People often say that those who can create characters must first study life, just as those who can master a language must first learn it earnestly.

Since my skill has not yet reached the point where I can create characters, I have to be content with recording them.

Therefore, everything I record here is true without a single false word. The characters in the story, except for the female protagonist, are still alive today.

Moreover, what I have recorded here has other witnesses in Paris. If my words alone are not sufficient as evidence, they can also come forward to testify. It was fate that allowed me to learn the whole story from beginning to end, and only I can record it in a complete and moving way.

Now let me tell you everything I have experienced.

On March 12, 1847, I saw a large yellow advertisement on La Fayette Street announcing the auction of furniture and a large number of curios. The auction was to be held after the owner's death. The advertisement did not mention the deceased's name, only stating that the auction would take place from noon to 5 p.m. on the 16th at No. 9 Rue d'Antin.

It also notified that people could visit the house and view the furniture on the 13th and 14th.

As someone keen on collecting curios, I couldn't let this opportunity slip by. Even if I didn't buy anything, I had to go and take a look.

The next day, I arrived at No. 9 Rue d'Antin with great enthusiasm.

It was still early, but there were already visitors in the house, including women. Although these female guests were dressed in velvet and wrapped in cashmere shawls, with luxurious four-wheeled carriages waiting at the door, they were all stunned by the opulent furnishings.

Soon, I also wore an expression of astonishment. I looked around and immediately realized that this was the bedroom of a high-class prostitute. However, the women from high society—and there were some here—were most curious about exactly this kind of woman's boudoir. The clothing and adornments of such women often made these noblewomen look inferior. Such women also had their own boxes at the Grand Opera and the Italian Opera, sitting on an equal footing with them. Such women shamelessly flaunted their charm and jewelry on the streets of Paris and spread "romantic affairs."

The prostitute in this residence was dead, so now even the most virtuous women could enter her bedroom. Death seemed to have taken away all the lewd past. Besides, if necessary, they could use the auction as an excuse, saying that they had no idea what kind of household it was. They saw the advertisement and wanted to take a look at the items introduced in it and make a preliminary selection. This was only human nature. And it didn't prevent them from exploring the prostitute's past through all these exquisite furnishings. They must have heard some incredible stories about prostitutes long ago.

Unfortunately, those mysterious things had vanished along with this peerless beauty. While these eager noblewomen were fascinated by the deceased tenant's belongings, they couldn't find any traces of her life.

However, there were indeed a dazzling array of things worth buying. The room was luxuriously furnished with rosewood and Boulle-marquetry furniture, Sèvres and Chinese vases, Saxon statuettes, silk, velvet, and embroidered lace. It was truly overwhelming and had everything one could wish for.

I followed those quick-footed and curious ladies as they strolled through the residence. They entered a room hung with Persian curtains. Just as I was about to follow them in, they laughed and backed out. The things in the room seemed to embarrass them, which only piqued my curiosity. It turned out to be a dressing room filled with all kinds of exquisite toiletries, each seemingly telling a story about the deceased's extravagant and luxurious life.

Against the wall stood a large table, three feet wide and six feet long. All kinds of rare treasures made by Aucoc and Audiot sparkled on the table. There were so many of these small trinkets, all made of gold or silver, that they were truly a feast for the eyes. For the deceased mistress, these thousands of little things were essential for her toilet, and no single lover could have collected them all.

Looking at these things in front of me, each one seemed to indicate a (I think you might mean "transaction involving her body" here; a more appropriate English phrase could be "a transaction of a carnal nature" or simply "a sexual transaction") for that poor girl. I thought to myself that God had been merciful to her. Instead of making her suffer the deserved punishment, He allowed her to die in the midst of opulent luxury with her beauty still intact before her old age. For these prostitutes, aging is their first death.

Indeed, there is nothing more tragic than the old age of a dissolute life—especially for women. Such old age has no dignity and evokes no sympathy from others. The feeling of regretting until the end of one's life is the most desolate thing we can hear because they do not repent for past missteps but regret miscalculating and wasting their money. I know a once-glamorous old woman. All that the past life has left her is a daughter. According to her contemporaries, her daughter has inherited all her mother's beauty. Her mother has never admitted, "You are my daughter." She only raised her daughter by her own hand in order to have someone to support her in her old age. This poor girl is named Louise. She reluctantly obeyed her mother's wishes, submitting herself to men without desire or pleasure, against her own will.