestep, of d church. There, lettning bock ttgttinsf d pill4r, he feU intod confused medittJtion, dB in d dretml. He httd been maitten by ""'sion. HOUpon returning to his lodging" 20Ihe feU into orue of those
frenzjes of tJCtivity which disclose to us the presence of new elements in our lives. A prey to this fim fever of love derived equttlly
from both pleClBUre dRd pttin, he tried to ~ his imptttiencednd his delirium by drttwing LrJ Zttmbinella from memory. It WdB dkind of embodied medittJtion. 1120n orue pttge, Ltt ZtnnbirueUd tJf;
fJetI1ed in tlust dppttrently cttlm dnd cool pose fdYored by &p1uJe1,
Ciorgiorue, dnd every gretSt pttinter. III()n dnother, ,he WdB tkliedtely tuming her heOO ttfter httving finished d triU, ttnd ttpfJetI1ed tobe listening to herself. 2HStlTTttsirue ,ketched his mistress in evtIrf
pose: he drew her unveiled, setJted, stttnding, lying down, cluJste or
dmorous, embodying through the delirium of his pencils every CdPricious notion thttt Cdn enter our hettds when we thinJr intently
ttbout d mistress. 2OIHowever, his fevered thought. went beyond
drttwing. 211He SdW Ltt ZttmbirueUtt, spoke to her, beseeched her, he239

fJtIBs8d a thoU8dnd yeflTB of life tmd Iutf1pinea with her by fJldcing
her in every ifTl4gincJble position; IITin short, by Sdmpling the futurewith her. 2II()n the foUowing day, he sent his valet to rent a box
next to the st4ge for the entire sedlon. IIIThen, lilee dll young pe~
pie with lusty .ouls, HOhe euggerdted to hirrJ88lf the difficulties of
his undertdlcing and first fed his pcusion with the pletJsure of being
dble to ddmire his mistress without obstruction. 2tlThis golden.
of love, during which we tdlce pledSUre in our own feeling and inwhich we dre hdppy dlmost by ourselves, IUWdB not destined to ldBt
long in SdrrdSine's Cdse. 2UNevertheless, events took him by surprise
H4while he WdB still under the speU of this verndl halluciRdtion, dB
naive dB it WdB voluptuous. Hlln a week he lived a lifetime, spending the mornings knedding the cl4y by which he would copy LA
ZambineUa, 2t8desf:rite the veils, slrirts, corset., and ribbons which
corlCedled her from him. ItT1n the evenings, instdUed in his box
edrly, dlone, lying on a sofa lilee a Turk under the influence ofopium, he cruted for hirrJ88lf a pletJsure dB rich tmd vnd dB he
wished it to be. "'First, he gradlUllly fmnilimized hirrJ88lf with theoverly vivid emotions his mistress'. singing dfforded him; -he thentrdined his eyes to see her, and findlly he could contempltfte her
HOWithout fettring dR outburBt of the wild frenry which hdd seized
him on the first day. As his fJdssion beCdme cdlmer, it grew deeper.
HIFor the rest, the unsocilJble sculptor did not dUow his frinuIB to
intrude upon his solitude, which WdB peopled with irncJga, ddorned
with fdRtdsies of hope, dRd filled with Iutf1pinea. ITIH" love WdB.0 strong, so Rd'ive, tlult he experWnced dU the innocent scruples
thdt dSSdil us when we love for the first time. ITIAs he begdR to redlize thdt he would soon hdve to oct, to plot, to inquire where LA
ZdmbineUd lived, whether she hdd a mother, uncle, fetlcher, family, to ponder, in short, on Wd)'S to see her, .pedlc to her, these grut,
ambitious thoughts made his hemt sweU 80 painfully thdt he putthem off unfillater, 2T4deriving dB much satisfaction from his ph)'sicdl suffering dB he did from his intel1ectlUll pleasura.

2711"But," Mme de Rochefide interrupted me, "I still don't Beeanything about either MarianiRd or her little old mdR."

"You tlTe seeing nothing but himf' I cried imptlt'Wntly, Wre dn
dUthor who ir being forced to ,poil d thedtricdl effect.
nlFor severol dayB,I raumed afUr d fHtu#, StlTraiM IuuJ r~
peored BO fdithfull)' in hir box dnd hir eyes IuuJ exf'rUSlld auch love
2T7tlutt his pasion for LA 'LunbinelU(,voice would Iutve _n common 1cnowledge throughout Pdria, IuuJ thiB ddwnture ,..".,..dthere; 2T'however, in ItIIl)', 71ItItlmne, everyone goa to the theaterfor himself, with hiB own /JdBBiOnB, dnd with d hetlrtfelt interut
which precludeB spying through operd gLlsBu. n'NeverthelaJ, thesculptor'. enthU6i4ma did not UCdfJe the CIttention of thefor long. 2IO()ne evening. the FrenchrndflldW tlutt they wr. Laughing dt him in the wings. 1I1It ir hmd to Jrnow what extreme dCtiORB
he might not httve Wen IIIhdd LA 'Lunbinelld not come onto the
BftJge. She gave Sturdtline one of tho. eloquent tJ.tmca tuwhkh
often reveol much more thtJn women intend them to. -Thir
gl4nce WCII d totdl revel4tion. StITr_ne wdllovedl"If it'. only d CdfJrice," he thought, tIlrudy ClCCUtling hiB mistralof excessive tlTdor, "she doesn't Jrnow whdt she ir subjecting heraelf
to. I am hoping her C4fIrice willlMt my whole lif....
211At tMt moment, the tITtiIt'. dttmtWn WCII diBtrlUUd by flu.
soft 1cnocb on the door of hiB box. IMHe open.d it. InAn oldiii,..,.

WOmdR entered with em tIirof mystery.

wcmt to be htJpfry, be prudent.
Put on d cdfJe, wetIT d htJt drawn down Oller your eyes; then, tlToundten in the evening, be in the Vid del Corso in front of the Hotel eli
Spttgnd."
2W'l'U be there," he replied, "pleing two louU in the dwnn4',
2.... Young ffIIIII," ,he Idid, "if you

wrin1cled htJnd.
211 He 16ft hir box 282ttfter IuMng fivm d rignal to LA 'LunbinelltJ,
who timidly lowered her heavy eyelidI, lih d WOmdR pktaed to beunderrtood dt 1Mt. 2tlThen he rdn home to dr... hinuelf CII Beductillely dB he could. INAs he WCllluving the theater, nod mcmge
mdR too1c hiB tIml.

