ANALYTICAL STUDIES

 BY

 HONORE DE BALZAC

 DEDICATION

 Notice the words: _The man of distinction to whom this book is dedicated_. Need I say: "You are that man. "--THE AUTHOR. 

 The woman who may be induced by the title of this book to open it, can save herself the trouble; she has already read the work without knowing it. A man, however malicious he may possibly be, can never say about a woman as much good or as much evil as they themselves think. If, in spite of this notice, a woman will persist in reading the volume, she ought to be prevented by delicacy from despising the author, from the very moment that he, forfeiting the praise which most artists welcome, has in a certain way engraved on the title page of his book the prudent inscription written on the portal of certain establishments: _Ladies must not enter_. 

 CONTENTS

INTRODUCTIONTHE PHYSIOLOGY OF MARRIAGEPETTY TROUBLES OF MARRIED LIFE

 INTRODUCTION

The two Analytical Studies, _Physiology of Marriage_ and _PettyTroubles of Married Life_, belong quite apart from the action of the_Comedie Humaine_, and can only be included therein by virtue of aspecial dispensation on the part of their author, who made for them aneighth division therein, thus giving them a local habitation and aname. Although they come far down in the list of titles, theircreation belongs almost to the formative era. Balzac had just shakenhis skirts clear of the immature dust of the _Oeuvres de Jeunesse_, and by the publication, in 1829, of _The Chouans_, had made his firstreal bow to his larger public. In December of that same year appearedthe _Physiology of Marriage_, followed eleven months later by a fewpapers belonging to _Petty Troubles of Married Life_. Meanwhile, between these two Analytical Studies, came a remarkable novelette, _Atthe Sign of the Cat and Racket_, followed soon after by one of themost famous stories of the entire _Comedie_, _The Magic Skin_. 

We are thus particular to place the two Analytical Studies in time andin environment, that the wonderful versatility of the author maybecome apparent--and more: that Balzac may be vindicated from thecharge of dullness and inaccuracy at this period. Such traits mighthave been charged against him had he left only the Analytical Studies. But when they are preceded by the faithful though heavy scene ofmilitary life, and succeeded by the searching and vivid philosophicalstudy, their faults and failures may be considered for the sake oftheir company. 

It is hard to determine Balzac's full purpose in including theAnalytical Studies in the _Comedie_. They are not novels. The few, lightly-sketched characters are not connected with those of the_Comedie_, save in one or two remote instances. They must have beenincluded in order to make one more room in the gigantic mansion whichthe author had planned. His seventh sense of subdivision saw herefresh material to classify. And so these grim, almost sardonic essayswere placed where they now appear. 

In all kindness, the Balzac novitiate is warned against beginning anacquaintance with the author through the medium of the AnalyticalStudies. He would be almost certain to misjudge Balzac's attitude, andmight even be tempted to forsake his further cultivation. The mistakewould be serious for the reader and unjust to the author. Thesestudies are chiefly valuable as outlining a peculiar--and, shall wesay, forced?--mood that sought expression in an isolated channel. Allhis life long, Balzac found time for miscellaneous writings--critiques, letters, reviews, essays, political diatribes andsketches. In early life they were his "pot-boilers, " and he neverceased writing them, probably urged partly by continued need of money, partly through fondness for this sort of thing. His _Physiology_ isfairly representative of the material, being analysis in satiricalvein of sundry foibles of society. This class of composition was verypopular in the time of Louis Philippe. 

The _Physiology of Marriage_ is couched in a spirit ofpseudo-seriousness that leaves one in doubt as to Balzac's faith withthe reader. At times he seems honestly to be trying to analyze aparticular phase of his subject; at other times he appears to beridiculing the whole institution of marriage. If this be not the case, then he would seem unfitted for his task--through the ignorance of abachelor--and adds to error the element of slander. He is at faultthrough lack of intimate experience. And yet the flashes of keenpenetration preclude such a charge as this. A few bold touches of hispen, and a picture is drawn which glows with convincing reality. Whilehere and there occur paragraphs of powerful description or searchingphilosophy which proclaim Balzac the mature, Balzac the observant. 

On the publication of _Petty Troubles of Married Life_ in _La Presse_, the publishers of that periodical had this to say: "M. De Balzac hasalready produced, as you know, the _Physiology of Marriage_, a bookfull of diabolical ingenuity and an analysis of society that woulddrive to despair Leuwenhoech and Swammerdam, who beheld the entireuniverse in a drop of water. This inexhaustible subject has againinspired an entertaining book full of Gallic malice and English humor, where Rabelais and Sterne meet and greet him at the same moment. "

In _Petty Troubles_ we have the sardonic vein fully developed. Thewhole edifice of romance seems but a card house, and all virtue merelya question of utility. We must not err, however, in taking sentimentsat their apparent value, for the real Balzac lies deeper; and here andthere a glimpse of his true spirit and greater power becomes apparent. The bitter satire yields place to a vein of feeling true and fine, andgleaming like rich gold amid baser metal. Note "Another Glimpse ofAdolphus" with its splendid vein of reverie and quiet inspiration tohigher living. It is touches like this which save the book and revealthe author. 

_Petty Troubles of Married Life_ is a pendant or sequel to _Physiologyof Marriage_. It is, as Balzac says, to the _Physiology_ "what Fact isto Theory, or History to Philosophy, and has its logic, as life, viewed as a whole, has its logic also. " We must then say with theauthor, that "if literature is the reflection of manners, we mustadmit that our manners recognize the defects pointed out by the_Physiology of Marriage_ in this fundamental institution;" and we mustconcede for _Petty Troubles_ one of those "terrible blows dealt thissocial basis. "

The _Physiologie du Mariage, ou Meditations de philosophie eclectiquesur le bonheur et le malheur conjugal_ is dated at Paris, 1824-29. Itfirst appeared anonymously, December, 1829, dated 1830, from the pressof Charles Gosselin and Urbain Canel, in two octavo volumes with itspresent introduction and a note of correction now omitted. Its nextappearance was signed, in 1834, in a two-volume edition of Ollivier. In 1846 it was entered, with its dedication to the reader, in thefirst edition of _Etudes Analytiques_--the first edition also of the_Comedie Humaine_--as Volume XVI. All the subsequent editions haveretained the original small division heads, called Meditations. 

_Petites Miseres de la Vie Conjugale_ is not dated. Its compositionwas achieved piecemeal, beginning shortly after its predecessorappeared. But it was not till long after--in 1845-46--that its presenttwo-part form was published in a single octavo volume by Chlendowski. A break had ensued between the first and second parts, the latterhaving appeared practically in full in _La Presse_ of December, 1845. The sub-headings have remained unchanged since the original printing. 

 J. WALKER MCSPADDEN. 

 THE PHYSIOLOGY OF MARRIAGE; OR, THE MUSINGS OF AN ECLECTIC PHILOSOPHER ON THE HAPPINESS AND UNHAPPINESS OF MARRIED LIFE

 INTRODUCTION

"Marriage is not an institution of nature. The family in the east isentirely different from the family in the west. Man is the servant ofnature, and the institutions of society are grafts, not spontaneousgrowths of nature. Laws are made to suit manners, and manners vary. 

"Marriage must therefore undergo the gradual development towardsperfection to which all human affairs submit. "

These words, pronounced in the presence of the Conseil d'Etat byNapoleon during the discussion of the civil code, produced a profoundimpression upon the author of this book; and perhaps unconsciously hereceived the suggestion of this work, which he now presents to thepublic. And indeed at the period during which, while still in hisyouth, he studied French law, the word ADULTERY made a singularimpression upon him. Taking, as it did, a prominent place in the code, this word never occurred to his mind without conjuring up its mournfultrain of consequences. Tears, shame, hatred, terror, secret crime, bloody wars, families without a head, and social misery rose like asudden line of phantoms before him when he read the solemn wordADULTERY! Later on, when he became acquainted with the most cultivatedcircles of society, the author perceived that the rigor of marriagelaws was very generally modified by adultery. He found that the numberof unhappy homes was larger than that of happy marriages. In fact, hewas the first to notice that of all human sciences that which relatesto marriage was the least progressive. But this was the observation ofa young man; and with him, as with so many others, this thought, likea pebble flung into the bosom of a lake, was lost in the abyss of histumultuous thoughts. Nevertheless, in spite of himself the author wascompelled to investigate, and eventually there was gathered within hismind, little by little, a swarm of conclusions, more or less just, onthe subject of married life. Works like the present one are formed inthe mind of the author with as much mystery as that with whichtruffles grow on the scented plains of Perigord. Out of the primitiveand holy horror which adultery caused him and the investigation whichhe had thoughtlessly made, there was born one morning a triflingthought in which his ideas were formulated. This thought was really asatire upon marriage. It was as follows: A husband and wife foundthemselves in love with each other for the first time aftertwenty-seven years of marriage. 

He amused himself with this little axiom and passed a whole week indelight, grouping around this harmless epigram the crowd of ideaswhich came to him unconsciously and which he was astonished to findthat he possessed. His humorous mood yielded at last to the claims ofserious investigation. Willing as he was to take a hint, the authorreturned to his habitual idleness. Nevertheless, this slight germ ofscience and of joke grew to perfection, unfostered, in the fields ofthought. Each phase of the work which had been condemned by otherstook root and gathered strength, surviving like the slight branch of atree which, flung upon the sand by a winter's storm, finds itselfcovered at morning with white and fantastic icicles, produced by thecaprices of nightly frosts. So the sketch lived on and became thestarting point of myriad branching moralizations. It was like apolypus which multiplies itself by generation. The feelings of youth, the observations which a favorable opportunity led him to make, wereverified in the most trifling events of his after life. Soon this massof ideas became harmonized, took life, seemed, as it were, to become aliving individual and moved in the midst of those domains of fancy, where the soul loves to give full rein to its wild creations. Amid allthe distractions of the world and of life, the author always heard avoice ringing in his ears and mockingly revealing the secrets ofthings at the very moment he was watching a woman as she danced, smiled, or talked. Just as Mephistopheles pointed out to Faust in thatterrific assemblage at the Brocken, faces full of frightful augury, sothe author was conscious in the midst of the ball of a demon who wouldstrike him on the shoulder with a familiar air and say to him: "Do younotice that enchanting smile? It is a grin of hatred. " And then thedemon would strut about like one of the captains in the old comediesof Hardy. He would twitch the folds of a lace mantle and endeavor tomake new the fretted tinsel and spangles of its former glory. And thenlike Rabelais he would burst into loud and unrestrainable laughter, and would trace on the street-wall a word which might serve as apendant to the "Drink!" which was the only oracle obtainable from theheavenly bottle. This literary Trilby would often appear seated onpiles of books, and with hooked fingers would point out with a grin ofmalice two yellow volumes whose title dazzled the eyes. Then when hesaw he had attracted the author's attention he spelt out, in a voicealluring as the tones of an harmonica, _Physiology of Marriage_! But, almost always he appeared at night during my dreams, gentle as somefairy guardian; he tried by words of sweetness to subdue the soulwhich he would appropriate to himself. While he attracted, he alsoscoffed at me; supple as a woman's mind, cruel as a tiger, hisfriendliness was more formidable than his hatred, for he never yieldeda caress without also inflicting a wound. One night in particular heexhausted the resources of his sorceries, and crowned all by a lasteffort. He came, he sat on the edge of the bed like a young maidenfull of love, who at first keeps silence but whose eyes sparkle, untilat last her secret escapes her. 

"This, " said he, "is a prospectus of a new life-buoy, by means ofwhich one can pass over the Seine dry-footed. This other pamphlet isthe report of the Institute on a garment by wearing which we can passthrough flames without being burnt. Have you no scheme which canpreserve marriage from the miseries of excessive cold and excessiveheat? Listen to me! Here we have a book on the _Art_ of preservingfoods; on the _Art_ of curing smoky chimneys; on the _Art_ of makinggood mortar; on the _Art_ of tying a cravat; on the _Art_ of carvingmeat. "

In a moment he had named such a prodigious number of books that theauthor felt his head go round. 

"These myriads of books, " says he, "have been devoured by readers; andwhile everybody does not build a house, and some grow hungry, andothers have no cravat, or no fire to warm themselves at, yet everybodyto some degree is married. But come look yonder. "

He waved his hand, and appeared to bring before me a distant oceanwhere all the books of the world were tossing up and down likeagitated waves. The octodecimos bounded over the surface of the water. The octavos as they were flung on their way uttered a solemn sound, sank to the bottom, and only rose up again with great difficulty, hindered as they were by duodecimos and works of smaller bulk whichfloated on the top and melted into light foam. The furious billowswere crowded with journalists, proof-readers, paper-makers, apprentices, printers' agents, whose hands alone were seen mingled inthe confusion among the books. Millions of voices rang in the air, like those of schoolboys bathing. Certain men were seen moving hitherand thither in canoes, engaged in fishing out the books, and landingthem on the shore in the presence of a tall man, of a disdainful air, dressed in black, and of a cold, unsympathetic expression. The wholescene represented the libraries and the public. The demon pointed outwith his finger a skiff freshly decked out with all sails set andinstead of a flag bearing a placard. Then with a peal of sardoniclaughter, he read with a thundering voice: _Physiology of Marriage_. 

The author fell in love, the devil left him in peace, for he wouldhave undertaken more than he could handle if he had entered anapartment occupied by a woman. Several years passed without bringingother torments than those of love, and the author was inclined tobelieve that he had been healed of one infirmity by means of anotherwhich took its place. But one evening he found himself in a Parisiandrawing-room where one of the men among the circle who stood round thefireplace began the conversation by relating in a sepulchral voice thefollowing anecdote:

A peculiar thing took place at Ghent while I was staying there. A ladyten years a widow lay on her bed attacked by mortal sickness. Thethree heirs of collateral lineage were waiting for her last sigh. Theydid not leave her side for fear that she would make a will in favor ofthe convent of Beguins belonging to the town. The sick woman keptsilent, she seemed dozing and death appeared to overspread verygradually her mute and livid face. Can't you imagine those threerelations seated in silence through that winter midnight beside herbed? An old nurse is with them and she shakes her head, and the doctorsees with anxiety that the sickness has reached its last stage, andholds his hat in one hand and with the other makes a sign to therelations, as if to say to them: "I have no more visits to make here. "Amid the solemn silence of the room is heard the dull rustling of asnow-storm which beats upon the shutters. For fear that the eyes ofthe dying woman might be dazzled by the light, the youngest of theheirs had fitted a shade to the candle which stood near that bed sothat the circle of light scarcely reached the pillow of the deathbed, from which the sallow countenance of the sick woman stood out like afigure of Christ imperfectly gilded and fixed upon a cross oftarnished silver. The flickering rays shed by the blue flames of acrackling fire were therefore the sole light of this sombre chamber, where the denouement of a drama was just ending. A log suddenly rolledfrom the fire onto the floor, as if presaging some catastrophe. At thesound of it the sick woman quickly rose to a sitting posture. Sheopened two eyes, clear as those of a cat, and all present eyed her inastonishment. She saw the log advance, and before any one could checkan unexpected movement which seemed prompted by a kind of delirium, she bounded from her bed, seized the tongs and threw the coal backinto the fireplace. The nurse, the doctor, the relations rushed to herassistance; they took the dying woman in their arms. They put her backin bed; she laid her head upon her pillow and after a few minutesdied, keeping her eyes fixed even after her death upon that plank inthe floor which the burning brand had touched. Scarcely had theCountess Van Ostroem expired when the three co-heirs exchanged looksof suspicion, and thinking no more about their aunt, began to examinethe mysterious floor. As they were Belgians their calculations were asrapid as their glances. An agreement was made by three words utteredin a low voice that none of them should leave the chamber. A servantwas sent to fetch a carpenter. Their collateral hearts beat excitedlyas they gathered round the treasured flooring, and watched their youngapprentice giving the first blow with his chisel. The plank was cutthrough. 

"My aunt made a sign, " said the youngest of the heirs. 

"No; it was merely the quivering light that made it appear so, "replied the eldest, who kept one eye on the treasure and the other onthe corpse. 

The afflicted relations discovered exactly on the spot where the brandhad fallen a certain object artistically enveloped in a mass ofplaster. 

"Proceed, " said the eldest of the heirs. 

The chisel of the apprentice then brought to light a human head andsome odds and ends of clothing, from which they recognized the countwhom all the town believed to have died at Java, and whose loss hadbeen bitterly deplored by his wife. 

The narrator of this old story was a tall spare man, with light eyesand brown hair, and the author thought he saw in him a vagueresemblance to the demon who had before this tormented him; but thestranger did not show the cloven foot. Suddenly the word ADULTERYsounded in the ears of the author; and this word woke up in hisimagination the most mournful countenances of that procession whichbefore this had streamed by on the utterance of the magic syllables. From that evening he was haunted and persecuted by dreams of a workwhich did not yet exist; and at no period of his life was the authorassailed with such delusive notions about the fatal subject of thisbook. But he bravely resisted the fiend, although the latter referredthe most unimportant incidents of life to this unknown work, and likea customhouse officer set his stamp of mockery upon every occurrence. 

Some days afterwards the author found himself in the company of twoladies. The first of them had been one of the most refined and themost intellectual women of Napoleon's court. In his day she occupied alofty position, but the sudden appearance of the Restoration causedher downfall; she became a recluse. The second, who was young andbeautiful, was at that time living at Paris the life of a fashionablewoman. They were friends, because, the one being forty and the othertwenty-two years old, they were seldom rivals on the same field. Theauthor was considered quite insignificant by the first of the twoladies, and since the other soon discovered this, they carried on inhis presence the conversation which they had begun in a frankdiscussion of a woman's lot. 

"Have you noticed, dear, that women in general bestow their love onlyupon a fool?"

"What do you mean by that, duchess? And how can you make your remarkfit in with the fact that they have an aversion for their husbands?"

"These women are absolute tyrants!" said the author to himself. "Hasthe devil again turned up in a mob cap?"

"No, dear, I am not joking, " replied the duchess, "and I shudder withfear for myself when I coolly consider people whom I have known inother times. Wit always has a sparkle which wounds us, and the man whohas much of it makes us fear him perhaps, and if he is a proud man hewill be capable of jealousy, and is not therefore to our taste. Infact, we prefer to raise a man to our own height rather than to haveto climb up to his. Talent has great successes for us to share in, butthe fool affords enjoyment to us; and we would sooner hear said 'thatis a very handsome man' than to see our lover elected to theInstitute. "

"That's enough, duchess! You have absolutely startled me. "

And the young coquette began to describe the lovers about whom all thewomen of her acquaintance raved; there was not a single man ofintellect among them. 

"But I swear by my virtue, " she said, "their husbands are worth more. "

"But these are the sort of people they choose for husbands, " theduchess answered gravely. 

"Tell me, " asked the author, "is the disaster which threatens thehusband in France quite inevitable?"

"It is, " replied the duchess, with a smile; "and the rage whichcertain women breathe out against those of their sex, whoseunfortunate happiness it is to entertain a passion, proves what aburden to them is their chastity. If it were not for fear of thedevil, one would be Lais; another owes her virtue to the dryness ofher selfish heart; a third to the silly behaviour of her first lover;another still--"

The author checked this outpour of revelation by confiding to the twoladies his design for the work with which he had been haunted; theysmiled and promised him their assistance. The youngest, with an air ofgaiety suggested one of the first chapters of the undertaking, bysaying that she would take upon herself to prove mathematically thatwomen who are entirely virtuous were creatures of reason. 

When the author got home he said at once to his demon:

"Come! I am ready; let us sign the compact. "

But the demon never returned. 

If the author has written here the biography of his book he has notacted on the prompting of fatuity. He relates facts which may furnishmaterial for the history of human thought, and will without doubtexplain the work itself. It may perhaps be important to certainanatomists of thought to be told that the soul is feminine. Thusalthough the author made a resolution not to think about the bookwhich he was forced to write, the book, nevertheless, was completed. One page of it was found on the bed of a sick man, another on the sofaof a boudoir. The glances of women when they turned in the mazes of awaltz flung to him some thoughts; a gesture or a word filled hisdisdainful brain with others. On the day when he said to himself, "This work, which haunts me, shall be achieved, " everything vanished;and like the three Belgians, he drew forth a skeleton from the placeover which he had bent to seize a treasure. 

A mild, pale countenance took the place of the demon who had temptedme; it wore an engaging expression of kindliness; there were no sharppointed arrows of criticism in its lineaments. It seemed to deal morewith words than with ideas, and shrank from noise and clamor. It wasperhaps the household genius of the honorable deputies who sit in thecentre of the Chamber. 

"Wouldn't it be better, " it said, "to let things be as they are? Arethings so bad? We ought to believe in marriage as we believe in theimmortality of the soul; and you are certainly not making a book toadvertise the happiness of marriage. You will surely conclude thatamong a million of Parisian homes happiness is the exception. You willfind perhaps that there are many husbands disposed to abandon theirwives to you; but there is not a single son who will abandon hismother. Certain people who are hit by the views which you put forthwill suspect your morals and will misrepresent your intentions. In aword, in order to handle social sores, one ought to be a king, or afirst consul at least. "

Reason, although it appeared under a form most pleasing to the author, was not listened to; for in the distance Folly tossed the coxcomb ofPanurge, and the author wished to seize it; but, when he tried tocatch it, he found that it was as heavy as the club of Hercules. Moreover, the cure of Meudon adorned it in such fashion that a youngman who was less pleased with producing a good work than with wearingfine gloves could not even touch it. 

"Is our work completed?" asked the younger of the two feminineassistants of the author. 

"Alas! madame, " I said, "will you ever requite me for all the hatredswhich that work will array against me?"

She waved her hand, and then the author replied to her doubt by a lookof indifference. 

"What do you mean? Would you hesitate? You must publish it withoutfear. In the present day we accept a book more because it is infashion than because it has anything in it. "

Although the author does not here represent himself as anything morethan the secretary of two ladies, he has in compiling theirobservations accomplished a double task. With regard to marriage hehas here arranged matters which represent what everybody thinks but noone dares to say; but has he not also exposed himself to publicdispleasure by expressing the mind of the public? Perhaps, however, the eclecticism of the present essay will save it from condemnation. All the while that he indulges in banter the author has attempted topopularize certain ideas which are particularly consoling. He hasalmost always endeavored to lay bare the hidden springs which move thehuman soul. While undertaking to defend the most material interests ofman, judging them or condemning them, he will perhaps bring to lightmany sources of intellectual delight. But the author does notfoolishly claim always to put forth his pleasantries in the best oftaste; he has merely counted upon the diversity of intellectualpursuits in expectation of receiving as much blame as approbation. Thesubject of his work was so serious that he is constantly launched intoanecdote; because at the present day anecdotes are the vehicle of allmoral teaching, and the anti-narcotic of every work of literature. Inliterature, analysis and investigation prevail, and the wearying ofthe reader increases in proportion with the egotism of the writer. This is one of the greatest misfortunes that can befall a book, andthe present author has been quite aware of it. He has therefore soarranged the topics of this long essay as to afford resting places forthe reader. This method has been successfully adopted by a writer, whoproduced on the subject of Taste a work somewhat parallel to thatwhich is here put forth on the subject of Marriage. From the formerthe present writer may be permitted to borrow a few words in order toexpress a thought which he shares with the author of them. Thisquotation will serve as an expression of homage to his predecessor, whose success has been so swiftly followed by his death:

"When I write and speak of myself in the singular, this implies aconfidential talk with the reader; he can examine the statement, discuss it, doubt and even ridicule it; but when I arm myself with theformidable WE, I become the professor and demand submission. "--Brillat-Savarin, Preface to the _Physiology of Taste_. 

 DECEMBER 5, 1829. 

 FIRST PART. 

 A GENERAL CONSIDERATION. 

We will declaim against stupid laws until they are changed, and in themeantime blindly submit to them. --Diderot, _Supplement to the Voyageof Bougainville_. 

 MEDITATION I. 

 THE SUBJECT. 

Physiology, what must I consider your meaning?

Is not your object to prove that marriage unites for life two beingswho do not know each other?

That life consists in passion, and that no passion survives marriage?

That marriage is an institution necessary for the preservation ofsociety, but that it is contrary to the laws of nature?

That divorce, this admirable release from the misfortunes of marriage, should with one voice be reinstated?

That, in spite of all its inconveniences, marriage is the foundationon which property is based?

That it furnishes invaluable pledges for the security of government?

That there is something touching in the association of two humanbeings for the purpose of supporting the pains of life?

That there is something ridiculous in the wish that one and the samethoughts should control two wills?

That the wife is treated as a slave?

That there has never been a marriage entirely happy?

That marriage is filled with crimes and that the known murders are notthe worst?

That fidelity is impossible, at least to the man?

That an investigation if it could be undertaken would prove that inthe transmission of patrimonial property there was more risk thansecurity?

That adultery does more harm than marriage does good?

That infidelity in a woman may be traced back to the earliest ages ofsociety, and that marriage still survives this perpetuation oftreachery?

That the laws of love so strongly link together two human beings thatno human law can put them asunder?

That while there are marriages recorded on the public registers, thereare others over which nature herself has presided, and they have beendictated either by the mutual memory of thought, or by an utterdifference of mental disposition, or by corporeal affinity in theparties named; that it is thus that heaven and earth are constantly atvariance?

That there are many husbands fine in figure and of superior intellectwhose wives have lovers exceedingly ugly, insignificant in appearanceor stupid in mind?

All these questions furnish material for books; but the books havebeen written and the questions are constantly reappearing. 

Physiology, what must I take you to mean?

Do you reveal new principles? Would you pretend that it is the rightthing that woman should be made common? Lycurgus and certain Greekpeoples as well as Tartars and savages have tried this. 

Can it possibly be right to confine women? The Ottomans once did so, and nowadays they give them their liberty. 

Would it be right to marry young women without providing a dowry andyet exclude them from the right of succeeding to property? SomeEnglish authors and some moralists have proved that this with theadmission of divorce is the surest method of rendering marriage happy. 

Should there be a little Hagar in each marriage establishment? Thereis no need to pass a law for that. The provision of the code whichmakes an unfaithful wife liable to a penalty in whatever place thecrime be committed, and that other article which does not punish theerring husband unless his concubine dwells beneath the conjugal roof, implicitly admits the existence of mistresses in the city. 

Sanchez has written a dissertation on the penal cases incident tomarriage; he has even argued on the illegitimacy and the opportunenessof each form of indulgence; he has outlined all the duties, moral, religious and corporeal, of the married couple; in short his workwould form twelve volumes in octavo if the huge folio entitled _DeMatrimonio_ were thus represented. 

Clouds of lawyers have flung clouds of treatises over the legaldifficulties which are born of marriage. There exist several works onthe judicial investigation of impotency. 

Legions of doctors have marshaled their legions of books on thesubject of marriage in its relation to medicine and surgery. 

In the nineteenth century the _Physiology of Marriage_ is either aninsignificant compilation or the work of a fool written for otherfools; old priests have taken their balances of gold and have weighedthe most trifling scruples of the marriage consciences; old lawyershave put on their spectacles and have distinguished between every kindof married transgression; old doctors have seized the scalpel anddrawn it over all the wounds of the subject; old judges have mountedto the bench and have decided all the cases of marriage dissolution;whole generations have passed unuttered cries of joy or of grief onthe subject, each age has cast its vote into the urn; the Holy Spirit, poets and writers have recounted everything from the days of Eve tothe Trojan war, from Helen to Madame de Maintenon, from the mistressof Louis XIV to the woman of their own day. 

Physiology, what must I consider your meaning?

Shall I say that you intend to publish pictures more or lessskillfully drawn, for the purpose of convincing us that a man marries:

From ambition--that is well known;

From kindness, in order to deliver a girl from the tyranny of hermother;

From rage, in order to disinherit his relations;

From scorn of a faithless mistress;

From weariness of a pleasant bachelor life;

From folly, for each man always commits one;

In consequence of a wager, which was the case with Lord Byron;

From interest, which is almost always the case;

From youthfulness on leaving college, like a blockhead;

From ugliness, --fear of some day failing to secure a wife;

Through Machiavelism, in order to be the heir of some old woman at anearly date;

From necessity, in order to secure the standing to _our_ son;

From obligation, the damsel having shown herself weak;

From passion, in order to become more surely cured of it;

On account of a quarrel, in order to put an end to a lawsuit;

From gratitude, by which he gives more than he has received;

From goodness, which is the fate of doctrinaires;

From the condition of a will when a dead uncle attaches his legacy tosome girl, marriage with whom is the condition of succession;

From custom, in imitation of his ancestors;

From old age, in order to make an end of life;

From _yatidi_, that is the hour of going to bed and signifies amongstthe Turks all bodily needs;

From religious zeal, like the Duke of Saint-Aignan, who did not wishto commit sin?[*]

[*] The foregoing queries came in (untranslatable) alphabetic order in the original. --Editor

But these incidents of marriage have furnished matter for thirtythousand comedies and a hundred thousand romances. 

Physiology, for the third and last time I ask you--What is yourmeaning?

So far everything is commonplace as the pavement of the street, familiar as a crossway. Marriage is better known than the Barabbas ofthe Passion. All the ancient ideas which it calls to light permeateliterature since the world is the world, and there is not a singleopinion which might serve to the advantage of the world, nor aridiculous project which could not find an author to write it up, aprinter to print it, a bookseller to sell it and a reader to read it. 

Allow me to say to you like Rabelais, who is in every sense ourmaster:

"Gentlemen, God save and guard you! Where are you? I cannot see you;wait until I put on my spectacles. Ah! I see you now; you, your wives, your children. Are you in good health? I am glad to hear it. "

But it is not for you that I am writing. Since you have grown-upchildren that ends the matter. 

Ah! it is you, illustrious tipplers, pampered and gouty, and you, tireless pie-cutters, favorites who come dear; day-longpantagruellists who keep your private birds, gay and gallant, and whogo to tierce, to sexts, to nones, and also to vespers and compline andnever tire of going. 

It is not for you that the _Physiology of Marriage_ is addressed, foryou are not married and may you never be married. You herd of bigots, snails, hypocrites, dotards, lechers, booted for pilgrimage to Rome, disguised and marked, as it were, to deceive the world. Go back, youscoundrels, out of my sight! Gallows birds are ye all--now in thedevil's name will you not begone? There are none left now but the goodsouls who love to laugh; not the snivelers who burst into tears inprose or verse, whatever their subject be, who make people sick withtheir odes, their sonnets, their meditation; none of these dreamers, but certain old-fashioned pantagruellists who don't think twice aboutit when they are invited to join a banquet or provoked to make arepartee, who can take pleasure in a book like _Pease and the Lard_with commentary of Rabelais, or in the one entitled _The Dignity ofBreeches_, and who esteem highly the fair books of high degree, aquarry hard to run down and redoubtable to wrestle with. 

It no longer does to laugh at a government, my friend, since it hasinvented means to raise fifteen hundred millions by taxation. Highecclesiastics, monks and nuns are no longer so rich that we can drinkwith them; but let St. Michael come, he who chased the devil fromheaven, and we shall perhaps see the good time come back again! Thereis only one thing in France at the present moment which remains alaughing matter, and that is marriage. Disciples of Panurge, ye arethe only readers I desire. You know how seasonably to take up and laydown a book, how to get the most pleasure out of it, to understand thehint in a half word--how to suck nourishment from a marrow-bone. 

The men of the microscope who see nothing but a speck, thecensus-mongers--have they reviewed the whole matter? Have theypronounced without appeal that it is as impossible to write a book onmarriage as to make new again a broken pot?

Yes, master fool. If you begin to squeeze the marriage question yousquirt out nothing but fun for the bachelors and weariness for themarried men. It is everlasting morality. A million printed pages wouldhave no other matter in them. 

In spite of this, here is my first proposition: marriage is a fight tothe death, before which the wedded couple ask a blessing from heaven, because it is the rashest of all undertakings to swear eternal love;the fight at once commences and victory, that is to say liberty, remains in the hands of the cleverer of the two. 

Undoubtedly. But do you see in this a fresh idea?

Well, I address myself to the married men of yesterday and of to-day;to those who on leaving the Church or the registration office indulgethe hope of keeping their wives for themselves alone; to those whomsome form or other of egotism or some indefinable sentiment induces tosay when they see the marital troubles of another, "This will neverhappen to me. "

I address myself to those sailors who after witnessing the founderingof other ships still put to sea; to those bachelors who afterwitnessing the shipwreck of virtue in a marriage of another ventureupon wedlock. And this is my subject, eternally now, yet eternallyold!

A young man, or it may be an old one, in love or not in love, hasobtained possession by a contract duly recorded at the registrationoffice in heaven and on the rolls of the nation, of a young girl withlong hair, with black liquid eyes, with small feet, with daintytapering fingers, with red lips, with teeth of ivory, finely formed, trembling with life, tempting and plump, white as a lily, loaded withthe most charming wealth of beauty. Her drooping eyelashes seem likethe points of the iron crown; her skin, which is as fresh as the calyxof a white camelia, is streaked with the purple of the red camelia;over her virginal complexion one seems to see the bloom of young fruitand the delicate down of a young peach; the azure veins spread akindling warmth over this transparent surface; she asks for life andshe gives it; she is all joy and love, all tenderness and candor; sheloves her husband, or at least believes she loves him. 

The husband who is in love says in the bottom of his heart: "Thoseeyes will see no one but me, that mouth will tremble with love for mealone, that gentle hand will lavish the caressing treasures of delighton me alone, that bosom will heave at no voice but mine, thatslumbering soul will awake at my will alone; I only will entangle myfingers in those shining tresses; I alone will indulge myself indreamily caressing that sensitive head. I will make death the guardianof my pillow if only I may ward off from the nuptial couch thestranger who would violate it; that throne of love shall swim in theblood of the rash or of my own. Tranquillity, honor, happiness, theties of home, the fortune of my children, all are at stake there; Iwould defend them as a lioness defends her cubs. Woe unto him whoshall set foot in my lair!"

Well now, courageous athlete, we applaud your intention. Up to thepresent moment no geographer has ventured to trace the lines oflongitude and latitude in the ocean of marriage. Old husbands havebeen ashamed to point out the sand banks, the reefs, the shallows, thebreakers, the monsoons, the coasts and currents which have wreckedtheir ships, for their shipwrecks brought them shame. There was nopilot, no compass for those pilgrims of marriage. This work isintended to supply the desideratum. 

Without mentioning grocers and drapers, there are so many peopleoccupied in discovering the secret motives of women, that it is reallya work of charity to classify for them, by chapter and verse, all thesecret situations of marriage; a good table of contents will enablethem to put their finger on each movement of their wives' heart, as atable of logarithms tells them the product of a given multiplication. 

And now what do you think about that? Is not this a novel undertaking, and one which no philosopher has as yet approached, I mean thisattempt to show how a woman may be prevented from deceiving herhusband? Is not this the comedy of comedies? Is it not a second_speculum vitae humanae_. We are not now dealing with the abstractquestions which we have done justice to already in this Meditation. Atthe present day in ethics as in exact science, the world asks forfacts for the results of observation. These we shall furnish. 

Let us begin then by examining the true condition of things, byanalyzing the forces which exist on either side. Before arming ourimaginary champion let us reckon up the number of his enemies. Let uscount the Cossacks who intend to invade his little domain. 

All who wish may embark with us on this voyage, all who can may laugh. Weigh anchor; hoist sail! You know exactly the point from which youstart. You have this advantage over a great many books that arewritten. 

As for our fancy of laughing while we weep, and of weeping while welaugh, as the divine Rabelais drank while he ate and ate while hedrank; as for our humor, to put Heraclitus and Democritus on the samepage and to discard style or premeditated phrase--if any of the crewmutiny, overboard with the doting cranks, the infamous classicists, the dead and buried romanticists, and steer for the blue water!

Everybody perhaps will jeeringly remark that we are like those who saywith smiling faces, "I am going to tell you a story that will make youlaugh!" But it is the proper thing to joke when speaking of marriage!In short, can you not understand that we consider marriage as atrifling ailment to which all of us are subject and upon which thisvolume is a monograph?

