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The Princess of Darkness
Rachilde, the writer whose formal name was Marguerite Vallette-Eymery (1860-1853), is primarily remembered today for her sensational decadent novel Monsieur Vénus (1884), which was prosecuted as pornography in Belgium, where it was initially published, resulting in a conviction and a sentence of two years' imprisonment imposed in absentia. She was, however, the author of numerous other works which, though less well-known, are of equal and sometimes even greater excellence. One of the best and most striking of these is The Princess of Darkness (1895), here presented for the first time in English, in a superb translation by Brian Stableford. The novel, unquestionably one of the most daring works to come out of the Symbolist and Decadent movements, was written under Rachilde's other pseudonym, Jean de Chilra, and is at once a profound psychological study and a neo-Gothic masterpiece, featuring a haunted house and a family curse and other much more unusual motifs that are calculated to alienate readers as well as to challenge them, in a frightening treasure that any connoisseur of perversity is bound to savor and to think precious.
266 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1895
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About the author
Rachilde
95 books71 followersRachilde was the nom de plume of Marguerite Vallette-Eymery, a French author who was born February 11, 1860 in Périgueux, Périgord, Dordogne, Aquitaine, France during the Second French Empire and died in April 4, 1953.
She is considered to be a pioneer of anti-realistic drama and a participant in the Decadent movement.
Rachilde was married to Alfred Vallette.
She is considered to be a pioneer of anti-realistic drama and a participant in the Decadent movement.
Rachilde was married to Alfred Vallette.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
February 6, 2024
The Princess of Darkness, Rachilde’s obscure symbolist masterpiece of 1896, is among other things an exquisite example of the gothic novel, complete with haunted house, brooding suitor, provincial doctor and sickly heroine. It is also a subversion of those tropes—but it is no parody.
On another level: The Princess of Darkness proposes the depressing impossibility of love without sex and sex without violence. This is what Madeleine asks of the devil, in exchange for her soul: “‘I shall only love you on one condition: that you forget that you’re a man and that I’m a woman’” (110). And here is what all-too-human Doctor Sellier promises her: “‘No, I assure you,’ he repeated, striding back and forth. ‘A physician is not a man, Mademoiselle’” (130). It is not much of a spoiler to say that neither mortal nor immortal lover proves capable of keeping his word.
And deeper yet: “‘but there isn’t only the three-legged wolf, there’s also the game of anguished children, as we call it at school. Not being able to go back to sleep I lay down full length, with my arms pressed to my body and I held my breath; then I said to myself: ‘You’re condemned to death! In ten years, or twenty years, or perhaps in one year, you’re going to die. Since birth, the being you call the good God has condemned you to death,’ and I weep. … During the day, too, one has a right to play the game of anguished children’” (168). That is the level that matters, in the end: the game of anguished children. The three-legged wolf, the great dark dog Silence, the little man without a head, his “pink shoulders full of blood … getting bigger, growing” (169). It is horror of sex, horror of men, the long shadow of—perhaps abuse, or perhaps just a terrible childhood belittling—but too, the thwarted desire to be loved not as a woman but as a human being, by a lover who is not a man but a human being. For Madeleine, for Rachilde—too much to ask.
In her memoirs, turn-of-the-century lesbian taste-maker Natalie Clifford Barney describes a “Rachilde, who slashes a crowd with her sarcasm, is gentle towards bats and white mice, looks after them, and describes them with a maternal sense that she must hide from her apparent family. Her real family is a world underground and underwater from which she emerges, before suffocating, to scream at the top of her voice her rage against humans” (Adventures of the Mind, 153).
It is the rage bubbling under the surface of The Princess of Darkness that rescues it from all excess; that makes it as if it could have been written yesterday.
On another level: The Princess of Darkness proposes the depressing impossibility of love without sex and sex without violence. This is what Madeleine asks of the devil, in exchange for her soul: “‘I shall only love you on one condition: that you forget that you’re a man and that I’m a woman’” (110). And here is what all-too-human Doctor Sellier promises her: “‘No, I assure you,’ he repeated, striding back and forth. ‘A physician is not a man, Mademoiselle’” (130). It is not much of a spoiler to say that neither mortal nor immortal lover proves capable of keeping his word.