"Be on your gwud, FrenchmtJn," he whilpered in his elIr. "Thisir d J1JII:tUr of life dnd dedth. Ctlrdinol CicogntlTd ir her protector
dlld doan't tri{k."24 1

...At that moment, IuJd some demon set the /'it of heU between
Smrtlli,.. dnd Ld ZAmbiJWll4, he would h4ve croaed it with OM
kd/J. We the horses of the gods described by Homer, the sculptor's
love 1uJd tr~d 'VdBt diBtttnt:a in the twinJrling of dI1 eye.
·'''If death it8elf were wditing for me outside the house, I would
go even fd8ter," he replied.
lIII"Poverino'" the Btrdnger cried III he ~ed.
2W5pedling of ddnger to d lowr is tcmtamount to telling him
pluBures, is it not? "'SmrdBine's 'VdIet htJd never seen his mdBter
tdlce so much Cdre owr his toilette. IOIHis finat BWor~ d gift from
Bouchdrdon, the BdBh Clotilde hdd given him, his embroideredcOdt, his ril".,-brOCdde wcristcOdt, his gold muffbox, his ;ew.z.d
wdtches, were dll tdlcen from their coffers, I02dnd he ddo"..d himself Wee d girl dbout to df1I*Ir before her font love. IOIAt til. . .
pointed hour, drunJc with love tmd seething with hope, ICHSmrtlline,
conculed in his CdfIe, .ped to the rmde%voUi til. old womcm htuI
gi'Ven him. The duenrlll Will Wditing for him.
"You took d long time," she BtIitl. .....Come."
She kd the Frenchmdn dlong .wrdl bdck meets aoetmd rtof'Ped
before d rather htJndsome mdMon. "She knocked. IWfhe door
opened. --She kd Smrdli,.. dlong d ldbyrinth of rtairwcJya, gtIlmia, dnd rooms which were lit only by the f-ble light of the moon,
2nd soon Cdrne to d door 'IOfhrough whoa. crClCU tJurrwd bright
light8 dnd from behind which Cdme the joyful soundl of armdl'Voices. I11Whm at d word from the old WOmdn he Will ddmitted
to thil myrteriOUB room, Smraine WdB sudtknly ddzzlAId tit finding
hi"*'f in d Idlon dB brillidntly lighted III it WdB rumptuouJly furnilhed, in the center of which stood d tdble ldden with venerdble
bottla dnd fltuhing fld&ons BfJdrl:ling with ruby ftll¥t8. IllHe recognized the Bingen from the theater, 'lIdlong with some chdrming
wornen, dll re4dy to begin dn artistB' orgy III lOOn III he Wdl crrnong
them. Il'SmrdBine ruf'l1rused d feeling of diItJppointment 11Itmd
put on d good fdee. IllHe hdd expected d dim room, his mist:raB
seated by the fire, some jetdOUB person nedrby, d.ath tmd love, dI1
exchtJnge of confidmca in low 'Voices, hurt to hurt, ddngerous
kiaa tmd fdeeS so close that Ld Ztnnbinelld. hair would h4ve
cdrused his forehedd throbbing with delir., feverish with hdppinell.

In"Vive la folie'" he cried. "Signori e belle donne, you willdllow me to t41ce my revenge kzter and to show you my gratitude
for the wei)' you have welcomed d poor sculptor."
IlIHaving been greeted wtJrmly enough by most of those present,
whom he knew by sight, 111he sought to dfJProach the armchdir onwhich IA Zambirwlld DOwdS CtIItUIlly reclining. u1M, how his
hedrt be« when he spied d delicate foot shod in one of thOle slippers which in those dd)'s, md)' I say, mddclme, gave women's feet suchd coquettish dnd 'Voluptuous look tluJt I don't know how men weredble to resist them. The well-(itting white stoclrings with green
clocks, the short skirts, the slippers with pointed toes, dnd thehigh heels of Louis XV s reign md)' have contributed something to
the demortJlWltion of Europe tmd the clergy.

"Something?" the Mdrquise replied. "Have )'ou read nothing?"
aulA Zambinell4, I continued, smiling, hdd imfJUdently
croaed her legs dnd WdS gentl), swinging the upper one with d certdin attrdCtiw indolence which suited her Cdpricious sort of beaut)'.
"She IuuJ removed her costume tmd WdS wedring d bodice tluJt
tlCCmfutJted her nmrow wdist dnd Jet off the satin panniers of herdrea, which WCII embroidered with blue flowers. BUHer bosom, thetreMUr" of which were concedled, in dn excea of coquetry, by dcovering of Idee, WCII ddulingl)' white. "Her hdir drrtJnged BOmething like thot of Mme du BtDT)', her fdee, though it WdB ~lyhidden under d full bonnet, dPfJedred onl), the more delic4te, dnd
powder suited her. 12'To su her thus WdS to ddore her. 121She gavethe sculptor d groceful rmile. UIUnluIppy df not being dble to sfJedlc
to her without witnesses present, Smrdsine I2Ipolitely Bttt down next
to her dnd tdlked dbout music, prdising her exfrdOrdiRdr)' tdlent;llObut hil 'Voice trembled with low, with feM dnd hope.
1I1"WIuJt dre you ttfraid of?" diked Vitdglidni, the company's
most fdmow singer. "Co dhedd; )'ou nud feM no ri'Vtds here." Having said thil, the tenor smiled without another word. This smile
Wdl repedted on the lip. of dll the guests, IUwhose dftention contdined d hidden mdlice d laver would not have noticed. "'Such
openness Wdl like d dcIger thrust in Smrdsine', hedrt. Althoughendowed with d certdin strength of chmdCter, and dlthough nothingcould cJum&e his love, l14it Md ".,,,. not ,..t occuned to him
thdt 1...d ZdmbiJWlld WdB virtudlly d COUTtadJl, IIIcmd thdt he could
not lutve both 1M pure pluBura thdt rrudt. d young girf. low .0
delicious cmd the tempatuous trtllllports by which the hdurdoua
poaarion of em actr... mUBt be purc1uued. ·'He r-flected cmd

raipd hinlllelf. UTSUl'fJBr WCII ter'Wd. IIIScmdline tmd 1...d ZambirudltJ sat down infomutlly.au by .uk. "'For the fint htIlf of thernedl, the drl:i8tI preserYed lOme decorum, "°cmd the lCUlptor Wdl
dble to clult with 1M Binger. ..lH. found Mr witty, dCUte, Mlbut
dBtoniBhingly ignordRt, I"dnd ".. ~d ""'f to be we4Ii dnd
ruperrtitious. "'The delic4cy of Mr orgtml Wdl r~d in Mr
understcmding. "IWhen Vif4&litmi uncorhd the fint bow. of
clt.tma/Jdgne, "'Smrdlirae rHCI in lUI compmuon'. eyes d II4rt ofterror at the tilT)' exploBion C4JWed by 1M ~ng gdl. "TThe lowstriclcen drtiIt interpreted the irrvolunf4ly .hudMr of thiJ feminine
constitution dI the lign of dn aceaiw ..ruitivity. The FmlChmtm
WdI ch4rmed by thia lN4l:nea. "IHow much ia protM:tiw in dman', low'
"My Btrmgth )'Our shield," I. thiJ not written at the hed1t of dll
declaratioRl of love? "'Too excited to Mower the be4utijullftlli4n
with complimentB, Scmdline, lih IIll lovera, Wdl by tunu .mou.,l4ughing, or r~. --Although he teemed to be u.t.nin& to theotMr guem, he did not hear d word tIuIy w.re aqing, 10 dbeorbed
Wdl he in the plumre of finding hirruelf bailU Mr, touching Mr
hdnd dI he served Mr. He bathed in d NCret ;oy. 1110.,. theeloquence of d few mutUdl gl4nca, IUhe WCII dltoniahed tit theraerye 1...d Llmbinelld mtlinfllined towdrd him. Ullnd.d, ".. Md
begun by pr....ng his foot emd tedIing him with the fIirtatioumasof d WOmdR in love mad free to .how it; INbut Bhe IIUlMnly wr""".dhertelf in the modeBty of d young girl, IIIII/tn hedring Scmdlirae
deacribe d trtlit which revedled the excasive vioZenc. of hia chdrdeter. "'When the au""., bec4me dR orgy, UTthe guatI broO intolOng under 1M influence of the Perdltd dnd the Pedro-Xirnenft.
There were ravishing dum, .oraga from CCIUIbri4, SfNmUh ..guidil141, Nedpolitan CdRZOnettdl. IUlntoxication WCII in every.-ye, in themusic, in hurts dnd 'Voicer alike. SudUnly em mchdnting vivcJCity
weUed up, d gay dbdndon, dn ItdlidR wdTmth of feeling Ulincon-ceivtJble to those ocqUtlint.d only with PdTisUtn gatherings, London
routs, or Viennese circles. le%lces dnd words of love flew lilt.. bullets in d battle through ldUghter, profdnities, dnd invocations to theHoly Virgin or il Bambino. lelSorneone ltty down on d sofd dnd feU
tUkep. M2A. girl WdS listening to d decLuation of love UndWdre tlult
she WdB spiUing sherry on the ttIblecloth. IIIln the midst of thisdisorder, ~LA ZmnhinelltJ remoined thoughtful, dB though terrorstruclc. She refused to drink, auperhdps she ate d bit too much;
however, it is tltIid tlult greediness in d WOmdn is d channing qutJlity.
l"Admiring his mistress's modesty, aeTScarrcJSine thought .nou.ly
dbout the future.
"She probtJbly wdntB to be rntmied," he thought. H. then turned
his thoughts to the delights of this rnorridge. His whole life seemed
too short to exJurust the springs of 1uJ{1fJineB8 he found in the depths
of his soul. IIIVittJglitmi, who WdB rifting next to him, refilled his
gltIIIIlO often that, towdrd three in the morning. H8without being
tot4lly drunk, ScarrcJSine could no longer control his delirium. ITolmpetuously, he piclced up the womtln, IUaarping into d lrind of boudoir next to the Bdlon, IT2towdrd the door of which he Iuul gltmced
more tluln once. ITIThe ltdlidn womtln WdS drrned with d d4gger.
"If you corne ttny cIOltlr," she said, "I will be forc.d to ",urage
this WB4fJOn into your hettrt. ITtLet 1M gol You would dap;. 1M.
I lulve conceived too much respect for your chtJrtJCter to surrenderin this fdShion. 1 don't wdnt to betray the feeling )'Ou IuJw for 1M."
IU"Oh no I" cried &maine. "You cdnnot stifle d fJd88ion by stimulating itl IT'Are you dlrettdy 10 corrupt that, old in hettrt, you
would tJCt liIre d young courtesan who whets the emotions by which
she ",ie. her trdde?"
In"But today is Friday," she replied, ITBfrightened at the Frenchmtln's violence.
ITISttrraine, who WdB not devout, broke into ldUghter. I80Lca
ZdmbinelUt jumped up liIre d young deer u1dnd rdn towdrd thesalon. I12When SttrrcJSine appedred in her pursuit, lllhe WdS greetedby an infemdl burst of ldUghter.
litHe BdW LA Zambinelltt lying in d swoon upon d sofa. She WdB
fJtIk and drained by the extrdordinary effort she Iuul just made.

Although Sarrasine knew little Itdlidn, '"he hurd his mistresssutying in d low voice to VittJglidni: "But he willlrill me'""'The sculptor WdB utterly confounded by this strdnge scene. He
regained his sensa. At pm he stood motionless; then he found his
voice, Selt down next to his mistress, dnd dSSUred her of his respect.
He WdB able to di"Vert his pcusion by dddressing (he most highminded phrases to this woman; dnd in depicting his 1000e, he used
dll the resources 1880f tlust magicdl eloqwence, tlust inspired intermedidry IUwhich women rdrely refuse to beline. III°When theguuts were surprised by the prst gledms of morning light, d woman
suggested they go to FrdSCttti. 1II1El'eT)'one enthusicuticdlly feU inwith the ided of spending the day CIt the VilUJ LudO'Visi. InVitagliani went down to hire some cCl1T'idges. ItISarrasine 1uu1 the ple4sureof leading LA ZambineUa to d plureton. INOnce outside Rome, thegaiety which had been moment4rily repressed by edCh person's
bcJttle with slupiness suddenly rmwd. Men and women dliJce
seemed used to this strdnge life, these Ce4selea plecuures, thiscntist' B impulsil'eness which tums life into d perpet1Ull {Jdrt)' at
which one i4ughed unreserwdly. ·"The sculptor's cOmfJdnion WdB
the only one who seemed doWJ1CQBf.
"Are you ill?" Sarrasine dSked her. "Would you rather go homer'"I'm not strong enough to stdnd tJ1l these excuses," she replied.
"I must be very careful; IIHIbut with you I feel so weU, Hdd it notbeen for you, I would never have stttyed for supper; ..Td sleeplea
night dnd I lose wlusteller bloom llunte.""You lITe so delicate," SarrdSine said, looking at the clumningcreature's pretty fdee.
116"Orgies ruin the voice."• ....Now that we're dlone," the drtist cried, "dnd you no longer
need fellT the outbursts of my pcusion, teU me tlust you love me."
1....Why?" she replied. "WIust would be the use? '001 seemed
pretty to you. But you dre French and your feelings will pus. HIM,
you would not low me dB liang to be lOlled.""How Cdn you Bel)' tlustr'"Not to Sdti.sfy dny 'VUlgdr fJdSBion; purely. '"I Clbhor men perhaps ellen more thdn I luste women .
need to seek refuge infriendship. "'For me, the world is d desert. I dm dn tlCCUrsed cred-.0.,ture, condemned to understand happiness, to feel it, to desire it,
dnd, lilte many others, forced to Bee it flu from me continuaUy.
tOlRemember, sir, that I will not have deceived you. tOIl forbid you
to love me. tOTI can be your devoted friend, for I admire yourstrength and your character. I need a brother, a protector. Be allthat for me, tGabut no more."tOl"Not love you I" StJmJSine cried. "But my dedrest angel, youare my life, my hdppinessl"nO"lf I were to sll)' one word, you would repulse me with horror."
4ll"Coquette! U2Nothing can frighten me. tllTell me you will
cost my future, thdt 1 will die in two months, thdt I will be ddmned
merely for having kissed you."mHe Icissed her, tlIIdespite LtJ Zambinella's efforts to resist thispo.ssionate embrdCe.
n'''TeU me you are d devil, that you wdnt my money, my Mme,
all my famel Do you want me to give up being d sculptor? TeU
me."m"And if I were not a woman?" nlLtJ ZdmbineUd asked in asoft silvery voice.

m"What d ;olcel" StJrrasine cried. "Do you thinlc you Cdn deceive
an artist's eye? uOHdVen't I spent ten dtl)'s devouring, scrutini%ing,
admiring your perfection? t210nl)' a woman could hdVe this round,soft arm, thae elegant curves. t220h, )'ou want compliments."
UlShe smiled at him StUll)" and raising her eyes heavenward, she
murmured: "Fatal beautyl"
t24 At that moment her ga'U had an indescribdble expression ofhorror, so POwerful dnd vivid that Sarrasine shuddered.
u'''Frenchman,'' she went on, "forget this moment of madness
forever. UII respect )'ou, tHbut as for love, do not ask it of me; thatfeeling is smothered in m)' heart. I hdVe no hedrtl" she cried, weeping. "The stage where you BdW me, that applause, that music, thatfdme 1 am condemned to, wch is my life, I hdVe no other. n·'n a
few hours you will not see me in the SlIme Wll)', the woman you love
will be dead."
U8The sculptor made no repl),. tlOHe was overcome with a dumbrage which oppressed his heart. He could onl), gtJ'U with enfl4med,burning eyes at this extraordintJry woman. LtJ ZambineUa's wealc