"But you, your bark or your work starts off like those postilions whocrack their whips because their passengers are English. You will nothave galloped at full speed for half a league before you dismount tomend a trace or to breathe your horses. What is the good of blowingthe trumpet before victory?"

Ah! my dear pantagruellists, nowadays to claim success is to obtainit, and since, after all, great works are only due to the expansion oflittle ideas, I do not see why I should not pluck the laurels, if onlyfor the purpose of crowning those dirty bacon faces who join us inswallowing a dram. One moment, pilot, let us not start without makingone little definition. 

Reader, if from time to time you meet in this work the terms virtue orvirtuous, let us understand that virtue means a certain laboredfacility by which a wife keeps her heart for her husband; at any rate, that the word is not used in a general sense, and I leave thisdistinction to the natural sagacity of all. 

 MEDITATION II. 

 MARRIAGE STATISTICS. 

The administration has been occupied for nearly twenty years inreckoning how many acres of woodland, meadow, vineyard and fallow arecomprised in the area of France. It has not stopped there, but hasalso tried to learn the number and species of the animals to be foundthere. Scientific men have gone still further; they have reckoned upthe cords of wood, the pounds of beef, the apples and eggs consumed inParis. But no one has yet undertaken either in the name of maritalhonor or in the interest of marriageable people, or for the advantageof morality and the progress of human institutions, to investigate thenumber of honest wives. What! the French government, if inquiry ismade of it, is able to say how many men it has under arms, how manyspies, how many employees, how many scholars; but, when it is askedhow many virtuous women, it can answer nothing! If the King of Francetook into his head to choose his august partner from among hissubjects, the administration could not even tell him the number ofwhite lambs from whom he could make his choice. It would be obliged toresort to some competition which awards the rose of good conduct, andthat would be a laughable event. 

Were the ancients then our masters in political institutions as inmorality? History teaches us that Ahasuerus, when he wished to take awife from among the damsels of Persia, chose Esther, the most virtuousand the most beautiful. His ministers therefore must necessarily havediscovered some method of obtaining the cream of the population. Unfortunately the Bible, which is so clear on all matrimonialquestions, has omitted to give us a rule for matrimonial choice. 

Let us try to supply this gap in the work of the administration bycalculating the sum of the female sex in France. Here we call theattention of all friends to public morality, and we appoint themjudges of our method of procedure. We shall attempt to be particularlyliberal in our estimations, particularly exact in our reasoning, inorder that every one may accept the result of this analysis. 

The inhabitants of France are generally reckoned at thirty millions. 

Certain naturalists think that the number of women exceeds that ofmen; but as many statisticians are of the opposite opinion, we willmake the most probable calculation by allowing fifteen millions forthe women. 

We will begin by cutting down this sum by nine millions, which standsfor those who seem to have some resemblance to women, but whom we arecompelled to reject upon serious considerations. 

Let us explain:

Naturalists consider man to be no more than a unique species of theorder bimana, established by Dumeril in his _Analytic Zoology_, page16; and Bory de Saint Vincent thinks that the ourang-outang ought tobe included in the same order if we would make the species complete. 

If these zoologists see in us nothing more than a mammal withthirty-two vertebrae possessing the hyoid bone and more folds in thehemispheres of the brain than any other animal; if in their opinion noother differences exist in this order than those produced by theinfluence of climate, on which are founded the nomenclature of fifteenspecies whose scientific names it is needless to cite, thephysiologists ought also to have the right of making species andsub-species in accordance with definite degrees of intelligence anddefinite conditions of existence, oral and pecuniary. 

Now the nine millions of human creatures which we here refer topresent at first sight all the attributes of the human race; they havethe hyoid bone, the coracoid process, the acromion, the zygomaticarch. It is therefore permitted for the gentlemen of the Jardin desPlantes to classify them with the bimana; but our Physiology willnever admit that women are to be found among them. In our view, and inthe view of those for whom this book is intended, a woman is a rarevariety of the human race, and her principal characteristics are dueto the special care men have bestowed upon its cultivation, --thanks tothe power of money and the moral fervor of civilization! She isgenerally recognized by the whiteness, the fineness and softness ofher skin. Her taste inclines to the most spotless cleanliness. Herfingers shrink from encountering anything but objects which are soft, yielding and scented. Like the ermine she sometimes dies for grief onseeing her white tunic soiled. She loves to twine her tresses and tomake them exhale the most attractive scents; to brush her rosy nails, to trim them to an almond shape, and frequently to bathe her delicatelimbs. She is not satisfied to spend the night excepting on thesoftest down, and excepting on hair-cushioned lounges, she loves bestto take a horizontal position. Her voice is of penetrating sweetness;her movements are full of grace. She speaks with marvelous fluency. She does not apply herself to any hard work; and, nevertheless, inspite of her apparent weakness, there are burdens which she can bearand move with miraculous ease. She avoids the open sunlight and wardsit off by ingenious appliances. For her to walk is exhausting. Doesshe eat? This is a mystery. Has she the needs of other species? It isa problem. Although she is curious to excess she allows herself easilyto be caught by any one who can conceal from her the slightest thing, and her intellect leads her to seek incessantly after the unknown. Love is her religion; she thinks how to please the one she loves. Tobe beloved is the end of all her actions; to excite desire is themotive of every gesture. She dreams of nothing excepting how she mayshine, and moves only in a circle filled with grace and elegance. Itis for her the Indian girl has spun the soft fleece of Thibet goats, Tarare weaves its airy veils, Brussels sets in motion those shuttleswhich speed the flaxen thread that is purest and most fine, Bidjapourwrenches from the bowels of the earth its sparkling pebbles, and theSevres gilds its snow-white clay. Night and day she reflects upon newcostumes and spends her life in considering dress and in plaiting herapparel. She moves about exhibiting her brightness and freshness topeople she does not know, but whose homage flatters her, while thedesire she excites charms her, though she is indifferent to those whofeel it. During the hours which she spends in private, in pleasure, and in the care of her person, she amuses herself by caroling thesweetest strains. For her France and Italy ordain delightful concertsand Naples imparts to the strings of the violin an harmonious soul. This species is in fine at once the queen of the world and the slaveof passion. She dreads marriage because it ends by spoiling herfigure, but she surrenders herself to it because it promiseshappiness. If she bears children it is by pure chance, and when theyare grown up she tries to conceal them. 

These characteristics taken at random from among a thousand others arenot found amongst those beings whose hands are as black as those ofapes and their skin tanned like the ancient parchments of an _olim_;whose complexion is burnt brown by the sun and whose neck is wrinkledlike that of a turkey; who are covered with rags; whose voice ishoarse; whose intelligence is nil; who think of nothing but the breadbox, and who are incessantly bowed in toil towards the ground; whodig; who harrow; who make hay, glean, gather in the harvest, knead thebread and strip hemp; who, huddled among domestic beasts, infants andmen, dwell in holes and dens scarcely covered with thatch; to whom itis of little importance from what source children rain down into theirhomes. Their work it is to produce many and to deliver them to miseryand toil, and if their love is not like their labor in the fields itis at least as much a work of chance. 

Alas! if there are throughout the world multitudes of trades-women whosit all day long between the cradle and the sugar-cask, farmers' wivesand daughters who milk the cows, unfortunate women who are employedlike beasts of burden in the manufactories, who all day long carry theloaded basket, the hoe and the fish-crate, if unfortunately thereexist these common human beings to whom the life of the soul, thebenefits of education, the delicious tempests of the heart are anunattainable heaven; and if Nature has decreed that they should havecoracoid processes and hyoid bones and thirty-two vertebrae, let themremain for the physiologist classed with the ourang-outang. And herewe make no stipulations for the leisure class; for those who have thetime and the sense to fall in love; for the rich who have purchasedthe right of indulging their passions; for the intellectual who haveconquered a monopoly of fads. Anathema on all those who do not live bythought. We say Raca and fool to all those who are not ardent, young, beautiful and passionate. This is the public expression of that secretsentiment entertained by philanthropists who have learned to read andcan keep their own carriage. Among the nine millions of theproscribed, the tax-gatherer, the magistrate, the law-maker and thepriest doubtless see living souls who are to be ruled and made subjectto the administration of justice. But the man of sentiment, thephilosopher of the boudoir, while he eats his fine bread, made ofcorn, sown and harvested by these creatures, will reject them andrelegate them, as we do, to a place outside the genus Woman. For them, there are no women excepting those who can inspire love; and there isno living being but the creature invested with the priesthood ofthought by means of a privileged education, and with whom leisure hasdeveloped the power of imagination; in other words that only is ahuman being whose soul dreams, in love, either of intellectualenjoyments or of physical delights. 

We would, however, make the remark that these nine million femalepariahs produce here and there a thousand peasant girls who frompeculiar circumstances are as fair as Cupids; they come to Paris or tothe great cities and end up by attaining the rank of _femmes comme ilfaut_; but to set off against these two or three thousand favoredcreatures, there are one hundred thousand others who remain servantsor abandon themselves to frightful irregularities. Nevertheless, weare obliged to count these Pompadours of the village among thefeminine population. 

Our first calculation is based upon the statistical discovery that inFrance there are eighteen millions of the poor, ten millions of peoplein easy circumstances and two millions of the rich. 

There exist, therefore, in France only six millions of women in whommen of sentiment are now interested, have been interested, or will beinterested. 

Let us subject this social elite to a philosophic examination. 

We think, without fear of being deceived, that married people who havelived twenty years together may sleep in peace without fear of havingtheir love trespassed upon or of incurring the scandal of a lawsuitfor criminal conversation. 

From these six millions of individuals we must subtract about twomillions of women who are extremely attractive, because for the lastforty years they have seen the world; but since they have not thepower to make any one fall in love with them, they are on the outsideof the discussion now before us. If they are unhappy enough to receiveno attention for the sake of amiability, they are soon seized withennui; they fall back upon religion, upon the cultivation of pets, cats, lap-dogs, and other fancies which are no more offensive thantheir devoutness. 

The calculations made at the Bureau of Longitudes concerningpopulation authorize us again to subtract from the total mentioned twomillions of young girls, pretty enough to kill; they are at present inthe A B C of life and innocently play with other children, withoutdreading that these little hobbledehoys, who now make them laugh, willone day make them weep. 

Again, of the two millions of the remaining women, what reasonable manwould not throw out a hundred thousand poor girls, humpbacked, plain, cross-grained, rickety, sickly, blind, crippled in some way, welleducated but penniless, all bound to be spinsters, and by no meanstempted to violate the sacred laws of marriage?

Nor must we retain the one hundred thousand other girls who becomesisters of St. Camille, Sisters of Charity, monastics, teachers, ladies' companions, etc. And we must put into this blessed company anumber of young people difficult to estimate, who are too grown up toplay with little boys and yet too young to sport their wreath oforange blossoms. 

Finally, of the fifteen million subjects which remain at the bottom ofour crucible we must eliminate five hundred thousand otherindividuals, to be reckoned as daughters of Baal, who subserve theappetites of the base. We must even comprise among those, without fearthat they will be corrupted by their company, the kept women, themilliners, the shop girls, saleswomen, actresses, singers, the girlsof the opera, the ballet-dancers, upper servants, chambermaids, etc. Most of these creatures excite the passions of many people, but theywould consider it immodest to inform a lawyer, a mayor, anecclesiastic or a laughing world of the day and hour when theysurrendered to a lover. Their system, justly blamed by an inquisitiveworld, has the advantage of laying upon them no obligations towardsmen in general, towards the mayor or the magistracy. As these women donot violate any oath made in public, they have no connection whateverwith a work which treats exclusively of lawful marriage. 

Some one will say that the claims made by this essay are very slight, but its limitations make just compensation for those which amateursconsider excessively padded. If any one, through love for a wealthydowager, wishes to obtain admittance for her into the remainingmillion, he must classify her under the head of Sisters of Charity, ballet-dancers, or hunchbacks; in fact we have not taken more thanfive hundred thousand individuals in forming this last class, becauseit often happens, as we have seen above, that the nine millions ofpeasant girls make a large accession to it. We have for the samereason omitted the working-girl class and the hucksters; the women ofthese two sections are the product of efforts made by nine millions offemale bimana to rise to the higher civilization. But for itsscrupulous exactitude many persons might regard this statisticalmeditation as a mere joke. 

We have felt very much inclined to form a small class of a hundredthousand individuals as a crowning cabinet of the species, to serve asa place of shelter for women who have fallen into a middle estate, like widows, for instance; but we have preferred to estimate in roundfigures. 

It would be easy to prove the fairness of our analysis: let onereflection be sufficient. 

The life of a woman is divided into three periods, very distinct fromeach other: the first begins in the cradle and ends on the attainmentof a marriageable age; the second embraces the time during which awoman belongs to marriage; the third opens with the critical period, the ending with which nature closes the passions of life. These threespheres of existence, being almost equal in duration, might beemployed for the classification into equal groups of a given number ofwomen. Thus in a mass of six millions, omitting fractions, there areabout two million girls between one and eighteen, two millions womenbetween eighteen and forty and two millions of old women. The capricesof society have divided the two millions of marriageable women intothree main classes, namely: those who remain spinsters for reasonswhich we have defined; those whose virtue does not reckon in theobtaining of husbands, and the million of women lawfully married, withwhom we have to deal. 

You see then, by the exact sifting out of the feminine population, that there exists in France a little flock of barely a million whitelambs, a privileged fold into which every wolf is anxious to enter. 

Let us put this million of women, already winnowed by our fan, throughanother examination. 

To arrive at the true idea of the degree of confidence which a manought to have in his wife, let us suppose for a moment that all wiveswill deceive their husbands. 

On this hypothesis, it will be proper to cut out about one-twentieth, viz. , young people who are newly married and who will be faithful totheir vows for a certain time. 

Another twentieth will be in ill-health. This will be to make a verymodest allowance for human infirmities. 

Certain passions, which we are told destroy the dominion of the manover the heart of his wife, namely, aversion, grief, the bearing ofchildren, will account for another twentieth. 

Adultery does not establish itself in the heart of a married womanwith the promptness of a pistol-shot. Even when sympathy with anotherrouses feelings on first sight, a struggle always takes place, whoseduration discounts the total sum of conjugal infidelities. It would bean insult to French modesty not to admit the duration of this strugglein a country so naturally combative, without referring to at least atwentieth in the total of married women; but then we will suppose thatthere are certain sickly women who preserve their lovers while theyare using soothing draughts, and that there are certain wives whoseconfinement makes sarcastic celibates smile. In this way we shallvindicate the modesty of those who enter upon the struggle frommotives of virtue. For the same reason we should not venture tobelieve that a woman forsaken by her lover will find a new one on thespot; but this discount being much more uncertain than the precedingone, we will estimate it at one-fortieth. 

These several rebates will reduce our sum total to eight hundredthousand women, when we come to calculate the number of those who arelikely to violate married faith. Who would not at the present momentwish to retain the persuasion that wives are virtuous? Are they notthe supreme flower of the country? Are they not all bloomingcreatures, fascinating the world by their beauty, their youth, theirlife and their love? To believe in their virtue is a sort of socialreligion, for they are the ornament of the world, and form the chiefglory of France. 

It is in the midst of this million we are bound to investigate:

The number of honest women;

The number of virtuous women. 

The work of investigating this and of arranging the results under twocategories requires whole meditations, which may serve as an appendixto the present one. 

 MEDITATION III. 

 OF THE HONEST WOMAN. 

The preceding meditation has proved that we possess in France afloating population of one million women reveling in the privilege ofinspiring those passions which a gallant man avows without shame, ordissembles with delight. It is then among this million of women thatwe must carry our lantern of Diogenes in order to discover the honestwomen of the land. 

This inquiry suggests certain digressions. 

Two young people, well dressed, whose slender figures and rounded armssuggest a paver's tool, and whose boots are elegantly made, meet onemorning on the boulevard, at the end of the Passage des Panoramas. 

"What, is this you?"

"Yes, dear boy; it looks like me, doesn't it?"

Then they laugh, with more or less intelligence, according to thenature of the joke which opens the conversation. 

When they have examined each other with the sly curiosity of a policeofficer on the lookout for a clew, when they are quite convinced ofthe newness of each other's gloves, of each other's waistcoat and ofthe taste with which their cravats are tied; when they are prettycertain that neither of them is down in the world, they link arms andif they start from the Theater des Varietes, they have not reachedFrascati's before they have asked each other a roundabout questionwhose free translation may be this:

"Whom are you living with now?"

As a general rule she is a charming woman. 

Who is the infantryman of Paris into whose ear there have not dropped, like bullets in the day of battle, thousands of words uttered by thepasser-by, and who has not caught one of those numberless sayingswhich, according to Rabelais, hang frozen in the air? But the majorityof men take their way through Paris in the same manner as they liveand eat, that is, without thinking about it. There are very fewskillful musicians, very few practiced physiognomists who canrecognize the key in which these vagrant notes are set, the passionthat prompts these floating words. Ah! to wander over Paris! What anadorable and delightful existence is that! To saunter is a science; itis the gastronomy of the eye. To take a walk is to vegetate; tosaunter is to live. The young and pretty women, long contemplated withardent eyes, would be much more admissible in claiming a salary thanthe cook who asks for twenty sous from the Limousin whose nose withinflated nostrils took in the perfumes of beauty. To saunter is toenjoy life; it is to indulge the flight of fancy; it is to enjoy thesublime pictures of misery, of love, of joy, of gracious or grotesquephysiognomies; it is to pierce with a glance the abysses of a thousandexistences; for the young it is to desire all, and to possess all; forthe old it is to live the life of the youthful, and to share theirpassions. Now how many answers have not the sauntering artists heardto the categorical question which is always with us?

"She is thirty-five years old, but you would not think she was morethan twenty!" said an enthusiastic youth with sparkling eyes, who, freshly liberated from college, would, like Cherubin, embrace all. 

"Zounds! Mine has dressing-gowns of batiste and diamond rings for theevening!" said a lawyer's clerk. 

"But she has a box at the Francais!" said an army officer. 

"At any rate, " cried another one, an elderly man who spoke as if hewere standing on the defence, "she does not cost me a sou! In our case--wouldn't you like to have the same chance, my respected friend?"

And he patted his companion lightly on the shoulder. 

"Oh! she loves me!" said another. "It seems too good to be true; butshe has the most stupid of husbands! Ah!--Buffon has admirablydescribed the animals, but the biped called husband--"

What a pleasant thing for a married man to hear!

"Oh! what an angel you are, my dear!" is the answer to a requestdiscreetly whispered into the ear. 

"Can you tell me her name or point her out to me?"

"Oh! no; she is an honest woman. "

When a student is loved by a waitress, he mentions her name with prideand takes his friends to lunch at her house. If a young man loves awoman whose husband is engaged in some trade dealing with articles ofnecessity, he will answer, blushingly, "She is the wife of ahaberdasher, of a stationer, of a hatter, of a linen-draper, of aclerk, etc. "

But this confession of love for an inferior which buds and blows inthe midst of packages, loaves of sugar, or flannel waistcoats isalways accompanied with an exaggerated praise of the lady's fortune. The husband alone is engaged in the business; he is rich; he has finefurniture. The loved one comes to her lover's house; she wears acashmere shawl; she owns a country house, etc. 

In short, a young man is never wanting in excellent arguments to provethat his mistress is very nearly, if not quite, an honest woman. Thisdistinction originates in the refinement of our manners and has becomeas indefinite as the line which separates _bon ton_ from vulgarity. What then is meant by an honest woman?

On this point the vanity of women, of their lovers, and even that oftheir husbands, is so sensitive that we had better here settle uponsome general rules, which are the result of long observation. 

Our one million of privileged women represent a multitude who areeligible for the glorious title of honest women, but by no means allare elected to it. The principles on which these elections are basedmay be found in the following axioms:

 APHORISMS. 

 I. An honest woman is necessarily a married woman. 

 II. An honest woman is under forty years old. 

 III. A married woman whose favors are to be paid for is not an honest woman. 

 IV. A married woman who keeps a private carriage is an honest woman. 

 V. A woman who does her own cooking is not an honest woman. 

 VI. When a man has made enough to yield an income of twenty thousandfrancs, his wife is an honest woman, whatever the business in whichhis fortune was made. 

 VII. A woman who says "letter of change" for letter of exchange, who saysof a man, "He is an elegant gentleman, " can never be an honest woman, whatever fortune she possesses. 

 VIII. An honest woman ought to be in a financial condition such as forbids her lover to think she will ever cost him anything. 

 IX. A woman who lives on the third story of any street excepting the Rue de Rivoli and the Rue de Castiglione is not an honest woman. 

 X. The wife of a banker is always an honest woman, but the woman who sitsat the cashier's desk cannot be one, unless her husband has a verylarge business and she does not live over his shop. 

 XI. The unmarried niece of a bishop when she lives with him can pass foran honest woman, because if she has an intrigue she has to deceive heruncle. 

 XII. An honest woman is one whom her lover fears to compromise. 

 XIII. The wife of an artist is always an honest woman. 

By the application of these principles even a man from Ardeche canresolve all the difficulties which our subject presents. 

In order that a woman may be able to keep a cook, may be finelyeducated, may possess the sentiment of coquetry, may have the right topass whole hours in her boudoir lying on a sofa, and may live a lifeof soul, she must have at least six thousand francs a year if shelives in the country, and twenty thousand if she lives at Paris. Thesetwo financial limits will suggest to you how many honest women are tobe reckoned on in the million, for they are really a mere product ofour statistical calculations. 

Now three hundred thousand independent people, with an income offifteen thousand francs, represent the sum total of those who live onpensions, on annuities and the interest of treasury bonds andmortgages. 

Three hundred thousand landed proprietors enjoy an income of threethousand five hundred francs and represent all territorial wealth. 

Two hundred thousand payees, at the rate of fifteen hundred francseach, represent the distribution of public funds by the state budget, by the budgets of the cities and departments, less the national debt, church funds and soldier's pay, (i. E. Five sous a day with allowancesfor washing, weapons, victuals, clothes, etc. ). 

Two hundred thousand fortunes amassed in commerce, reckoning thecapital at twenty thousand francs in each case, represent all thecommercial establishments possible in France. 

Here we have a million husbands represented. 

But at what figure shall we count those who have an income of fifty, of a hundred, of two, three, four, five, and six hundred francs only, from consols or some other investment?

How many landed proprietors are there who pay taxes amounting to nomore than a hundred sous, twenty francs, one hundred francs, twohundred, or two hundred and eighty?

At what number shall we reckon those of the governmental leeches, whoare merely quill-drivers with a salary of six hundred francs a year?

How many merchants who have nothing but a fictitious capital shall weadmit? These men are rich in credit and have not a single actual sou, and resemble the sieves through which Pactolus flows. And how manybrokers whose real capital does not amount to more than a thousand, two thousand, four thousand, five thousand francs? Business!--myrespects to you!

Let us suppose more people to be fortunate than actually are so. Letus divide this million into parts; five hundred thousand domesticestablishments will have an income ranging from a hundred to threethousand francs, and five thousand women will fulfill the conditionswhich entitle them to be called honest women. 

After these observations, which close our meditation on statistics, weare entitled to cut out of this number one hundred thousandindividuals; consequently we can consider it to be provenmathematically that there exist in France no more than four hundredthousand women who can furnish to men of refinement the exquisite andexalted enjoyments which they look for in love. 

And here it is fitting to make a remark to the adepts for whom wewrite, that love does not consist in a series of eager conversations, of nights of pleasure, of an occasional caress more or less well-timedand a spark of _amour-propre_ baptized by the name of jealousy. Ourfour hundred thousand women are not of those concerning whom it may besaid, "The most beautiful girl in the world can give only what shehas. " No, they are richly endowed with treasures which appeal to ourardent imaginations, they know how to sell dear that which they do notpossess, in order to compensate for the vulgarity of that which theygive. 

Do we feel more pleasure in kissing the glove of a grisette than indraining the five minutes of pleasure which all women offer to us?

Is it the conversation of a shop-girl which makes you expect boundlessdelights?

In your intercourse with a woman who is beneath you, the delight offlattered _amour-propre_ is on her side. You are not in the secret ofthe happiness which you give. 

In a case of a woman above you, either in fortune or social position, the ticklings of vanity are not only intense, but are equally shared. A man can never raise his mistress to his own level; but a womanalways puts her lover in the position that she herself occupies. "Ican make princes and you can make nothing but bastards, " is an answersparkling with truth. 

If love is the first of passions, it is because it flatters all therest of them at the same time. We love with more or less intensity inproportion to the number of chords which are touched by the fingers ofa beautiful mistress. 

Biren, the jeweler's son, climbing into the bed of the Duchesse deCourlande and helping her to sign an agreement that he should beproclaimed sovereign of the country, as he was already of the youngand beautiful queen, is an example of the happiness which ought to begiven to their lovers by our four hundred thousand women. 

If a man would have the right to make stepping-stones of all the headswhich crowd a drawing-room, he must be the lover of some artisticwoman of fashion. Now we all love more or less to be at the top. 

It is on this brilliant section of the nation that the attack is madeby men whose education, talent or wit gives them the right to beconsidered persons of importance with regard to that success of whichpeople of every country are so proud; and only among this class ofwomen is the wife to be found whose heart has to be defended at allhazard by our husband. 

What does it matter whether the considerations which arise from theexistence of a feminine aristocracy are or are not equally applicableto other social classes? That which is true of all women exquisite inmanners, language and thought, in whom exceptional educationalfacilities have developed a taste for art and a capacity for feeling, comparing and thinking, who have a high sense of propriety andpoliteness and who actually set the fashion in French manners, oughtto be true also in the case of women whatever their nation andwhatever their condition. The man of distinction to whom this book isdedicated must of necessity possess a certain mental vision, whichmakes him perceive the various degrees of light that fill each classand comprehend the exact point in the scale of civilization to whicheach of our remarks is severally applicable. 

Would it not be then in the highest interests of morality, that weshould in the meantime try to find out the number of virtuous womenwho are to be found among these adorable creatures? Is not this aquestion of marito-national importance?

 MEDITATION IV. 

 OF THE VIRTUOUS WOMAN. 

The question, perhaps, is not so much how many virtuous women thereare, as what possibility there is of an honest woman remainingvirtuous. 

In order to throw light upon a point so important, let us cast a rapidglance over the male population. 

From among our fifteen millions of men we must cut off, in the firstplace, the nine millions of bimana of thirty-two vertebrae and excludefrom our physiological analysis all but six millions of people. TheMarceaus, the Massenas, the Rousseaus, the Diderots and the Rollinsoften sprout forth suddenly from the social swamp, when it is in acondition of fermentation; but, here we plead guilty of deliberateinaccuracy. These errors in calculation are likely, however, to giveall their weight to our conclusion and to corroborate what we areforced to deduce in unveiling the mechanism of passion. 

From the six millions of privileged men, we must exclude threemillions of old men and children. 

It will be affirmed by some one that this subtraction leaves aremainder of four millions in the case of women. 

This difference at first sight seems singular, but is easily accountedfor. 

The average age at which women are married is twenty years and atforty they cease to belong to the world of love. 

Now a young bachelor of seventeen is apt to make deep cuts with hispenknife in the parchment of contracts, as the chronicles of scandalwill tell you. 

On the other hand, a man at fifty-two is more formidable than at anyother age. It is at this fair epoch of life that he enjoys anexperience dearly bought, and probably all the fortune that he willever require. The passions by which his course is directed being thelast under whose scourge he will move, he is unpitying and determined, like the man carried away by a current who snatches at a green andpliant branch of willow, the young nursling of the year. 

 XIV. Physically a man is a man much longer than a woman is a woman. 

With regard to marriage, the difference in duration of the life oflove with a man and with a woman is fifteen years. This period isequal to three-fourths of the time during which the infidelities ofthe woman can bring unhappiness to her husband. Nevertheless, theremainder in our subtraction from the sum of men only differs by asixth or so from that which results in our subtraction from the sum ofwomen. 

Great is the modest caution of our estimates. As to our arguments, they are founded on evidence so widely known, that we have onlyexpounded them for the sake of being exact and in order to anticipateall criticism. 

It has, therefore, been proved to the mind of every philosopher, however little disposed he may be to forming numerical estimates, thatthere exists in France a floating mass of three million men betweenseventeen and fifty-two, all perfectly alive, well provided withteeth, quite resolved on biting, in fact, biting and asking nothingbetter than the opportunity of walking strong and upright along theway to Paradise. 

The above observations entitle us to separate from this mass of men amillion husbands. Suppose for an instant that these, being satisfiedand always happy, like our model husband, confine themselves toconjugal love. 

Our remainder of two millions do not require five sous to make love. 

It is quite sufficient for a man to have a fine foot and a clear eyein order to dismantle the portrait of a husband. 

It is not necessary that he should have a handsome face nor even agood figure;

Provided that a man appears to be intellectual and has a distinguishedexpression of face, women never look where he comes from but where heis going to;

The charms of youth are the unique equipage of love;

A coat made by Brisson, a pair of gloves bought from Boivin, elegantshoes, for whose payment the dealer trembles, a well-tied cravat aresufficient to make a man king of the drawing-room;

And soldiers--although the passion for gold lace and aiguillettes hasdied away--do not soldiers form of themselves a redoubtable legion ofcelibates? Not to mention Eginhard--for he was a private secretary--has not a newspaper recently recorded how a German princessbequeathed her fortune to a simple lieutenant of cuirassiers in theimperial guard?

But the notary of the village, who in the wilds of Gascony does notdraw more than thirty-six deeds a year, sends his son to study law atParis; the hatter wishes his son to be a notary, the lawyer destineshis to be a judge, the judge wishes to become a minister in order thathis sons may be peers. At no epoch in the world's history has therebeen so eager a thirst for education. To-day it is not intellect butcleverness that promenades the streets. From every crevice in therocky surface of society brilliant flowers burst forth as the springbrings them on the walls of a ruin; even in the caverns there droopfrom the vaulted roof faintly colored tufts of green vegetation. Thesun of education permeates all. Since this vast development ofthought, this even and fruitful diffusion of light, we have scarcelyany men of superiority, because every single man represents the wholeeducation of his age. We are surrounded by living encyclopaedias whowalk about, think, act and wish to be immortalized. Hence thefrightful catastrophes of climbing ambitions and insensate passions. We feel the want of other worlds; there are more hives needed toreceive the swarms, and especially are we in need of more prettywomen. 

But the maladies by which a man is afflicted do not nullify the sumtotal of human passion. To our shame be it spoken, a woman is never somuch attached to us as when we are sick. 

With this thought, all the epigrams written against the little sex--for it is antiquated nowadays to say the fair sex--ought to bedisarmed of their point and changed into madrigals of eulogy! All menought to consider that the sole virtue of a woman is to love and thatall women are prodigiously virtuous, and at that point to close thebook and end their meditation. 

Ah! do you not remember that black and gloomy hour when lonely andsuffering, making accusations against men and especially against yourfriends, weak, discouraged, and filled with thoughts of death, yourhead supported by a fevered pillow and stretched upon a sheet whosewhite trellis-work of linen was stamped upon your skin, you tracedwith your eyes the green paper which covered the walls of your silentchamber? Do you recollect, I say, seeing some one noiselessly openyour door, exhibiting her fair young face, framed with rolls of gold, and a bonnet which you had never seen before? She seemed like a starin a stormy night, smiling and stealing towards you with an expressionin which distress and happiness were blended, and flinging herselfinto your arms!

"How did you manage it? What did you tell your husband?" you ask. 

"Your husband!"--Ah! this brings us back again into the depths of oursubject. 

 XV. Morally the man is more often and longer a man than the woman is a women. 

On the other hand we ought to consider that among these two millionsof celibates there are many unhappy men, in whom a profound sense oftheir misery and persistent toil have quenched the instinct of love;

That they have not all passed through college, that there are manyartisans among them, many footmen--the Duke of Gevres, an extremelyplain and short man, as he walked through the park of Versailles sawseveral lackeys of fine appearance and said to his friends, "Look howthese fellows are made by us, and how they imitate us"--that there aremany contractors, many trades people who think of nothing but money;many drudges of the shop;

That there are men more stupid and actually more ugly than God wouldhave made them;

That there are those whose character is like a chestnut without akernel;

That the clergy are generally chaste;

That there are men so situated in life that they can never enter thebrilliant sphere in which honest women move, whether for want of acoat, or from their bashfulness, or from the failure of a mahout tointroduce them. 

But let us leave to each one the task of adding to the number of theseexceptions in accordance with his personal experience--for the objectof a book is above all things to make people think--and let usinstantly suppress one-half of the sum total and admit only that thereare one million of hearts worthy of paying homage to honest women. This number approximately includes those who are superior in alldepartments. Women love only the intellectual, but justice must bedone to virtue. 

As for these amiable celibates, each of them relates a string ofadventures, all of which seriously compromise honest women. It wouldbe a very moderate and reserved computation to attribute no more thanthree adventures to each celibate; but if some of them count theiradventures by the dozen, there are many more who confine themselves totwo or three incidents of passion and some to a single one in theirwhole life, so that we have in accordance with the statistical methodtaken the average. Now if the number of celibates be multiplied by thenumber of their excesses in love the result will be three millions ofadventures; to set against this we have only four hundred thousandhonest women!

If the God of goodness and indulgence who hovers over the worlds doesnot make a second washing of the human race, it is doubtless becauseso little success attended the first. 

Here then we have a people, a society which has been sifted, and yousee the result!

 XVI. Manners are the hypocrisy of nations, and hypocrisy is more or less perfect. 

 XVII. Virtue, perhaps, is nothing more than politeness of soul. 

Physical love is a craving like hunger, excepting that man eats allthe time, and in love his appetite is neither so persistent nor soregular as at the table. 

A piece of bread and a carafe of water will satisfy the hunger of anyman; but our civilization has brought to light the science ofgastronomy. 

Love has its piece of bread, but it has also its science of loving, that science which we call coquetry, a delightful word which theFrench alone possess, for that science originated in this country. 

Well, after all, isn't it enough to enrage all husbands when theythink that man is so endowed with an innate desire to change from onefood to another, that in some savage countries, where travelers havelanded, they have found alcoholic drinks and ragouts?

Hunger is not so violent as love; but the caprices of the soul aremore numerous, more bewitching, more exquisite in their intensity thanthe caprices of gastronomy; but all that the poets and the experiencesof our own life have revealed to us on the subject of love, arms uscelibates with a terrible power: we are the lion of the Gospel seekingwhom we may devour. 

Then, let every one question his conscience on this point, and searchhis memory if he has ever met a man who confined himself to the loveof one woman only!

How, alas! are we to explain, while respecting the honor of all thepeoples, the problem which results from the fact that three millionsof burning hearts can find no more than four hundred thousand women onwhich they can feed? Should we apportion four celibates for each womanand remember that the honest women would have already established, instinctively and unconsciously, a sort of understanding betweenthemselves and the celibates, like that which the presidents of royalcourts have initiated, in order to make their partisans in eachchamber enter successively after a certain number of years?

That would be a mournful way of solving the difficulty!

Should we make the conjecture that certain honest women act individing up the celibates, as the lion in the fable did? What! Surely, in that case, half at least of our altars would become whitedsepulchres!

Ought one to suggest for the honor of French ladies that in the timeof peace all other countries should import into France a certainnumber of their honest women, and that these countries should mainlyconsist of England, Germany and Russia? But the European nations wouldin that case attempt to balance matters by demanding that Franceshould export a certain number of her pretty women. 

Morality and religion suffer so much from such calculations as this, that an honest man, in an attempt to prove the innocence of marriedwomen, finds some reason to believe that dowagers and young people arehalf of them involved in this general corruption, and are liars evenmore truly than are the celibates. 

But to what conclusion does our calculation lead us? Think of ourhusbands, who to the disgrace of morals behave almost all of them likecelibates and glory _in petto_ over their secret adventures. 

