Fougeret de Montbron

The Amorous Adventures of Margot

AUTHOR'S PREFACE

Here at long last, is the story of “Margot, the Cobbler.” It is the very story which the General of the Cops misconstrued to accuse the author of high treason. The entire army of Parisian prostitutes and their pimps abetted the General in this distortion of the truth. Since the author has been accused of having attacked religion, the government and the King himself in this story, he could not afford to keep silent and thus virtually admit to any guilt. Therefore, the story is being published so that the readers may judge for themselves where lies the right and the wrong.

CHAPTER ONE. AT HOME

It is not because of vanity, and even less out of modesty, that I expose openly the various roles I played when I was young. It is my honest desire-if at all possible-to debase the egotism of those who have searched for a moderate fortune in ways similar to my own. And, above all, I want to offer the public a glowing testimony of my gratitude with the admission that everything I own is the direct result of their generosity and charity.

I was born in the rue Saint-Paul; my existence is the result of the furtive liaison between an honorable soldier of the guards and a mender of shoes. My mother, who would rather spend her time on her back, taught me the trade of mending and patching-especially shoes-at a very early age, to rid herself of the responsibility of taking care of me as quickly as she possibly could. I was about thirteen years old when my mother decided that she could leave me her mending coop and her customers, provided of course that she would get her share of my daily take.

I fulfilled her hopes so well that it took me only a very short time before I had become a pearl among the menders in our neighborhood. But I did not limit my talents to cobbling because I was also very adept at patching old trousers and mending the seats. Added to my dexterity and greatly enhancing my business was my charming face with which Nature had graced me. There was nobody in the entire neighborhood who did not want to be waited on by me. My mending coop was the gathering point of all the lackeys of the rue Saint-Antoine. Thus, I was continuously exposed to fine company, which gave me my first veneer of good manners and breeding.

My parents had given me, through lineage and good example, such a strong inclination to taste voluptuous pleasures that the desire to walk in their footsteps and try out the sweetness of carnal knowledge almost killed me.