voice, her m4nner, her movements dnd gestures m4rJr.ed with ,orrow, meltJncholy, dnd discourdgement, dWtJlr.ened tdl the wettlth of
ptusion in his soul. EdCh word WClS d good. UlAt thdt moment they
retJChed FrdSCdti. tl2& the tlTtist offered his mistress his tITm to
assist her in ttlighting, alhe felt her shiver.
"WhtJt is wrong? You would Jr.iU me," he cried, seeing her growfJt1le, "if , were even dn innocent CtJUSe of your slightert unhttfJpiness.""A sndke," she said, pointing to d grdSS mttJr.e which WClS sliding
tJlong d ditch. '" dm tJ(TtJid of thOle horrid cretJtures!' Stmczsine
crushed the snttke's hedd with his heel.
t34"How can you be so brave?" Ltt ZttmbineUd continued, looJr.ing with visible horror tJt the dettd reptile.
tU"M," the mtist replied, mUling, "now do you elme deny ),OU
dre a WOm4nl""'They rejoined their companions dnd stroUed through thewoods of the VilUJ Ludovisi, which in those dtty, belonged to Qudinttl CicogntJrd. U7Thdt morning fled too quicJr.l)' for the entmlored sculptor, tllbut it WClS filled with d hart of incidents which
revettled to him the coquetry, the wetJlr.nea, dnd the delicdcy of thissoft dnd enervtJted being. '''This WdS womtJn herself, with her rudden fetJrs, her irrationttl whims, her inrtinct:ive worria, her impetuous boldneBB, her /wIingt, tJnd her deliciou.s aeruibility. "·'t httppened thdt CIS they were Wdndering in the open countrylide, thelittle group of merry singers 8dW in the dirtdnce 801M huvil)' tlTfAed
men whOle m4nner of dr." WdS ftIT from reczssuring. So1Mone said,"They must be highwaymen," dnd eHl')'0JVI quicJr.eJUld his poee
towtITd the refuge of the CtJrdinttl', grourub. At this critictJl moment, Sttrrczsine laW from lA Ztnnbinelut'. pttIlor thdt .he no longer
had the rtrength to wttlk; he tooJr. her up in his tITmB tJnd c41'ried
her for d while, running. When he CtJme to d netJrby drbor, he put
her down.
Ul"Exp!4in to me," he SlIid, "how this extreme wetJlr.neas, which, would find hideous in dRY other WOmtJR, which would displetJSe
me and whose slightert indication would be ttlmart enough tochoke my love, plettse. dnd chttrms me in 'You? "IIAh, how llewe248

you," II. went on. "All your faults, your terrors, your resentments,
add an indefintlble grtlCe to your soul. uSI think I would detert astrong womdR, a Sttppho, a courdgflow creature, full of energy andptlS6ion. '"Dh, soft, frdil creature, how could you be otherwiae?
HITIutt angelic voice, tlutt delicate voice would be an anol11llly
coming from any body but your•."
44'''1 cannot give you any hope," she said. UT"Stop speding to mein this wd)I, ..8bectJUBe they will JRIIlce a fool of you.
cannotstop you from coming to the theater; but if you love me or if you
tlTe wise, you will come there no more. u°Usten, monsieur," ,hesaid in a low voice.
m"Oh, be Btill," the irnparioned artist sdid.•u"Obstdcles nurle
my lav. more tlTdent.".uLA Ztl1nbinell4's graceful and modest attitude did not clutnge,
but she feU silent dB though a terrible thought h4d reveoled .ome
mirfortune to her.•MWhen it Ctn'ne time to return to Rome, she
got into til. four«lllted cOdCh, ordering the sculptor with imperious
cruelty to return to Rome alone in the ctJJTiiJ.ge ••IIDuring thejourney, StlrrdBine resolwd to ltidnap LA Ztnnbinella. H • • /Jent theentire day 1J1dking plaru, flQCh more outrageow tlutn the other .
•HAt nightftlll, dB he WdB going out to inquire where his miBtre,,',/NIkuz.o WdB 100000ed, .ITII. met one of his friends on til. threshold.
"My detIT f.Uow," he _d, "our dJ1Ibrr""dor h4s dBlced me toinvite you to his house tonight. He is giving a JRIIgnificent concert,tlland when I teU you tlutt Ztnnbinelld will be there""'''Ztnnbinelld,'' cried Stlrrllline, intoxicdted by the Rdme, ''I'm
mad about her,"~ "You're liJce everyone el8e," his frWnd r.plied.
•....,f you tlTe my friends, you, Vien, Lttuterbourg, and AJkgrdin,
will you MIl' me do I9mething after the fJdrf'Ir' Stlrrllline tIIlced.
"It'. not .ome CtlTdiMl to be Itillecll
notr'"No, no," Stlrrdline sdid, "I'm not aMing you to do anything anhonest fJerIOn couldn't do."••11n a .hart time, the a:ul"tor h4d tUTanged everything for the
BUCCeBI of his uradert4Jrjng.• uHe WdB one of the LIlt to tmive tit thettrnbdaddor'., .ubut he h4d come in a trttveling CtI1'J'itI&e drtlWn by"'I

powerful horses and driven by one of the most enterprising vetturini of Rome . ..t4The ambassador's fJdlCJ%Z.o was crowded; "Ilnot
without some difficulty, the sculptor, who was a stranger to everyone present, made his wei)' to the salon where Zambirudlll was ringing at that very moment.
4.... ,s it out of consideration for the cardiJUlls, bishops, and abbespresent," SarrCJSine asked, "that she is dressed like a man, that she
is wearing a snood, kinky hair, and a sword?"
4fJ7"She? What she?" asked the old nobleman to whom SarrCJSine
had been speaking. "LA ZambineUa." "LA ZambinelltJ!" the Roman
prince replied. "Are you ;oking? 4"Where are you from? 4"Hasthere ever been a woman on the Roman stage? And don't you know
about the creatures who sing feJ1lllle roles in the Papal States?
nOl am the one, monsieur, who gave Zambinell4 his voice. I paid
for everything that scamp ever had, even his singing tedCher. Well,
he has so little gratitude for the service I rendered him that he has
never consented to set foot in my howe. tTlAnd yet, if he JJ14lces afortune, he will owe it all to me."mPrince Chigi f7UI)' weU hlIve gone on talking for some time;
SarrCJSine was not listening to him. A horrid truth had crept into
his soul. It was as though he had been struck by Ughtning. He stoodmotionless, his eyes fixed n·on the false ringer. mHis fiery gazeexerted a sort of f1148netic influence on Zambinell4, "7'for themusico fiJUJUy turned to look at SarraBine, nland at thllt moment
his heavenly voice faltered. He trembledl t77 An involuntary murmur escaping from the audience he hlId kept hlInging on his lips
completed his discomfiture; mhe sat down and cut short his dTilI.
mCdTdirud CicogMra, who hlId gltJnced out the corner of his eye
to see what had attracted his proteges ttttention, then S4W the
Frenchman: .. 80he leaned over to one of his eccksiastical aides-decamp and appeared to be asking the sculptor's Mme. tIlHdYing obtained the answer he sought, 482he regarded the artist with great
attention 41l3and gave an order to an abbe, who quicldy disappetued.
414During this time, ZambineUa, hd'Ving recovered himself,
Ulonce more began the piece ""he hlId so Cdpriciously interrupted;
487but he sang it badly, 488and despite all the requests made to him,