Why, then we believe that every married man, who is at all attached tohis wife from honorable motives, can, in the words of the elderCorneille, seek a rope and a nail; _foenum habet in cornu_. 

It is, however, in the bosom of these four hundred thousand honestwomen that we must, lantern in hand, seek for the number of thevirtuous women in France! As a matter of fact, we have by ourstatistics of marriage so far only set down the number of thosecreatures with which society has really nothing to do. Is it not truethat in France the honest people, the people _comme il faut_, form atotal of scarcely three million individuals, namely, our one millionof celibates, five hundred thousand honest women, five hundredthousand husbands, and a million of dowagers, of infants and of younggirls?

Are you then astonished at the famous verse of Boileau? This verseproves that the poet had cleverly fathomed the discoverymathematically propounded to you in these tiresome meditations andthat his language is by no means hyperbolical. 

Nevertheless, virtuous women there certainly are:

Yes, those who have never been tempted and those who die at theirfirst child-birth, assuming that their husbands had married themvirgins;

Yes, those who are ugly as the Kaifakatadary of the Arabian Nights;

Yes, those whom Mirabeau calls "fairy cucumbers" and who are composedof atoms exactly like those of strawberry and water-lily roots. Nevertheless, we need not believe that!

Further, we acknowledge that, to the credit of our age, we meet, eversince the revival of morality and religion and during our own times, some women, here and there, so moral, so religious, so devoted totheir duties, so upright, so precise, so stiff, so virtuous, so--thatthe devil himself dare not even look at them; they are guarded on allsides by rosaries, hours of prayer and directors. Pshaw!

We will not attempt to enumerate the women who are virtuous fromstupidity, for it is acknowledged that in love all women haveintellect. 

In conclusion, we may remark that it is not impossible that thereexist in some corner of the earth women, young, pretty and virtuous, whom the world does not suspect. 

But you must not give the name of virtuous woman to her who, in herstruggle against an involuntary passion, has yielded nothing to herlover whom she idolizes. She does injury in the most cruel way inwhich it can possibly be done to a loving husband. For what remains tohim of his wife? A thing without name, a living corpse. In the verymidst of delight his wife remains like the guest who has been warnedby Borgia that certain meats were poisoned; he felt no hunger, he atesparingly or pretended to eat. He longed for the meat which he hadabandoned for that provided by the terrible cardinal, and sighed forthe moment when the feast was over and he could leave the table. 

What is the result which these reflections on the feminine virtue leadto? Here they are; but the last two maxims have been given us by aneclectic philosopher of the eighteenth century. 

 XVIII. A virtuous woman has in her heart one fibre less or one fibre more than other women; she is either stupid or sublime. 

 XIX. The virtue of women is perhaps a question of temperament. 

 XX. The most virtuous women have in them something which is never chaste. 

 XXI. "That a man of intellect has doubts about his mistress is conceivable, but about his wife!--that would be too stupid. "

 XXII. "Men would be insufferably unhappy if in the presence of women theythought the least bit in the world of that which they know by heart. "

The number of those rare women who, like the Virgins of the Parable, have kept their lamps lighted, will always appear very small in theeyes of the defenders of virtue and fine feeling; but we must needsexclude it from the total sum of honest women, and this subtraction, consoling as it is, will increase the danger which threatens husbands, will intensify the scandal of their married life, and involve, more orless, the reputation of all other lawful spouses. 

What husband will be able to sleep peacefully beside his young andbeautiful wife while he knows that three celibates, at least, are onthe watch; that if they have not already encroached upon his littleproperty, they regard the bride as their destined prey, for sooner orlater she will fall into their hands, either by stratagem, compulsiveconquest or free choice? And it is impossible that they should failsome day or other to obtain victory!

What a startling conclusion!

On this point the purist in morality, the _collets montes_ will accuseus perhaps of presenting here conclusions which are excessivelydespairing; they will be desirous of putting up a defence, either forthe virtuous women or the celibates; but we have in reserve for them afinal remark. 

Increase the number of honest women and diminish the number ofcelibates, as much as you choose, you will always find that the resultwill be a larger number of gallant adventurers than of honest women;you will always find a vast multitude driven through social custom tocommit three sorts of crime. 

If they remain chaste, their health is injured, while they are theslaves of the most painful torture; they disappoint the sublime endsof nature, and finally die of consumption, drinking milk on themountains of Switzerland!

If they yield to legitimate temptations, they either compromise thehonest women, and on this point we re-enter on the subject of thisbook, or else they debase themselves by a horrible intercourse withthe five hundred thousand women of whom we spoke in the third categoryof the first Meditation, and in this case, have still considerablechance of visiting Switzerland, drinking milk and dying there!

Have you never been struck, as we have been, by a certain error oforganization in our social order, the evidence of which gives a moralcertainty to our last calculations?

The average age at which a man marries is thirty years; the averageage at which his passions, his most violent desires for genesialdelight are developed, is twenty years. Now during the ten fairestyears of his life, during the green season in which his beauty, hisyouth and his wit make him more dangerous to husbands than at anyother epoch of his life, his finds himself without any means ofsatisfying legitimately that irresistible craving for love which burnsin his whole nature. During this time, representing the sixth part ofhuman life, we are obliged to admit that the sixth part or less of ourtotal male population and the sixth part which is the most vigorous isplaced in a position which is perpetually exhausting for them, anddangerous for society. 

"Why don't they get married?" cries a religious woman. 

But what father of good sense would wish his son to be married attwenty years of age?

Is not the danger of these precocious unions apparent at all? It wouldseem as if marriage was a state very much at variance with naturalhabitude, seeing that it requires a special ripeness of judgment inthose who conform to it. All the world knows what Rousseau said:"There must always be a period of libertinage in life either in onestate or another. It is an evil leaven which sooner or laterferments. "

Now what mother of a family is there who would expose her daughter tothe risk of this fermentation when it has not yet taken place?

On the other hand, what need is there to justify a fact under whosedomination all societies exist? Are there not in every country, as wehave demonstrated, a vast number of men who live as honestly aspossible, without being either celibates or married men?

Cannot these men, the religious women will always ask, abide incontinence like the priests?

Certainly, madame. 

Nevertheless, we venture to observe that the vow of chastity is themost startling exception to the natural condition of man which societymakes necessary; but continence is the great point in the priest'sprofession; he must be chaste, as the doctor must be insensible tophysical sufferings, as the notary and the advocate insensible to themisery whose wounds are laid bare to their eyes, as the soldier to thesight of death which he meets on the field of battle. From the factthat the requirements of civilization ossify certain fibres of theheart and render callous certain membranes, we must not necessarilyconclude that all men are bound to undergo this partial andexceptional death of the soul. This would be to reduce the human raceto a condition of atrocious moral suicide. 

But let it be granted that, in the atmosphere of a drawing-room themost Jansenistic in the world, appears a young man of twenty-eight whohas scrupulously guarded his robe of innocence and is as trulyvirginal as the heath-cock which gourmands enjoy. Do you not see thatthe most austere of virtuous women would merely pay him a sarcasticcompliment on his courage; the magistrate, the strictest that evermounted a bench, would shake his head and smile, and all the ladieswould hide themselves, so that he might not hear their laughter? Whenthe heroic and exceptional young victim leaves the drawing-room, whata deluge of jokes bursts upon his innocent head? What a shower ofinsults! What is held to be more shameful in France than impotence, than coldness, than the absence of all passion, than simplicity?

The only king of France who would not have laughed was perhaps LouisXIII; but as for his roue of a father, he would perhaps have banishedthe young man, either under the accusation that he was no Frenchman orfrom a conviction that he was setting a dangerous example. 

Strange contradiction! A young man is equally blamed if he passes lifein Holy Land, to use an expression of bachelor life. Could it possiblybe for the benefit of the honest women that the prefects of police, and mayors of all time have ordained that the passions of the publicshall not manifest themselves until nightfall, and shall cease ateleven o'clock in the evening?

Where do you wish that our mass of celibates should sow their wildoats? And who is deceived on this point? as Figaro asks. Is it thegovernments or the governed? The social order is like the small boyswho stop their ears at the theatre, so as not to hear the report ofthe firearms. Is society afraid to probe its wound or has itrecognized the fact that evil is irremediable and things must beallowed to run their course? But there crops up here a question oflegislation, for it is impossible to escape the material and socialdilemma created by this balance of public virtue in the matter ofmarriage. It is not our business to solve this difficulty; but supposefor a moment that society in order to save a multitude of families, women and honest girls, found itself compelled to grant to certainlicensed hearts the right of satisfying the desire of the celibates;ought not our laws then to raise up a professional body consisting offemale Decii who devote themselves for the republic, and make arampart of their bodies round the honest families? The legislatorshave been very wrong hitherto in disdaining to regulate the lot ofcourtesans. 

 XXIII. The courtesan is an institution if she is a necessity. 

This question bristles with so many ifs and buts that we will bequeathit for solution to our descendants; it is right that we shall leavethem something to do. Moreover, its discussion is not germane to thiswork; for in this, more than in any other age, there is a greatoutburst of sensibility; at no other epoch have there been so manyrules of conduct, because never before has it been so completelyaccepted that pleasure comes from the heart. Now, what man ofsentiment is there, what celibate is there, who, in the presence offour hundred thousand young and pretty women arrayed in the splendorsof fortune and the graces of wit, rich in treasures of coquetry, andlavish in the dispensing of happiness, would wish to go--? For shame!

Let us put forth for the benefit of our future legislature in clearand brief axioms the result arrived at during the last few years. 

 XXIV. In the social order, inevitable abuses are laws of nature, in accordance with which mankind should frame their civil and political institutes. 

 XXV. "Adultery is like a commercial failure, with this difference, " saysChamfort, "that it is the innocent party who has been ruined and whobears the disgrace. "

In France the laws that relate to adultery and those that relate tobankruptcy require great modifications. Are they too indulgent? Dothey sin on the score of bad principles? _Caveant consules_!

Come now, courageous athlete, who have taken as your task that whichis expressed in the little apostrophe which our first Meditationaddresses to people who have the charge of a wife, what are you goingto say about it? We hope that this rapid review of the question doesnot make you tremble, that you are not one of those men whose nervousfluid congeals at the sight of a precipice or a boa constrictor! Well!my friend, he who owns soil has war and toil. The men who want yourgold are more numerous than those who want your wife. 

After all, husbands are free to take these trifles for arithmeticalestimates, or arithmetical estimates for trifles. The illusions oflife are the best things in life; that which is most respectable inlife is our futile credulity. Do there not exist many people whoseprinciples are merely prejudices, and who not having the force ofcharacter to form their own ideas of happiness and virtue accept whatis ready made for them by the hand of legislators? Nor do we addressthose Manfreds who having taken off too many garments wish to raiseall the curtains, that is, in moments when they are tortured by a sortof moral spleen. By them, however, the question is boldly stated andwe know the extent of the evil. 

It remains that we should examine the chances and changes which eachman is likely to meet in marriage, and which may weaken him in thatstruggle from which our champion should issue victorious. 

 MEDITATION V. 

 OF THE PREDESTINED. 

Predestined means destined in advance for happiness or unhappiness. Theology has seized upon this word and employs it in relation to thehappy; we give to the term a meaning which is unfortunate to our electof which one can say in opposition to the Gospel, "Many are called, many are chosen. "

Experience has demonstrated that there are certain classes of men moresubject than others to certain infirmities; the Gascons are given toexaggeration and Parisians to vanity. As we see that apoplexy attackspeople with short necks, or butchers are liable to carbuncle, as goutattacks the rich, health the poor, deafness kings, paralysisadministrators, so it has been remarked that certain classes ofhusbands and their wives are more given to illegitimate passions. Thusthey forestall the celibates, they form another sort of aristocracy. If any reader should be enrolled in one of these aristocratic classeshe will, we hope, have sufficient presence of mind, he or at least hiswife, instantly to call to mind the favorite axiom of Lhomond's LatinGrammar: "No rule without exception. " A friend of the house may evenrecite the verse--

 "Present company always excepted. "

And then every one will have the right to believe, _in petto_, that heforms the exception. But our duty, the interest which we take inhusbands and the keen desire which we have to preserve young andpretty women from the caprices and catastrophes which a lover bringsin his train, force us to give notice to husbands that they ought tobe especially on their guard. 

In this recapitulation first are to be reckoned the husbands whombusiness, position or public office calls from their houses anddetains for a definite time. It is these who are the standard-bearersof the brotherhood. 

Among them, we would reckon magistrates, holding office duringpleasure or for life, and obliged to remain at the Palace for thegreater portion of the day; other functionaries sometimes find meansto leave their office at business hours; but a judge or a publicprosecutor, seated on his cushion of lilies, is bound even to dieduring the progress of the hearing. There is his field of battle. 

It is the same with the deputies and peers who discuss the laws, ofministers who share the toils of the king, of secretaries who workwith the ministers, of soldiers on campaign, and indeed with thecorporal of the police patrol, as the letter of Lafleur, in the_Sentimental Journey_, plainly shows. 

Next to the men who are obliged to be absent from home at certainfixed hours, come the men whom vast and serious undertakings leave notone minute for love-making; their foreheads are always wrinkled withanxiety, their conversation is generally void of merriment. 

At the head of these unfortunates we must place the bankers, who toilin the acquisition of millions, whose heads are so full ofcalculations that the figures burst through their skulls and rangethemselves in columns of addition on their foreheads. 

These millionaires, forgetting most of the time the sacred laws ofmarriage and the attention due to the tender flower which they haveundertaken to cultivate, never think of watering it or of defending itfrom the heat and cold. They scarcely recognize the fact that thehappiness of their spouses is in their keeping; if they ever doremember this, it is at table, when they see seated before them awoman in rich array, or when a coquette, fearing their brutal repulse, comes, gracious as Venus, to ask them for cash-- Oh! it is then, thatthey recall, sometimes very vividly, the rights specified in the twohundred and thirteenth article of the civil code, and their wives aregrateful to them; but like the heavy tariff which the law lays uponforeign merchandise, their wives suffer and pay the tribute, in virtueof the axiom which says: "There is no pleasure without pain. "

The men of science who spend whole months in gnawing at the bone of anantediluvian monster, in calculating the laws of nature, when there isan opportunity to peer into her secrets, the Grecians and Latinistswho dine on a thought of Tacitus, sup on a phrase of Thucydides, spendtheir life in brushing the dust from library shelves, in keeping guardover a commonplace book, or a papyrus, are all predestined. So greatis their abstraction or their ecstasy, that nothing that goes onaround them strikes their attention. Their unhappiness is consummated;in full light of noon they scarcely even perceive it. Oh happy men! athousand times happy! Example: Beauzee, returning home after sessionat the Academy, surprises his wife with a German. "Did not I tell you, madame, that it was necessary that I shall go, " cried the stranger. "My dear sir, " interrupted the academician, "you ought to say that I_should_ go!"

Then there come, lyre in hand, certain poets whose whole animalstrength has left the ground floor and mounted to the upper story. They know better how to mount Pegasus than the beast of old Peter, they rarely marry, although they are accustomed to lavish the fury oftheir passions on some wandering or imaginary Chloris. 

But the men whose noses are stained with snuff;

But those who, to their misfortune, have a perpetual cold in theirhead;

But the sailors who smoke or chew;

But those men whose dry and bilious temperament makes them always lookas if they had eaten a sour apple;

But the men who in private life have certain cynical habits, ridiculous fads, and who always, in spite of everything, lookunwashed;

But the husbands who have obtained the degrading name of "hen-pecked";

Finally the old men who marry young girls. 

All these people are _par excellence_ among the predestined. 

There is a final class of the predestined whose ill-fortune is almostcertain, we mean restless and irritable men, who are inclined tomeddle and tyrannize, who have a great idea of domestic domination, who openly express their low ideas of women and who know no more aboutlife than herrings about natural history. When these men marry, theirhomes have the appearance of a wasp whose head a schoolboy has cutoff, and who dances here and there on a window pane. For this sort ofpredestined the present work is a sealed book. We do not write anymore for those imbeciles, walking effigies, who are like the statuesof a cathedral, than for those old machines of Marly which are tooweak to fling water over the hedges of Versailles without being indanger of sudden collapse. 

I rarely make my observations on the conjugal oddities with which thedrawing-room is usually full, without recalling vividly a sight whichI once enjoyed in early youth:

In 1819 I was living in a thatched cottage situated in the bosom ofthe delightful valley l'Isle-Adam. My hermitage neighbored on the parkof Cassan, the sweetest of retreats, the most fascinating in aspect, the most attractive as a place to ramble in, the most cool andrefreshing in summer, of all places created by luxury and art. Thisverdant country-seat owes its origin to a farmer-general of the goodold times, a certain Bergeret, celebrated for his originality; whoamong other fantastic dandyisms adopted the habit of going to theopera, with his hair powdered in gold; he used to light up his parkfor his own solitary delectation and on one occasion ordered asumptuous entertainment there, in which he alone took part. Thisrustic Sardanapalus returned from Italy so passionately charmed withthe scenery of that beautiful country that, by a sudden freak ofenthusiasm, he spent four or five millions in order to represent inhis park the scenes of which he had pictures in his portfolio. Themost charming contrasts of foliage, the rarest trees, long valleys, and prospects the most picturesque that could be brought from abroad, Borromean islands floating on clear eddying streams like so many rays, which concentrate their various lustres on a single point, on an IsolaBella, from which the enchanted eye takes in each detail at itsleisure, or on an island in the bosom of which is a little houseconcealed under the drooping foliage of a century-old ash, an islandfringed with irises, rose-bushes, and flowers which appears like anemerald richly set. Ah! one might rove a thousand leagues for such aplace! The most sickly, the most soured, the most disgusted of our menof genius in ill health would die of satiety at the end of fifteendays, overwhelmed with the luscious sweetness of fresh life in such aspot. 

The man who was quite regardless of the Eden which he thus possessedhad neither wife nor children, but was attached to a large ape whichhe kept. A graceful turret of wood, supported by a sculptured column, served as a dwelling place for this vicious animal, who being keptchained and rarely petted by his eccentric master, oftener at Paristhan in his country home, had gained a very bad reputation. Irecollect seeing him once in the presence of certain ladies showalmost as much insolence as if he had been a man. His master wasobliged to kill him, so mischievous did he gradually become. 

One morning while I was sitting under a beautiful tulip tree inflower, occupied in doing nothing but inhaling the lovely perfumeswhich the tall poplars kept confined within the brilliant enclosure, enjoying the silence of the groves, listening to the murmuring watersand the rustling leaves, admiring the blue gaps outlined above my headby clouds of pearly sheen and gold, wandering fancy free in dreams ofmy future, I heard some lout or other, who had arrived the day beforefrom Paris, playing on a violin with the violence of a man who hasnothing else to do. I would not wish for my worst enemy to hearanything so utterly in discord with the sublime harmony of nature. Ifthe distant notes of Roland's Horn had only filled the air with life, perhaps--but a noisy fiddler like this, who undertakes to bring to youthe expression of human ideas and the phraseology of music! ThisAmphion, who was walking up and down the dining-room, finished bytaking a seat on the window-sill, exactly in front of the monkey. Perhaps he was looking for an audience. Suddenly I saw the animalquietly descend from his little dungeon, stand upon his hind feet, bowhis head forward like a swimmer and fold his arms over his bosom likeSpartacus in chains, or Catiline listening to Cicero. The banker, summoned by a sweet voice whose silvery tone recalled a boudoir notunknown to me, laid his violin on the window-sill and made off like aswallow who rejoins his companion by a rapid level swoop. The greatmonkey, whose chain was sufficiently long, approached the window andgravely took in hand the violin. I don't know whether you have everhad as I have the pleasure of seeing a monkey try to learn music, butat the present moment, when I laugh much less than I did in thosecareless days, I never think of that monkey without a smile; thesemi-man began by grasping the instrument with his fist and bysniffingat it as if he were tasting the flavor of an apple. The snort from hisnostrils probably produced a dull harmonious sound in the sonorouswood and then the orang-outang shook his head, turned over the violin, turned it back again, raised it up in the air, lowered it, held itstraight out, shook it, put it to his ear, set it down, and picked itup again with a rapidity of movement peculiar to these agilecreatures. He seemed to question the dumb wood with faltering sagacityand in his gestures there was something marvelous as well asinfantile. At last he undertook with grotesque gestures to place theviolin under his chin, while in one hand he held the neck; but like aspoiled child he soon wearied of a study which required skill not tobe obtained in a moment and he twitched the strings without being ableto draw forth anything but discordant sounds. He seemed annoyed, laidthe violin on the window-sill and snatching up the bow he began topush it to and fro with violence, like a mason sawing a block ofstone. This effort only succeeded in wearying his fastidious ears, andhe took the bow with both hands and snapped it in two on the innocentinstrument, source of harmony and delight. It seemed as if I sawbefore me a schoolboy holding under him a companion lying facedownwards, while he pommeled him with a shower of blows from his fist, as if to punish him for some delinquency. The violin being now triedand condemned, the monkey sat down upon the fragments of it and amusedhimself with stupid joy in mixing up the yellow strings of the brokenbow. 

Never since that day have I been able to look upon the home of thepredestined without comparing the majority of husbands to thisorang-outang trying to play the violin. 

Love is the most melodious of all harmonies and the sentiment of loveis innate. Woman is a delightful instrument of pleasure, but it isnecessary to know its trembling strings, to study the position ofthem, the timid keyboard, the fingering so changeful and capriciouswhich befits it. How many monkeys--men, I mean--marry without knowingwhat a woman is! How many of the predestined proceed with their wivesas the ape of Cassan did with his violin! They have broken the heartwhich they did not understand, as they might dim and disdain theamulet whose secret was unknown to them. They are children their wholelife through, who leave life with empty hands after having talkedabout love, about pleasure, about licentiousness and virtue as slavestalk about liberty. Almost all of them married with the most profoundignorance of women and of love. They commenced by breaking in the doorof a strange house and expected to be welcomed in this drawing-room. But the rudest artist knows that between him and his instrument, ofwood, or of ivory, there exists a mysterious sort of friendship. Heknows by experience that it takes years to establish thisunderstanding between an inert matter and himself. He did notdiscover, at the first touch, the resources, the caprices, thedeficiencies, the excellencies of his instrument. It did not become aliving soul for him, a source of incomparable melody until he hadstudied for a long time; man and instrument did not come to understandeach other like two friends, until both of them had been skillfullyquestioned and tested by frequent intercourse. 

Can a man ever learn woman and know how to decipher this wondrousstrain of music, by remaining through life like a seminarian in hiscell? Is it possible that a man who makes it his business to think forothers, to judge others, to rule others, to steal money from others, to feed, to heal, to wound others--that, in fact, any of ourpredestined, can spare time to study a woman? They sell their time formoney, how can they give it away for happiness? Money is their god. Noone can serve two masters at the same time. Is not the world, moreover, full of young women who drag along pale and weak, sickly andsuffering? Some of them are the prey of feverish inflammations more orless serious, others lie under the cruel tyranny of nervous attacksmore or less violent. All the husbands of these women belong to theclass of the ignorant and the predestined. They have caused their ownmisfortune and expended as much pains in producing it as the husbandartist would have bestowed in bringing to flower the late anddelightful blooms of pleasure. The time which an ignorant man passesto consummate his own ruin is precisely that which a man of knowledgeemploys in the education of his happiness. 

 XXVI. Do not begin marriage by a violation of law. 

In the preceding meditations we have indicated the extent of the evilwith the reckless audacity of those surgeons, who boldly induce theformation of false tissues under which a shameful wound is concealed. Public virtue, transferred to the table of our amphitheatre, has losteven its carcass under the strokes of the scalpel. Lover or husband, have you smiled, or have you trembled at this evil? Well, it is withmalicious delight that we lay this huge social burden on theconscience of the predestined. Harlequin, when he tried to find outwhether his horse could be accustomed to go without food, was not moreridiculous than the men who wish to find happiness in their home andyet refuse to cultivate it with all the pains which it demands. Theerrors of women are so many indictments of egotism, neglect andworthlessness in husbands. 

Yet it is yours, reader, it pertains to you, who have often condemnedin another the crime which you yourself commit, it is yours to holdthe balance. One of the scales is quite loaded, take care what you aregoing to put in the other. Reckon up the number of predestined oneswho may be found among the total number of married people, weigh them, and you will then know where the evil is seated. 

Let us try to penetrate more deeply into the causes of this conjugalsickliness. 

The word love, when applied to the reproduction of the species, is themost hateful blasphemy which modern manners have taught us to utter. Nature, in raising us above the beasts by the divine gift of thought, had rendered us very sensitive to bodily sensations, emotionalsentiment, cravings of appetite and passions. This double nature ofours makes of man both an animal and a lover. This distinction givesthe key to the social problem which we are considering. 

Marriage may be considered in three ways, politically, as well as froma civil and moral point of view: as a law, as a contract and as aninstitution. As a law, its object is a reproduction of the species; asa contract, it relates to the transmission of property; as aninstitution, it is a guarantee which all men give and by which all arebound: they have father and mother, and they will have children. Marriage, therefore, ought to be the object of universal respect. Society can only take into consideration those cardinal points, which, from a social point of view, dominate the conjugal question. 

Most men have no other views in marrying, than reproduction, propertyor children; but neither reproduction nor property nor childrenconstitutes happiness. The command, "Increase and multiply, " does notimply love. To ask of a young girl whom we have seen fourteen times infifteen days, to give you love in the name of law, the king andjustice, is an absurdity worthy of the majority of the predestined. 

Love is the union between natural craving and sentiment; happiness inmarriage results in perfect union of soul between a married pair. Hence it follows that in order to be happy a man must feel himselfbound by certain rules of honor and delicacy. After having enjoyed thebenefit of the social law which consecrates the natural craving, hemust obey also the secret laws of nature by which sentiments unfoldthemselves. If he stakes his happiness on being himself loved, he musthimself love sincerely: nothing can resist a genuine passion. 

But to feel this passion is always to feel desire. Can a man alwaysdesire his wife?

Yes. 

It is as absurd to deny that it is possible for a man always to lovethe same woman, as it would be to affirm that some famous musicianneeded several violins in order to execute a piece of music or composea charming melody. 

Love is the poetry of the senses. It has the destiny of all that whichis great in man and of all that which proceeds from his thought. Either it is sublime, or it is not. When once it exists, it existsforever and goes on always increasing. This is the love which theancients made the child of heaven and earth. 

Literature revolves round seven situations; music expresses everythingwith seven notes; painting employs but seven colors; like these threearts, love perhaps founds itself on seven principles, but we leavethis investigation for the next century to carry out. 

If poetry, music and painting have found infinite forms of expression, pleasure should be even more diversified. For in the three arts whichaid us in seeking, often with little success, truth by means ofanalogy, the man stands alone with his imagination, while love is theunion of two bodies and of two souls. If the three principal methodsupon which we rely for the expression of thought require preliminarystudy in those whom nature has made poets, musicians or painters, isit not obvious that, in order, to be happy, it is necessary to beinitiated into the secrets of pleasure? All men experience the cravingfor reproduction, as all feel hunger and thirst; but all are notcalled to be lovers and gastronomists. Our present civilization hasproved that taste is a science, and it is only certain privilegedbeings who have learned how to eat and drink. Pleasure considered asan art is still waiting for its physiologists. As for ourselves, weare contented with pointing out that ignorance of the principles uponwhich happiness is founded, is the sole cause of that misfortune whichis the lot of all the predestined. 

It is with the greatest timidity that we venture upon the publicationof a few aphorisms which may give birth to this new art, as casts havecreated the science of geology; and we offer them for the meditationof philosophers, of young marrying people and of the predestined. 

 CATECHISM OF MARRIAGE. 

 XXVII. Marriage is a science. 

 XXVIII. A man ought not to marry without having studied anatomy, and dissected at least one woman. 

 XXIX. The fate of the home depends on the first night. 

 XXX. A woman deprived of her free will can never have the credit of making a sacrifice. 

 XXXI. In love, putting aside all consideration of the soul, the heart of awoman is like a lyre which does not reveal its secret, excepting tohim who is a skillful player. 

 XXXII. Independently of any gesture of repulsion, there exists in the soul ofall women a sentiment which tends, sooner or later, to proscribe allpleasure devoid of passionate feeling. 

 XXXIII. The interest of a husband as much as his honor forbids him to indulge a pleasure which he has not had the skill to make his wife desire. 

 XXXIV. Pleasure being caused by the union of sensation and sentiment, we cansay without fear of contradiction that pleasures are a sort ofmaterial ideas. 

 XXXV. As ideas are capable of infinite combination, it ought to be the same with pleasures. 

 XXXVI. In the life of man there are no two moments of pleasure exactly alike, any more than there are two leaves of identical shape upon the same tree. 

 XXXVII. If there are differences between one moment of pleasure and another, a man can always be happy with the same woman. 

 XXXVIII. To seize adroitly upon the varieties of pleasure, to develop them, toimpart to them a new style, an original expression, constitutes thegenius of a husband. 

 XXXIX. Between two beings who do not love each other this genius islicentiousness; but the caresses over which love presides are alwayspure. 

 XL. The married woman who is the most chaste may be also the most voluptuous. 

 XLI. The most virtuous woman can be forward without knowing it. 

 XLII. When two human beings are united by pleasure, all socialconventionalities are put aside. This situation conceals a reef onwhich many vessels are wrecked. A husband is lost, if he once forgetsthere is a modesty which is quite independent of coverings. Conjugallove ought never either to put on or to take away the bandage of itseyes, excepting at the due season. 

 XLIII. Power does not consist in striking with force or with frequency, but in striking true. 

 XLIV. To call a desire into being, to nourish it, to develop it, to bring itto full growth, to excite it, to satisfy it, is a complete poem ofitself. 

 XLV. The progression of pleasures is from the distich to the quatrain, fromthe quatrain to the sonnet, from the sonnet to the ballad, from theballad to the ode, from the ode to the cantata, from the cantata tothe dithyramb. The husband who commences with dithyramb is a fool. 

 XLVI. Each night ought to have its _menu_. 

 XLVII. Marriage must incessantly contend with a monster which devours everything, that is, familiarity. 

 XLVIII. If a man cannot distinguish the difference between the pleasures of two consecutive nights, he has married too early. 

 XLIX. It is easier to be a lover than a husband, for the same reason that itis more difficult to be witty every day, than to say bright thingsfrom time to time. 

 L. A husband ought never to be the first to go to sleep and the last to awaken. 

 LI. The man who enters his wife's dressing-room is either a philosopher or an imbecile. 

 LII. The husband who leaves nothing to desire is a lost man. 

 LIII. The married woman is a slave whom one must know how to set upon a throne. 

 LIV. A man must not flatter himself that he knows his wife, and is making her happy unless he sees her often at his knees. 

It is to the whole ignorant troop of our predestined, of our legionsof snivelers, of smokers, of snuff-takers, of old and captious menthat Sterne addressed, in _Tristram Shandy_, the letter written byWalter Shandy to his brother Toby, when this last proposed to marrythe widow Wadman. 

These celebrated instructions which the most original of Englishwriters has comprised in this letter, suffice with some few exceptionsto complete our observations on the manner in which husbands shouldbehave to their wives; and we offer it in its original form to thereflections of the predestined, begging that they will meditate uponit as one of the most solid masterpieces of human wit. 

 "MY DEAR BROTHER TOBY, "What I am going to say to thee is upon the nature of women, and of love-making to them; and perhaps it is as well for thee--tho' not so well for me--that thou hast occasion for a letter of instructions upon that head, and that I am able to write it to thee. 

 "Had it been the good pleasure of Him who disposes of our lots, and thou no sufferer by the knowledge, I had been well content that thou should'st have dipped the pen this moment into the ink instead of myself; but that not being the case--Mrs. Shandy being now close beside me, preparing for bed--I have thrown together without order, and just as they have come into my mind, such hints and documents as I deem may be of use to thee; intending, in this, to give thee a token of my love; not doubting, my dear Toby, of the manner in which it will be accepted. 

 "In the first place, with regard to all which concerns religion in the affair--though I perceive from a glow in my cheek, that I blush as I begin to speak to thee upon the subject, as well knowing, notwithstanding thy unaffected secrecy, how few of its offices thou neglectest--yet I would remind thee of one (during the continuance of thy courtship) in a particular manner, which I would not have omitted; and that is, never to go forth upon the enterprise, whether it be in the morning or in the afternoon, without first recommending thyself to the protection of Almighty God, that He may defend thee from the evil one. 

 "Shave the whole top of thy crown clean once at least every four or five days, but oftener if convenient; lest in taking off thy wig before her, thro' absence of mind, she should be able to discover how much has been cut away by Time--how much by Trim. 

 "'Twere better to keep ideas of baldness out of her fancy. 

 "Always carry it in thy mind, and act upon it as a sure maxim, Toby--

 "_'That women are timid. '_ And 'tis well they are--else there would be no dealing with them. 

 "Let not thy breeches be too tight, or hang too loose about thy thighs, like the trunk-hose of our ancestors. 

 "A just medium prevents all conclusions. 

 "Whatever thou hast to say, be it more or less, forget not to utter it in a low soft tone of voice. Silence, and whatever approaches it, weaves dreams of midnight secrecy into the brain: For this cause, if thou canst help it, never throw down the tongs and poker. 

 "Avoid all kinds of pleasantry and facetiousness in thy discourse with her, and do whatever lies in thy power at the same time, to keep from her all books and writings which tend there to: there are some devotional tracts, which if thou canst entice her to read over, it will be well: but suffer her not to look into _Rabelais_, or _Scarron_, or _Don Quixote_. 

 "They are all books which excite laughter; and thou knowest, dear Toby, that there is no passion so serious as lust. 

 "Stick a pin in the bosom of thy shirt, before thou enterest her parlor. 

 "And if thou art permitted to sit upon the same sofa with her, and she gives thee occasion to lay thy hand upon hers--beware of taking it--thou canst not lay thy hand upon hers, but she will feel the temper of thine. Leave that and as many other things as thou canst, quite undetermined; by so doing, thou wilt have her curiosity on thy side; and if she is not conquered by that, and thy Asse continues still kicking, which there is great reason to suppose--thou must begin, with first losing a few ounces of blood below the ears, according to the practice of the ancient Scythians, who cured the most intemperate fits of the appetite by that means. 

 "_Avicenna_, after this, is for having the part anointed with the syrup of hellebore, using proper evacuations and purges--and I believe rightly. But thou must eat little or no goat's flesh, nor red deer--nor even foal's flesh by any means; and carefully abstain--that is, as much as thou canst, --from peacocks, cranes, coots, didappers and water-hens. 

 "As for thy drink--I need not tell thee, it must be the infusion of Vervain and the herb Hanea, of which Aelian relates such effects; but if thy stomach palls with it--discontinue it from time to time, taking cucumbers, melons, purslane, water-lilies, woodbine, and lettuce, in the stead of them. 

 "There is nothing further for thee, which occurs to me at present--

 "Unless the breaking out of a fresh war. --So wishing everything, dear Toby, for the best, "I rest thy affectionate brother, "WALTER SHANDY. "

Under the present circumstances Sterne himself would doubtless haveomitted from his letter the passage about the ass; and, far fromadvising the predestined to be bled he would have changed the regimenof cucumbers and lettuces for one eminently substantial. Herecommended the exercise of economy, in order to attain to the powerof magic liberality in the moment of war, thus imitating the admirableexample of the English government, which in time of peace has twohundred ships in commission, but whose shipwrights can, in time ofneed, furnish double that quantity when it is desirable to scour thesea and carry off a whole foreign navy. 

When a man belongs to the small class of those who by a liberaleducation have been made masters of the domain of thought, he oughtalways, before marrying, to examine his physical and moral resources. To contend advantageously with the tempest which so many attractionstend to raise in the heart of his wife, a husband ought to possess, besides the science of pleasure and a fortune which saves him fromsinking into any class of the predestined, robust health, exquisitetact, considerable intellect, too much good sense to make hissuperiority felt, excepting on fit occasions, and finally greatacuteness of hearing and sight. 