And deeper yet: “‘but there isn’t only the three-legged wolf, there’s also the game of anguished children, as we call it at school. Not being able to go back to sleep I lay down full length, with my arms pressed to my body and I held my breath; then I said to myself: ‘You’re condemned to death! In ten years, or twenty years, or perhaps in one year, you’re going to die. Since birth, the being you call the good God has condemned you to death,’ and I weep. … During the day, too, one has a right to play the game of anguished children’” (168). That is the level that matters, in the end: the game of anguished children. The three-legged wolf, the great dark dog Silence, the little man without a head, his “pink shoulders full of blood … getting bigger, growing” (169). It is horror of sex, horror of men, the long shadow of—perhaps abuse, or perhaps just a terrible childhood belittling—but too, the thwarted desire to be loved not as a woman but as a human being, by a lover who is not a man but a human being. For Madeleine, for Rachilde—too much to ask.
In her memoirs, turn-of-the-century lesbian taste-maker Natalie Clifford Barney describes a “Rachilde, who slashes a crowd with her sarcasm, is gentle towards bats and white mice, looks after them, and describes them with a maternal sense that she must hide from her apparent family. Her real family is a world underground and underwater from which she emerges, before suffocating, to scream at the top of her voice her rage against humans” (Adventures of the Mind, 153).
It is the rage bubbling under the surface of The Princess of Darkness that rescues it from all excess; that makes it as if it could have been written yesterday.
October 1, 2023
translations of rachilde are few and far between & this was fantastic; I hope to see more rachilde from snuggly books in the future...
review
review
January 29, 2024
"Oh, to commit a crime. To kill... time!"
It's been a little while since I last read Rachilde, but "Monsieur Venus" and "Marquis de Sade" still rank among my favorites. "Princess of Darkness" struck me as slightly less diabolical than her other translated works. At times, you can convince yourself you're reading Jane Austen in this novel of young woman's coming of age in exile in a provincial French town, determined to stave off marriage and the pressures of adulthood and her station.
But then there are the trademark turns of phrase and plot that lay you flat out, demonstrating how Rachilde set the stage for the shock and awe of the postwar European avant garde, who would pick up and carry the decadent project into the modern era. Few female (or male) authors would be able to get away with this for another century.
At its heart, "Princess" is a cross between a coming-of-age novel and a ghost story. A young woman meets a mysterious courter (who may or may not be Satan) outside her window one night, who coaxes and feeds her rebellious nature until, in a fit of curiosity and angst, she joins him in the forest. Meanwhile, a young doctor from the nearby village is called in (against her will) to alleviate her fit of nerves and, instead, falls in love. Will she opt for the young man of the town, who could help restore the position of her floundering family, or will she join the prince of the wilderness (even though he's kind of an asshole)?
If you've read Rachilde before, you already know the answer to this. Beyond the incredible description, what's striking is how the author characterizes her heroine's impossible choice. Rachilde's protagonists are always strong, flawed, tragic and vicious and Madeleine is no exception. Highly recommended.
It's been a little while since I last read Rachilde, but "Monsieur Venus" and "Marquis de Sade" still rank among my favorites. "Princess of Darkness" struck me as slightly less diabolical than her other translated works. At times, you can convince yourself you're reading Jane Austen in this novel of young woman's coming of age in exile in a provincial French town, determined to stave off marriage and the pressures of adulthood and her station.
But then there are the trademark turns of phrase and plot that lay you flat out, demonstrating how Rachilde set the stage for the shock and awe of the postwar European avant garde, who would pick up and carry the decadent project into the modern era. Few female (or male) authors would be able to get away with this for another century.
At its heart, "Princess" is a cross between a coming-of-age novel and a ghost story. A young woman meets a mysterious courter (who may or may not be Satan) outside her window one night, who coaxes and feeds her rebellious nature until, in a fit of curiosity and angst, she joins him in the forest. Meanwhile, a young doctor from the nearby village is called in (against her will) to alleviate her fit of nerves and, instead, falls in love. Will she opt for the young man of the town, who could help restore the position of her floundering family, or will she join the prince of the wilderness (even though he's kind of an asshole)?
If you've read Rachilde before, you already know the answer to this. Beyond the incredible description, what's striking is how the author characterizes her heroine's impossible choice. Rachilde's protagonists are always strong, flawed, tragic and vicious and Madeleine is no exception. Highly recommended.
March 7, 2025
Translation sucked. You could tell based on the foreward that the translator is projecting his own style of writing too much.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews