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Updated: May 17, 2025
It would be interesting to trace the masochistic tendency as it occurs throughout literature, but no more can be done than just to allude to a few instances. The theme recurs continually in the Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau; it explains the character of the chevalier in Prévost's Manon l'Escault.
A touching gentleness transfigures her entire being, and when at the good-night she gives me her hand, a superhuman power of goodness and love lies in her eyes, of the kind which calls forth tears in us and causes us to forget all the miseries of existence and all the terrors of death. I am reading Manon l'Escault to her.
She feels the association, she doesn't say a word, but she smiles from time to time, and finally she shuts up the little book. "Don't you want to go on reading?" "Not to-day. We will ourselves act Manon l'Escault to-day. I have a rendezvous in the Cascine, and you, my dear Chevalier, will accompany me; I know, you will do it, won't you?" "You command it."
But it lies in her hands if she wants to she can. What a temptation in this doubt, this fear! Now I understand Manon l'Escault and the poor chevalier, who, even in the pillory, while she was another man's mistress, still adored her. Love knows no virtue, no profit; it loves and forgives and suffers everything, because it must.
Really the beautiful woman up there doesn't interest me very much, for I am in love with someone else, and terribly unhappy at that; far more unhappy than the Knight of Toggenburg or the Chevalier in Manon l'Escault, because the object of my adoration is of stone. In the garden, in the tiny wilderness, there is a graceful little meadow on which a couple of deer graze peacefully.
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