If he has a handsome face, a good figure, a manly air, and yet fallsshort of all these promises, he will sink into the class of thepredestined. On the other hand, a husband who is plain in features buthas a face full of expression, will find himself, if his wife onceforgets his plainness, in a situation most favorable for his struggleagainst the genius of evil. 

He will study (and this is a detail omitted from the letter of Sterne)to give no occasion for his wife's disgust. Also, he will resortmoderately to the use of perfumes, which, however, always exposebeauty to injurious suspicions. 

He ought as carefully to study how to behave and how to pick outsubjects of conversation, as if he were courting the most inconstantof women. It is for him that a philosopher has made the followingreflection:

"More than one woman has been rendered unhappy for the rest of herlife, has been lost and dishonored by a man whom she has ceased tolove, because he took off his coat awkwardly, trimmed one of his nailscrookedly, put on a stocking wrong side out, and was clumsy with abutton. "

One of the most important of his duties will be to conceal from hiswife the real state of his fortune, so that he may satisfy her fanciesand caprices as generous celibates are wont to do. 

Then the most difficult thing of all, a thing to accomplish whichsuperhuman courage is required, is to exercise the most completecontrol over the ass of which Sterne speaks. This ass ought to be assubmissive as a serf of the thirteenth century was to his lord; toobey and be silent, advance and stop, at the slightest word. 

Even when equipped with these advantages, a husband enters the listswith scarcely any hope of success. Like all the rest, he still runsthe risk of becoming, for his wife, a sort of responsible editor. 

"And why!" will exclaim certain good but small-minded people, whosehorizon is limited to the tip of their nose, "why is it necessary totake so much pains in order to love, and why is it necessary to go toschool beforehand, in order to be happy in your own home? Does thegovernment intend to institute a professional chair of love, just asit has instituted a chair of law?"

This is our answer:

These multiplied rules, so difficult to deduce, these minuteobservations, these ideas which vary so as to suit differenttemperaments, are innate, so to speak, in the heart of those who areborn for love; just as his feeling of taste and his indescribablefelicity in combining ideas are natural to the soul of the poet, thepainter or the musician. The men who would experience any fatigue inputting into practice the instructions given in this Meditation arenaturally predestined, just as he who cannot perceive the connectionwhich exists between two different ideas is an imbecile. As a matterof fact, love has its great men although they be unrecognized, as warhas its Napoleons, poetry its Andre Cheniers and philosophy itsDescartes. 

This last observation contains the germ of a true answer to thequestion which men from time immemorial have been asking: Why arehappy marriages so very rare?

This phenomenon of the moral world is rarely met with for the reasonthat people of genius are rarely met with. A passion which lasts is asublime drama acted by two performers of equal talent, a drama inwhich sentiments form the catastrophe, where desires are incidents andthe lightest thought brings a change of scene. Now how is it possible, in this herd of bimana which we call a nation, to meet, on any butrare occasions, a man and a woman who possess in the same degree thegenius of love, when men of talent are so thinly sown and so rare inall other sciences, in the pursuit of which the artist needs only tounderstand himself, in order to attain success?

Up to the present moment, we have been confronted with making aforecast of the difficulties, to some degree physical, which twomarried people have to overcome, in order to be happy; but what a taskwould be ours if it were necessary to unfold the startling array ofmoral obligations which spring from their differences in character?Let us cry halt! The man who is skillful enough to guide thetemperament will certainly show himself master of the soul of another. 

We will suppose that our model husband fulfills the primary conditionsnecessary, in order that he may dispute or maintain possession of hiswife, in spite of all assailants. We will admit that he is not to bereckoned in any of the numerous classes of the predestined which wehave passed in review. Let us admit that he has become imbued with thespirit of all our maxims; that he has mastered the admirable science, some of whose precepts we have made known; that he has married wisely, that he knows his wife, that he is loved by her; and let us continuethe enumeration of all those general causes which might aggravate thecritical situation which we shall represent him as occupying for theinstruction of the human race. 

 MEDITATION VI. 

 OF BOARDING SCHOOLS. 

If you have married a young lady whose education has been carried onat a boarding school, there are thirty more obstacles to yourhappiness, added to all those which we have already enumerated, andyou are exactly like a man who thrusts his hands into a wasp's nest. 

Immediately, therefore, after the nuptial blessing has beenpronounced, without allowing yourself to be imposed upon by theinnocent ignorance, the frank graces and the modest countenance ofyour wife, you ought to ponder well and faithfully follow out theaxioms and precepts which we shall develop in the second part of thisbook. You should even put into practice the rigors prescribed in thethird part, by maintaining an active surveillance, a paternalsolicitude at all hours, for the very day after your marriage, perhapson the evening of your wedding day, there is danger in the house. 

I mean to say that you should call to mind the secret and profoundinstruction which the pupils have acquired _de natura rerum_, --of thenature of things. Did Lapeyrouse, Cook or Captain Peary ever show somuch ardor in navigating the ocean towards the Poles as the scholarsof the Lycee do in approaching forbidden tracts in the ocean ofpleasure? Since girls are more cunning, cleverer and more curious thanboys, their secret meetings and their conversations, which all the artof their teachers cannot check, are necessarily presided over by agenius a thousand times more informal than that of college boys. Whatman has ever heard the moral reflections and the corruptingconfidences of these young girls? They alone know the sports at whichhonor is lost in advance, those essays in pleasure, those promptingsin voluptuousness, those imitations of bliss, which may be compared tothe thefts made by greedy children from a dessert which is locked up. A girl may come forth from her boarding school a virgin, but neverchaste. She will have discussed, time and time again at secretmeetings, the important question of lovers, and corruption willnecessarily have overcome her heart or her spirit. 

Nevertheless, we will admit that your wife has not participated inthese virginal delights, in these premature deviltries. Is she anybetter because she has never had any voice in the secret councils ofgrown-up girls? No! She will, in any case, have contracted afriendship with other young ladies, and our computation will bemodest, if we attribute to her no more than two or three intimatefriends. Are you certain that after your wife has left boardingschool, her young friends have not there been admitted to thoseconfidences, in which an attempt is made to learn in advance, at leastby analogy, the pastimes of doves? And then her friends will marry;you will have four women to watch instead of one, four characters todivine, and you will be at the mercy of four husbands and a dozencelibates, of whose life, principles and habits you are quiteignorant, at a time when our meditations have revealed to you certaincoming of a day when you will have your hands full with the peoplewhom you married with your wife. Satan alone could have thought ofplacing a girl's boarding school in the middle of a large town! MadameCampan had at least the wisdom to set up her famous institution atEcouen. This sensible precaution proved that she was no ordinarywoman. There, her young ladies did not gaze upon the picture galleryof the streets, the huge and grotesque figures and the obscene wordsdrawn by some evil-spirited pencil. They had not perpetually beforetheir eyes the spectacle of human infirmities exhibited at everybarrier in France, and treacherous book-stalls did not vomit out uponthem in secret the poison of books which taught evil and set passionon fire. This wise school-mistress, moreover, could only at Ecouenpreserve a young lady for you spotless and pure, if, even there, thatwere possible. Perhaps you hope to find no difficulty in preventingyour wife from seeing her school friends? What folly! She will meetthem at the ball, at the theatre, out walking and in the world atlarge; and how many services two friends can render each other! But wewill meditate upon this new subject of alarm in its proper place andorder. 

Nor is this all; if your mother-in-law sent her daughter to a boardingschool, do you believe that this was out of solicitude for herdaughter? A girl of twelve or fifteen is a terrible Argus; and if yourmother-in-law did not wish to have an Argus in her house I should beinclined to suspect that your mother-in-law belonged undoubtedly tothe most shady section of our honest women. She will, therefore, provefor her daughter on every occasion either a deadly example or adangerous adviser. 

Let us stop here!--The mother-in-law requires a whole Meditation forherself. 

So that, whichever way you turn, the bed of marriage, in thisconnection, is equally full of thorns. 

Before the Revolution, several aristocratic families used to sendtheir daughters to the convent. This example was followed by a numberof people who imagined that in sending their daughters to a schoolwhere the daughters of some great noblemen were sent, they wouldassume the tone and manners of aristocrats. This delusion of pridewas, from the first, fatal to domestic happiness; for the convents hadall the disadvantages of other boarding schools. The idleness thatprevailed there was more terrible. The cloister bars inflame theimagination. Solitude is a condition very favorable to the devil; andone can scarcely imagine what ravages the most ordinary phenomena oflife are able to leave in the soul of these young girls, dreamy, ignorant and unoccupied. 

Some of them, by reason of their having indulged idle fancies, are ledinto curious blunders. Others, having indulged in exaggerated ideas ofmarried life, say to themselves, as soon as they have taken a husband, "What! Is this all?" In every way, the imperfect instruction, which isgiven to girls educated in common, has in it all the danger ofignorance and all the unhappiness of science. 

A young girl brought up at home by her mother or by her virtuous, bigoted, amiable or cross-grained old aunt; a young girl, whose stepshave never crossed the home threshold without being surrounded bychaperons, whose laborious childhood has been wearied by tasks, albeitthey were profitless, to whom in short everything is a mystery, eventhe Seraphin puppet show, is one of those treasures which are metwith, here and there in the world, like woodland flowers surrounded bybrambles so thick that mortal eye cannot discern them. The man whoowns a flower so sweet and pure as this, and leaves it to becultivated by others, deserves his unhappiness a thousand times over. He is either a monster or a fool. 

And if in the preceding Meditation we have succeeded in proving to youthat by far the greater number of men live in the most absoluteindifference to their personal honor, in the matter of marriage, is itreasonable to believe that any considerable number of them aresufficiently rich, sufficiently intellectual, sufficiently penetratingto waste, like Burchell in the _Vicar of Wakefield_, one or two yearsin studying and watching the girls whom they mean to make their wives, when they pay so little attention to them after conjugal possessionduring that period of time which the English call the honeymoon, andwhose influence we shall shortly discuss?

Since, however, we have spent some time in reflecting upon thisimportant matter, we would observe that there are many methods ofchoosing more or less successfully, even though the choice be promptlymade. 

It is, for example, beyond doubt that the probabilities will be inyour favor:

I. If you have chosen a young lady whose temperament resembles that ofthe women of Louisiana or the Carolinas. 

To obtain reliable information concerning the temperament of a youngperson, it is necessary to put into vigorous operation the systemwhich Gil Blas prescribes, in dealing with chambermaids, a systememployed by statesmen to discover conspiracies and to learn how theministers have passed the night. 

II. If you choose a young lady who, without being plain, does notbelong to the class of pretty women. 

We regard it as an infallible principle that great sweetness ofdisposition united in a woman with plainness that is not repulsive, form two indubitable elements of success in securing the greatestpossible happiness to the home. 

But would you learn the truth? Open your Rousseau; for there is not asingle question of public morals whose trend he has not pointed out inadvance. Read:

"Among people of fixed principles the girls are careless, the womensevere; the contrary is the case among people of no principle. "

To admit the truth enshrined in this profound and truthful remark isto conclude, that there would be fewer unhappy marriages if men weddedtheir mistresses. The education of girls requires, therefore, important modifications in France. Up to this time French laws andFrench manners instituted to distinguish between a misdemeanor and acrime, have encouraged crime. In reality the fault committed by ayoung girl is scarcely ever a misdemeanor, if you compare it with thatcommitted by the married woman. Is there any comparison between thedanger of giving liberty to girls and that of allowing it to wives?The idea of taking a young girl on trial makes more serious men thinkthan fools laugh. The manners of Germany, of Switzerland, of Englandand of the United States give to young ladies such rights as in Francewould be considered the subversion of all morality; and yet it iscertain that in these countries there are fewer unhappy marriages thanin France. 

 LV. "Before a woman gives herself entirely up to her lover, she ought toconsider well what his love has to offer her. The gift of her esteemand confidence should necessarily precede that of her heart. "

Sparkling with truth as they are, these lines probably filled withlight the dungeon, in the depths of which Mirabeau wrote them; and thekeen observation which they bear witness to, although prompted by themost stormy of his passions, has none the less influence even now insolving the social problem on which we are engaged. In fact, amarriage sealed under the auspices of the religious scrutiny whichassumes the existence of love, and subjected to the atmosphere of thatdisenchantment which follows on possession, ought naturally to be themost firmly-welded of all human unions. 

A woman then ought never to reproach her husband for the legal right, in virtue of which she belongs to him. She ought not to find in thiscompulsory submission any excuse for yielding to a lover, because sometime after her marriage she has discovered in her own heart a traitorwhose sophisms seduce her by asking twenty times an hour, "Wherefore, since she has been given against her will to a man whom she does notlove, should she not give herself, of her own free-will, to a man whomshe does love. " A woman is not to be tolerated in her complaintsconcerning faults inseparable from human nature. She has, in advance, made trial of the tyranny which they exercise, and taken sides withthe caprices which they exhibit. 

A great many young girls are likely to be disappointed in their hopesof love!--But will it not be an immense advantage to them to haveescaped being made the companions of men whom they would have had theright to despise?

Certain alarmists will exclaim that such an alteration in our mannerswould bring about a public dissoluteness which would be frightful;that the laws, and the customs which prompt the laws, could not afterall authorize scandal and immorality; and if certain unavoidableabuses do exist, at least society ought not to sanction them. 

It is easy to say, in reply, first of all, that the proposed systemtends to prevent those abuses which have been hitherto regarded asincapable of prevention; but, the calculations of our statistics, inexact as they are, have invariably pointed out a widely prevailingsocial sore, and our moralists may, therefore, be accused ofpreferring the greater to the lesser evil, the violation of theprinciple on which society is constituted, to the granting of acertain liberty to girls; and dissoluteness in mothers of families, such as poisons the springs of public education and brings unhappinessupon at least four persons, to dissoluteness in a young girl, whichonly affects herself or at the most a child besides. Let the virtue often virgins be lost rather than forfeit this sanctity of morals, thatcrown of honor with which the mother of a family should be invested!In the picture presented by a young girl abandoned by her betrayer, there is something imposing, something indescribably sacred; here wesee oaths violated, holy confidences betrayed, and on the ruins of atoo facile virtue innocence sits in tears, doubting everything, because compelled to doubt the love of a father for his child. Theunfortunate girl is still innocent; she may yet become a faithfulwife, a tender mother, and, if the past is mantled in clouds, thefuture is blue as the clear sky. Shall we not find these tender tintsin the gloomy pictures of loves which violate the marriage law? In theone, the woman is the victim, in the other, she is a criminal. Whathope is there for the unfaithful wife? If God pardons the fault, themost exemplary life cannot efface, here below, its livingconsequences. If James I was the son of Rizzio, the crime of Marylasted as long as did her mournful though royal house, and the fall ofthe Stuarts was the justice of God. 

But in good faith, would the emancipation of girls set free such ahost of dangers?

It is very easy to accuse a young person for suffering herself to bedeceived, in the desire to escape, at any price, from the condition ofgirlhood; but such an accusation is only just in the present conditionof our manners. At the present day, a young person knows nothing aboutseduction and its snares, she relies altogether upon her weakness, andmingling with this reliance the convenient maxims of the fashionableworld, she takes as her guide while under the control of those desireswhich everything conspires to excite, her own deluding fancies, whichprove a guide all the more treacherous, because a young girl rarelyever confides to another the secret thoughts of her first love. 

If she were free, an education free from prejudices would arm heragainst the love of the first comer. She would, like any one else, bevery much better able to meet dangers of which she knew, than perilswhose extent had been concealed from her. And, moreover, is itnecessary for a girl to be any the less under the watchful eye of hermother, because she is mistress of her own actions? Are we to count asnothing the modesty and the fears which nature has made so powerful inthe soul of a young girl, for the very purpose of preserving her fromthe misfortune of submitting to a man who does not love her? Again, what girl is there so thoughtless as not to discern, that the mostimmoral man wishes his wife to be a woman of principle, as mastersdesire their servants to be perfect; and that, therefore, her virtueis the richest and the most advantageous of all possessions?

After all, what is the question before us? For what do you think weare stipulating? We are making a claim for five or six hundredthousand maidens, protected by their instinctive timidity, and by thehigh price at which they rate themselves; they understand how todefend themselves, just as well as they know how to sell themselves. The eighteen millions of human beings, whom we have excepted from thisconsideration, almost invariably contract marriages in accordance withthe system which we are trying to make paramount in our system ofmanners; and as to the intermediary classes by which we poor bimanaare separated from the men of privilege who march at the head of anation, the number of castaway children which these classes, althoughin tolerably easy circumstances, consign to misery, goes on increasingsince the peace, if we may believe M. Benoiston de Chateauneuf, one ofthe most courageous of those savants who have devoted themselves tothe arid yet useful study of statistics. We may guess how deep-seatedis the social hurt, for which we propound a remedy, if we reckon thenumber of natural children which statistics reveal, and the number ofillicit adventures whose evidence in high society we are forced tosuspect. But it is difficult here to make quite plain all theadvantages which would result from the emancipation of young girls. When we come to observe the circumstances which attend a marriage, such as our present manners approve of, judicious minds mustappreciate the value of that system of education and liberty, which wedemand for young girls, in the name of reason and nature. Theprejudice which we in France entertain in favor of the virginity ofbrides is the most silly of all those which still survive among us. The Orientals take their brides without distressing themselves aboutthe past and lock them up in order to be more certain about thefuture; the French put their daughters into a sort of seragliodefended by their mothers, by prejudice, and by religious ideas, andgive the most complete liberty to their wives, thus showing themselvesmuch more solicitous about a woman's past than about her future. Thepoint we are aiming at is to bring about a reversal of our system ofmanners. If we did so we should end, perhaps, by giving to faithfulmarried life all the flavor and the piquancy which women of to-dayfind in acts of infidelity. 

But this discussion would take us far from our subject, if it led usto examine, in all its details, the vast improvement in morals whichdoubtless will distinguish twentieth century France; for morals arereformed only very gradually! Is it not necessary, in order to producethe slightest change, that the most daring dreams of the past centurybecome the most trite ideas of the present one? We have touched uponthis question merely in a trifling mood, for the purposes of showingthat we are not blind to its importance, and of bequeathing also toposterity the outline of a work, which they may complete. To speakmore accurately there is a third work to be composed; the firstconcerns courtesans, while the second is the physiology of pleasure!

"When there are ten of us, we cross ourselves. "

In the present state of our morals and of our imperfect civilization, a problem crops up which for the moment is insoluble, and whichrenders superfluous all discussion on the art of choosing a wife; wecommend it, as we have done all the others, to the meditation ofphilosophers. 

 PROBLEM. 

It has not yet been decided whether a wife is forced into infidelityby the impossibility of obtaining any change, or by the liberty whichis allowed her in this connection. 

Moreover, as in this work we pitch upon a man at the moment that he isnewly married, we declare that if he has found a wife of sanguinetemperament, of vivid imagination, of a nervous constitution or of anindolent character, his situation cannot fail to be extremely serious. 

A man would find himself in a position of danger even more critical ifhis wife drank nothing but water [see the Meditation entitled_Conjugal Hygiene_]; but if she had some talent for singing, or if shewere disposed to take cold easily, he should tremble all the time; forit must be remembered that women who sing are at least as passionateas women whose mucous membrane shows extreme delicacy. 

Again, this danger would be aggravated still more if your wife wereless than seventeen; or if, on the other hand, her general complexionwere pale and dull, for this sort of woman is almost alwaysartificial. 

But we do not wish to anticipate here any description of the terrorswhich threaten husbands from the symptoms of unhappiness which theyread in the character of their wives. This digression has alreadytaken us too far from the subject of boarding schools, in which somany catastrophes are hatched, and from which issue so many younggirls incapable of appreciating the painful sacrifices by which thehonest man who does them the honor of marrying them, has obtainedopulence; young girls eager for the enjoyments of luxury, ignorant ofour laws, ignorant of our manners, claim with avidity the empire whichtheir beauty yields them, and show themselves quite ready to turn awayfrom the genuine utterances of the heart, while they readily listen tothe buzzing of flattery. 

This Meditation should plant in the memory of all who read it, eventhose who merely open the book for the sake of glancing at it ordistracting their mind, an intense repugnance for young women educatedin a boarding school, and if it succeeds in doing so, its services tothe public will have already proved considerable. 

 MEDITATION VII. 

 OF THE HONEYMOON. 

If our meditations prove that it is almost impossible for a marriedwoman to remain virtuous in France, our enumeration of the celibatesand the predestined, our remarks upon the education of girls, and ourrapid survey of the difficulties which attend the choice of a wifewill explain up to a certain point this national frailty. Thus, afterindicating frankly the aching malady under which the social slate islaboring, we have sought for the causes in the imperfection of thelaws, in the irrational condition of our manners, in the incapacity ofour minds, and in the contradictions which characterize our habits. Asingle point still claims our observation, and that is the firstonslaught of the evil we are confronting. 

We reach this first question on approaching the high problemssuggested by the honeymoon; and although we find here the startingpoint of all the phenomena of married life, it appears to us to be thebrilliant link round which are clustered all our observations, ouraxioms, our problems, which have been scattered deliberately among thewise quips which our loquacious meditations retail. The honeymoonwould seem to be, if we may use the expression, the apogee of thatanalysis to which we must apply ourselves, before engaging in battleour two imaginary champions. 

The expression _honeymoon_ is an Anglicism, which has become an idiomin all languages, so gracefully does it depict the nuptial seasonwhich is so fugitive, and during which life is nothing but sweetnessand rapture; the expression survives as illusions and errors survive, for it contains the most odious of falsehoods. If this season ispresented to us as a nymph crowned with fresh flowers, caressing as asiren, it is because in it is unhappiness personified and unhappinessgenerally comes during the indulgence of folly. 

The married couple who intend to love each other during their wholelife have no notion of a honeymoon; for them it has no existence, orrather its existence is perennial; they are like the immortals who donot understand death. But the consideration of this happiness is notgermane to our book; and for our readers marriage is under theinfluence of two moons, the honeymoon and the Red-moon. This lastterminates its course by a revolution, which changes it to a crescent;and when once it rises upon a home its light there is eternal. 

How can the honeymoon rise upon two beings who cannot possibly loveeach other?

How can it set, when once it has risen?

Have all marriages their honeymoon?

Let us proceed to answer these questions in order. 

It is in this connection that the admirable education which we give togirls, and the wise provisions made by the law under which men marry, bear all their fruit. Let us examine the circumstances which precedeand attend those marriages which are least disastrous. 

The tone of our morals develops in the young girl whom you make yourwife a curiosity which is naturally excessive; but as mothers inFrance pique themselves on exposing their girls every day to the firewhich they do not allow to scorch them, this curiosity has no limit. 

Her profound ignorance of the mysteries of marriage conceals from thiscreature, who is as innocent as she is crafty, a clear view of thedangers by which marriage is followed; and as marriage is incessantlydescribed to her as an epoch in which tyranny and liberty equallyprevail, and in which enjoyment and supremacy are to be indulged in, her desires are intensified by all her interest in an existence as yetunfulfilled; for her to marry is to be called up from nothingness intolife!

If she has a disposition for happiness, for religion, for morality, the voices of the law and of her mother have repeated to her that thishappiness can only come to her from you. 

Obedience if it is not virtue, is at least a necessary thing with her;for she expects everything from you. In the first place, societysanctions the slavery of a wife, but she does not conceive even thewish to be free, for she feels herself weak, timid and ignorant. 

Of course she tries to please you, unless a chance error is committed, or she is seized by a repugnance which it would be unpardonable in younot to divine. She tries to please because she does not know you. 

In a word, in order to complete your triumph, you take her at a momentwhen nature demands, often with some violence, the pleasure of whichyou are the dispenser. Like St. Peter you hold the keys of Paradise. 

I would ask of any reasonable creature, would a demon marshal roundthe angel whose ruin he had vowed all the elements of disaster withmore solicitude than that with which good morals conspire against thehappiness of a husband? Are you not a king surrounded by flatterers?

This young girl, with all her ignorance and all her desires, committedto the mercy of a man who, even though he be in love, cannot know hershrinking and secret emotions, will submit to him with a certain senseof shame, and will be obedient and complaisant so long as her youngimagination persuades her to expect the pleasure or the happiness ofthat morrow which never dawns. 

In this unnatural situation social laws and the laws of nature are inconflict, but the young girl obediently abandons herself to it, and, from motives of self-interest, suffers in silence. Her obedience is aspeculation; her complaisance is a hope; her devotion to you is a sortof vocation, of which you reap the advantage; and her silence isgenerosity. She will remain the victim of your caprices so long as shedoes not understand them; she will suffer from the limitations of yourcharacter until she has studied it; she will sacrifice herself withoutlove, because she believed in the show of passion you made at thefirst moment of possession; she will no longer be silent when once shehas learned the uselessness of her sacrifices. 

And then the morning arrives when the inconsistencies which haveprevailed in this union rise up like branches of a tree bent down fora moment under a weight which has been gradually lightened. You havemistaken for love the negative attitude of a young girl who waswaiting for happiness, who flew in advance of your desires, in thehope that you would go forward in anticipation of hers, and who didnot dare to complain of the secret unhappiness, for which she at firstaccused herself. What man could fail to be the dupe of a delusionprepared at such long range, and in which a young innocent woman is atonce the accomplice and the victim? Unless you were a divine being itwould be impossible for you to escape the fascination with whichnature and society have surrounded you. Is not a snare set ineverything which surrounds you on the outside and influences youwithin? For in order to be happy, is it not necessary to control theimpetuous desires of your senses? Where is the powerful barrier torestrain her, raised by the light hand of a woman whom you wish toplease, because you do not possess? Moreover, you have caused yourtroops to parade and march by, when there was no one at the window;you have discharged your fireworks whose framework alone was left, when your guest arrived to see them. Your wife, before the pledges ofmarriage, was like a Mohican at the Opera: the teacher becomeslistless, when the savage begins to understand. 

 LVI. In married life, the moment when two hearts come to understand eachother is sudden as a flash of lightning, and never returns, when onceit is passed. 

This first entrance into life of two persons, during which a woman isencouraged by the hope of happiness, by the still fresh sentiment ofher married duty, by the wish to please, by the sense of virtue whichbegins to be so attractive as soon as it shows love to be in harmonywith duty, is called the honeymoon. How can it last long between twobeings who are united for their whole life, unless they know eachother perfectly? If there is one thing which ought to causeastonishment it is this, that the deplorable absurdities which ourmanners heap up around the nuptial couch give birth to so few hatreds!But that the life of the wise man is a calm current, and that of theprodigal a cataract; that the child, whose thoughtless hands havestripped the leaves from every rose upon his pathway, finds nothingbut thorns on his return, that the man who in his wild youth hassquandered a million, will never enjoy, during his life, the income offorty thousand francs, which this million would have provided--aretrite commonplaces, if one thinks of the moral theory of life; but newdiscoveries, if we consider the conduct of most men. You may see herea true image of all honeymoons; this is their history, this is theplain fact and not the cause that underlies it. 

But that men endowed with a certain power of thought by a privilegededucation, and accustomed to think deliberately, in order to shine inpolitics, literature, art, commerce or private life--that these menshould all marry with the intention of being happy, of governing awife, either by love or by force, and should all tumble into the samepitfall and should become foolish, after having enjoyed a certainhappiness for a certain time, --this is certainly a problem whosesolution is to be found rather in the unknown depths of the humansoul, than in the quasi physical truths, on the basis of which we havehitherto attempted to explain some of these phenomena. The riskysearch for the secret laws, which almost all men are bound to violatewithout knowing it, under these circumstances, promises abundant gloryfor any one even though he make shipwreck in the enterprise upon whichwe now venture to set forth. Let us then make the attempt. 

In spite of all that fools have to say about the difficulty they havehad in explaining love, there are certain principles relating to it asinfallible as those of geometry; but in each character these aremodified according to its tendency; hence the caprices of love, whichare due to the infinite number of varying temperaments. If we werepermitted never to see the various effects of light without alsoperceiving on what they were based, many minds would refuse to believein the movement of the sun and in its oneness. Let the blind men cryout as they like; I boast with Socrates, although I am not as wise ashe was, that I know of naught save love; and I intend to attempt theformulation of some of its precepts, in order to spare married peoplethe trouble of cudgeling their brains; they would soon reach the limitof their wit. 

Now all the preceding observations may be resolved into a singleproposition, which may be considered either the first or last term inthis secret theory of love, whose statement would end by wearying us, if we did not bring it to a prompt conclusion. This principle iscontained in the following formula:

 LVII. Between two beings susceptible of love, the duration of passion is inproportion to the original resistance of the woman, or to theobstacles which the accidents of social life put in the way of yourhappiness. 

If you have desired your object only for one day, your love perhapswill not last more than three nights. Where must we seek for thecauses of this law? I do not know. If you cast your eyes around you, you will find abundant proof of this rule; in the vegetable world theplants which take the longest time to grow are those which promise tohave the longest life; in the moral order of things the works producedyesterday die to-morrow; in the physical world the womb whichinfringes the laws of gestation bears dead fruit. In everything, awork which is permanent has been brooded over by time for a longperiod. A long future requires a long past. If love is a child, passion is a man. This general law, which all men obey, to which allbeings and all sentiments must submit, is precisely that which everymarriage infringes, as we have plainly shown. This principle has givenrise to the love tales of the Middle Ages; the Amadises, theLancelots, the Tristans of ballad literature, whose constancy mayjustly be called fabulous, are allegories of the national mythologywhich our imitation of Greek literature nipped in the bud. Thesefascinating characters, outlined by the imagination of thetroubadours, set their seal and sanction upon this truth. 

 LVIII. We do not attach ourselves permanently to any possessions, exceptingin proportion to the trouble, toil and longing which they have costus. 

All our meditations have revealed to us about the basis of theprimordial law of love is comprised in the following axiom, which isat the same time the principle and the result of the law. 

 LIX. In every case we receive only in proportion to what we give. 

This last principle is so self-evident that we will not attempt todemonstrate it. We merely add a single observation which appears to usof some importance. The writer who said: "Everything is true, andeverything is false, " announced a fact which the human intellect, naturally prone to sophism, interprets as it chooses, but it reallyseems as though human affairs have as many facets as there are mindsthat contemplate them. This fact may be detailed as follows:

There cannot be found, in all creation, a single law which is notcounterbalanced by a law exactly contrary to it; life in everything ismaintained by the equilibrium of two opposing forces. So in thepresent subject, as regards love, if you give too much, you will notreceive enough. The mother who shows her children her whole tendernesscalls forth their ingratitude, and ingratitude is occasioned, perhaps, by the impossibility of reciprocation. The wife who loves more thanshe is loved must necessarily be the object of tyranny. Durable loveis that which always keeps the forces of two human beings inequilibrium. Now this equilibrium may be maintained permanently; theone who loves the more ought to stop at the point of the one who lovesthe less. And is it not, after all the sweetest sacrifice that aloving heart can make, that love should so accommodate itself as toadjust the inequality?

What sentiment of admiration must rise in the soul of a philosopher ondiscovering that there is, perhaps, but one single principle in theworld, as there is but one God; and that our ideas and our affectionsare subject to the same laws which cause the sun to rise, the flowersto bloom, the universe to teem with life!

Perhaps, we ought to seek in the metaphysics of love the reasons forthe following proposition, which throws the most vivid light on thequestion of honeymoons and of Red-moons:

 THEOREM. 

 Man goes from aversion to love; but if he has begun by loving, and afterwards comes to feel aversion, he never returns to love. 

In certain human organisms the feelings are dwarfed, as the thoughtmay be in certain sterile imaginations. Thus, just as some minds havethe faculty of comprehending the connections existing betweendifferent things without formal deduction; and as they have thefaculty of seizing upon each formula separately, without combiningthem, or without the power of insight, comparison and expression; soin the same way, different souls may have more or less imperfect ideasof the various sentiments. Talent in love, as in every other art, consists in the power of forming a conception combined with the powerof carrying it out. The world is full of people who sing airs, but whoomit the _ritornello_, who have quarters of an idea, as they havequarters of sentiment, but who can no more co-ordinate the movementsof their affections than of their thoughts. In a word, they areincomplete. Unite a fine intelligence with a dwarfed intelligence andyou precipitate a disaster; for it is necessary that equilibrium bepreserved in everything. 

We leave to the philosophers of the boudoir or to the sages of theback parlor to investigate the thousand ways in which men of differenttemperaments, intellects, social positions and fortunes disturb thisequilibrium. Meanwhile we will proceed to examine the last cause forthe setting of the honeymoon and the rising of the Red-moon. 

There is in life one principle more potent than life itself. It is amovement whose celerity springs from an unknown motive power. Man isno more acquainted with the secret of this revolution than the earthis aware of that which causes her rotation. A certain something, whichI gladly call the current of life, bears along our choicest thoughts, makes use of most people's will and carries us on in spite ofourselves. Thus, a man of common-sense, who never fails to pay hisbills, if he is a merchant, a man who has been able to escape death, or what perhaps is more trying, sickness, by the observation of acertain easy but daily regimen, is completely and duly nailed upbetween the four planks of his coffin, after having said everyevening: "Dear me! to-morrow I will not forget my pills!" How are weto explain this magic spell which rules all the affairs of life? Domen submit to it from a want of energy? Men who have the strongestwills are subject to it. Is it default of memory? People who possessthis faculty in the highest degree yield to its fascination. 

Every one can recognize the operation of this influence in the case ofhis neighbor, and it is one of the things which exclude the majorityof husbands from the honeymoon. It is thus that the wise man, survivorof all reefs and shoals, such as we have pointed out, sometimes fallsinto the snares which he himself has set. 

I have myself noticed that man deals with marriage and its dangers invery much the same way that he deals with wigs; and perhaps thefollowing phases of thought concerning wigs may furnish a formula forhuman life in general. 

FIRST EPOCH. --Is it possible that I shall ever have white hair?

SECOND EPOCH. --In any case, if I have white hair, I shall never wear awig. Good Lord! what is more ugly than a wig?

One morning you hear a young voice, which love much oftener makes tovibrate than lulls to silence, exclaiming:

"Well, I declare! You have a white hair!"

THIRD EPOCH. --Why not wear a well-made wig which people would notnotice? There is a certain merit in deceiving everybody; besides, awig keeps you warm, prevents taking cold, etc. 

FOURTH EPOCH. --The wig is so skillfully put on that you deceive everyone who does not know you. 

The wig takes up all your attention, and _amour-propre_ makes youevery morning as busy as the most skillful hairdresser. 

FIFTH EPOCH. --The neglected wig. "Good heavens! How tedious it is, tohave to go with bare head every evening, and to curl one's wig everymorning!"

SIXTH EPOCH. --The wig allows certain white hairs to escape; it is puton awry and the observer perceives on the back of your neck a whiteline, which contrasts with the deep tints pushed back by the collar ofyour coat. 

SEVENTH EPOCH. --Your wig is as scraggy as dog's tooth grass; and--excuse the expression--you are making fun of your wig. 

"Sir, " said one of the most powerful feminine intelligences which havecondescended to enlighten me on some of the most obscure passages inmy book, "what do you mean by this wig?"

"Madame, " I answered, "when a man falls into a mood of indifferencewith regard to his wig, he is, --he is--what your husband probably isnot. "

"But my husband is not--" (she paused and thought for a moment). "Heis not amiable; he is not--well, he is not--of an even temper; he isnot--"

"Then, madame, he would doubtless be indifferent to his wig!"

We looked at each other, she with a well-assumed air of dignity, Iwith a suppressed smile. 

"I see, " said I, "that we must pay special respect to the ears of thelittle sex, for they are the only chaste things about them. "

I assumed the attitude of a man who has something of importance todisclose, and the fair dame lowered her eyes, as if she had somereason to blush. 

"Madame, in these days a minister is not hanged, as once upon a time, for saying yes or no; a Chateaubriand would scarcely torture Francoisede Foix, and we wear no longer at our side a long sword ready toavenge an insult. Now in a century when civilization has made suchrapid progress, when we can learn a science in twenty-four lessons, everything must follow this race after perfection. We can no longerspeak the manly, rude, coarse language of our ancestors. The age inwhich are fabricated such fine, such brilliant stuffs, such elegantfurniture, and when are made such rich porcelains, must needs be theage of periphrase and circumlocution. We must try, therefore, to coina new word in place of the comic expression which Moliere used; sincethe language of this great man, as a contemporary author has said, istoo free for ladies who find gauze too thick for their garments. Butpeople of the world know, as well as the learned, how the Greeks hadan innate taste for mysteries. That poetic nation knew well how toinvest with the tints of fable the antique traditions of theirhistory. At the voice of their rhapsodists together with their poetsand romancers, kings became gods and their adventures of gallantrywere transformed into immortal allegories. According to M. Chompre, licentiate in law, the classic author of the _Dictionary ofMythology_, the labyrinth was 'an enclosure planted with trees andadorned with buildings arranged in such a way that when a young manonce entered, he could no more find his way out. ' Here and thereflowery thickets were presented to his view, but in the midst of amultitude of alleys, which crossed and recrossed his path and bore theappearance of a uniform passage, among the briars, rocks and thorns, the patient found himself in combat with an animal called theMinotaur. 

"Now, madame, if you will allow me the honor of calling to your mindthe fact that the Minotaur was of all known beasts that whichMythology distinguishes as the most dangerous; that in order to savethemselves from his ravages, the Athenians were bound to deliver tohim, every single year, fifty virgins; you will perhaps escape theerror of good M. Chompre, who saw in the labyrinth nothing but anEnglish garden; and you will recognize in this ingenious fable arefined allegory, or we may better say a faithful and fearful image ofthe dangers of marriage. The paintings recently discovered atHerculaneum have served to confirm this opinion. And, as a matter offact, learned men have for a long time believed, in accordance withthe writings of certain authors, that the Minotaur was an animalhalf-man, half-bull; but the fifth panel of ancient paintings atHerculaneum represents to us this allegorical monster with a bodyentirely human; and, to take away all vestige of doubt, he liescrushed at the feet of Theseus. Now, my dear madame, why should we notask Mythology to come and rescue us from that hypocrisy which isgaining ground with us and hinders us from laughing as our fatherslaughed? And thus, since in the world a young lady does not very wellknow how to spread the veil under which an honest woman hides herbehavior, in a contingency which our grandfathers would have roughlyexplained by a single word, you, like a crowd of beautiful butprevaricating ladies, you content yourselves with saying, 'Ah! yes, she is very amiable, but, '--but what?--'but she is often veryinconsistent--. ' I have for a long time tried to find out the meaningof this last word, and, above all, the figure of rhetoric by which youmake it express the opposite of that which it signifies; but all myresearches have been in vain. Vert-Vert used the word last, and wasunfortunately addressed to the innocent nuns whose infidelities didnot in any way infringe the honor of the men. When a woman is_inconsistent_ the husband must be, according to me, _minotaurized_. If the minotaurized man is a fine fellow, if he enjoys a certainesteem, --and many husbands really deserve to be pitied, --then inspeaking of him, you say in a pathetic voice, 'M. A--- is a veryestimable man, his wife is exceedingly pretty, but they say he is nothappy in his domestic relations. ' Thus, madame, the estimable man whois unhappy in his domestic relations, the man who has an inconsistentwife, or the husband who is minotaurized are simply husbands as theyappear in Moliere. Well, then, O goddess of modern taste, do not theseexpressions seem to you characterized by a transparency chaste enoughfor anybody?"

"Ah! mon Dieu!" she answered, laughing, "if the thing is the same, what does it matter whether it be expressed in two syllables or in ahundred?"

She bade me good-bye, with an ironical nod and disappeared, doubtlessto join the countesses of my preface and all the metaphoricalcreatures, so often employed by romance-writers as agents for therecovery or composition of ancient manuscripts. 

As for you, the more numerous and the more real creatures who read mybook, if there are any among you who make common cause with myconjugal champion, I give you notice that you will not at once becomeunhappy in your domestic relations. A man arrives at this conjugalcondition not suddenly, but insensibly and by degrees. Many husbandshave even remained unfortunate in their domestic relations duringtheir whole life and have never known it. This domestic revolutiondevelops itself in accordance with fixed rules; for the revolutions ofthe honeymoon are as regular as the phases of the moon in heaven, andare the same in every married house. Have we not proved that moralnature, like physical nature, has its laws?

Your young wife will never take a lover, as we have elsewhere said, without making serious reflections. As soon as the honeymoon wanes, you will find that you have aroused in her a sentiment of pleasurewhich you have not satisfied; you have opened to her the book of life;and she has derived an excellent idea from the prosaic dullness whichdistinguishes your complacent love, of the poetry which is the naturalresult when souls and pleasures are in accord. Like a timid bird, juststartled by the report of a gun which has ceased, she puts her headout of her nest, looks round her, and sees the world; and knowing theword of a charade which you have played, she feels instinctively thevoid which exists in your languishing passion. She divines that it isonly with a lover that she can regain the delightful exercise of herfree will in love. 

You have dried the green wood in preparation for a fire. 

In the situation in which both of you find yourselves, there is nowoman, even the most virtuous, who would not be found worthy of a_grande passion_, who has not dreamed of it, and who does not believethat it is easily kindled, for there is always found a certain_amour-propre_ ready to reinforce that conquered enemy--a jaded wife. 

"If the role of an honest woman were nothing more than perilous, " saidan old lady to me, "I would admit that it would serve. But it istiresome; and I have never met a virtuous woman who did not thinkabout deceiving somebody. "

And then, before any lover presents himself, a wife discusses withherself the legality of the act; she enters into a conflict with herduties, with the law, with religion and with the secret desires of anature which knows no check-rein excepting that which she places uponherself. And then commences for you a condition of affairs totallynew; then you receive the first intimation which nature, that good andindulgent mother, always gives to the creatures who are exposed to anydanger. Nature has put a bell on the neck of the Minotaur, as on thetail of that frightful snake which is the terror of travelers. Andthen appear in your wife what we will call the first symptoms, and woeto him who does not know how to contend with them. Those who inreading our book will remember that they saw those symptoms in theirown domestic life can pass to the conclusion of this work, where theywill find how they may gain consolation. 

The situation referred to, in which a married couple bind themselvesfor a longer or a shorter time, is the point from which our workstarts, as it is the end at which our observations stop. A man ofintelligence should know how to recognize the mysterious indications, the obscure signs and the involuntary revelation which a wifeunwittingly exhibits; for the next Meditation will doubtless indicatethe more evident of the manifestations to neophytes in the sublimescience of marriage. 

 MEDITATION VIII. 

 OF THE FIRST SYMPTOMS. 

When your wife reaches that crisis in which we have left her, youyourself are wrapped in a pleasant and unsuspicious security. You haveso often seen the sun that you begin to think it is shining overeverybody. You therefore give no longer that attention to the leastaction of your wife, which was impelled by your first outburst ofpassion. 

This indolence prevents many husbands from perceiving the symptomswhich, in their wives, herald the first storm; and this disposition ofmind has resulted in the minotaurization of more husbands than haveeither opportunity, carriages, sofas and apartments in town. 

The feeling of indifference in the presence of danger is to somedegree justified by the apparent tranquillity which surrounds you. Theconspiracy which is formed against you by our million of hungrycelibates seems to be unanimous in its advance. Although all areenemies of each other and know each other well, a sort of instinctforces them into co-operation. 

Two persons are married. The myrmidons of the Minotaur, young and old, have usually the politeness to leave the bride and bridegroom entirelyto themselves at first. They look upon the husband as an artisan, whose business it is to trim, polish, cut into facets and mount thediamond, which is to pass from hand to hand in order to be admired allaround. Moreover, the aspect of a young married couple much taken witheach other always rejoices the heart of those among the celibates whoare known as _roues_; they take good care not to disturb theexcitement by which society is to be profited; they also know thatheavy showers to not last long. They therefore keep quiet; they watch, and wait, with incredible vigilance, for the moment when bride andgroom begin to weary of the seventh heaven. 

The tact with which celibates discover the moment when the breezebegins to rise in a new home can only be compared to the indifferenceof those husbands for whom the Red-moon rises. There is, even inintrigue, a moment of ripeness which must be waited for. The great manis he who anticipates the outcome of certain circumstances. Men offifty-two, whom we have represented as being so dangerous, know verywell, for example, that any man who offers himself as lover to a womanand is haughtily rejected, will be received with open arms threemonths afterwards. But it may be truly said that in general marriedpeople in betraying their indifference towards each other show thesame naivete with which they first betrayed their love. At the timewhen you are traversing with madame the ravishing fields of theseventh heaven--where according to their temperament, newly marriedpeople remain encamped for a longer or shorter time, as the precedingMeditation has proved--you go little or not at all into society. Happyas you are in your home, if you do go abroad, it will be for thepurpose of making up a choice party and visiting the theatre, thecountry, etc. From the moment you the newly wedded make yourappearance in the world again, you and your bride together, orseparately, and are seen to be attentive to each other at balls, atparties, at all the empty amusements created to escape the void of anunsatisfied heart, the celibates discern that your wife comes there insearch of distraction; her home, her husband are therefore wearisometo her. 

At this point the celibate knows that half of the journey isaccomplished. At this point you are on the eve of being minotaurized, and your wife is likely to become inconsistent; which means that sheis on the contrary likely to prove very consistent in her conduct, that she has reasoned it out with astonishing sagacity and that youare likely very soon to smell fire. From that moment she will not inappearance fail in any of her duties, and will put on the colors ofthat virtue in which she is most lacking. Said Crebillon:

 "Alas! Is it right to be heir of the man who we slay?"

Never has she seemed more anxious to please you. She will seek, asmuch as possible, to allay the secret wounds which she thinks aboutinflicting upon your married bliss, she will do so by those littleattentions which induce you to believe in the eternity of her love;hence the proverb, "Happy as a fool. " But in accordance with thecharacter of women, they either despise their own husbands from thevery fact that they find no difficulty in deceiving them; or they hatethem when they find themselves circumvented by them; or they fall intoa condition of indifference towards them, which is a thousand timesworse than hatred. In this emergency, the first thing which may bediagnosed in a woman is a decided oddness of behavior. A woman lovesto be saved from herself, to escape her conscience, but without theeagerness shown in this connection by wives who are thoroughlyunhappy. She dresses herself with especial care, in order, she willtell you, to flatter your _amour-propre_ by drawing all eyes upon herin the midst of parties and public entertainments. 

When she returns to the bosom of her stupid home you will see that, attimes, she is gloomy and thoughtful, then suddenly laughing and gay asif beside herself; or assuming the serious expression of a German whenhe advances to the fight. Such varying moods always indicate theterrible doubt and hesitation to which we have already referred. Thereare women who read romances in order to feast upon the images of lovecleverly depicted and always varied, of love crowned yet triumphant;or in order to familiarize themselves in thought with the perils of anintrigue. 

She will profess the highest esteem for you, she will tell you thatshe loves you as a sister; and that such reasonable friendship is theonly true, the only durable friendship, the only tie which it is theaim of marriage to establish between man and wife. 

She will adroitly distinguish between the duties which are all she hasto perform and the rights which she can demand to exercise. 

She views with indifference, appreciated by you alone, all the detailsof married happiness. This sort of happiness, perhaps, has never beenvery agreeable to her and moreover it is always with her. She knows itwell, she has analyzed it; and what slight but terrible evidence comesfrom these circumstances to prove to an intelligent husband that thisfrail creature argues and reasons, instead of being carried away onthe tempest of passion. 

 LX. The more a man judges the less he loves. 

And now will burst forth from her those pleasantries at which you willbe the first to laugh and those reflections which will startle you bytheir profundity; now you will see sudden changes of mood and thecaprices of a mind which hesitates. At times she will exhibit extremetenderness, as if she repented of her thoughts and her projects;sometimes she will be sullen and at cross-purposes with you; in aword, she will fulfill the _varium et mutabile femina_ which wehitherto have had the folly to attribute to the feminine temperament. Diderot, in his desire to explain the mutations almost atmospheric inthe behavior of women, has even gone so far as to make them theoffspring of what he calls _la bete feroce_; but we never see thesewhims in a woman who is happy. 

These symptoms, light as gossamer, resemble the clouds which scarcelybreak the azure surface of the sky and which they call flowers of thestorm. But soon their colors take a deeper intensity. 

In the midst of this solemn premeditation, which tends, as Madame deStael says, to bring more poetry into life, some women, in whomvirtuous mothers either from considerations of worldly advantage ofduty or sentiment, or through sheer hypocrisy, have inculcatedsteadfast principles, take the overwhelming fancies by which they areassailed for suggestions of the devil; and you will see them thereforetrotting regularly to mass, to midday offices, even to vespers. Thisfalse devotion exhibits itself, first of all in the shape of prettybooks of devotion in a costly binding, by the aid of which these dearsinners attempt in vain to fulfill the duties imposed by religion, andlong neglected for the pleasures of marriage. 

Now here we will lay down a principle, and you must engrave it on yourmemory in letters of fire. 

When a young woman suddenly takes up religious practices which she hasbefore abandoned, this new order of life always conceals a motivehighly significant, in view of her husband's happiness. In the case ofat least seventy-nine women out of a hundred this return to God provesthat they have been inconsistent, or that they intend to become so. 

But a symptom more significant still and more decisive, and one thatevery husband should recognize under pain of being considered a fool, is this:

At the time when both of you are immersed in the illusive delights ofthe honeymoon, your wife, as one devoted to you, would constantlycarry out your will. She was happy in the power of showing the readywill, which both of you mistook for love, and she would have liked foryou to have asked her to walk on the edge of the roof, andimmediately, nimble as a squirrel, she would have run over the tiles. In a word, she found an ineffable delight in sacrificing to you that_ego_ which made her a being distinct from yours. She had identifiedherself with your nature and was obedient to that vow of the heart, _Una caro_. 

All this delightful promptness of an earlier day gradually faded away. Wounded to find her will counted as nothing, your wife will attempt, nevertheless, to reassert it by means of a system developed gradually, and from day to day, with increased energy. 

This system is founded upon what we may call the dignity of themarried woman. The first effect of this system is to mingle with yourpleasures a certain reserve and a certain lukewarmness, of which youare the sole judge. 

According to the greater or lesser violence of your sensual passion, you have perhaps discerned some of those twenty-two pleasures which inother times created in Greece twenty-two kinds of courtesans, devotedespecially to these delicate branches of the same art. Ignorant andsimple, curious and full of hope, your young wife may have taken somedegrees in this science as rare as it is unknown, and which weespecially commend to the attention of the future author of_Physiology of Pleasure_. 

Lacking all these different kinds of pleasure, all these caprices ofsoul, all these arrows of love, you are reduced to the most common oflove fashions, of that primitive and innocent wedding gait, the calmhomage which the innocent Adam rendered to our common Mother and whichdoubtless suggested to the Serpent the idea of taking them in. But asymptom so complete is not frequent. Most married couples are too goodChristians to follow the usages of pagan Greece, so we have ranged, among the last symptoms, the appearance in the calm nuptial couch ofthose shameless pleasures which spring generally from lawless passion. In their proper time and place we will treat more fully of thisfascinating diagnostic; at this point, things are reduced to alistlessness and conjugal repugnance which you alone are in acondition to appreciate. 

At the same time that she is ennobling by her dignity the objects ofmarriage, your wife will pretend that she ought to have her opinionand you yours. "In marrying, " she will say, "a woman does not vow thatshe will abdicate the throne of reason. Are women then really slaves?Human laws can fetter the body; but the mind!--ah! God has placed itso near Himself that no human hand can touch it. "

These ideas necessarily proceed either from the too liberal teachingswhich you have allowed her to receive, or from some reflections whichyou have permitted her to make. A whole Meditation has been devoted to_Home Instruction_. 

Then your wife begins to say, "_My_ chamber, _my_ bed, _my_apartment. " To many of your questions she will reply, "But, my dear, this is no business of yours!" Or: "Men have their part in thedirection of the house, and women have theirs. " Or, laughing at menwho meddle in household affairs, she will affirm that "men do notunderstand some things. "

The number of things which you do not understand increases day by day. 

One fine morning, you will see in your little church two altars, wherebefore you never worshiped but at one. The altar of your wife and yourown altar have become distinct, and this distinction will go onincreasing, always in accordance with the system founded upon thedignity of woman. 

Then the following ideas will appear, and they will be inculcated inyou whether you like it or not, by means of a living force veryancient in origin and little known. Steam-power, horse-power, man-power, and water-power are good inventions, but nature hasprovidedwomen with a moral power, in comparison with which all other powersare nothing; we may call it _rattle-power_. This force consists in acontinuance of the same sound, in an exact repetition of the samewords, in a reversion, over and over again, to the same ideas, andthis so unvaried, that from hearing them over and over again you willadmit them, in order to be delivered from the discussion. Thus thepower of the rattle will prove to you:

That you are very fortunate to have such an excellent wife;

That she has done you too much honor in marrying you;

That women often see clearer than men;

That you ought to take the advice of your wife in everything, andalmost always ought to follow it;

That you ought to respect the mother of your children, to honor herand have confidence in her;

That the best way to escape being deceived, is to rely upon a wife'srefinement, for according to certain old ideas which we have had theweakness to give credit, it is impossible for a man to prevent hiswife from minotaurizing him;

That a lawful wife is a man's best friend;

That a woman is mistress in her own house and queen in herdrawing-room, etc. 

Those who wish to oppose a firm resistance to a woman's conquest, effected by means of her dignity over man's power, fall into thecategory of the predestined. 

At first, quarrels arise which in the eye of wives give an air oftyranny to husbands. The tyranny of a husband is always a terribleexcuse for inconsistency in a wife. Then, in their frivolousdiscussions they are enabled to prove to their families and to ours, to everybody and to ourselves, that we are in the wrong. If, for thesake of peace, or from love, you acknowledge the pretended rights ofwomen, you yield an advantage to your wife by which she will profiteternally. A husband, like a government, ought never to acknowledge amistake. In case you do so, your power will be outflanked by thesubtle artifices of feminine dignity; then all will be lost; from thatmoment she will advance from concession to concession until she hasdriven you from her bed. 

The woman being shrewd, intelligent, sarcastic and having leisure tomeditate over an ironical phrase, can easily turn you into ridiculeduring a momentary clash of opinions. The day on which she turns youinto ridicule, sees the end of your happiness. Your power has expired. A woman who has laughed at her husband cannot henceforth love him. Aman should be, to the woman who is in love with him, a being full ofpower, of greatness, and always imposing. A family cannot existwithout despotism. Think of that, ye nations!

Now the difficult course which a man has to steer in presence of suchserious incidents as these, is what we may call the _haute politique_of marriage, and is the subject of the second and third parts of ourbook. That breviary of marital Machiavelism will teach you the mannerin which you may grow to greatness within that frivolous mind, withinthat soul of lacework, to use Napoleon's phrase. You may learn how aman may exhibit a soul of steel, may enter upon this little domesticwar without ever yielding the empire of his will, and may do sowithout compromising his happiness. For if you exhibit any tendency toabdication, your wife will despise you, for the sole reason that shehas discovered you to be destitute of mental vigor; you are no longera _man_ to her. 

But we have not yet reached the point at which are to be developedthose theories and principles, by means of which a man may uniteelegance of manners with severity of measures; let it suffice us, forthe moment, to point out the importance of impending events and let uspursue our theme. 

At this fatal epoch, you will see that she is adroitly setting up aright to go out alone. 

You were at one time her god, her idol. She has now reached thatheight of devotion at which it is permitted to see holes in thegarments of the saints. 

"Oh, mon Dieu! My dear, " said Madame de la Valliere to her husband, "how badly you wear your sword! M. De Richelieu has a way of making ithang straight at his side, which you ought to try to imitate; it is inmuch better taste. "

"My dear, you could not tell me in a more tactful manner that we havebeen married five months!" replied the Duke, whose repartee made hisfortune in the reign of Louis XV. 

She will study your character in order to find weapons against you. Such a study, which love would hold in horror, reveals itself in thethousand little traps which she lays purposely to make you scold her;when a woman has no excuse for minotaurizing her husband she sets towork to make one. 

She will perhaps begin dinner without waiting for you. 

If you drive through the middle of the town, she will point outcertain objects which escaped your notice; she will sing before youwithout feeling afraid; she will interrupt you, sometimes vouchsafe noreply to you, and will prove to you, in a thousand different ways, that she is enjoying at your side the use of all her faculties andexercising her private judgment. 

She will try to abolish entirely your influence in the management ofthe house and to become sole mistress of your fortune. At first thisstruggle will serve as a distraction for her soul, whether it be emptyor in too violent commotion; next, she will find in your opposition anew motive for ridicule. Slang expressions will not fail her, and inFrance we are so quickly vanquished by the ironical smile of another!

At other times headaches and nervous attacks make their appearance;but these symptoms furnish matter for a whole future Meditation. Inthe world she will speak of you without blushing, and will gaze at youwith assurance. She will begin to blame your least actions becausethey are at variance with her ideas, or her secret intentions. Shewill take no care of what pertains to you, she will not even knowwhether you have all you need. You are no longer her paragon. 

In imitation of Louis XIV, who carried to his mistresses the bouquetsof orange blossoms which the head gardener of Versailles put on histable every morning, M. De Vivonne used almost every day to give hiswife choice flowers during the early period of his marriage. Onemorning he found the bouquet lying on the side table without havingbeen placed, as usual, in a vase of water. 

"Oh! Oh!" said he, "if I am not a cuckold, I shall very soon be one. "

You go on a journey for eight days and you receive no letters, or youreceive one, three pages of which are blank. --Symptom. 

You come home mounted on a valuable horse which you like very much, and between her kisses your wife shows her uneasiness about the horseand his fodder. --Symptom. 

To these features of the case, you will be able to add others. Weshall endeavor in the present volume always to paint things in boldfresco style and leave the miniatures to you. According to thecharacters concerned, the indications which we are describing, veiledunder the incidents of ordinary life, are of infinite variety. One manmay discover a symptom in the way a shawl is put on, while anotherneeds to receive a fillip to his intellect, in order to notice theindifference of his mate. 

Some fine spring morning, the day after a ball, or the eve of acountry party, this situation reaches its last phase; your wife islistless and the happiness within her reach has no more attractionsfor her. Her mind, her imagination, perhaps her natural caprices callfor a lover. Nevertheless, she dare not yet embark upon an intriguewhose consequences and details fill her with dread. You are stillthere for some purpose or other; you are a weight in the balance, although a very light one. On the other hand, the lover presentshimself arrayed in all the graces of novelty and all the charms ofmystery. The conflict which has arisen in the heart of your wifebecomes, in presence of the enemy, more real and more full of perilthan before. Very soon the more dangers and risks there are to be run, the more she burns to plunge into that delicious gulf of fear, enjoyment, anguish and delight. Her imagination kindles and sparkles, her future life rises before her eyes, colored with romantic andmysterious hues. Her soul discovers that existence has already takenits tone from this struggle which to a woman has so much solemnity init. All is agitation, all is fire, all is commotion within her. Shelives with three times as much intensity as before, and judges thefuture by the present. The little pleasure which you have lavishedupon her bears witness against you; for she is not excited as much bythe pleasures which she has received, as by those which she is yet toenjoy; does not imagination show her that her happiness will be keenerwith this lover, whom the laws deny her, than with you? And then, shefinds enjoyment even in her terror and terror in her enjoyment. Thenshe falls in love with this imminent danger, this sword of Damocleshung over her head by you yourself, thus preferring the deliriousagonies of such a passion, to that conjugal inanity which is worse toher than death, to that indifference which is less a sentiment thanthe absence of all sentiment. 

You, who must go to pay your respects to the Minister of Finance, towrite memorandums at the bank, to make your reports at the Bourse, orto speak in the Chamber; you, young men, who have repeated with manyothers in our first Meditation the oath that you will defend yourhappiness in defending your wife, what can you oppose to these desiresof hers which are so natural? For, with these creatures of fire, tolive is to feel; the moment they cease to experience emotion they aredead. The law in virtue of which you take your position produces inher this involuntary act of minotaurism. "There is one sequel, " saidD'Alembert, "to the laws of movement. " Well, then, where are yourmeans of defence?-- Where, indeed?

Alas! if your wife has not yet kissed the apple of the Serpent, theSerpent stands before her; you sleep, we are awake, and our bookbegins. 

Without inquiring how many husbands, among the five hundred thousandwhich this book concerns, will be left with the predestined; how manyhave contracted unfortunate marriages; how many have made a badbeginning with their wives; and without wishing to ask if there bemany or few of this numerous band who can satisfy the conditionsrequired for struggling against the danger which is impending, weintend to expound in the second and third part of this work themethods of fighting the Minotaur and keeping intact the virtue ofwives. But if fate, the devil, the celibate, opportunity, desire yourruin, in recognizing the progress of all intrigues, in joining in thebattles which are fought by every home, you will possibly be able tofind some consolation. Many people have such a happy disposition, thaton showing to them the condition of things and explaining to them thewhy and the wherefore, they scratch their foreheads, rub their hands, stamp on the ground, and are satisfied. 

 MEDITATION IX. 

 EPILOGUE. 

Faithful to our promise, this first part has indicated the generalcauses which bring all marriages to the crises which we are about todescribe; and, in tracing the steps of this conjugal preamble, we havealso pointed out the way in which the catastrophe is to be avoided, for we have pointed out the errors by which it is brought about. 

But these first considerations would be incomplete if, afterendeavoring to throw some light upon the inconsistency of our ideas, of our manners and of our laws, with regard to a question whichconcerns the life of almost all living beings, we did not endeavor tomake plain, in a short peroration, the political causes of theinfirmity which pervades all modern society. After having exposed thesecret vices of marriage, would it not be an inquiry worthy ofphilosophers to search out the causes which have rendered it sovicious?

The system of law and of manners which so far directs women andcontrols marriage in France, is the outcome of ancient beliefs andtraditions which are no longer in accordance with the eternalprinciples of reason and of justice, brought to light by the greatRevolution of 1789. 

Three great disturbances have agitated France; the conquest of thecountry by the Romans, the establishment of Christianity and theinvasion of the Franks. Each of these events has left a deep impressupon the soil, upon the laws, upon the manners and upon the intellectof the nation. 

Greece having one foot on Europe and the other on Asia, was influencedby her voluptuous climate in the choice of her marriage institutions;she received them from the East, where her philosophers, herlegislators and her poets went to study the abstruse antiquities ofEgypt and Chaldea. The absolute seclusion of women which wasnecessitated under the burning sun of Asia prevailed under the laws ofGreece and Ionia. The women remained in confinement within the marblesof the gyneceum. The country was reduced to the condition of a city, to a narrow territory, and the courtesans who were connected with artand religion by so many ties, were sufficient to satisfy the firstpassions of the young men, who were few in number, since theirstrength was elsewhere taken up in the violent exercises of thattraining which was demanded of them by the military system of thoseheroic times. 

At the beginning of her royal career Rome, having sent to Greece toseek such principles of legislation as might suit the sky of Italy, stamped upon the forehead of the married woman the brand of completeservitude. The senate understood the importance of virtue in arepublic, hence the severity of manners in the excessive developmentof the marital and paternal power. The dependence of the woman on herhusband is found inscribed on every code. The seclusion prescribed bythe East becomes a duty, a moral obligation, a virtue. On theseprinciples were raised temples to modesty and temples consecrated tothe sanctity of marriage; hence, sprang the institution of censors, the law of dowries, the sumptuary laws, the respect for matrons andall the characteristics of the Roman law. Moreover, three acts offeminine violation either accomplished or attempted, produced threerevolutions! And was it not a grand event, sanctioned by the decreesof the country, that these illustrious women should make theirappearances on the political arena! Those noble Roman women, who wereobliged to be either brides or mothers, passed their life inretirement engaged in educating the masters of the world. Rome had nocourtesans because the youth of the city were engaged in eternal war. If, later on, dissoluteness appeared, it merely resulted from thedespotism of emperors; and still the prejudices founded upon ancientmanners were so influential that Rome never saw a woman on a stage. These facts are not put forth idly in scanning the history of marriagein France. 

After the conquest of Gaul, the Romans imposed their laws upon theconquered; but they were incapable of destroying both the profoundrespect which our ancestors entertained for women and the ancientsuperstitions which made women the immediate oracles of God. The Romanlaws ended by prevailing, to the exclusion of all others, in thiscountry once known as the "land of written law, " or _Gallia togata_, and their ideas of marriage penetrated more or less into the "land ofcustoms. "

But, during the conflict of laws with manners, the Franks invaded theGauls and gave to the country the dear name of France. These warriorscame from the North and brought the system of gallantry which hadoriginated in their western regions, where the mingling of the sexesdid not require in those icy climates the jealous precautions of theEast. The women of that time elevated the privations of that kind oflife by the exaltation of their sentiments. The drowsy minds of theday made necessary those varied forms of delicate solicitation, thatversatility of address, the fancied repulse of coquetry, which belongto the system whose principles have been unfolded in our First Part, as admirably suited to the temperate clime of France. 

To the East, then, belong the passion and the delirium of passion, thelong brown hair, the harem, the amorous divinities, the splendor, thepoetry of love and the monuments of love. -- To the West, the libertyof wives, the sovereignty of their blond locks, gallantry, the fairylife of love, the secrecy of passion, the profound ecstasy of thesoul, the sweet feelings of melancholy and the constancy of love. 

These two systems, starting from opposite points of the globe, havecome into collision in France; in France, where one part of thecountry, Languedoc, was attracted by Oriental traditions, while theother, Languedoil, was the native land of a creed which attributes towoman a magical power. In the Languedoil, love necessitates mystery, in the Languedoc, to see is to love. 

At the height of this struggle came the triumphant entry ofChristianity into France, and there it was preached by women, andthere it consecrated the divinity of a woman who in the forests ofBrittany, of Vendee and of Ardennes took, under the name ofNotre-Dame, the place of more than one idol in the hollow of oldDruidic oaks. 

If the religion of Christ, which is above all things a code ofmorality and politics, gave a soul to all living beings, proclaimedthat equality of all in the sight of God, and by such principles asthese fortified the chivalric sentiments of the North, this advantagewas counterbalanced by the fact, that the sovereign pontiff resided atRome, of which seat he considered himself the lawful heir, through theuniversality of the Latin tongue, which became that of Europe duringthe Middle Ages, and through the keen interest taken by monks, writersand lawyers in establishing the ascendency of certain codes, discovered by a soldier in the sack of Amalfi. 

These two principles of the servitude and the sovereignty of womenretain possession of the ground, each of them defended by fresharguments. 

The Salic law, which was a legal error, was a triumph for theprinciple of political and civil servitude for women, but it did notdiminish the power which French manners accorded them, for theenthusiasm of chivalry which prevailed in Europe supplanted the partyof manners against the party of law. 

And in this way was created that strange phenomenon which since thattime has characterized both our national despotism and ourlegislation; for ever since those epochs which seemed to presage theRevolution, when the spirit of philosophy rose and reflected upon thehistory of the past, France has been the prey of many convulsions. Feudalism, the Crusades, the Reformation, the struggle between themonarchy and the aristocracy. Despotism and Priestcraft have soclosely held the country within their clutches, that woman stillremains the subject of strange counter-opinions, each springing fromone of the three great movements to which we have referred. Was itpossible that the woman question should be discussed and woman'spolitical education and marriage should be ventilated when feudalismthreatened the throne, when reform menaced both king and barons, andthe people, between the hierarchy and the empire, were forgotten?According to a saying of Madame Necker, women, amid these greatmovements, were like the cotton wool put into a case of porcelain. They were counted for nothing, but without them everything would havebeen broken. 

A married woman, then, in France presents the spectacle of a queen outat service, of a slave, at once free and a prisoner; a collisionbetween these two principles which frequently occurred, produced oddsituations by the thousand. And then, woman was physically littleunderstood, and what was actually sickness in her, was considered aprodigy, witchcraft or monstrous turpitude. In those days thesecreatures, treated by the law as reckless children, and put underguardianship, were by the manners of the time deified and adored. Likethe freedmen of emperors, they disposed of crowns, they decidedbattles, they awarded fortunes, they inspired crimes and revolutions, wonderful acts of virtue, by the mere flash of their glances, and yetthey possessed nothing and were not even possessors of themselves. They were equally fortunate and unfortunate. Armed with their weaknessand strong in instinct, they launched out far beyond the sphere whichthe law allotted them, showing themselves omnipotent for evil, butimpotent for good; without merit in the virtues that were imposed uponthem, without excuse in their vices; accused of ignorance and yetdenied an education; neither altogether mothers nor altogether wives. Having all the time to conceal their passions, while they fosteredthem, they submitted to the coquetry of the Franks, while they wereobliged like Roman women, to stay within the ramparts of their castlesand bring up those who were to be warriors. While no system wasdefinitely decided upon by legislation as to the position of women, their minds were left to follow their inclinations, and there arefound among them as many who resemble Marion Delorme as those whoresemble Cornelia; there are vices among them, but there are as manyvirtues. These were creatures as incomplete as the laws which governedthem; they were considered by some as a being midway between man andthe lower animals, as a malignant beast which the laws could not tooclosely fetter, and which nature had destined, with so many otherthings, to serve the pleasure of men; while others held woman to be anangel in exile, a source of happiness and love, the only creature whoresponded to the highest feelings of man, while her miseries were tobe recompensed by the idolatry of every heart. How could theconsistency, which was wanting in a political system, be expected inthe general manners of the nation?

And so woman became what circumstances and men made her, instead ofbeing what the climate and native institutions should have made her;sold, married against her taste, in accordance with the _Patriapotestas_ of the Romans, at the same time that she fell under themarital despotism which desired her seclusion, she found herselftempted to take the only reprisals which were within her power. Thenshe became a dissolute creature, as soon as men ceased to be intentlyoccupied in intestine war, for the same reason that she was a virtuouswoman in the midst of civil disturbances. Every educated man can fillin this outline, for we seek from movements like these the lessons andnot the poetic suggestion which they yield. 

The Revolution was too entirely occupied in breaking down and buildingup, had too many enemies, or followed perhaps too closely on thedeplorable times witnessed under the regency and under Louis XV, topay any attention to the position which women should occupy in thesocial order. 

The remarkable men who raised the immortal monument which our codespresent were almost all old-fashioned students of law deeply imbuedwith a spirit of Roman jurisprudence; and moreover they were not thefounders of any political institutions. Sons of the Revolution, theybelieved, in accordance with that movement, that the law of divorcewisely restricted and the bond of dutiful submission were sufficientameliorations of the previous marriage law. When that former order ofthings was remembered, the change made by the new legislation seemedimmense. 

At the present day the question as to which of these two principlesshall triumph rests entirely in the hands of our wise legislators. Thepast has teaching which should bear fruit in the future. Have we lostall sense of the eloquence of fact?

The principles of the East resulted in the existence of eunuchs andseraglios; the spurious social standing of France has brought in theplague of courtesans and the more deadly plague of our marriagesystem; and thus, to use the language of a contemporary, the Eastsacrifices to paternity men and the principle of justice; France, women and modesty. Neither the East nor France has attained the goalwhich their institutions point to; for that is happiness. The man isnot more loved by the women of a harem than the husband is sure ofbeing in France, as the father of his children; and marrying is notworth what it costs. It is time to offer no more sacrifice to thisinstitution, and to amass a larger sum of happiness in the socialstate by making our manners and our institution conformable to ourclimate. 

Constitutional government, a happy mixture of two extreme politicalsystems, despotism and democracy, suggests by the necessity ofblending also the two principles of marriage, which so far clashtogether in France. The liberty which we boldly claim for young peopleis the only remedy for the host of evils whose source we have pointedout, by exposing the inconsistencies resulting from the bondage inwhich girls are kept. Let us give back to youth the indulgence ofthose passions, those coquetries, love and its terrors, love and itsdelights, and that fascinating company which followed the coming ofthe Franks. At this vernal season of life no fault is irreparable, andHymen will come forth from the bosom of experiences, armed withconfidence, stripped of hatred, and love in marriage will bejustified, because it will have had the privilege of comparison. 

In this change of manners the disgraceful plague of publicprostitution will perish of itself. It is especially at the time whenthe man possesses the frankness and timidity of adolescence, that inhis pursuit of happiness he is competent to meet and struggle withgreat and genuine passions of the heart. The soul is happy in makinggreat efforts of whatever kind; provided that it can act, that it canstir and move, it makes little difference, even though it exercise itspower against itself. In this observation, the truth of whicheverybody can see, there may be found one secret of successfullegislation, of tranquillity and happiness. And then, the pursuit oflearning has now become so highly developed that the most tempestuousof our coming Mirabeaus can consume his energy either in theindulgence of a passion or the study of a science. How many youngpeople have been saved from debauchery by self-chosen labors or thepersistent obstacles put in the way of a first love, a love that waspure! And what young girl does not desire to prolong the delightfulchildhood of sentiment, is not proud to have her nature known, and hasnot felt the secret tremblings of timidity, the modesty of her secretcommunings with herself, and wished to oppose them to the youngdesires of a lover inexperienced as herself! The gallantry of theFranks and the pleasures which attend it should then be the portion ofyouth, and then would naturally result a union of soul, of mind, ofcharacter, of habits, of temperament and of fortune, such as wouldproduce the happy equilibrium necessary for the felicity of themarried couple. This system would rest upon foundations wider andfreer, if girls were subjected to a carefully calculated system ofdisinheritance; or if, in order to force men to choose only those whopromised happiness by their virtues, their character or their talents, they married as in the United States without dowry. 

In that case, the system adopted by the Romans could advantageously beapplied to the married women who when they were girls used theirliberty. Being exclusively engaged in the early education of theirchildren, which is the most important of all maternal obligations, occupied in creating and maintaining the happiness of the household, so admirably described in the fourth book of _Julie_, they would be intheir houses like the women of ancient Rome, living images ofProvidence, which reigns over all, and yet is nowhere visible. In thiscase, the laws covering the infidelity of the wife should be extremelysevere. They should make the penalty disgrace, rather than inflictpainful or coercive sentences. France has witnessed the spectacle ofwomen riding asses for the pretended crime of magic, and many aninnocent woman has died of shame. In this may be found the secret offuture marriage legislation. The young girls of Miletus deliveredthemselves from marriage by voluntary death; the senate condemned thesuicides to be dragged naked on a hurdle, and the other virginscondemned themselves for life. 

Women and marriage will never be respected until we have that radicalchange in manners which we are now begging for. This profound thoughtis the ruling principle in the two finest productions of an immortalgenius. _Emile_ and _La Nouvelle Heloise_ are nothing more than twoeloquent pleas for the system. The voice there raised will resoundthrough the ages, because it points to the real motives of truelegislation, and the manners which will prevail in the future. Byplacing children at the breast of their mothers, Jean-Jacques renderedan immense service to the cause of virtue; but his age was too deeplygangrened with abuses to understand the lofty lessons unfolded inthose two poems; it is right to add also that the philosopher was inthese works overmastered by the poet, and in leaving in the heart of_Julie_ after her marriage some vestiges of her first love, he was ledastray by the attractiveness of a poetic situation, more touchingindeed, but less useful than the truth which he wished to display. 

Nevertheless, if marriage in France is an unlimited contract to whichmen agree with a silent understanding that they may thus give morerelish to passion, more curiosity, more mystery to love, morefascination to women; if a woman is rather an ornament to thedrawing-room, a fashion-plate, a portmanteau, than a being whosefunctions in the order politic are an essential part of the country'sprosperity and the nation's glory, a creature whose endeavors in lifevie in utility with those of men--I admit that all the above theory, all these long considerations sink into nothingness at the prospect ofsuch an important destiny!----

But after having squeezed a pound of actualities in order to obtainone drop of philosophy, having paid sufficient homage to that passionfor the historic, which is so dominant in our time, let us turn ourglance upon the manners of the present period. Let us take the cap andbells and the coxcomb of which Rabelais once made a sceptre, and letus pursue the course of this inquiry without giving to one joke moreseriousness than comports with it, and without giving to seriousthings the jesting tone which ill befits them. 

 SECOND PART

 MEANS OF DEFENCE, INTERIOR AND EXTERIOR. 

 "To be or not to be, That is the question. " --Shakspeare, _Hamlet_. 

 MEDITATION X. 

 A TREATISE ON MARITAL POLICY. 

When a man reaches the position in which the first part of this booksets him, we suppose that the idea of his wife being possessed byanother makes his heart beat, and rekindles his passion, either by anappeal to his _amour propre_, his egotism, or his self-interest, forunless he is still on his wife's side, he must be one of the lowest ofmen and deserves his fate. 

In this trying moment it is very difficult for a husband to avoidmaking mistakes; for, with regard to most men, the art of ruling awife is even less known than that of judiciously choosing one. However, marital policy consists chiefly in the practical applicationof three principles which should be the soul of your conduct. Thefirst is never to believe what a woman says; the second, always tolook for the spirit without dwelling too much upon the letter of heractions; and the third, not to forget that a woman is never sogarrulous as when she holds her tongue, and is never working with moreenergy than when she keeps quiet. 

From the moment that your suspicions are aroused, you ought to be likea man mounted on a tricky horse, who always watches the ears of thebeast, in fear of being thrown from the saddle. 

But art consists not so much in the knowledge of principles, as in themanner of applying them; to reveal them to ignorant people is to put arazor in the hand of a monkey. Moreover, the first and most vital ofyour duties consists in perpetual dissimulation, an accomplishment inwhich most husbands are sadly lacking. In detecting the symptoms ofminotaurism a little too plainly marked in the conduct of their wives, most men at once indulge in the most insulting suspicions. Their mindscontract a tinge of bitterness which manifests itself in theirconversation, and in their manners; and the alarm which fills theirheart, like the gas flame in a glass globe, lights up theircountenances so plainly, that it accounts for their conduct. 

Now a woman, who has twelve hours more than you have each day toreflect and to study you, reads the suspicion written upon your faceat the very moment that it arises. She will never forget thisgratuitous insult. Nothing can ever remedy that. All is now said anddone, and the very next day, if she has opportunity, she will join theranks of inconsistent women. 

You ought then to begin under these circumstances to affect towardsyour wife the same boundless confidence that you have hitherto had inher. If you begin to lull her anxieties by honeyed words, you arelost, she will not believe you; for she has her policy as you haveyours. Now there is as much need for tact as for kindliness in yourbehavior, in order to inculcate in her, without her knowing it, afeeling of security, which will lead her to lay back her ears, andprevent you from using rein or spur at the wrong moment. 

But how can we compare a horse, the frankest of all animals, to abeing, the flashes of whose thought, and the movements of whoseimpulses render her at moments more prudent than the ServiteFra-Paolo, the most terrible adviser that the Ten at Venice ever had;more deceitful than a king; more adroit than Louis XI; more profoundthan Machiavelli; as sophistical as Hobbes; as acute as Voltaire; aspliant as the fiancee of Mamolin; and distrustful of no one in thewhole wide world but you?

Moreover, to this dissimulation, by means of which the springs thatmove your conduct ought to be made as invisible as those that move theworld, must be added absolute self-control. That diplomaticimperturbability, so boasted of by Talleyrand, must be the least ofyour qualities; his exquisite politeness and the grace of his mannersmust distinguish your conversation. The professor here expresslyforbids you to use your whip, if you would obtain complete controlover your gentle Andalusian steed. 

 LXI. If a man strike his mistress it is a self-inflicted wound; but if he strike his wife it is suicide!

How can we think of a government without police, an action withoutforce, a power without weapons?--Now this is exactly the problem whichwe shall try to solve in our future meditations. But first we mustsubmit two preliminary observations. They will furnish us with twoother theories concerning the application of all the mechanical meanswhich we propose you should employ. An instance from life will refreshthese arid and dry dissertations: the hearing of such a story will belike laying down a book, to work in the field. 

In the year 1822, on a fine morning in the month of February, I wastraversing the boulevards of Paris, from the quiet circles of theMarais to the fashionable quarters of the Chaussee-d'Antin, and Iobserved for the first time, not without a certain philosophic joy, the diversity of physiognomy and the varieties of costume which, fromthe Rue du Pas-de-la-Mule even to the Madeleine, made each portion ofthe boulevard a world of itself, and this whole zone of Paris, a grandpanorama of manners. Having at that time no idea of what the worldwas, and little thinking that one day I should have the audacity toset myself up as a legislator on marriage, I was going to take lunchat the house of a college friend, who was perhaps too early in lifeafflicted with a wife and two children. My former professor ofmathematics lived at a short distance from the house of my collegefriend, and I promised myself the pleasure of a visit to this worthymathematician before indulging my appetite for the dainties offriendship. I accordingly made my way to the heart of a study, whereeverything was covered with a dust which bore witness to the loftyabstraction of the scholar. But a surprise was in store for me there. I perceived a pretty woman seated on the arm of an easy chair, as ifmounted on an English horse; her face took on the look of conventionalsurprise worn by mistresses of the house towards those they do notknow, but she did not disguise the expression of annoyance which, atmy appearance, clouded her countenance with the thought that I wasaware how ill-timed was my presence. My master, doubtless absorbed inan equation, had not yet raised his head; I therefore waved my righthand towards the young lady, like a fish moving his fin, and on tiptoeI retired with a mysterious smile which might be translated "I willnot be the one to prevent him committing an act of infidelity toUrania. " She nodded her head with one of those sudden gestures whosegraceful vivacity is not to be translated into words. 

"My good friend, don't go away, " cried the geometrician. "This is mywife!"

I bowed for the second time!--Oh, Coulon! Why wert thou not present toapplaud the only one of thy pupils who understood from that moment theexpression, "anacreontic, " as applied to a bow?--The effect must havebeen very overwhelming; for Madame the Professoress, as the Germanssay, rose hurriedly as if to go, making me a slight bow which seemedto say: "Adorable!----" Her husband stopped her, saying:

"Don't go, my child, this is one of my pupils. "

The young woman bent her head towards the scholar as a bird perched ona bough stretches its neck to pick up a seed. 

"It is not possible, " said the husband, heaving a sigh, "and I amgoing to prove it to you by A plus B. "

"Let us drop that, sir, I beg you, " she answered, pointing with a winkto me. 

If it had been a problem in algebra, my master would have understoodthis look, but it was Chinese to him, and so he went on. 

"Look here, child, I constitute you judge in the matter; our income isten thousand francs. "

At these words I retired to the door, as if I were seized with a wilddesire to examine the framed drawings which had attracted myattention. My discretion was rewarded by an eloquent glance. Alas! shedid not know that in Fortunio I could have played the part ofSharp-Ears, who heard the truffles growing. 

"In accordance with the principles of general economy, " said mymaster, "no one ought to spend in rent and servant's wages more thantwo-tenths of his income; now our apartment and our attendance costaltogether a hundred louis. I give you twelve hundred francs to dresswith" [in saying this he emphasized every syllable]. "Your food, " hewent on, takes up four thousand francs, our children demand at lesttwenty-five louis; I take for myself only eight hundred francs;washing, fuel and light mount up to about a thousand francs; so thatthere does not remain, as you see, more than six hundred francs forunforeseen expenses. In order to buy the cross of diamonds, we mustdraw a thousand crowns from our capital, and if once we take thatcourse, my little darling, there is no reason why we should not leaveParis which you love so much, and at once take up our residence in thecountry, in order to retrench. Children and household expenses willincrease fast enough! Come, try to be reasonable!"

"I suppose I must, " she said, "but you will be the only husband inParis who has not given a New Year's gift to his wife. "

And she stole away like a school-boy who goes to finish an imposedduty. My master made a gesture of relief. When he saw the door closehe rubbed his hands, he talked of the war in Spain; and I went my wayto the Rue de Provence, little knowing that I had received the firstinstallment of a great lesson in marriage, any more than I dreamt ofthe conquest of Constantinople by General Diebitsch. I arrived at myhost's house at the very moment they were sitting down to luncheon, after having waited for me the half hour demanded by usage. It was, Ibelieve, as she opened a _pate de foie gras_ that my pretty hostesssaid to her husband, with a determined air:

"Alexander, if you were really nice you would give me that pair ofear-rings that we saw at Fossin's. "

"You shall have them, " cheerfully replied my friend, drawing from hispocketbook three notes of a thousand francs, the sight of which madehis wife's eyes sparkle. "I can no more resist the pleasure ofoffering them to you, " he added, "than you can that of accepting them. This is the anniversary of the day I first saw you, and the diamondswill perhaps make you remember it!----"

"You bad man!" said she, with a winning smile. 

She poked two fingers into her bodice, and pulling out a bouquet ofviolets she threw them with childlike contempt into the face of myfriend. Alexander gave her the price of the jewels, crying out:

"I had seen the flowers!"

I shall never forget the lively gesture and the eager joy with which, like a cat which lays its spotted paw upon a mouse, the little womanseized the three bank notes; she rolled them up blushing withpleasure, and put them in the place of the violets which before hadperfumed her bosom. I could not help thinking about my oldmathematical master. I did not then see any difference between him andhis pupil, than that which exists between a frugal man and a prodigal, little thinking that he of the two who seemed to calculate the better, actually calculated the worse. The luncheon went off merrily. Verysoon, seated in a little drawing-room newly decorated, before acheerful fire which gave warmth and made our hearts expand as inspringtime, I felt compelled to make this loving couple a guest'scompliments on the furnishing of their little bower. 

"It is a pity that all this costs so dear, " said my friend, "but it isright that the nest be worthy of the bird; but why the devil do youcompliment me upon curtains which are not paid for?--You make meremember, just at the time I am digesting lunch, that I still owe twothousand francs to a Turk of an upholsterer. "

At these words the mistress of the house made a mental inventory ofthe pretty room with her eyes, and the radiancy of her face changed tothoughtfulness. Alexander took me by the hand and led me to the recessof a bay window. 

"Do you happen, " he said in a low voice, "to have a thousand crowns tolend me? I have only twelve thousand francs income, and this year--"

"Alexander, " cried the dear creature, interrupting her husband, while, rushing up, she offered him the three banknotes, "I see now that it isa piece of folly--"

"What do you mean?" answered he, "keep your money. "

"But, my love, I am ruining you! I ought to know that you love me somuch, that I ought not to tell you all that I wish for. "

"Keep it, my darling, it is your lawful property--nonsense, I shallgamble this winter and get all that back again!"

"Gamble!" cried she, with an expression of horror. "Alexander, takeback these notes! Come, sir, I wish you to do so. "

"No, no, " replied my friend, repulsing the white and delicious littlehand. "Are you not going on Thursday to a ball of Madame de B-----?"

"I will think about what you asked of me, " said I to my comrade. 

I went away bowing to his wife, but I saw plainly after that scenethat my anacreontic salutation did not produce much effect upon her. 

"He must be mad, " thought I as I went away, "to talk of a thousandcrowns to a law student. "

Five days later I found myself at the house of Madame de B-----, whoseballs were becoming fashionable. In the midst of the quadrilles I sawthe wife of my friend and that of the mathematician. Madame Alexanderwore a charming dress; some flowers and white muslin were all thatcomposed it. She wore a little cross _a la Jeannette_, hanging by ablack velvet ribbon which set off the whiteness of her scented skin;long pears of gold decorated her ears. On the neck of Madame theProfessoress sparkled a superb cross of diamonds. 

"How funny that is, " said I to a personage who had not yet studied theworld's ledger, nor deciphered the heart of a single woman. 

That personage was myself. If I had then the desire to dance withthose fair women, it was simply because I knew a secret whichemboldened my timidity. 

"So after all, madame, you have your cross?" I said to her first. 

"Well, I fairly won it!" she replied, with a smile hard to describe. 

"How is this! no ear-rings?" I remarked to the wife of my friend. 

"Ah!" she replied, "I have enjoyed possession of them during a wholeluncheon time, but you see that I have ended by converting Alexander. "

"He allowed himself to be easily convinced?"

She answered with a look of triumph. 

Eight years afterwards, this scene suddenly rose to my memory, thoughI had long since forgotten it, and in the light of the candles Idistinctly discerned the moral of it. Yes, a woman has a horror ofbeing convinced of anything; when you try to persuade her sheimmediately submits to being led astray and continues to play the rolewhich nature gave her. In her view, to allow herself to be won over isto grant a favor, but exact arguments irritate and confound her; inorder to guide her you must employ the power which she herself sofrequently employs and which lies in an appeal to sensibility. It istherefore in his wife, and not in himself, that a husband can find theinstruments of his despotism; as diamond cuts diamond so must thewoman be made to tyrannize over herself. To know how to offer theear-rings in such a way that they will be returned, is a secret whoseapplication embraces the slightest details of life. And now let uspass to the second observation. 

"He who can manage property of one toman, can manage one of an hundredthousand, " says an Indian proverb; and I, for my part, will enlargeupon this Asiatic adage and declare, that he who can govern one womancan govern a nation, and indeed there is very much similarity betweenthese two governments. Must not the policy of husbands be very nearlythe same as the policy of kings? Do not we see kings trying to amusethe people in order to deprive them of their liberty; throwing food attheir heads for one day, in order to make them forget the misery of awhole year; preaching to them not to steal and at the same timestripping them of everything; and saying to them: "It seems to me thatif I were the people I should be virtuous"? It is from England that weobtain the precedent which husbands should adopt in their houses. Those who have eyes ought to see that when the government is runningsmoothly the Whigs are rarely in power. A long Tory ministry hasalways succeeded an ephemeral Liberal cabinet. The orators of anational party resemble the rats which wear their teeth away ingnawing the rotten panel; they close up the hole as soon as they smellthe nuts and the lard locked up in the royal cupboard. The woman isthe Whig of our government. Occupying the situation in which we haveleft her she might naturally aspire to the conquest of more than oneprivilege. Shut your eyes to the intrigues, allow her to waste herstrength in mounting half the steps of your throne; and when she is onthe point of touching your sceptre, fling her back to the ground, quite gently and with infinite grace, saying to her: "Bravo!" andleaving her to expect success in the hereafter. The craftiness of thismanoeuvre will prove a fine support to you in the employment of anymeans which it may please you to choose from your arsenal, for theobject of subduing your wife. 

Such are the general principles which a husband should put intopractice, if he wishes to escape mistakes in ruling his littlekingdom. Nevertheless, in spite of what was decided by the minority atthe council of Macon (Montesquieu, who had perhaps foreseen the comingof constitutional government has remarked, I forget in what part ofhis writings, that good sense in public assemblies is always found onthe side of the minority), we discern in a woman a soul and a body, and we commence by investigating the means to gain control of hermoral nature. The exercise of thought, whatever people may say, ismore noble than the exercise of bodily organs, and we give precedenceto science over cookery and to intellectual training over hygiene. 

 MEDITATION XI. 

 INSTRUCTION IN THE HOME. 

Whether wives should or should not be put under instruction--such isthe question before us. Of all those which we have discussed this isthe only one which has two extremes and admits of no compromise. Knowledge and ignorance, such are the two irreconcilable terms of thisproblem. Between these two abysses we seem to see Louis XVIIIreckoning up the felicities of the eighteenth century, and theunhappiness of the nineteenth. Seated in the centre of the seesaw, which he knew so well how to balance by his own weight, hecontemplates at one end of it the fanatic ignorance of a lay brother, the apathy of a serf, the shining armor on the horses of a banneret;he thinks he hears the cry, "France and Montjoie-Saint-Denis!" But heturns round, he smiles as he sees the haughty look of a manufacturer, who is captain in the national guard; the elegant carriage of a stockbroker; the simple costume of a peer of France turned journalist andsending his son to the Polytechnique; then he notices the costlystuffs, the newspapers, the steam engines; and he drinks his coffeefrom a cup of Sevres, at the bottom of which still glitters the "N"surmounted by a crown. 

"Away with civilization! Away with thought!"--That is your cry. Youought to hold in horror the education of women for the reason so wellrealized in Spain, that it is easier to govern a nation of idiots thana nation of scholars. A nation degraded is happy: if she has not thesentiment of liberty, neither has she the storms and disturbanceswhich it begets; she lives as polyps live; she can be cut up into twoor three pieces and each piece is still a nation, complete and living, and ready to be governed by the first blind man who arms himself withthe pastoral staff. 

What is it that produces this wonderful characteristic of humanity?Ignorance; ignorance is the sole support of despotism, which lives ondarkness and silence. Now happiness in the domestic establishment asin a political state is a negative happiness. The affection of apeople for a king, in an absolute monarchy, is perhaps less contraryto nature than the fidelity of a wife towards her husband, when lovebetween them no longer exists. Now we know that, in your house, loveat this moment has one foot on the window-sill. It is necessary foryou, therefore, to put into practice that salutary rigor by which M. De Metternich prolongs his _statu quo_; but we would advise you to doso with more tact and with still more tenderness; for your wife ismore crafty than all the Germans put together, and as voluptuous asthe Italians. 

You should, therefore, try to put off as long as possible the fatalmoment when your wife asks you for a book. This will be easy. You willfirst of all pronounce in a tone of disdain the phrase "Bluestocking;" and, on her request being repeated, you will tell her whatridicule attaches, among the neighbors, to pedantic women. 

You will then repeat to her, very frequently, that the most lovableand the wittiest women in the world are found at Paris, where womennever read;

That women are like people of quality who, according to Mascarillo, know everything without having learned anything; that a woman whileshe is dancing, or while she is playing cards, without even having theappearance of listening, ought to know how to pick up from theconversation of talented men the ready-made phrases out of which foolsmanufacture their wit at Paris;

That in this country decisive judgments on men and affairs are passedround from hand to hand; and that the little cutting phrase with whicha woman criticises an author, demolishes a work, or heaps contempt ona picture, has more power in the world than a court decision;

That women are beautiful mirrors, which naturally reflect the mostbrilliant ideas;

That natural wit is everything, and the best education is gainedrather from what we learn in the world than by what we read in books;

That, above all, reading ends in making the eyes dull, etc. 

To think of leaving a woman at liberty to read the books which hercharacter of mind may prompt her to choose! This is to drop a spark ina powder magazine; it is worse than that, it is to teach your wife toseparate herself from you; to live in an imaginary world, in aParadise. For what do women read? Works of passion, the _Confessions_of Rousseau, romances, and all those compositions which work mostpowerfully on their sensibility. They like neither argument nor theripe fruits of knowledge. Now have you ever considered the resultswhich follow these poetical readings?

Romances, and indeed all works of imagination, paint sentiments andevents with colors of a very different brilliancy from those presentedby nature. The fascination of such works springs less from the desirewhich each author feels to show his skill in putting forth choice anddelicate ideas than from the mysterious working of the humanintellect. It is characteristic of man to purify and refine everythingthat he lays up in the treasury of his thoughts. What human faces, what monuments of the dead are not made more beautiful than actualnature in the artistic representation? The soul of the reader assistsin this conspiracy against the truth, either by means of the profoundsilence which it enjoys in reading or by the fire of mental conceptionwith which it is agitated or by the clearness with which imagery isreflected in the mirror of the understanding. Who has not seen onreading the _Confessions_ of Jean-Jacques, that Madame de Warens isdescribed as much prettier than she ever was in actual life? It mightalmost be said that our souls dwell with delight upon the figureswhich they had met in a former existence, under fairer skies; thatthey accept the creations of another soul only as wings on which theymay soar into space; features the most delicate they bring toperfection by making them their own; and the most poetic expressionwhich appears in the imagery of an author brings forth still moreethereal imagery in the mind of a reader. To read is to join with thewriter in a creative act. The mystery of the transubstantiation ofideas, originates perhaps in the instinctive consciousness that wehave of a vocation loftier than our present destiny. Or, is it basedon the lost tradition of a former life? What must that life have been, if this slight residuum of memory offers us such volumes of delight?

Moreover, in reading plays and romances, woman, a creature much moresusceptible than we are to excitement, experiences the most violenttransport. She creates for herself an ideal existence beside which allreality grows pale; she at once attempts to realize this voluptuouslife, to take to herself the magic which she sees in it. And, withoutknowing it, she passes from spirit to letter and from soul to sense. 

And would you be simple enough to believe that the manners, thesentiments of a man like you, who usually dress and undress beforeyour wife, can counterbalance the influence of these books andoutshine the glory of their fictitious lovers, in whose garments thefair reader sees neither hole nor stain?--Poor fool! too late, alas!for her happiness and for yours, your wife will find out that the_heroes_ of poetry are as rare in real life as the _Apollos_ ofsculpture!

Very many husbands will find themselves embarrassed in trying toprevent their wives from reading, yet there are certain people whoallege that reading has this advantage, that men know what their wivesare about when they have a book in hand. In the first place you willsee, in the next Meditation, what a tendency the sedentary life has tomake a woman quarrelsome; but have you never met those beings withoutpoetry, who succeed in petrifying their unhappy companions by reducinglife to its most mechanical elements? Study great men in theirconversation and learn by heart the admirable arguments by which theycondemn poetry and the pleasures of imagination. 

But if, after all your efforts, your wife persists in wishing to read, put at her disposal at once all possible books from the A B C of herlittle boy to _Rene_, a book more dangerous to you when in her handsthan _Therese Philosophe_. You might create in her an utter disgustfor reading by giving her tedious books; and plunge her into utteridiocy with _Marie Alacoque_, _The Brosse de Penitence_, or with thechansons which were so fashionable in the time of Louis XV; but lateron you will find, in the present volume, the means of so thoroughlyemploying your wife's time, that any kind of reading will be quite outof the question. 

And first of all, consider the immense resources which the educationof women has prepared for you in your efforts to turn your wife fromher fleeting taste for science. Just see with what admirable stupiditygirls lend themselves to reap the benefit of the education which isimposed upon them in France; we give them in charge to nursery maids, to companions, to governesses who teach them twenty tricks of coquetryand false modesty, for every single noble and true idea which theyimpart to them. Girls are brought up as slaves, and are accustomed tothe idea that they are sent into the world to imitate theirgrandmothers, to breed canary birds, to make herbals, to water littleBengal rose-bushes, to fill in worsted work, or to put on collars. Moreover, if a little girl in her tenth year has more refinement thana boy of twenty, she is timid and awkward. She is frightened at aspider, chatters nonsense, thinks of dress, talks about the fashionsand has not the courage to be either a watchful mother or a chastewife. 

Notice what progress she had made; she has been shown how to paintroses, and to embroider ties in such a way as to earn eight sous aday. She has learned the history of France in _Ragois_ and chronologyin the _Tables du Citoyen Chantreau_, and her young imagination hasbeen set free in the realm of geography; all without any aim, excepting that of keeping away all that might be dangerous to herheart; but at the same time her mother and her teachers repeat withunwearied voice the lesson, that the whole science of a woman lies inknowing how to arrange the fig leaf which our Mother Eve wore. "Shedoes not hear for fifteen years, " says Diderot, "anything else but 'mydaughter, your fig leaf is on badly; my daughter, your fig leaf is onwell; my daughter, would it not look better so?'"

Keep your wife then within this fine and noble circle of knowledge. Ifby chance your wife wishes to have a library, buy for her Florian, Malte-Brun, _The Cabinet des Fees_, _The Arabian Nights_, Redoute's_Roses_, _The Customs of China_, _The Pigeons_, by Madame Knip, thegreat work on Egypt, etc. Carry out, in short, the clever suggestionof that princess who, when she was told of a riot occasioned by thedearness of bread, said, "Why don't they eat cake?"

Perhaps, one evening, your wife will reproach you for being sullen andnot speaking to her; perhaps she will say that you are ridiculous, when you have just made a pun; but this is one of the slightannoyances incident to our system; and, moreover, what does it matterto you that the education of women in France is the most pleasant ofabsurdities, and that your marital obscurantism has brought a doll toyour arms? As you have not sufficient courage to undertake a fairertask, would it not be better to lead your wife along the beaten trackof married life in safety, than to run the risk of making her scalethe steep precipices of love? She is likely to be a mother: you mustnot exactly expect to have Gracchi for sons, but to be really _paterquem nuptiae demonstrant_; now, in order to aid you in reaching thisconsummation, we must make this book an arsenal from which each one, in accordance with his wife's character and his own, may chooseweapons fit to employ against the terrible genius of evil, which isalways ready to rise up in the soul of a wife; and since it may fairlybe considered that the ignorant are the most cruel opponents offeminine education, this Meditation will serve as a breviary for themajority of husbands. 

If a woman has received a man's education, she possesses in very truththe most brilliant and most fertile sources of happiness both toherself and to her husband; but this kind of woman is as rare ashappiness itself; and if you do not possess her for your wife, yourbest course is to confine the one you do possess, for the sake of yourcommon felicity, to the region of ideas she was born in, for you mustnot forget that one moment of pride in her might destroy you, bysetting on the throne a slave who would immediately be tempted toabuse her power. 

After all, by following the system prescribed in this Meditation, aman of superiority will be relieved from the necessity of putting histhoughts into small change, when he wishes to be understood by hiswife, if indeed this man of superiority has been guilty of the follyof marrying one of those poor creatures who cannot understand him, instead of choosing for his wife a young girl whose mind and heart hehas tested and studied for a considerable time. 

Our aim in this last matrimonial observation has not been to adviseall men of superiority to seek for women of superiority and we do notwish each one to expound our principles after the manner of Madame deStael, who attempted in the most indelicate manner to effect a unionbetween herself and Napoleon. These two beings would have been veryunhappy in their domestic life; and Josephine was a wife accomplishedin a very different sense from this virago of the nineteenth century. 

And, indeed, when we praise those undiscoverable girls so happilyeducated by chance, so well endowed by nature, whose delicate soulsendure so well the rude contact of the great soul of him we call _aman_, we mean to speak of those rare and noble creatures of whomGoethe has given us a model in his Claire of _Egmont_; we are thinkingof those women who seek no other glory than that of playing their partwell; who adapt themselves with amazing pliancy to the will andpleasure of those whom nature has given them for masters; soaring atone time into the boundless sphere of their thought and in turnstooping to the simple task of amusing them as if they were children;understanding well the inconsistencies of masculine and violent souls, understanding also their slightest word, their most puzzling looks;happy in silence, happy also in the midst of loquacity; and well awarethat the pleasures, the ideas and the moral instincts of a Lord Byroncannot be those of a bonnet-maker. But we must stop; this fair picturehas led us too far from our subject; we are treating of marriage andnot of love. 

 MEDITATION XII. 

 THE HYGIENE OF MARRIAGE. 

The aim of this Meditation is to call to your attention a new methodof defence, by which you may reduce the will of your new wife to acondition of utter and abject submission. This is brought about by thereaction upon her moral nature of physical changes, and the wiselowering of her physical condition by a diet skillfully controlled. 

This great and philosophical question of conjugal medicine willdoubtless be regarded favorably by all who are gouty, are impotent, orsuffer from catarrh; and by that legion of old men whose dullness wehave quickened by our article on the predestined. But it principallyconcerns those husbands who have courage enough to enter into thosepaths of machiavelism, such as would not have been unworthy of thatgreat king of France who endeavored to secure the happiness of thenation at the expense of certain noble heads. Here, the subject is thesame. The amputation or the weakening of certain members is always tothe advantage of the whole body. 

Do you think seriously that a celibate who has been subject to a dietconsisting of the herb hanea, of cucumbers, of purslane and theapplications of leeches to his ears, as recommended by Sterne, wouldbe able to carry by storm the honor of your wife? Suppose that adiplomat had been clever enough to affix a permanent linen plaster tothe head of Napoleon, or to purge him every morning: Do you think thatNapoleon, Napoleon the Great, would ever have conquered Italy? WasNapoleon, during his campaign in Russia, a prey to the most horriblepangs of dysuria, or was he not? That is one of the questions whichhas weighed upon the minds of the whole world. Is it not certain thatcooling applications, douches, baths, etc. , produce great changes inmore or less acute affections of the brain? In the middle of the heatof July when each one of your pores slowly filters out and returns tothe devouring atmosphere the glasses of iced lemonade which you havedrunk at a single draught, have you ever felt the flame of courage, the vigor of thought, the complete energy which rendered existencelight and sweet to you some months before?

No, no; the iron most closely cemented into the hardest stone willraise and throw apart the most durable monument, by reason of thesecret influence exercised by the slow and invisible variations ofheat and cold, which vex the atmosphere. In the first place, let us besure that if atmospheric mediums have an influence over man, there isstill a stronger reason for believing that man, in turn, influencesthe imagination of his kind, by the more or less vigor with which heprojects his will and thus produces a veritable atmosphere around him. 

It is in this fact that the power of the actor's talent lies, as wellas that of poetry and of fanaticism; for the former is the eloquenceof words, as the latter is the eloquence of actions; and in this liesthe foundation of a science, so far in its infancy. 

This will, so potent in one man against another, this nervous andfluid force, eminently mobile and transmittable, is itself subject tothe changing condition of our organization, and there are manycircumstances which make this frail organism of ours to vary. At thispoint, our metaphysical observation shall stop and we will enter intoan analysis of the circumstances which develop the will of man andimpart to it a grater degree of strength or weakness. 

Do not believe, however, that it is our aim to induce you to putcataplasms on the honor of your wife, to lock her up in a sweatinghouse, or to seal her up like a letter; no. We will not even attemptto teach you the magnetic theory which would give you the power tomake your will triumph in the soul of your wife; there is not a singlehusband who would accept the happiness of an eternal love at the priceof this perpetual strain laid upon his animal forces. But we shallattempt to expound a powerful system of hygiene, which will enable youto put out the flame when your chimney takes fire. The elegant womenof Paris and the provinces (and these elegant women form a verydistinguished class among the honest women) have plenty of means ofattaining the object which we propose, without rummaging in thearsenal of medicine for the four cold specifics, the water-lily andthe thousand inventions worthy only of witches. We will leave toAelian his herb hanea and to Sterne the purslane and cucumber whichindicate too plainly his antiphlogistic purpose. 

You should let your wife recline all day long on soft armchairs, inwhich she sinks into a veritable bath of eiderdown or feathers; youshould encourage in every way that does no violence to yourconscience, the inclination which women have to breathe no other airbut the scented atmosphere of a chamber seldom opened, where daylightcan scarcely enter through the soft, transparent curtains. 

You will obtain marvelous results from this system, after havingpreviously experienced the shock of her excitement; but if you arestrong enough to support this momentary transport of your wife youwill soon see her artificial energy die away. In general, women loveto live fast, but, after their tempest of passion, return to thatcondition of tranquillity which insures the happiness of a husband. 

Jean-Jacques, through the instrumentality of his enchanting Julie, must have proved to your wife that it was infinitely becoming torefrain from affronting her delicate stomach and her refined palate bymaking chyle out of coarse lumps of beef, and enormous collops ofmutton. Is there anything purer in the world than those interestingvegetables, always fresh and scentless, those tinted fruits, thatcoffee, that fragrant chocolate, those oranges, the golden apples ofAtalanta, the dates of Arabia and the biscuits of Brussels, awholesome and elegant food which produces satisfactory results, at thesame time that it imparts to a woman an air of mysterious originality?By the regimen which she chooses she becomes quite celebrated in herimmediate circle, just as she would be by a singular toilet, abenevolent action or a _bon mot_. Pythagoras must needs have cast hisspell over her, and become as much petted by her as a poodle or anape. 

Never commit the imprudence of certain men who, for the sake ofputting on the appearance of wit, controvert the feminine dictum, _that the figure is preserved by meagre diet_. Women on such a dietnever grow fat, that is clear and positive; do you stick to that. 

Praise the skill with which some women, renowned for their beauty, have been able to preserve it by bathing themselves in milk, severaltimes a day, or in water compounded of substances likely to render theskin softer and to lower the nervous tension. 