he refused to sing anything else. 489This was the first time he displtryed that cczpricious tyranny for which he would later be as celebrated as for his t4lent f90and his vast fortune, due, as they said, noless to his voice than to his beauty.
f91"lt is a wonutn," Sarrasine said, believing himself alone. "Thereis some hidden intrigue here. CardiTldl Cicognara is deceiving thePope and the whole city of Romel"
492The S(;wptor thereupon left the salon, ,telgathered his friends
together, 4Hand posted them out of sight in the courtyard of thepalazzo. 49&When Zambinelld was confident that Sarrasine had
departed, he appeared to regain his composure. 4"Around midnight, having wandered through the rooms like a nutn seeking someenemy, UTthe musico departed. 498As soon as he crossed the threshold of the paUuzo, he was adroitly seized by men who gagged him
with a handkerchief and drew him into the carriage Sarrasine had
hired. 41H1Frozen with horror, Zambinelkl remained in a corner, notdaring to move. He saw before him the terrible face of the artist,
who was silent as death.
IOOThe journey was brief. &GlCanied in Sarrasine's arms, Zambinelld soon found himself in a dark, empty studio. &02Half dead, thesinger remained in a chair, &Oawithout daring to examine the statueof a wonutn in which he recognized his own features. IIIHHe nutde
no attempt to speak, but his teeth chattered. IIOIISanasine paced up
and down the room. Suddenly he stopped in front of ZambineUa.
"TeU me the truth," he pleaded GOtjn a low, altered voice. IIOT"You
are a wonutn? II08CardiTldl Cicognara"
II09Zambinelkl feU to his knees, and in reply lowered his head.
1I10"Ah, you are a wonutn," the artist cried in a delirium, "foreven a." He broke off. "No," he continued, "he would not be
so cowardly."m"Ah, do not kill me," cried Zambinelkl, bursting into tears.
m"l only agreed to trick you to please my friends, who wanted toklugh."
IIla"Laugh!" the sculptor replied in an inferTldl tone. "Laugh!
Laughl You dared play with a nutn's feelings, you?"
IIW'Oh, have mercyl" ZambineUa replied.

11111"1 ought to kill you," SandSiJW cried, drdWing IliI BWOrd with
(I violent geBture. IIl'''However,'' he went on, in cold disdoin,m"were I to scour your body with tllil bldde, would I find there
OJW feeling to stifle, OJW venguRCe to 1IItisfy? You tJTe nothins.. 'f,,'
you were (I man or (I woman, I would kill you, 118but"
SantUiJW made (I geBture of dUgurt 11'which forced him to turndW"Y, whereupon he BdW the stCltue.
IIIO"And it's (In illusion," he cried. IIIThen, tuming to 'LtmbiJWlld: "A woman's he(lrt WdS (I refuge for me, (I home. Have youdRy sisters who resemble you? I122Then cu.1 12IBut no, you sIuIllliw.
lm't leaving you eIlive condemning you to something worse tlum
deClth? I12·It is neither my blood nor my existence tlutt I regret, but
the future (lnd my heart's fortuJW. Your feeble hdnd lids destroyed
my hdPPiness. II2IWIurt hope c(ln I strip from you for till those ),OU
Iutve blighted? You Iutve drCJgged me clown to your level_ To }Qve.
to be loved I dre henceforth mettninglels words for me, tIS they arefor you. 11211 shdU forever think of tllil imttginttry woman when I
see (I rettl woman." He ind.iclJfed the stdtue with (I gerture of uspetir. 1121"1 sheIll eIlw"Ys Iutve the memory of (I celestUd horfJY whothrusts its teIlORS into eIll my manl), feelings, (lnd who will stdmp
till other women with (I Beell of imperfection I I12IMonsterl Illy~
who c(ln give life to nothing. IIIOFor me, you Iutve wiped womenfrom the earth."
IIIlSarrtUiJW sat down before the terrified singer. Two huge tun
weUed from his dry eyes, rolled down his mdnly cheeb, (lnd feU to
the ground: two tedrS of r"8e, two bitter (lnd burning turs.
1112"No more lovel I (1m dedd to till pledSUre, to every humanemotion."1111150 saying, he seized (I hdmmer (lnd hurled it CIt the statue withsuch extr(lordinary force u.tlutt he misled it. He thought he hdd
destroyed this monument to his folly, lIII(1nd then tool: up his sword(lnd br(lndished it to kill the singer. IIIIZdmbinelltJ uttered piercing
serums. II.T At thdt moment, three men entered lIII(1nd CIt once thesculptor fell, stdbbed by three stiletto thrusts.
1I··.. O n behellf of CtJTdindl Cicogruu(l," OJW of them Idid.
MO"lt is (I good deed worthy of (I Christitm," repJi.d the French-rndn CIS he died. I141These sinister messengers l142infoJ"f11Sd ZambinelltJ of the concern of his protector, who WClS waiting at the doorin ca closed ctJrTillge, to tde him tlWtry CIS soon CIS he head been
rescued.
IMS"But," Mme de Rochefide ClSked me, "wheat connection isthere between this story and the little old man we BtIW cat tlie
IAntys'?"IU" Mcadcame, Cardincal Cicogncarca took possession of ZmnbinelltJ's stcatue cand IuuJ it executed in mcarble; today it is in the AJbCIRi Museum. IHDThere, in 1791, the IAnty fcamily found it 641cand
ClSked Vien to copy it. lIuThe portrait in which you SdW Zcambinellca
at twenty, ca second after lurving seen him at one hundred, later
served for Girodet's Endymion; you wililutve recognized its typein the Adonis."
I14S"But this Zcambinellca-he or she?""He, mcadcame, is none other thean Mcaridninca's great-uncle.
IMINow you Cdn recadily see wheat interest Mme de IAnty htJs in
hiding the SOUTce of ca fortune which comes from-"lIIO"Enoughl" she Sdid, gesturing to me imperiously. We scat for ca
moment plunged in the deepest silence.
11I1"Well?" I Sdid to her.
"M," she exclaimed, sftJnding up and pacing up cand down theroom. She looked at me cand spoke in can caitered voice. I1II2"You lutve
given me ca disgust for life cand for pcrssions thcat will least ca longtime. I113Excepting for monsters, don't call hUrndn feelings comedown to the Sdme thing, to horribls discappointments? Mothers, ourchildren kill us either by their bdd belurvior or by their lcack ofaffection. Wives, we are deceived. Mistresses, we are for.en,
cabcandoned. Does friendship even exist? 111141 would become ca nun
tomorrow did I not know theat I Cdn Temcain unmoved CIS ca rockcamid the norms of life. naIf the Chri.stican's future is calso an illusion, at led8t it is not destroyed until after death. lIH.Leave me.""Ah," I Sdid, "you know how to punish."lilT" Am I wrong?""Yes," I replied, with d kind of courcage. "In telling this nory,

353

which is fttirly weU known in Itdly, I h4ve been dble to give ),OU afine example of the progress mdtU by civilitdtion tod4y. They nolonger crute these unfortu1l4te creatures."
II8"Pcuis is a very hospitable p14ce," she said. "It ClCcePU everything, shameful fortunes and bloodstained fortunes. Crime andinfam)' can find asylum here; lIIonl)' virtue has no dltars here. Yes,
pure souls h4ve their home in heaven/ MONo one will lutve known
me. I am proud of that/"
aelAnd the Marquise remtrined pensive.
Paris, November 1830

II

Sequence of ActIons (Act.)

Since actions (or proairetisms) form the main armature of thereaderly text, we here recall the sequences as they were indicatedin the text, without attempting to structure them further. Eachterm is followed by its 1exia number. The sequences are presented
according to the order of appearance of their 6rst term.