Advise her above all things to refrain from washing herself in coldwater; because water warm or tepid is the proper thing for all kindsof ablutions. 

Let Broussais be your idol. At the least indisposition of your wife, and on the slightest pretext, order the application of leeches; do noteven shrink from applying from time to time a few dozen on yourself, in order to establish the system of that celebrated doctor in yourhousehold. You will constantly be called upon from your position ashusband to discover that your wife is too ruddy; try even sometimes tobring the blood to her head, in order to have the right to introduceinto the house at certain intervals a squad of leeches. 

Your wife ought to drink water, lightly tinged with a Burgundy wineagreeable to her taste, but destitute of any tonic properties; everyother kind of wine would be bad for her. Never allow her to drinkwater alone; if you do, you are lost. 

"Impetuous fluid! As soon as you press against the floodgates of thebrain, how quickly do they yield to your power! Then Curiosity comesswimming by, making signs to her companions to follow; they plungeinto the current. Imagination sits dreaming on the bank. She followsthe torrent with her eyes and transforms the fragments of straw andreed into masts and bowsprit. And scarcely has the transformationtaken place, before Desire, holding in one hand her skirt drawn upeven to her knees, appears, sees the vessel and takes possession ofit. O ye drinkers of water, it is by means of that magic spring thatyou have so often turned and turned again the world at your will, throwing beneath your feet the weak, trampling on his neck, andsometimes changing even the form and aspect of nature!"

If by this system of inaction, in combination with our system of diet, you fail to obtain satisfactory results, throw yourself with might andmain into another system, which we will explain to you. 

Man has a certain degree of energy given to him. Such and such a manor woman stands to another as ten is to thirty, as one to five; andthere is a certain degree of energy which no one of us ever exceeds. The quantity of energy, or willpower, which each of us possessesdiffuses itself like sound; it is sometimes weak, sometimes strong; itmodifies itself according to the octaves to which it mounts. Thisforce is unique, and although it may be dissipated in desire, inpassion, in toils of intellect or in bodily exertion, it turns towardsthe object to which man directs it. A boxer expends it in blows of thefist, the baker in kneading his bread, the poet in the enthusiasmwhich consumes and demands an enormous quantity of it; it passes tothe feet of the dancer; in fact, every one diffuses it at will, andmay I see the Minotaur tranquilly seated this very evening upon mybed, if you do not know as well as I do how he expends it. Almost allmen spend in necessary toils, or in the anguish of direful passions, this fine sum of energy and of will, with which nature has endowedthem; but our honest women are all the prey to the caprices and thestruggles of this power which knows not what to do with itself. If, inthe case of your wife, this energy has not been subdued by theprescribed dietary regimen, subject her to some form of activity whichwill constantly increase in violence. Find some means by which her sumof force which inconveniences you may be carried off, by someoccupation which shall entirely absorb her strength. Without settingyour wife to work the crank of a machine, there are a thousand ways oftiring her out under the load of constant work. 

In leaving it to you to find means for carrying out our design--andthese means vary with circumstances--we would point out that dancingis one of the very best abysses in which love may bury itself. Thispoint having been very well treated by a contemporary, we will givehim here an opportunity of speaking his mind:

 "The poor victim who is the admiration of an enchanted audience pays dear for her success. What result can possibly follow on exertions so ill-proportioned to the resources of the delicate sex? The muscles of the body, disproportionately wearied, are forced to their full power of exertion. The nervous forces, intended to feed the fire of passions, and the labor of the brain, are diverted from their course. The failure of desire, the wish for rest, the exclusive craving for substantial food, all point to a nature impoverished, more anxious to recruit than to enjoy. Moreover, a denizen of the side scenes said to me one day, 'Whoever has lived with dancers has lived with sheep; for in their exhaustion they can think of nothing but strong food. ' Believe me, then, the love which a ballet girl inspires is very delusive; in her we find, under an appearance of an artificial springtime, a soil which is cold as well as greedy, and senses which are utterly dulled. The Calabrian doctors prescribed the dance as a remedy for the hysteric affections which are common among the women of their country; and the Arabs use a somewhat similar recipe for the highbred mares, whose too lively temperament hinders their fecundity. 'Dull as a dancer' is a familiar proverb at the theatre. In fact, the best brains of Europe are convinced that dancing brings with it a result eminently cooling. 

 "In support of this it may be necessary to add other observations. The life of shepherds gives birth to irregular loves. The morals of weavers were horribly decried in Greece. The Italians have given birth to a proverb concerning the lubricity of lame women. The Spanish, in whose veins are found many mixtures of African incontinence, have expressed their sentiments in a maxim which is familiar with them: _Muger y gallina pierna quebrantada_ [it is good that a woman and a hen have one broken leg]. The profound sagacity of the Orientals in the art of pleasure is altogether expressed by this ordinance of the caliph Hakim, founder of the Druses, who forbade, under pain of death, the making in his kingdom of any shoes for women. It seems that over the whole globe the tempests of the heart wait only to break out after the limbs are at rest!"

What an admirable manoeuvre it would be to make a wife dance, and tofeed her on vegetables!

Do not believe that these observations, which are as true as they arewittily stated, contradict in any way the system which we havepreviously prescribed; by the latter, as by the former, we succeed inproducing in a woman that needed listlessness, which is the pledge ofrepose and tranquility. By the latter you leave a door open, that theenemy may flee; by the former, you slay him. 

Now at this point it seems to us that we hear timorous people andthose of narrow views rising up against our idea of hygiene in thename of morality and sentiment. 

"Is not woman endowed with a soul? Has she not feelings as we have?What right has any one, without regard to her pain, her ideas, or herrequirements, to hammer her out, as a cheap metal, out of which aworkman fashions a candlestick or an extinguisher? Is it because thepoor creatures are already so feeble and miserable that a brute claimsthe power to torture them, merely at the dictate of his own fancies, which may be more or less just? And, if by this weakening or heatingsystem of yours, which draws out, softens, hardens the fibres, youcause frightful and cruel sickness, if you bring to the tomb a womanwho is dear to you; if, if, --"

This is our answer:

Have you never noticed into how many different shapes harlequin andcolumbine change their little white hats? They turn and twist them sowell that they become, one after another, a spinning-top, a boat, awine-glass, a half-moon, a cap, a basket, a fish, a whip, a dagger, ababy, and a man's head. 

This is an exact image of the despotism with which you ought to shapeand reshape your wife. 

The wife is a piece of property, acquired by contract; she is part ofyour furniture, for possession is nine-tenths of the law; in fact, thewoman is not, to speak correctly, anything but an adjunct to the man;therefore abridge, cut, file this article as you choose; she is inevery sense yours. Take no notice at all of her murmurs, of her cries, of her sufferings; nature has ordained her for your use, that she maybear everything--children, griefs, blows and pains from man. 

Don't accuse yourself of harshness. In the codes of all the nationswhich are called civilized, man has written the laws which govern thedestiny of women in these cruel terms: _Vae victis!_ Woe to theconquered!

Finally, think upon this last observation, the most weighty, perhaps, of all that we have made up to this time: if you, her husband, do notbreak under the scourge of your will this weak and charming reed, there will be a celibate, capricious and despotic, ready to bring herunder a yoke more cruel still; and she will have to endure twotyrannies instead of one. Under all considerations, therefore, humanity demands that you should follow the system of our hygiene. 

 MEDITATION XIII. 

 OF PERSONAL MEASURES. 

Perhaps the preceding Meditations will prove more likely to developgeneral principles of conduct, than to repel force by force. Theyfurnish, however, the pharmacopoeia of medicine and not the practiceof medicine. Now consider the personal means which nature has put intoyour hands for self-defence; for Providence has forgotten no one; ifto the sepia (that fish of the Adriatic) has been given the black dyeby which he produces a cloud in which he disappears from his enemy, you should believe that a husband has not been left without a weapon;and now the time has come for you to draw yours. 

You ought to have stipulated before you married that your wife shouldnurse her own children; in this case, as long as she is occupied inbearing children or in nursing them you will avoid the danger from oneor two quarters. The wife who is engaged in bringing into the worldand nursing a baby has not really the time to bother with a lover, notto speak of the fact that before and after her confinement she cannotshow herself in the world. In short, how can the most bold of thedistinguished women who are the subject of this work show herselfunder these circumstances in public? O Lord Byron, thou didst not wishto see women even eat!

Six months after her confinement, and when the child is on the eve ofbeing weaned, a woman just begins to feel that she can enjoy herrestoration and her liberty. 

If your wife has not nursed her first child, you have too much sensenot to notice this circumstance, and not to make her desire to nurseher next one. You will read to her the _Emile_ of Jean-Jacques; youwill fill her imagination with a sense of motherly duties; you willexcite her moral feelings, etc. : in a word, you are either a fool or aman of sense; and in the first case, even after reading this book, youwill always be minotaurized; while in the second, you will understandhow to take a hint. 

This first expedient is in reality your own personal business. It willgive you a great advantage in carrying out all the other methods. 

Since Alcibiades cut the ears and the tail of his dog, in order to doa service to Pericles, who had on his hands a sort of Spanish war, aswell as an Ouvrard contract affair, such as was then attracting thenotice of the Athenians, there is not a single minister who has notendeavored to cut the ears of some dog or other. 

So in medicine, when inflammation takes place at some vital point ofthe system, counter-irritation is brought about at some other point, by means of blisters, scarifications and cupping. 

Another method consists in blistering your wife, or giving her, with amental needle, a prod whose violence is such as to make a diversion inyour favor. 

A man of considerable mental resources had made his honeymoon last forabout four years; the moon began to wane, and he saw appearing thefatal hollow in its circle. His wife was exactly in that state of mindwhich we attributed at the close of our first part to every honestwoman; she had taken a fancy to a worthless fellow who was bothinsignificant in appearance and ugly; the only thing in his favor was, he was not her own husband. At this juncture, her husband meditatedthe cutting of some dog's tail, in order to renew, if possible, hislease of happiness. His wife had conducted herself with such tact, that it would have been very embarrassing to forbid her lover thehouse, for she had discovered some slight tie of relationship betweenthem. The danger became, day by day, more imminent. The scent of theMinotaur was all around. One evening the husband felt himself plungedinto a mood of deep vexation so acute as to be apparent to his wife. His wife had begun to show him more kindness than she had everexhibited, even during the honeymoon; and hence question afterquestion racked his mind. On her part a dead silence reigned. Theanxious questionings of his mind were redoubled; his suspicions burstforth, and he was seized with forebodings of future calamity! Now, onthis occasion, he deftly applied a Japanese blister, which burned asfiercely as an _auto-da-fe_ of the year 1600. At first his wifeemployed a thousand stratagems to discover whether the annoyance ofher husband was caused by the presence of her lover; it was her firstintrigue and she displayed a thousand artifices in it. Her imaginationwas aroused; it was no longer taken up with her lover; had she notbetter, first of all, probe her husband's secret?

One evening the husband, moved by the desire to confide in his lovinghelpmeet all his troubles, informed her that their whole fortune waslost. They would have to give up their carriage, their box at thetheatre, balls, parties, even Paris itself; perhaps, by living ontheir estate in the country a year or two, they might retrieve all!Appealing to the imagination of his wife, he told her how he pitiedher for her attachment to a man who was indeed deeply in love withher, but was now without fortune; he tore his hair, and his wife wascompelled in honor to be deeply moved; then in this first excitementof their conjugal disturbance he took her off to his estate. Thenfollowed scarifications, mustard plaster upon mustard plaster, and thetails of fresh dogs were cut: he caused a Gothic wing to be built tothe chateau; madame altered the park ten time over in order to havefountains and lakes and variations in the grounds; finally, thehusband in the midst of her labors did not forget his own, whichconsisted in providing her with interesting reading, and launchingupon her delicate attentions, etc. Notice, he never informed his wifeof the trick he had played on her; and if his fortune was recuperated, it was directly after the building of the wing, and the expenditure ofenormous sums in making water-courses; but he assured her that thelake provided a water-power by which mills might be run, etc. 

Now, there was a conjugal blister well conceived, for this husbandneither neglected to rear his family nor to invite to his houseneighbors who were tiresome, stupid or old; and if he spent the winterin Paris, he flung his wife into the vortex of balls and races, sothat she had not a minute to give to lovers, who are usually the fruitof a vacant life. 

Journeys to Italy, Switzerland or Greece, sudden complaints whichrequire a visit to the waters, and the most distant waters, are prettygood blisters. In fact, a man of sense should know how to manufacturea thousand of them. 

Let us continue our examination of such personal methods. 

And here we would have you observe that we are reasoning upon ahypothesis, without which this book will be unintelligible to you;namely, we suppose that your honeymoon has lasted for a respectabletime and that the lady that you married was not a widow, but a maid;on the opposite supposition, it is at least in accordance with Frenchmanners to think that your wife married you merely for the purpose ofbecoming inconsistent. 

From the moment when the struggle between virtue and inconsistencybegins in your home, the whole question rests upon the constant andinvoluntary comparison which your wife is instituting between you andher lover. 

And here you may find still another mode of defence, entirelypersonal, seldom employed by husbands, but the men of superiority willnot fear to attempt it. It is to belittle the lover without lettingyour wife suspect your intention. You ought to be able to bring itabout so that she will say to herself some evening while she isputting her hair in curl-papers, "My husband is superior to him. "

In order to succeed, and you ought to be able to succeed, since youhave the immense advantage over the lover in knowing the character ofyour wife, and how she is most easily wounded, you should, with allthe tact of a diplomat, lead this lover to do silly things and causehim to annoy her, without his being aware of it. 

In the first place, this lover, as usual, will seek your friendship, or you will have friends in common; then, either through theinstrumentality of these friends or by insinuations adroitly buttreacherously made, you will lead him astray on essential points; and, with a little cleverness, you will succeed in finding your wife readyto deny herself to her lover when he calls, without either she or hebeing able to tell the reason. Thus you will have created in the bosomof your home a comedy in five acts, in which you play, to your profit, the brilliant role of Figaro or Almaviva; and for some months you willamuse yourself so much the more, because your _amour-propre_, yourvanity, your all, were at stake. 

I had the good fortune in my youth to win the confidence of an old_emigre_ who gave me those rudiments of education which are generallyobtained by young people from women. This friend, whose memory willalways be dear to me, taught me by his example to put into practicethose diplomatic stratagems which require tact as well as grace. 

The Comte de Noce had returned from Coblenz at a time when it wasdangerous for the nobility to be found in France. No one had suchcourage and such kindness, such craft and such recklessness as thisaristocrat. Although he was sixty years old he had married a woman oftwenty-five, being compelled to this act of folly by soft-heartedness;for he thus delivered this poor child from the despotism of acapricious mother. "Would you like to be my widow?" this amiable oldgentleman had said to Mademoiselle de Pontivy, but his heart was tooaffectionate not to become more attached to his wife than a sensibleman ought to be. As in his youth he had been under the influence ofseveral among the cleverest women in the court of Louis XV, he thoughthe would have no difficulty in keeping his wife from any entanglement. What man excepting him have I ever seen, who could put into successfulpractice the teachings which I am endeavoring to give to husbands!What charm could he impart to life by his delightful manners andfascinating conversation!--His wife never knew until after his deathwhat she then learned from me, namely, that he had the gout. He hadwisely retired to a home in the hollow of a valley, close to a forest. God only knows what rambles he used to take with his wife!--His goodstar decreed that Mademoiselle de Pontivy should possess an excellentheart and should manifest in a high degree that exquisite refinement, that sensitive modesty which renders beautiful the plainest girl inthe world. All of a sudden, one of his nephews, a good-lookingmilitary man, who had escaped from the disasters of Moscow, returnedto his uncle's house, as much for the sake of learning how far he hadto fear his cousins, as heirs, as in the hope of laying siege to hisaunt. His black hair, his moustache, the easy small-talk of the staffofficer, a certain freedom which was elegant as well as trifling, hisbright eyes, contrasted favorably with the faded graces of his uncle. I arrived at the precise moment when the young countess was teachingher newly found relation to play backgammon. The proverb says that"women never learn this game excepting from their lovers, and viceversa. " Now, during a certain game, M. De Noce had surprised his wifeand the viscount in the act of exchanging one of those looks which arefull of mingled innocence, fear, and desire. In the evening heproposed to us a hunting-party, and we agreed. I never saw him so gayand so eager as he appeared on the following morning, in spite of thetwinges of gout which heralded an approaching attack. The devilhimself could not have been better able to keep up a conversation ontrifling subjects than he was. He had formerly been a musketeer in theGrays and had known Sophie Arnoud. This explains all. The conversationafter a time became so exceedingly free among us three, that I hopeGod may forgive me for it!

"I would never have believed that my uncle was such a dashing blade?"said the nephew. 

We made a halt, and while we were sitting on the edge of a greenforest clearing, the count led us on to discourse about women just asBrantome and Aloysia might have done. 

"You fellows are very happy under the present government!--the womenof the time are well mannered" (in order to appreciate the exclamationof the old gentleman, the reader should have heard the atrociousstories which the captain had been relating). "And this, " he went on, "is one of the advantages resulting from the Revolution. The presentsystem gives very much more charm and mystery to passion. In formertimes women were easy; ah! indeed, you would not believe what skill itrequired, what daring, to wake up those worn-out hearts; we werealways on the _qui vive_. But yet in those days a man becamecelebrated for a broad joke, well put, or for a lucky piece ofinsolence. That is what women love, and it will always be the bestmethod of succeeding with them!"

These last words were uttered in a tone of profound contempt; hestopped, and began to play with the hammer of his gun as if todisguise his deep feeling. 

"But nonsense, " he went on, "my day is over! A man ought to have thebody as well as the imagination young. Why did I marry? What is mosttreacherous in girls educated by mothers who lived in that brilliantera of gallantry, is that they put on an air of frankness, of reserve;they look as if butter would not melt in their mouths, and those whoknow them well feel that they would swallow anything!"

He rose, lifted his gun with a gesture of rage, and dashing it to theground thrust it far up the butt in the moist sod. 

"It would seem as if my dear aunt were fond of a little fun, " said theofficer to me in a low voice. 

"Or of denouements that do not come off!" I added. 

The nephew tightened his cravat, adjusted his collar and gave a jumplike a Calabrian goat. We returned to the chateau at about two in theafternoon. The count kept me with him until dinner-time, under thepretext of looking for some medals, of which he had spoken during ourreturn home. The dinner was dull. The countess treated her nephew withstiff and cold politeness. When we entered the drawing-room the countsaid to his wife:

"Are you going to play backgammon?--We will leave you. "

The young countess made no reply. She gazed at the fire, as if she hadnot heard. Her husband took some steps towards the door, inviting meby the wave of his hand to follow him. At the sound of his footsteps, his wife quickly turned her head. 

"Why do you leave us?" said she, "you will have all tomorrow to showyour friend the reverse of the medals. "

The count remained. Without paying any attention to the awkwardnesswhich had succeeded the former military aplomb of his nephew, thecount exercised during the whole evening his full powers as a charmingconversationalist. I had never before seen him so brilliant or sogracious. We spoke a great deal about women. The witticisms of ourhost were marked by the most exquisite refinement. He made me forgetthat his hair was white, for he showed the brilliancy which belongedto a youthful heart, a gaiety which effaces the wrinkles from thecheek and melts the snow of wintry age. 

The next day the nephew went away. Even after the death of M. De Noce, I tried to profit by the intimacy of those familiar conversations inwhich women are sometimes caught off their guard to sound her, but Icould never learn what impertinence the viscount had exhibited towardshis aunt. His insolence must have been excessive, for since that timeMadame de Noce has refused to see her nephew, and up to the presentmoment never hears him named without a slight movement of hereyebrows. I did not at once guess the end at which the Comte de Noceaimed, in inviting us to go shooting; but I discovered later that hehad played a pretty bold game. 

Nevertheless, if you happen at last, like M. De Noce, to carry off adecisive victory, do not forget to put into practice at once thesystem of blisters; and do not for a moment imagine that such _toursde force_ are to be repeated with safety. If that is the way you useyour talents, you will end by losing caste in your wife's estimation;for she will demand of you, reasonably enough, double what you wouldgive her, and the time will come when you declare bankruptcy. Thehuman soul in its desires follows a sort of arithmetical progression, the end and origin of which are equally unknown. Just as theopium-eater must constantly increase his doses in order to obtain thesame result, so our mind, imperious as it is weak, desires thatfeeling, ideas and objects should go on ever increasing in size and inintensity. Hence the necessity of cleverly distributing the interestin a dramatic work, and of graduating doses in medicine. Thus you see, if you always resort to the employment of means like these, that youmust accommodate such daring measures to many circumstances, andsuccess will always depend upon the motives to which you appeal. 

And finally, have you influence, powerful friends, an important post?The last means I shall suggest cuts to the root of the evil. Would youhave the power to send your wife's lover off by securing hispromotion, or his change of residence by an exchange, if he is amilitary man? You cut off by this means all communication betweenthem; later on we will show you how to do it; for _sublata causatollitur effectus_, --Latin words which may be freely translated "thereis no effect without a cause. "

Nevertheless, you feel that your wife may easily choose another lover;but in addition to these preliminary expedients, you will always havea blister ready, in order to gain time, and calculate how you maybring the affair to an end by fresh devices. 

Study how to combine the system of blisters with the mimic wiles ofCarlin, the immortal Carlin of the _Comedie-Italienne_ who always heldand amused an audience for whole hours, by uttering the same words, varied only by the art of pantomime and pronounced with a thousandinflections of different tone, --"The queen said to the king!" ImitateCarlin, discover some method of always keeping your wife in check, soas not to be checkmated yourself. Take a degree among constitutionalministers, a degree in the art of making promises. Habituate yourselfto show at seasonable times the punchinello which makes children runafter you without knowing the distance they run. We are all children, and women are all inclined through their curiosity to spend their timein pursuit of a will-o'-the-wisp. The flame is brilliant and quicklyvanishes, but is not the imagination at hand to act as your ally?Finally, study the happy art of being near her and yet not being nearher; of seizing the opportunity which will yield you pre-eminence inher mind without ever crushing her with a sense of your superiority, or even of her own happiness. If the ignorance in which you have kepther does not altogether destroy her intellect, you must remain in suchrelations with her that each of you will still desire the company ofthe other. 

 MEDITATION XIV. 

 OF APARTMENTS. 

The preceding methods and systems are in a way purely moral; theyshare the nobility of the soul, there is nothing repulsive in them;but now we must proceed to consider precautions _a la Bartholo_. Donot give way to timidity. There is a marital courage, as there is acivil and military courage, as there is the courage of the NationalGuard. 

What is the first course of a young girl after having purchased aparrot? Is it not to fasten it up in a pretty cage, from which itcannot get out without permission?

You may learn your duty from this child. 

Everything that pertains to the arrangement of your house and of yourapartments should be planned so as not to give your wife anyadvantage, in case she has decided to deliver you to the Minotaur;half of all actual mischances are brought about by the deplorablefacilities which the apartments furnish. 

Before everything else determine to have for your porter a _singleman_ entirely devoted to your person. This is a treasure easily to befound. What husband is there throughout the world who has not either afoster-father or some old servant, upon whose knees he has beendandled! There ought to exist by means of your management, a hatredlike that of Artreus and Thyestes between your wife and this Nestor--guardian of your gate. This gate is the Alpha and Omega of anintrigue. May not all intrigues in love be confined in these words--entering and leaving?

Your house will be of no use to you if it does not stand between acourt and a garden, and so constructed as to be detached from allother buildings. You must abolish all recesses in your apartments. Acupboard, if it contain but six pots of preserves, should be walledin. You are preparing yourself for war, and the first thought of ageneral is to cut his enemy off from supplies. Moreover, all the wallsmust be smooth, in order to present to the eye lines which may betaken in at a glance, and permit the immediate recognition of theleast strange object. If you consult the remains of antique monumentsyou will see that the beauty of Greek and Roman apartments sprangprincipally from the purity of their lines, the clear sweep of theirwalls and scantiness of furniture. The Greeks would have smiled inpity, if they had seen the gaps which our closets make in ourdrawing-rooms. 

This magnificent system of defence should above all be put in activeoperation in the apartment of your wife; never let her curtain her bedin such a way that one can walk round it amid a maze of hangings; beinexorable in the matter of connecting passages, and let her chamberbe at the bottom of your reception-rooms, so as to show at a glancethose who come and go. 

_The Marriage of Figaro_ will no doubt have taught you to put yourwife's chamber at a great height from the ground. All celibates areCherubins. 

Your means, doubtless, will permit your wife to have a dressing-room, a bath-room, and a room for her chambermaid. Think then on Susanne, and never commit the fault of arranging this little room below that ofmadame's, but place it always above, and do not shrink fromdisfiguring your mansion by hideous divisions in the windows. 

If, by ill luck, you see that this dangerous apartment communicateswith that of your wife by a back staircase, earnestly consult yourarchitect; let his genius exhaust itself in rendering this dangerousstaircase as innocent as the primitive garret ladder; we conjure youlet not this staircase have appended to it any treacherouslurking-place; its stiff and angular steps must not be arranged withthat tempting curve which Faublas and Justine found so useful whenthey waited for the exit of the Marquis de B-----. Architects nowadaysmake such staircases as are absolutely preferable to ottomans. Restorerather the virtuous garret steps of our ancestors. 

Concerning the chimneys in the apartment of madame, you must take careto place in the flue, five feet from the ground, an iron grill, eventhough it be necessary to put up a fresh one every time the chimney isswept. If your wife laughs at this precaution, suggest to her thenumber of murders that have been committed by means of chimneys. Almost all women are afraid of robbers. The bed is one of thoseimportant pieces of furniture whose structure will demand longconsideration. Everything concerning it is of vital importance. Thefollowing is the result of long experience in the construction ofbeds. Give to this piece of furniture a form so original that it maybe looked upon without disgust, in the midst of changes of fashionwhich succeed so rapidly in rendering antiquated the creations offormer decorators, for it is essential that your wife be unable tochange, at pleasure, this theatre of married happiness. The baseshould be plain and massive and admit of no treacherous intervalbetween it and the floor; and bear in mind always that the Donna Juliaof Byron hid Don Juan under her pillow. But it would be ridiculous totreat lightly so delicate a subject. 

 LXII. The bed is the whole of marriage. 

Moreover, we must not delay to direct your attention to this wonderfulcreation of human genius, an invention which claims our recognitionmuch more than ships, firearms, matches, wheeled carriages, steamengines of all kinds, more than even barrels and bottles. In the firstplace, a little thought will convince us that this is all true of thebed; but when we begin to think that it is our second father, that themost tranquil and most agitated half of our existence is spent underits protecting canopy, words fail in eulogizing it. (See MeditationXVII, entitled "Theory of the Bed. ")

When the war, of which we shall speak in our third part, breaks outbetween you and madame, you will always have plenty of ingeniousexcuses for rummaging in the drawers and escritoires; for if your wifeis trying to hide from you some statue of her adoration, it is yourinterest to know where she has hidden it. A gyneceum, constructed onthe method described, will enable you to calculate at a glance, whether there is present in it two pounds of silk more than usual. Should a single closet be constructed there, you are a lost man! Aboveall, accustom your wife, during the honeymoon, to bestow especialpains in the neatness of her apartment; let nothing put off that. Ifyou do not habituate her to be minutely particular in this respect, ifthe same objects are not always found in the same places, she willallow things to become so untidy, that you will not be able to seethat there are two pounds of silk more or less in her room. 

The curtains of your apartments ought to be of a stuff which is quitetransparent, and you ought to contract the habit in the evenings ofwalking outside so that madame may see you come right up to the windowjust out of absent-mindedness. In a word, with regard to windows, letthe sills be so narrow that even a sack of flour cannot be set up onthem. 

If the apartment of your wife can be arranged on these principles, youwill be in perfect safety, even if there are niches enough there tocontain all the saints of Paradise. You will be able, every evening, with the assistance of your porter, to strike the balance between theentrances and exits of visitors; and, in order to obtain accurateresults, there is nothing to prevent your teaching him to keep a bookof visitors, in double entry. 

If you have a garden, cultivate a taste for dogs, and always keep atlarge one of these incorruptible guardians under your windows; youwill thus gain the respect of the Minotaur, especially if you accustomyour four-footed friend to take nothing substantial excepting from thehand of your porter, so that hard-hearted celibates may not succeed inpoisoning him. 

But all these precautions must be taken as a natural thing so thatthey may not arouse suspicions. If husbands are so imprudent as toneglect precautions from the moment they are married, they ought atonce to sell their house and buy another one, or, under the pretext ofrepairs, alter their present house in the way prescribed. 

You will without scruple banish from your apartment all sofas, ottomans, lounges, sedan chairs and the like. In the first place, thisis the kind of furniture that adorns the homes of grocers, where theyare universally found, as they are in those of barbers; but they areessentially the furniture of perdition; I can never see them withoutalarm. It has always seemed to me that there the devil himself islurking with his horns and cloven foot. 

After all, nothing is so dangerous as a chair, and it is extremelyunfortunate that women cannot be shut up within the four walls of abare room! What husband is there, who on sitting down on a ricketychair is not always forced to believe that this chair has receivedsome of the lessons taught by the _Sofa_ of Crebillion junior? Buthappily we have arranged your apartment on such a system of preventionthat nothing so fatal can happen, or, at any rate, not without yourcontributory negligence. 

One fault which you must contract, and which you must never correct, will consist in a sort of heedless curiosity, which will make youexamine unceasingly all the boxes, and turn upside down the contentsof all dressing-cases and work-baskets. You must proceed to thisdomiciliary visit in a humorous mood, and gracefully, so that eachtime you will obtain pardon by exciting the amusement of your wife. 

You must always manifest a most profound astonishment on noticing anypiece of furniture freshly upholstered in her well-appointedapartment. You must immediately make her explain to you the advantagesof the change; and then you must ransack your mind to discover whetherthere be not some underhand motive in the transaction. 

This is by no means all. You have too much sense to forget that yourpretty parrot will remain in her cage only so long as that cage isbeautiful. The least accessory of her apartment ought, therefore, tobreathe elegance and taste. The general appearance should alwayspresent a simple, at the same time a charming picture. You mustconstantly renew the hangings and muslin curtains. The freshness ofthe decorations is too essential to permit of economy on this point. It is the fresh chickweed each morning carefully put into the cage oftheir birds, that makes their pets believe it is the verdure of themeadows. An apartment of this character is then the _ultima ratio_ ofhusbands; a wife has nothing to say when everything is lavished onher. 

Husbands who are condemned to live in rented apartments findthemselves in the most terrible situation possible. What happy or whatfatal influence cannot the porter exercise upon their lot?

Is not their home flanked on either side by other houses? It is truethat by placing the apartment of their wives on one side of the housethe danger is lessened by one-half; but are they not obliged to learnby heart and to ponder the age, the condition, the fortune, thecharacter, the habits of the tenants of the next house and even toknow their friends and relations?

A husband will never take lodgings on the ground floor. 

Every man, however, can apply in his apartments the precautionarymethods which we have suggested to the owner of a house, and thus thetenant will have this advantage over the owner, that the apartment, which is less spacious than the house, is more easily guarded. 

 MEDITATION XV. 

 OF THE CUSTOM HOUSE. 

"But no, madame, no--"

"Yes, for there is such inconvenience in the arrangement. "

"Do you think, madame, that we wish, as at the frontier, to watch thevisits of persons who cross the threshold of your apartments, orfurtively leave them, in order to see whether they bring to youarticles of contraband? That would not be proper; and there is nothingodious in our proceeding, any more than there is anything of a fiscalcharacter; do not be alarmed. "

The Custom House of the marriage state is, of all the expedientsprescribed in this second part, that which perhaps demands the mosttact and the most skill as well as the most knowledge acquired _apriori_, that is to say before marriage. In order to carry it out, ahusband ought to have made a profound study of Lavater's book, and tobe imbued with all his principles; to have accustomed his eye to judgeand to apprehend with the most astonishing promptitude, the slightestphysical expressions by which a man reveals his thoughts. 

Lavater's _Physiognomy_ originated a veritable science, which has wona place in human investigation. If at first some doubts, some jokesgreeted the appearance of this book, since then the celebrated DoctorGall is come with his noble theory of the skull and has completed thesystem of the Swiss savant, and given stability to his fine andluminous observations. People of talent, diplomats, women, all thosewho are numbered among the choice and fervent disciples of these twocelebrated men, have often had occasion to recognize many otherevident signs, by which the course of human thought is indicated. Thehabits of the body, the handwriting, the sound of the voice, haveoften betrayed the woman who is in love, the diplomat who isattempting to deceive, the clever administrator, or the sovereign whois compelled to distinguish at a glance love, treason or merithitherto unknown. The man whose soul operates with energy is like apoor glowworm, which without knowing it irradiates light from everypore. He moves in a brilliant sphere where each effort makes a burninglight and outlines his actions with long streamers of fire. 

These, then, are all the elements of knowledge which you shouldpossess, for the conjugal custom house insists simply in being able bya rapid but searching examination to know the moral and physicalcondition of all who enter or leave your house--all, that is, who haveseen or intend to see your wife. A husband is, like a spider, set atthe centre of an invisible net, and receives a shock from the leastfool of a fly who touches it, and from a distance, hears, judges andsees what is either his prey or his enemy. 

Thus you must obtain means to examine the celibate who rings at yourdoor under two circumstances which are quite distinct, namely, when heis about to enter and when he is inside. 

At the moment of entering how many things does he utter without evenopening his mouth!

It may be by a slight wave of his hand, or by his plunging his fingersmany times into his hair, he sticks up or smoothes down hischaracteristic bang. 

Or he hums a French or an Italian air, merry or sad, in a voice whichmay be either tenor, contralto, soprano or baritone. 

Perhaps he takes care to see that the ends of his necktie are properlyadjusted. 

Or he smoothes down the ruffles or front of his shirt orevening-dress. 

Or he tries to find out by a questioning and furtive glance whetherhis wig, blonde or brown, curled or plain, is in its natural position. 

Perhaps he looks at his nails to see whether they are clean and dulycut. 

Perhaps with a hand which is either white or untidy, well-gloved orotherwise, he twirls his moustache, or his whiskers, or picks histeeth with a little tortoise-shell toothpick. 

Or by slow and repeated movements he tries to place his chin exactlyover the centre of his necktie. 

Or perhaps he crosses one foot over the other, putting his hands inhis pockets. 

Or perhaps he gives a twist to his shoe, and looks at it as if hethought, "Now, there's a foot that is not badly formed. "

Or according as he has come on foot or in a carriage, he rubs off orhe does not rub off the slight patches of mud which soil his shoes. 

Or perhaps he remains as motionless as a Dutchman smoking his pipe. 

Or perhaps he fixes his eyes on the door and looks like a soul escapedfrom Purgatory and waiting for Saint Peter with the keys. 

Perhaps he hesitates to pull the bell; perhaps he seizes itnegligently, precipitately, familiarly, or like a man who is quitesure of himself. 

Perhaps he pulls it timidly, producing a faint tinkle which is lost inthe silence of the apartments, as the first bell of matins inwinter-time, in a convent of Minims; or perhaps after having rung withenergy, he rings again impatient that the footman has not heard him. 

Perhaps he exhales a delicate scent, as he chews a pastille. 

Perhaps with a solemn air he takes a pinch of snuff, brushing off withcare the grains that might mar the whiteness of his linen. 

Perhaps he looks around like a man estimating the value of thestaircase lamp, the balustrade, the carpet, as if he were a furnituredealer or a contractor. 

Perhaps this celibate seems a young or an old man, is cold or hot, arrives slowly, with an expression of sadness or merriment, etc. 

You see that here, at the very foot of your staircase, you are met byan astonishing mass of things to observe. 

The light pencil-strokes, with which we have tried to outline thisfigure, will suggest to you what is in reality a moral kaleidoscopewith millions of variations. And yet we have not even attempted tobring any woman on to the threshold which reveals so much; for in thatcase our remarks, already considerable in number, would have beencountless and light as the grains of sand on the seashore. 