1: to be absorbed (2). 2: to come back again (14).
1: to be hidden (6). 2: to come out of hiding (15).
TO MEDITATE 1: to be in the process of meditation (52). 2: tostop meditating (53).
TO LAUGH 1: to burst out laughing (53). 2: to stop (62).
TO JOIN 1: to sit down (63).2: to sit nextto (65).
TO NAIlllATEl: to know the story (70). 2: to know the story( 120). 3: to offer to tell (140). 4: to suggest a rendezvous fortelling a story (141). 5: to discuss the time of the rendezvous(142).6: to agree to the rendezvous (145). 7: to reject the rendezvous (146).8: to have accepted the rendezvous (147).9:
to command to tell (149). 10: to hesitate to tell (150). 11: torepeat the command to tell (151). 12: command accepted(152). 13: castrating effect of the narration (552).
QUESTION I
1: to ask oneself a question' (94 ). 2: to verify (95).
TO TOUCH 1: touching (95). 2: reaction (97). 3: generalized reaction (99).4: to 8ee (100). 5: to hide (101).
TO BE DEEP IN
HmlNG PLACEI : to look around (107). 2: to perceive (108).
1: to announce oneself by a sound (122). 2: the entrance itself (123).
OOOll I
1: to reach a door (125). 2: to knock (126). 3: to appear
at a door (to open it) (127).
FAllEWELL I: to entrust (before leaving) (128). 2: to embrace( 129). 3: to say farewell (130).
CIFT 1: incite (or be incited) to the gift (132). 2: to give the gift(133). 3: to accept the gift (134).
TO LEAVE 1: to want to leave (135).2: to delay (136). 3: to leave
again (137).
BOAllDlNC SCHOOL I: to go away to boarding school (154). 2: tobe expelled (165).
CAllEEll I: to go to Paris (167). 2: to study with a great master(169).3: to leave the master (181).4: to win a prize (182).
5: to be praised by a great critic (184).6: to leave for Italy(185) .
LIAISON I: to have a liaison (192). 2: indication of the end of theliaison (193).3: end ofthe liaison (195).
JOUllNEY
I: to depart (197).2: to travel (198). 3: to arrive (199).
4: to stay (2oo).
THEATEll
I: to enter (the building) (202).2: to enter the hall(206). 3: to be seated (207).4: curtain up (210). 5: to hear
the overture (Zll). 6: entrance of the star (216). 7: greetingof the star (Z17). 8: the star's aria (230).9: to leave (246).
10: to return home (Z 50) .
QUESTION II I: a fact to be explained (203). 2: to inquire (204).
3: to receive an answer (205).
D1SCOMFOllT 1: to be squeezed, made uncomfortable (208). 2: tofeel nothing (214).
PLEASUIlE 1: proximity to the desired object (209). 2: madness(235). 3: tension (237).4: apparent immobility (238). 5: iso·lation (241). 6: embrace (242).7: to be penetrated (243).8:
ejaculation (Z44). 9: emptiness (Z47). 10: sadness (2..s). 11:
to recuperate (Z49). 12: conditions for repetition (258).
SEDUCTION 1: ecstasy (Z13). 2: extraversion (ZI5). 3: intense pleasure (ZI9). 4: delirium (231). 5: delirium 1: cold (23Z). 6:
delirium Z: heat (Z33). 7: delirium 3: silence (234).
TO DECIDE 1: mental condition of the choice (239). Z: to propose
an alternative (240).

TABLEAUTO ENTEll

WIU.-TO-LOVB (impulsive enterprise)

1: proposal of the enterprise(240).2: to draw, interim activity (251). 3: to rent a theaterbox (contemplative activity) (258).4: to pause (260). 5: interruption of the undertaking (263). 6: indication of terms
composing the interlude (264). 7: morning, to sculpt (265).
8: evening, the sofa (267). 9: to accustom the ear (268). 10:
to train the eye (269). 11: result (270). 12: protection of theinduced hallucination (271). 13: alibi and prorogation (273).
14: resume (276)_
WIU.-TO-DIE 1: proposal of the project (240). 2: to 80ut a warning (297).3: accept any risk (412).4: predictive, in the formof a provocation of fate (413).5: to comment on one's deathin advance (524).6: to die to women (530). 7: to die to feeling (532). 8: to die to art (533).9: to assume one's death(540).
DOOaD 1: to knock (285).2: to open (286). 3: to enter (287).
RENDEZVOUS 1: to arrange a rendezvous (288). 2: to give assent to
the messenger (289). 3: to thank, to tip (290). 4: to give assent to the person offering the rendezvous (292). 5: rendezvous kept (304).
TO LEAVE 1: a 6rst locality (291). 2: a second locality (29-.).
DUSSINC 1 : to want to dress (293). 2: to dress (300).
wUNINC 1: to give a warning (295). 2: to ignore it (297).
MUKDEJl 1: designation of the future murderer (295). 2: indicating the victim (479). 3: request for informa tion (4SO). 4: information received (481). 5: evaluation and interior decision(482). 6: secret order (483). 7: entrance of the murderers(537).8: murder of the hero (538).9: signature of the murder (539).10: 6nal explanation (542).
HOPE 1: to hope (303). 2: to be disappointed (314). 3: to compensate (315) . .oJ: to hope (316). 5: to compensate (317).6:
to be disappointed (328).7: to compensate (329).8: to hope
( 330) . 9: to compensate (to resign oneself) (336).
ROUTE 1: to set out (305).2: to walk along (305). 3: to penetrate(309).4: to arrive (311).
DOOa III 1: to stop at (306). 2: to lcnock (307). 3: to open (308).
OIIGY 1: precursory signs (310). 2: rhetorical statemen t (313). 3:
supper (337).4: initial calm (339).5: wines (345).6: nomination ofthe orgy (356). 7: to sing (357). 8: to a bandon oneself (denominative statement) (358).9: to abandon oneself~57

( 1) unbridled talk (360). 10: to let oneself go (2) to sleep(361).11: to abandon oneself (3) to spill wine (362). 12: toabandon oneself ( denominative reprise) ( 363) . 13: end(dawn) (390).
CONVERSATION I 1: to approach (319). 2: to sit down (329). 3: totalk (329).
CONVERSATION II 1: to sit side by side (338). 2: to chat (340).
DANGER 1: act of violence, sign of a dangerous character (355).2:
victim's fear (364). 3: victim's repeated fright (378).4: victim's premonitory fear (386). 5: persistent fear (395). 6:
premonition of misfortune (453). 7: reaction of fright (476).
8: feeling of threat (487).9: to become calm (495). 10: continued uneasiness (496).
RAPE 1: conditioning of the ravisher (369). 2: to carry off thevictim (370).3: to change locale (371).4: to have premeditated the abduction (372). 5: victim's armed defense(373). 6: victim's Bight (380). 7: change of locale (381). 8:
pursuit (382).9: failure of the rape, return to order (387).
EXCURSION 1: proposal (390). 2: agreement (391). 3: hiring ofcarriages (392).4: collective gaiety (394). 5: to arrive at thedestination (431). 6: to stroll in the woods (436).7: return(454) .
AMOROUS OUTING 1: to get into the same carriage (393). 2: t~e­a-tete conversation (395). 3: to want to kiss (414).4: to ~sist (415). 5: to come to an end (431).6: to assist in alighting from the carriage (432).7: separate return (454).
DECLAllATION OF LOVE 1: request for an avowal (398).2: to elude
the requested avowal (399). 3: first basis for declining (fickleness) (400 ). 4: second basis for declining (exigency) (40 1 ) .
5: third basis, exclusion (404). 6: forbid to love (406). 7:
friendship, not love (407). 8: protestation of love (409). 9:
gift of life (413). 10: gift of art (416). 11: fourth basis for
declining (physical impediment) (417). 12: disclaimer of thedisclaimer (419).13: command to forget (425). 14: to remainsilent (429). 15: command to give up (446). 16: command tobe silent (447). 17: final dismissal (449).
ICIDNAPPING 1: decision and plans (455). 2: preliminary information (456). 3: recruiting accomplices (460). 4: amngernents
made (461). S: rapid means of escape (463). 6: gathering of
the accomplices (493). 7: ambush (494). 8: the victim's inno-%5 8

cent departure (497). 9: the act itself (498). 10: journey(500). 11: arrival at the hide-out (501).
CONCEIlT 1: invitation (457).2: to arrive late (462). 3: large audience (464). 4: to reach the music room (465). 5: to leave themusic room (492).
INCIDENT 1: gaining the attention of the artist on stage (474). 2:
attention gained (475). 3: artist's difficulty (476).4: collective discomfiture (477). 5: intenuption of the performance(478). 6: to recover oneself (484). 7: recommence singing( 485) . 8: refusal to prolong the performance (488).
THREAT 1: prediction of outcome (489). 2: terrorized victim( 499). 3: immobilized victim (502). 4: mute victim (504). 5:
first plea for mercy (511). 6: second plea for mercy (514). 7:
first threat of death (515).8: threat withdrawn (516).9: second threat of death (522). 10: withdrawal of the threat (523).
11: third threat of death (535).12: to call for help (536). 13:
arrival of the rescuers (537). 14: elimination of the aggressor(538). 15: to return with the rescuers (542).
STATUE 1: thematization of the object (503).2: to see the object( 519). 3: to be deceived (520). 4: despair (526). 5: destructive act (533).6: statue spared (534).7: the statue rediscovered (544).

III

Summary of Contents

I. THE IlEADEIlLY

1. Typology I: Evaluationa. No aiticism without a typology of texts (I).
b. Basis of typology: the practice of writing the writerly text.
Why the writerly is the prime value: the reader as producer
ofthe text (I).
c. The reactive value of the writerly: the readerly, the classic(I).
2. Typology II: InterfJret4tion
a. How differentiate readerly texts: appreciation of the pluralityof the text (II).
b. The appropriate tool for this appreciation: connotation;
without being misled by it, we must continue to distinguish itfrom denotation (III, IV) .
c. The classic text as plural, but parsimoniously so.

l Method I: W cJ)'s of exmnining the plurala. Accept as "proof" of reading its power of systemization (V).
Second and first reading (IX), reversion of the readings upon
the text (LXXI).
h. Acknowledge that forgetting meaning constitutes reading(there is no "total" of the text) (V).

zooc. Analyze a single text (VI); this analysis has a theoreticalvalue (VI); it serves to dispel the illusion that the text contains insignificant things and that structure is merely a "pattern" (VI, XXII).
d. Move gradually through the tutor text, starring digressions
which signal the inter-textual plural (VI).
e. Forgo establishing a deep and ultimate structure for the text(VI) and in reconstituting the paradigm of each code aim
at multiple structures (XI, XII); prefer structuring to structure (VIII, XII); seek out the play of the codes, not the planof the work (XXXIX).

4. Method II: Operations
a. Dividing the textual continuum into brief, contiguous fragments (lexias) is arbitrary, but useful (VII).
b. What we seek to identify: the meanings, signifieds in each
1exia, or their connotations. Various approaches to connotation: definitional. topica1, analytical. topological, dynamic,
historical, functional. structwal, ideological (IV).
c. Analysis provides material for various criticisms (VIII,LXXXI). This does not imply liberality, conceding sometruth to each form of criticism, but observance of the plurality of meanings as being, not as deduction or tolerance (II).
d. The text chosen: Balzac's Sarrasine (X and Appendix I).

II. THE CODES

1. TM code in generdl (XII).
a. The perspective vanishing point of the codes (VI, XII,LXVII). Continue the buttressing of the codes: critical problems: infinite thematids (XL); the Balzacian text (XC); theauthor as text (XC), not as god (LXXIV).
b. The "already-written" (XII, XXXVI).
c. The code as an anonymous voice (XII, LXIV). Irony as avoice (XXI).
2. Code of Actions, Voice of EmpiricB (LXXXVI)
a. Setting up a sequence of actions is to name it (XI, XXXVI).
261

b. The Empiric code is based on various branches of knowledge(LXVII). No other proairetic logic but the already-written,
already-seen, already-read, aIready-done (XI), trivial or novelistic (XI), organic or cultural (XXVI, LXXXVI) .
c. Expansion of the sequence: the tree (LVI), the interweaving(LXVIII).
d. Functions: repleteness (XLVI), depreciation (XLV). The
code of actions principally determines the readability of thetext (LXXXVI).

3. Hermeneutic Code, Voice of Truth (LXXXIX)
a. Hermeneutic morphemes (XI, XXXII, LXXXIX). Proposition of truth articulated like a sentence (XXXVII); accidentals, disorder, confusion, formlessness of terms (XXXVII,XLVIII).
b. Structural paths of falsehood (1): equivocation, double understanding (LXII); metonymic falsehood (LXIX).
c. Structural paths of falsehood (2): false proofs, tricks: nilrcissistic proof ( LXI ), psychological proof ( LXI II ), aesthetic
proof (LXXII).
d. Structural paths of falsehood (3): casuistry of the discourse(LX).
e. To delay truth is to constitute it (XXVI, XXXII).
... Culturtu or Referentitll Code, Voice of Science (LXXXVU)
a. The proverb and its stylistic transformation (XLIII).
b. Codes of Knowledge, school texts, farrago (LXXXVII).
c. Cultural Codes as ideological specters (XLII).
d. Oppressive function of reference through repetition (vomiting of stereotypes, LIX, LXXXVII), or neglect (LXXVIII).
5. Senws or connotative signifieds, Voice of the Person (LXXXI)a. Naming of semes, thematics (XL).
b. Textual distribution of semes (XIII). The portrait (XXV).
c. Collection of semes: person, character (XXVIII, LXXXI).
d. Semes, inductors of truth (XXVI).
6. The Symbolic Fu..lda. The body, site of meaning, sex, and money: whence the critical privileges apparently granted the symbolic field (XCII).

z6z

b. Reversibility: the subject perfused in the text (LXX); thesymbolic field reached by three entrances, without order ofprecedence (XCII).
c. Rhetorical entrance (meaning): Antithesis (XIV) and its
transgressions: supplement (XIV), paradigmatic con8agration (XXVII, XLVII, LXXIX).
d. Poetic entrance (creation, sex)
1] The lubricated body (XLIX), the reassembled body (L,LI).
2] Duplicative chain of bodies (XXIX). Beauty (XVI, U,
LXI). Posterity (XVIII).
3] Tenn and problems of the duplicative code: the masterpiece (LII); the beyond and short (XXX); the chain(XXXI, LXXXV); deficiency and underneath (theory of
realistic art) (XXIII, L, LIV, LXXXIII, LXXXVIII).
e. Economic entrance (trade, Gold). Passage from index tosign (XIX). Narrative as subject of a contract (XCI); upsetting the economy (XCII).
f. Generalized problem: castration as a camp (XVII), as metonymy (XXIX), as pandemic (LXXXVIII, XCII). The
castrating figure: the "gossip" (LXXXIX). Metonymic collapse (XCII).
7. The Text
The text as a braid, woven of voices, codes (LXVIII): stereophony (VIII, XV) and polytonality (XV).
ID. THE PLUIlAL

1. The plura/. uxt as tl whole
The triumphant plural (II, V). The modest plural (VI) and its
diagram: the score (XV).
2. Reductive detennintltions
a. Solidarities: holding (LXVI), overdetennination (LXXVI),
coherent dispersion (XIII).
b. Plenitude: to complete, to close, to predicate, to conclude(XXII, XXVI, XXXII, XLVI, UV, I.Jp{III); to fill meaning, art (LXXXIV); to redound (XXXIV); to think

263

(XCIII). Character as illusion of plenitude: the Proper
Name (XXVIII, XLI, LXXXI); character as effect of reality (XLIV); character determined by motive (LVIII).
Completude, nausea, outmoded (XLII, LXXXVII).
c. Closings: classic writing prematurely cuts off the codes(LIX); the insufficient role of irony (XXI). Hermeneuticand proairetic codes, agents reducing the plural (XV).

3. Multivalent dnd reversible detennin4tions
a. Reversibilities and multivalences: symbolic area (XI, XV,
XCII).
b. The figure. Character as discourse (LXXVI), as accompliceof discourse (LXII). Figure, reversible order (LXXVIII).
c. The dissolve of voices (XII, XX).
d. Uncertain meanings (XXXIII, LXXVI). Transcriptability(Euphemism) (LIII).
e. Ambiguities of representation. What is presented is not operable (XXXV). "Flattened representation": narrative treating
itself (XXXVIII, LXX, XCI).
f. Countercommunication. Play of destinations (LVII), thedivision of listening (LXII, LXIX), literature as "noise,"cacography (LVII, LXII).

.... Performance
Some successes of classic narrator: wide syntagrnatic difference

between affirmative semes (XIII), uncertainty of meanings,
confusion of operative and symbolic (XXXIII, LXX), explaining the explainer (LXXIV), the ludic metaphor (XXIV).
5. The redder'), text and writinga. The ideological role of the sentence: lubricating the semantic
articulations, linking connotations in the "phrased," removing denotation from play, it yields meaning, with the securityof an "innocent" nature: language, syntax (IV, VII, IX,
XIII, XXV, LV, LXXXII).
b. Appropriation of meaning in the readerly text: classification,
nomination (V, XXXVI, XL, LVI); obsessional defense
against the logical "defect" (LXVI); confrontation of codes:the "scene" (LXV), the declaration of love (LXXV), ob-

26.tjectivity and subjectivity (forces without affinity with theten) (V).
c. False unleashing of the infinity of codes: irony, parody (XXI,XLII, LXXXVII). Beyond irony, the ineparable force of
meaning: F'laubert (XXI, Ux, LXXXVII) .
d. Writing: with regard to the reader (I, LXIV), its "proof'(LIX), its power: dissolve all metalanguage, any submissionof one language to another (XLII, LIX, LXXXVII) .

"To a grettter or ksser degree every man is suspended upon nanatives, on novels, which revet1/. to him the multiplicity of life. Only
these JUlTrtttives, often retld in a trance, Bifu4te him before his fttte.
So we ought to seek pasBiorulfely to find whttt nanatives might be.
"How to orient the effort through which the novel renews, or,better, perpetU4tes itself.
"The concern for various techniques which cope with the Stltiety
of famUim forms does occuP'Y the mind. But , am putting it btuily-if we want to know what a novel can be-thttt a basis should fim
be perceived and weU mtlTked. The JUlTrative thttt revems the posBibilities of life does not necessarily appeol, but it revettls d momentof rage, without which its author would be blind to its excessive
possibilities. , believe it: only suffocating, impossibk trial provida
the author with the means of attaining the distant vision the redder
is see1cing, tired of the tight limittttions conventions impose.
"How can we linger over books to which obviously the author
was not oonstrained?
'" wanted to formulttte this principle.' wiU not argue it.
'" .ht1l1 confine myself to giving some titla thttt respond to mysttttement (.ome titles, could give others, but disorder is themeasure of my intent): Wuthering Heights, The Trial, Remembrance of Things Past, The Red and the Black. Eugenie de Franval,l'Arr~t de Mort, Sanazine [sic], The Idiot"I
GEOaczs BATAILLE

Foreword to Le Bleu du delJ.-J. Pauvert, 1957, p. 7
1 Euginie tU FrtUIVdl. by the Marquis de Sade (in Crima tU fAmour); fAr-[sic]. a story by Balzac that is
relatively little known but is one of the high points of his wod. c .•.
r~ tU Mort. by Maurice Blanchot; SdlTfWM

IV

Key

D

m
IV

v
VI
VD

vm
IX

x
XI

XII

XID
XIV

xv
XVI
XVII
XVDl

XIX

xx
XXI
XXII

Evaluation
Interpretation
Connotation: Against
Connotation: For, even 50
Reading, Forgetting
Step by Step
The Starred Text
The Broken Text
How Many Readings?
Sarrasine
The Five Codes
The Weaving of Voices
Citar
Antithesis I: the supplement
The Full Score
BeautyThe Castration CampThe Castrato's Posterity
Index, Sign, Money
The Dissolve of Voices
Irony, Parody
Very Natural A.ctions
2~

3

..
6
7

10
11

13
14
15
16
18
20
22

26
28
33
35
37

39
41
44

51

XXIR

XXIV

xxv
XXVI
XXVD

xxvm
XXIX

xxx
XXXI
XXXII
XXXIII

XXXIV

xxxv
XXXVI

XXXVD
XXXVDI

XXXIX
XL

xu
XLD

XLDI
XLIV
XLV
XLVI
XLVD
XLVID

XLIX
L

LI
LD

UD
LIV
LV
LVI
LVII
LVDI

Painting as a Model
Transfonnation as Game
The Portrait
Signified and Truth
Antithesis II: the marriage
Character and Figure
The Alabaster Lamp
Beyond and Short
The Disturbed Replication
Delay
And/or
The Pra ttle of Meaning
The Real, the Operable
Folding, Unfolding
The Hermeneutic SentenceContract-narratives
This Is Not an "Explication de Texte"
The Birth of Thematics
The Proper Name
Codes of Class
Stylistic Transfonnation
The Historical Character
Depreciation
Completeness
S/Z
The Unformulated Enigma
The Voice
The Reassembled Body
The Blazon
The Masterpiece
Euphemism
Behind, Beyond
Language as Nature
The Tree
The Unes of Destination
The Story's Interest
2,70

54
58
60
61
65

6-J
69
71
73
75

76
78
80
81

14
88
90

91
94

97
100
101
104
lOS

106
107
109
111
113
114
119
ill

b6
u8
13 1
135

ux

Three Codes Together
The Casuistry of Discourse
Narcissistic Proof
LXI
Equivocation I: double understanding
LXII
Psychological Proof
LXm
The Voice of the Reader
LXIV
The "Scene"
LXV
The Readerly I: "Everything holds together"
LXVI
How an Orgy Is Created
LXVD
LXVUI
The Braid
Equivocation II: metonymic falsehood
LXIX
Being-Castrated and Castration
LXX
The Transposed Kiss
LXXI
Aesthetic ProofLXXII
The Signified as Conclusion
LXXIn
The Mastery of Meaning
LXXIV
The Declaration of Love
LXXVCharacter and Discourse
LXXVI
The Readerly II: determined/determinant
LXXVU
To Die of Ignorance
LXXVIII
Before Castration
LXXIX
Denouement and Disclosure
LXXX
LXXXI
Voice of the Person
LXXXII
Glissando
LXXXm
Pandemia
LXXXIV
Literature Replete
LXXXVInterrupted Replication
LXXXVIThe Empiric VoiceLXXXVII The Voice of Science
LXXXVIII From Sculpture to Painting
Voice of TruthLXXXIXxc
The Balzacian Text
Modification
XCI
The Three Points of Entry
xcn
The Pensive Text
Xcnl
LX

139
140
143
1....
147
151
154
156
157
160
16:2.
163
16 5
167
17 1
173
176
178
181

Is,.
18 5
187
190
197
198
:100

:10:2.
:103
:2.05
:2.07
:109

nl
:2.U
n4
n6