For as a matter of fact, when he stands before the shut door, a manbelieves that he is quite alone; and he would have no hesitation inbeginning a silent monologue, a dreamy soliloquy, in which he revealedhis desires, his intentions, his personal qualities, his faults, hisvirtues, etc. ; for undoubtedly a man on a stoop is exactly like ayoung girl of fifteen at confession, the evening before her firstcommunion. 

Do you want any proof of this? Notice the sudden change of face andmanner in this celibate from the very moment he steps within thehouse. No machinist in the Opera, no change in the temperature in theclouds or in the sun can more suddenly transform the appearance of atheatre, the effect of the atmosphere, or the scenery of the heavens. 

On reaching the first plank of your antechamber, instead of betrayingwith so much innocence the myriad thoughts which were suggested to youon the steps, the celibate has not a single glance to which you couldattach any significance. The mask of social convention wraps with itsthick veil his whole bearing; but a clever husband must already havedivined at a single look the object of his visit, and he reads thesoul of the new arrival as if it were a printed book. 

The manner in which he approaches your wife, in which he addressesher, looks at her, greets her and retires--there are volumes ofobservations, more or less trifling, to be made on these subjects. 

The tone of his voice, his bearing, his awkwardness, it may be hissmile, even his gloom, his avoidance of your eye, --all aresignificant, all ought to be studied, but without apparent attention. You ought to conceal the most disagreeable discovery you may make byan easy manner and remarks such as are ready at hand to a man ofsociety. As we are unable to detail the minutiae of this subject weleave them entirely to the sagacity of the reader, who must by thistime have perceived the drift of our investigation, as well as theextent of this science which begins at the analysis of glances andends in the direction of such movements as contempt may inspire in agreat toe hidden under the satin of a lady's slipper or the leather ofa man's boot. 

But the exit!--for we must allow for occasions where you have omittedyour rigid scrutiny at the threshold of the doorway, and in that casethe exit becomes of vital importance, and all the more so because thisfresh study of the celibate ought to be made on the same lines, butfrom an opposite point of view, from that which we have alreadyoutlined. 

In the exit the situation assumes a special gravity; for then is themoment in which the enemy has crossed all the intrenchments withinwhich he was subject to our examination and has escaped into thestreet! At this point a man of understanding when he sees a visitorpassing under the _porte-cochere_ should be able to divine the importof the whole visit. The indications are indeed fewer in number, buthow distinct is their character! The denouement has arrived and theman instantly betrays the importance of it by the frankest expressionof happiness, pain or joy. 

These revelations are therefore easy to apprehend; they appear in theglance cast either at the building or at the windows of the apartment;in a slow or loitering gait, in the rubbing of hands, on the part of afool, in the bounding gait of a coxcomb, or the involuntary arrest ofhis footsteps, which marks the man who is deeply moved; in a word, yousee upon the stoop certain questions as clearly proposed to you as ifa provincial academy had offered a hundred crowns for an essay; but inthe exit you behold the solution of these questions clearly andprecisely given to you. Our task would be far above the power of humanintelligence if it consisted in enumerating the different ways bywhich men betray their feelings, the discernment of such things ispurely a matter of tact and sentiment. 

If strangers are the subject of these principles of observation, youhave a still stronger reason for submitting your wife to the formalsafeguards which we have outlined. 

A married man should make a profound study of his wife's countenance. Such a study is easy, it is even involuntary and continuous. For himthe pretty face of his wife must needs contain no mysteries, he knowshow her feelings are depicted there and with what expression she shunsthe fire of his glance. 

The slightest movement of the lips, the faintest contraction of thenostrils, scarcely perceptible changes in the expression of the eye, an altered voice, and those indescribable shades of feeling which passover her features, or the light which sometimes bursts forth fromthem, are intelligible language to you. 

The whole woman nature stands before you; all look at her, but nonecan interpret her thoughts. But for you, the eye is more or lessdimmed, wide-opened or closed; the lid twitches, the eyebrow moves; awrinkle, which vanishes as quickly as a ripple on the ocean, furrowsher brow for one moment; the lip tightens, it is slightly curved or itis wreathed with animation--for you the woman has spoken. 

If in those puzzling moments in which a woman tries dissimulation inpresence of her husband, you have the spirit of a sphinx in seeingthrough her, you will plainly observe that your custom-houserestrictions are mere child's play to her. 

When she comes home or goes out, when in a word she believes she isalone, your wife will exhibit all the imprudence of a jackdaw and willtell her secret aloud to herself; moreover, by her sudden change ofexpression the moment she notices you (and despite the rapidity ofthis change, you will not fail to have observed the expression shewore behind your back) you may read her soul as if you were reading abook of Plain Song. Moreover, your wife will often find herself juston the point of indulging in soliloquies, and on such occasions herhusband may recognize the secret feelings of his wife. 

Is there a man as heedless of love's mysteries as not to have admired, over and over again, the light, mincing, even bewitching gait of awoman who flies on her way to keep an assignation? She glides throughthe crowd, like a snake through the grass. The costumes and stuffs ofthe latest fashion spread out their dazzling attractions in the shopwindows without claiming her attention; on, on she goes like thefaithful animal who follows the invisible tracks of his master; she isdeaf to all compliments, blind to all glances, insensible even to thelight touch of the crowd, which is inevitable amid the circulation ofParisian humanity. Oh, how deeply she feels the value of a minute! Hergait, her toilet, the expression of her face, involve her in athousand indiscretions, but oh, what a ravishing picture she presentsto the idler, and what an ominous page for the eye of a husband toread, is the face of this woman when she returns from the secret placeof rendezvous in which her heart ever dwells! Her happiness isimpressed even on the unmistakable disarray of her hair, the mass ofwhose wavy tresses has not received from the broken comb of thecelibate that radiant lustre, that elegant and well-proportionedadjustment which only the practiced hand of her maid can give. Andwhat charming ease appears in her gait! How is it possible to describethe emotion which adds such rich tints to her complexion!--which robsher eyes of all their assurance and gives to them an expression ofmingled melancholy and delight, of shame which is yet blended withpride!

These observations, stolen from our Meditation, _Of the LastSymptoms_, and which are really suggested by the situation of a womanwho tries to conceal everything, may enable you to divine by analogythe rich crop of observation which is left for you to harvest whenyour wife arrives home, or when, without having committed the greatcrime she innocently lets out the secrets of her thoughts. For our ownpart we never see a landing without wishing to set up there amariner's card and a weather-cock. 

As the means to be employed for constructing a sort of domesticobservatory depend altogether on places and circumstances, we mustleave to the address of a jealous husband the execution of the methodssuggested in this Meditation. 

 MEDITATION XVI. 

 THE CHARTER OF MARRIAGE. 

I acknowledge that I really know of but one house in Paris which ismanaged in accordance with the system unfolded in the two precedingMeditations. But I ought to add, also, that I have built up my systemon the example of that house. The admirable fortress I allude tobelonged to a young councillor of state, who was mad with love andjealousy. 

As soon as he learned that there existed a man who was exclusivelyoccupied in bringing to perfection the institution of marriage inFrance, he had the generosity to open the doors of his mansion to meand to show me his gyneceum. I admired the profound genius which socleverly disguised the precautions of almost oriental jealousy underthe elegance of furniture, beauty of carpets and brightness of painteddecorations. I agreed with him that it was impossible for his wife torender his home a scene of treachery. 

"Sir, " said I, to this Othello of the council of state who did notseem to me peculiarly strong in the _haute politique_ of marriage, "Ihave no doubt that the viscountess is delighted to live in this littleParadise; she ought indeed to take prodigious pleasure in it, especially if you are here often. But the time will come when she willhave had enough of it; for, my dear sir, we grow tired of everything, even of the sublime. What will you do then, when madame, failing tofind in all your inventions their primitive charm, shall open hermouth in a yawn, and perhaps make a request with a view to theexercise of two rights, both of which are indispensable to herhappiness: individual liberty, that is, the privilege of going andcoming according to the caprice of her will; and the liberty of thepress, that is, the privilege of writing and receiving letters withoutfear of your censure?"

Scarcely had I said these words when the Vicomte de V----- grasped myarm tightly and cried:

"Yes, such is the ingratitude of woman! If there is any thing moreungrateful than a king, it is a nation; but, sir, woman is moreungrateful than either of them. A married woman treats us as thecitizens of a constitutional monarchy treat their king; every measurehas been taken to give these citizens a life of prosperity in aprosperous country; the government has taken all the pains in theworld with its gendarmes, its churches, its ministry and all theparaphernalia of its military forces, to prevent the people from dyingof hunger, to light the cities by gas at the expense of the citizens, to give warmth to every one by means of the sun which shines at theforty-fifth degree of latitude, and to forbid every one, excepting thetax-gatherers, to ask for money; it has labored hard to give to allthe main roads a more or less substantial pavement--but none of theseadvantages of our fair Utopia is appreciated! The citizens wantsomething else. They are not ashamed to demand the right of travelingover the roads at their own will, and of being informed where thatmoney given to the tax-gatherers goes. And, finally, the monarch willsoon be obliged, if we pay any attention to the chatter of certainscribblers, to give to every individual a share in the throne or toadopt certain revolutionary ideas, which are mere Punch and Judy showsfor the public, manipulated by a band of self-styled patriots, riff-raff, always ready to sell their conscience for a million francs, for an honest woman, or for a ducal coronet. "

"But, monsieur, " I said, interrupting him, "while I perfectly agreewith you on this last point, the question remains, how will you escapegiving an answer to the just demands of your wife?"

"Sir" he replied, "I shall do--I shall answer as the governmentanswers, that is, those governments which are not so stupid as theopposition would make out to their constituents. I shall begin bysolemnly interdicting any arrangement, by virtue of which my wife willbe declared entirely free. I fully recognize her right to go whereverit seems good to her, to write to whom she chooses, and to receiveletters, the contents of which I do not know. My wife shall have allthe rights that belong to an English Parliament; I shall let her talkas much as she likes, discuss and propose strong and energeticmeasures, but without the power to put them into execution, and thenafter that--well, we shall see!"

"By St. Joseph!" said I to myself, "Here is a man who understands thescience of marriage as well as I myself do. And then, you will see, sir, " I answered aloud, in order to obtain from him the fullestrevelation of his experience; "you will see, some fine morning, thatyou are as big a fool as the next man. "

"Sir, " he gravely replied, "allow me to finish what I was saying. Hereis what the great politicians call a theory, but in practice they canmake that theory vanish in smoke; and ministers possess in a greaterdegree than even the lawyers of Normandy, the art of making fact yieldto fancy. M. De Metternich and M. De Pilat, men of the highestauthority, have been for a long time asking each other whether Europeis in its right senses, whether it is dreaming, whether it knowswhither it is going, whether it has ever exercised its reason, a thingimpossible on the part of the masses, of nations and of women. M. DeMetternich and M. De Pilat are terrified to see this age carried awayby a passion for constitutions, as the preceding age was by thepassion for philosophy, as that of Luther was for a reform of abusesin the Roman religion; for it truly seems as if different generationsof men were like those conspirators whose actions are directed to thesame end, as soon as the watchword has been given them. But theiralarm is a mistake, and it is on this point alone that I condemn them, for they are right in their wish to enjoy power without permitting themiddle class to come on a fixed day from the depth of each of theirsix kingdoms, to torment them. How could men of such remarkable talentfail to divine that the constitutional comedy has in it a moral ofprofound meaning, and to see that it is the very best policy to givethe age a bone to exercise its teeth upon! I think exactly as they doon the subject of sovereignty. A power is a moral being as muchinterested as a man is in self-preservation. This sentiment ofself-preservation is under the control of an essential principle whichmay be expressed in three words--_to lose nothing_. But in order tolose nothing, a power must grow or remain indefinite, for a powerwhichremains stationary is nullified. If it retrogrades, it is under thecontrol of something else, and loses its independent existence. I amquite as well aware, as are those gentlemen, in what a false positionan unlimited power puts itself by making concessions; it allows toanother power whose essence is to expand a place within its own sphereof activity. One of them will necessarily nullify the other, for everyexisting thing aims at the greatest possible development of its ownforces. A power, therefore, never makes concessions which it does notafterwards seek to retract. This struggle between two powers is thebasis on which stands the balance of government, whose elasticity somistakenly alarmed the patriarch of Austrian diplomacy, for comparingcomedy with comedy the least perilous and the most advantageousadministration is found in the seesaw system of the English and of theFrench politics. These two countries have said to the people, 'You arefree;' and the people have been satisfied; they enter the governmentlike the zeros which give value to the unit. But if the people wish totake an active part in the government, immediately they are treated, like Sancho Panza, on that occasion when the squire, having becomesovereign over an island on terra firma, made an attempt at dinner toeat the viands set before him. 

"Now we ought to parody this admirable scene in the management of ourhomes. Thus, my wife has a perfect right to go out, provided she tellme where she is going, how she is going, what is the business she isengaged in when she is out and at what hour she will return. Insteadof demanding this information with the brutality of the police, whowill doubtless some day become perfect, I take pains to speak to herin the most gracious terms. On my lips, in my eyes, in my wholecountenance, an expression plays, which indicates both curiosity andindifference, seriousness and pleasantry, harshness and tenderness. These little conjugal scenes are so full of vivacity, of tact andaddress that it is a pleasure to take part in them. The very day onwhich I took from the head of my wife the wreath of orange blossomswhich she wore, I understood that we were playing at a royalcoronation--the first scene in a comic pantomime!--I have mygendarmes!--I have my guard royal!--I have my attorney general--that Ido!" he continued enthusiastically. "Do you think that I would allowmadame to go anywhere on foot unaccompanied by a lackey in livery? Isnot that the best style? Not to count the pleasure she takes in sayingto everybody, 'I have my people here. ' It has always been aconservative principle of mine that my times of exercise shouldcoincide with those of my wife, and for two years I have proved to herthat I take an ever fresh pleasure in giving her my arm. If theweather is not suitable for walking, I try to teach her how to drivewith success a frisky horse; but I swear to you that I undertake thisin such a manner that she does not learn very quickly!--If either bychance, or prompted by a deliberate wish, she takes measures to escapewithout a passport, that is to say, alone in the carriage, have I nota driver, a footman, a groom? My wife, therefore, go where she will, takes with her a complete _Santa Hermandad_, and I am perfectly easyin mind--But, my dear sir, there is abundance of means by which toannul the charter of marriage by our manner of fulfilling it! I haveremarked that the manners of high society induce a habit of idlenesswhich absorbs half of the life of a woman without permitting her tofeel that she is alive. For my part, I have formed the project ofdexterously leading my wife along, up to her fortieth year, withoutletting her think of adultery, just as poor Musson used to amusehimself in leading some simple fellow from the Rue Saint-Denis toPierrefitte without letting him think that he had left the shadows ofSt. Lew's tower. "

"How is it, " I said, interrupting him, "that you have hit upon thoseadmirable methods of deception which I was intending to describe in aMeditation entitled _The Act of Putting Death into Life!_ Alas! Ithought I was the first man to discover that science. The epigrammatictitle was suggested to me by an account which a young doctor gave meof an excellent composition of Crabbe, as yet unpublished. In thiswork, the English poet has introduced a fantastic being called _Lifein Death_. This personage crosses the oceans of the world in pursuitof a living skeleton called _Death in Life_--I recollect at the timevery few people, among the guests of a certain elegant translator ofEnglish poetry, understood the mystic meaning of a fable as true as itwas fanciful. Myself alone, perhaps, as I sat buried in silence, thought of the whole generations which as they were hurried along bylife, passed on their way without living. Before my eyes rose faces ofwomen by the million, by the myriad, all dead, all disappointed andshedding tears of despair, as they looked back upon the lost momentsof their ignorant youth. In the distance I saw a playful Meditationrise to birth, I heard the satanic laughter which ran through it, andnow you doubtless are about to kill it. --But come, tell me inconfidence what means you have discovered by which to assist a womanto squander the swift moments during which her beauty is at its fullflower and her desires at their full strength. --Perhaps you have somestratagems, some clever devices, to describe to me--"

The viscount began to laugh at this literary disappointment of mine, and he said to me, with a self-satisfied air:

"My wife, like all the young people of our happy century, has beenaccustomed, for three or four consecutive years, to press her fingerson the keys of a piano, a long-suffering instrument. She has hammeredout Beethoven, warbled the airs of Rossini and run through theexercises of Crammer. I had already taken pains to convince her of theexcellence of music; to attain this end, I have applauded her, I havelistened without yawning to the most tiresome sonatas in the world, and I have at last consented to give her a box at the Bouffons. I havethus gained three quiet evenings out of the seven which God hascreated in the week. I am the mainstay of the music shops. At Paristhere are drawing-rooms which exactly resemble the musical snuff-boxesof Germany. They are a sort of continuous orchestra to which Iregularly go in search of that surfeit of harmony which my wife callsa concert. But most part of the time my wife keeps herself buried inher music-books--"

"But, my dear sir, do you not recognize the danger that lies incultivating in a woman a taste for singing, and allowing her to yieldto all the excitements of a sedentary life? It is only less dangerousto make her feed on mutton and drink cold water. "

"My wife never eats anything but the white meat of poultry, and Ialways take care that a ball shall come after a concert and areception after an Opera! I have also succeeded in making her lie downbetween one and two in the day. Ah! my dear sir, the benefits of thisnap are incalculable! In the first place each necessary pleasure isaccorded as a favor, and I am considered to be constantly carrying outmy wife's wishes. And then I lead her to imagine, without saying asingle word, that she is being constantly amused every day from sixo'clock in the evening, the time of our dinner and of her toilet, until eleven o'clock in the morning, the time when we get up. "

"Ah! sir, how grateful you ought to be for a life which is socompletely filled up!"

"I have scarcely more than three dangerous hours a day to pass; butshe has, of course, sonatas to practice and airs to go over, and thereare always rides in the Bois de Boulogne, carriages to try, visits topay, etc. But this is not all. The fairest ornament of a woman is themost exquisite cleanliness. A woman cannot be too particular in thisrespect, and no pains she takes can be laughed at. Now her toilet hasalso suggested to me a method of thus consuming the best hours of theday in bathing. "

"How lucky I am in finding a listener like you!" I cried; "truly, sir, you could waste for her four hours a day, if only you were willing toteach her an art quite unknown to the most fastidious of our modernfine ladies. Why don't you enumerate to the viscountess theastonishing precautions manifest in the Oriental luxury of the Romandames? Give her the names of the slaves merely employed for the bathin Poppea's palace: the _unctores_, the _fricatores_, the_alipilarili_, the _dropacistae_, the _paratiltriae_, the_picatrices_, the _tracatrices_, the swan whiteners, and all the rest. --Talk to her about this multitude of slaves whose names are given byMirabeau in his _Erotika Biblion_. If she tries to secure the servicesof all these people you will have the fine times of quietness, not tospeak of the personal satisfaction which will redound to you yourselffrom the introduction into your house of the system invented by theseillustrious Romans, whose hair, artistically arranged, was delugedwith perfumes, whose smallest vein seemed to have acquired fresh bloodfrom the myrrh, the lint, the perfume, the douches, the flowers of thebath, all of which were enjoyed to the strains of voluptuous music. "

"Ah! sir, " continued the husband, who was warming to his subject, "canI not find also admirable pretexts in my solicitude for her heath? Herhealth, so dear and precious to me, forces me to forbid her going outin bad weather, and thus I gain a quarter of the year. And I have alsointroduced the charming custom of kissing when either of us goes out, this parting kiss being accompanied with the words, 'My sweet angel, Iam going out. ' Finally, I have taken measures for the future to makemy wife as truly a prisoner in the house as the conscript in hissentry box! For I have inspired her with an incredible enthusiasm forthe sacred duties of maternity. "

"You do it by opposing her?" I asked. 

"You have guessed it, " he answered, laughing. "I have maintained toher that it is impossible for a woman of the world to discharge herduties towards society, to manage her household, to devote herself tofashion, as well as to the wishes of her husband, whom she loves, and, at the same time, to rear children. She then avers that, after theexample of Cato, who wished to see how the nurse changed the swaddlingbands of the infant Pompey, she would never leave to others the leastof the services required in shaping the susceptible minds and tenderbodies of these little creatures whose education begins in the cradle. You understand, sir, that my conjugal diplomacy would not be of muchservice to me unless, after having put my wife in solitaryconfinement, I did not also employ a certain harmless machiavelism, which consists in begging her to do whatever she likes, and asking heradvice in every circumstance and on every contingency. As thisdelusive liberty has entirely deceived a creature so high-minded asshe is, I have taken pains to stop at no sacrifice which wouldconvince Madame de V----- that she is the freest woman in Paris; and, in order to attain this end, I take care not to commit those grosspolitical blunders into which our ministers so often fall. "

"I can see you, " said I, "when you wish to cheat your wife out of someright granted her by the charter, I can see you putting on a mild anddeliberate air, hiding your dagger under a bouquet of roses, and asyou plunge it cautiously into her heart, saying to her with a friendlyvoice, 'My darling, does it hurt?' and she, like those on whose toesyou tread in a crowd, will probably reply, 'Not in the least. '"

He could not restrain a laugh and said:

"Won't my wife be astonished at the Last Judgment?"

"I scarcely know, " I replied, "whether you or she will be mostastonished. "

The jealous man frowned, but his face resumed its calmness as I added:

"I am truly grateful, sir, to the chance which has given me thepleasure of your acquaintance. Without the assistance of your remarksI should have been less successful than you have been in developingcertain ideas which we possess in common. I beg of you that you willgive me leave to publish this conversation. Statements which you and Ifind pregnant with high political conceptions, others perhaps willthink characterized by more or less cutting irony, and I shall passfor a clever fellow in the eyes of both parties. "

While I thus tried to express my thanks to the viscount (the firsthusband after my heart that I had met with), he took me once morethrough his apartments, where everything seemed to be beyondcriticism. 

I was about to take leave of him, when opening the door of a littleboudoir he showed me a room with an air which seemed to say, "Is thereany way by which the least irregularity should occur without my seeingit?"

I replied to this silent interrogation by an inclination of the head, such as guests make to their Amphytrion when they taste someexceptionally choice dish. 

"My whole system, " he said to me in a whisper, "was suggested to me bythree words which my father heard Napoleon pronounce at a crowdedcouncil of state, when divorce was the subject of conversation. 'Adultery, ' he exclaimed, 'is merely a matter of opportunity!' See, then, I have changed these accessories of crime, so that they becomespies, " added the councillor, pointing out to me a divan covered withtea-colored cashmere, the cushions of which were slightly pressed. "Notice that impression, --I learn from it that my wife has had aheadache, and has been reclining there. "

We stepped toward the divan, and saw the word FOOL lightly traced uponthe fatal cushion, by four

 Things that I know not, plucked by lover's hand From Cypris' orchard, where the fairy band Are dancing, once by nobles thought to be Worthy an order of new chivalry, A brotherhood, wherein, with script of gold, More mortal men than gods should be enrolled. 

"Nobody in my house has black hair!" said the husband, growing pale. 

I hurried away, for I was seized with an irresistible fit of laughter, which I could not easily overcome. 

"That man has met his judgment day!" I said to myself; "all thebarriers by which he has surrounded her have only been instrumental inadding to the intensity of her pleasures!"

This idea saddened me. The adventure destroyed from summit tofoundation three of my most important Meditations, and the catholicinfallibility of my book was assailed in its most essential point. Iwould gladly have paid to establish the fidelity of the ViscountessV----- a sum as great as very many people would have offered to secureher surrender. But alas! my money will now be kept by me. 

Three days afterwards I met the councillor in the foyer of theItaliens. As soon as he saw me he rushed up. Impelled by a sort ofmodesty I tried to avoid him, but grasping my arm: "Ah! I have justpassed three cruel days, " he whispered in my ear. "Fortunately my wifeis as innocent as perhaps a new-born babe--"

"You have already told me that the viscountess was extremelyingenious, " I said, with unfeeling gaiety. 

"Oh!" he said, "I gladly take a joke this evening; for this morning Ihad irrefragable proofs of my wife's fidelity. I had risen very earlyto finish a piece of work for which I had been rushed, and in lookingabsently in my garden, I suddenly saw the _valet de chambre_ of ageneral, whose house is next to mine, climbing over the wall. Mywife's maid, poking her head from the vestibule, was stroking my dogand covering the retreat of the gallant. I took my opera glass andexamined the intruder--his hair was jet black!--Ah! never have I seena Christian face that gave me more delight! And you may well believethat during the day all my perplexities vanished. So, my dear sir, " hecontinued, "if you marry, let your dog loose and put broken bottlesover the top of your walls. "

"And did the viscountess perceive your distress during these threedays?

"Do you take me for a child?" he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Ihave never been so merry in all my life as I have been since we met. "

"You are a great man unrecognized, " I cried, "and you are not--"

He did not permit me to conclude; for he had disappeared on seeing oneof his friends who approached as if to greet the viscountess. 

Now what can we add that would not be a tedious paraphrase of thelessons suggested by this conversation? All is included in it, eitheras seed or fruit. Nevertheless, you see, O husband! that yourhappiness hangs on a hair. 

 MEDITATION XVII. 

 THE THEORY OF THE BED. 

It was about seven o'clock in the evening. They were seated upon theacademic armchairs, which made a semi-circle round a huge hearth, onwhich a coal fire was burning fitfully--symbol of the burning subjectof their important deliberations. It was easy to guess, on seeing thegrave but earnest faces of all the members of this assembly, that theywere called upon to pronounce sentence upon the life, the fortunes andthe happiness of people like themselves. They had no commissionexcepting that of their conscience, and they gathered there as theassessors of an ancient and mysterious tribunal; but they representedinterests much more important than those of kings or of peoples; theyspoke in the name of the passions and on behalf of the happiness ofthe numberless generations which should succeed them. 

The grandson of the celebrated Boulle was seated before a round tableon which were placed the criminal exhibits which had been collectedwith remarkable intelligence. I, the insignificant secretary of themeeting, occupied a place at this desk, where it was my office to takedown a report of the meeting. 

"Gentlemen, " said an old man, "the first question upon which we haveto deliberate is found clearly stated in the following passage of aletter. The letter was written to the Princess of Wales, Caroline ofAnspach, by the widow of the Duke of Orleans, brother of Louis XIV, mother of the Regent: 'The Queen of Spain has a method of making herhusband say exactly what she wishes. The king is a religious man; hebelieves that he will be damned if he touched any woman but his wife, and still this excellent prince is of a very amorous temperament. Thusthe queen obtains her every wish. She has placed castors on herhusband's bed. If he refuses her anything, she pushes the bed away. Ifhe grants her request, the beds stand side by side, and she admits himinto hers. And so the king is highly delighted, since he likes -----'I will not go any further, gentlemen, for the virtuous frankness ofthe German princess might in this assembly be charged withimmorality. "

Should wise husbands adopt these beds on castors? This is the problemwhich we have to solve. 

The unanimity of the vote left no doubt about the opinion of theassembly. I was ordered to inscribe in the records, that if twomarried people slept on two separate beds in the same room the bedsought not to be set on castors. 

"With this proviso, " put in one of the members, "that the presentdecision should have no bearing on any subsequent ruling upon the bestarrangement of the beds of married people. "

The president passed to me a choicely bound volume, in which wascontained the original edition, published in 1788, of the letters ofCharlotte Elizabeth de Baviere, widow of the Duke of Orleans, the onlybrother of Louis XIV, and, while I was transcribing the passagealready quoted, he said:

"But, gentlemen, you must all have received at your houses thenotification in which the second question is stated. "

"I rise to make an observation, " exclaimed the youngest of the jealoushusbands there assembled. 

The president took his seat with a gesture of assent. 

"Gentlemen, " said the young husband, "are we quite prepared todeliberate upon so grave a question as that which is presented by theuniversally bad arrangement of the beds? Is there not here a muchwider question than that of mere cabinet-making to decide? For my ownpart I see in it a question which concerns that of universal humanintellect. The mysteries of conception, gentlemen, are still envelopedin a darkness which modern science has but partially dissipated. We donot know how far external circumstances influence the microscopicbeings whose discovery is due to the unwearied patience of Hill, Baker, Joblot, Eichorn, Gleichen, Spallanzani, and especially ofMuller, and last of all of M. Bory de Saint Vincent. The imperfectionsof the bed opens up a musical question of the highest importance, andfor my part I declare I shall write to Italy to obtain clearinformation as to the manner in which beds are generally arranged. Wedo not know whether there are in the Italian bed numerous curtainrods, screws and castors, or whether the construction of beds is inthis country more faulty than everywhere else, or whether the drynessof timber in Italy, due to the influence of the sun, does not _ab ovo_produce the harmony, the sense of which is to so large an extentinnate in Italians. For these reasons I move that we adjourn. "

"What!" cried a gentleman from the West, impatiently rising to hisfeet, "are we here to dilate upon the advancement of music? What wehave to consider first of all is manners, and the moral question isparamount in this discussion. "

"Nevertheless, " remarked one of the most influential members of thecouncil, "the suggestion of the former speaker is not in my opinion tobe passed by. In the last century, gentlemen, Sterne, one of thewriters most philosophically delightful and most delightfullyphilosophic, complained of the carelessness with which human beingswere procreated; 'Shame!' he cried 'that he who copies the divinephysiognomy of man receives crowns and applause, but he who achievesthe masterpiece, the prototype of mimic art, feels that like virtue hemust be his own reward. '

"Ought we not to feel more interest in the improvement of the humanrace than in that of horses? Gentlemen, I passed through a little townof Orleanais where the whole population consisted of hunchbacks, ofglum and gloomy people, veritable children of sorrow, and the remarkof the former speaker caused me to recollect that all the beds were ina very bad condition and the bedchambers presented nothing to the eyesof the married couple but what was hideous and revolting. Ah!gentlemen, how is it possible that our minds should be in an idealstate, when instead of the music of angels flying here and there inthe bosom of that heaven to which we have attained, our ears areassailed by the most detestable, the most angry, the most piercing ofhuman cries and lamentations? We are perhaps indebted for the finegeniuses who have honored humanity to beds which are solidlyconstructed; and the turbulent population which caused the FrenchRevolution were conceived perhaps upon a multitude of totteringcouches, with twisted and unstable legs; while the Orientals, who aresuch a beautiful race, have a unique method of making their beds. Ivote for the adjournment. "

And the gentleman sat down. 

A man belonging to the sect of Methodists arose. "Why should we changethe subject of debate? We are not dealing here with the improvement ofthe race nor with the perfecting of the work. We must not lose sightof the interests of the jealous husband and the principles on whichmoral soundness is based. Don't you know that the noise of which youcomplain seems more terrible to the wife uncertain of her crime, thanthe trumpet of the Last Judgment? Can you forget that a suit forinfidelity could never be won by a husband excepting through thisconjugal noise? I will undertake, gentlemen, to refer to the divorcesof Lord Abergavenny, of Viscount Bolingbroke, of the late QueenCaroline, of Eliza Draper, of Madame Harris, in fact, of all those whoare mentioned in the twenty volumes published by--. " (The secretarydid not distinctly hear the name of the English publisher. )

The motion to adjourn was carried. The youngest member proposed tomake up a purse for the author producing the best dissertationaddressed to the society upon a subject which Sterne considered ofsuch importance; but at the end of the seance eighteen shillings wasthe total sum found in the hat of the president. 

The above debate of the society, which had recently been formed inLondon for the improvement of manners and of marriage and which LordByron scoffed at, was transmitted to us by the kindness of W. Hawkins, Esq. , cousin-german of the famous Captain Clutterbuck. The extract mayserve to solve any difficulties which may occur in the theory of bedconstruction. 

But the author of the book considers that the English society hasgiven too much importance to this preliminary question. There existsin fact quite as many reasons for being a _Rossinist_ as for being a_Solidist_ in the matter of beds, and the author acknowledges that itis either beneath or above him to solve this difficulty. He thinkswith Laurence Sterne that it is a disgrace to European civilizationthat there exist so few physiological observations on callipedy, andhe refuses to state the results of his Meditations on this subject, because it would be difficult to formulate them in terms of prudery, and they would be but little understood, and misinterpreted. Suchreserve produces an hiatus in this part of the book; but the authorhas the pleasant satisfaction of leaving a fourth work to beaccomplished by the next century, to which he bequeaths the legacy ofall that he has not accomplished, a negative munificence which maywell be followed by all those who may be troubled by an overplus ofideas. 

The theory of the bed presents questions much more important thanthose put forth by our neighbors with regard to castors and themurmurs of criminal conversation. 

We know only three ways in which a bed (in the general sense of thisterm) may be arranged among civilized nations, and particularly amongthe privileged classes to whom this book is addressed. These threeways are as follows:

 1. TWIN BEDS. 2. SEPARATE ROOMS. 3. ONE BED FOR BOTH. 

Before applying ourselves to the examination of these three methods ofliving together, which must necessarily have different influences uponthe happiness of husbands and wives, we must take a rapid survey ofthe practical object served by the bed and the part it plays in thepolitical economy of human existence. 

The most incontrovertible principle which can be laid down in thismatter is, _that the bed was made to sleep upon_. 

It would be easy to prove that the practice of sleeping together wasestablished between married people but recently, in comparison withthe antiquity of marriage. 

By what reasonings has man arrived at that point in which he broughtin vogue a practice so fatal to happiness, to health, even to_amour-propre_? Here we have a subject which it would be curious toinvestigate. 

If you knew one of your rivals who had discovered a method of placingyou in a position of extreme absurdity before the eyes of those whowere dearest to you--for instance, while you had your mouth crookedlike that of a theatrical mask, or while your eloquent lips, like thecopper faucet of a scanty fountain, dripped pure water--you wouldprobably stab him. This rival is sleep. Is there a man in the worldwho knows how he appears to others, and what he does when he isasleep?

In sleep we are living corpses, we are the prey of an unknown powerwhich seizes us in spite of ourselves, and shows itself in the oddestshapes; some have a sleep which is intellectual, while the sleep ofothers is mere stupor. 

There are some people who slumber with their mouths open in thesilliest fashion. 

There are others who snore loud enough to make the timbers shake. 

Most people look like the impish devils that Michael Angelosculptured, putting out their tongues in silent mockery of thepassers-by. 

The only person I know of in the world who sleeps with a noble air isAgamemnon, whom Guerin has represented lying on his bed at the momentwhen Clytemnestra, urged by Egisthus, advances to slay him. Moreover, I have always had an ambition to hold myself on my pillow as the kingof kings Agamemnon holds himself, from the day that I was seized withdread of being seen during sleep by any other eyes than those ofProvidence. In the same way, too, from the day I heard my old nursesnorting in her sleep "like a whale, " to use a slang expression, Ihave added a petition to the special litany which I address toSaint-Honore, my patron saint, to the effect that he would save mefrom indulging in this sort of eloquence. 

When a man wakes up in the morning, his drowsy face grotesquelysurmounted by the folds of a silk handkerchief which falls over hisleft temple like a police cap, he is certainly a laughable object, andit is difficult to recognize in him the glorious spouse, celebrated inthe strophes of Rousseau; but, nevertheless, there is a certain gleamof life to illume the stupidity of a countenance half dead--and if youartists wish to make fine sketches, you should travel on thestage-coach and, when the postilion wakes up the postmaster, justexamine the physiognomies of the departmental clerks! But, were you ahundred times as pleasant to look upon as are these bureaucraticphysiognomies, at least, while you have your mouth shut, your eyes areopen, and you have some expression in your countenance. Do you knowhow you looked an hour before you awoke, or during the first hour ofyour sleep, when you were neither a man nor an animal, but merely athing, subject to the dominion of those dreams which issue from thegate of horn? But this is a secret between your wife and God. 

Is it for the purpose of insinuating the imbecility of slumber thatthe Romans decorated the heads of their beds with the head of an ass?We leave to the gentlemen who form the academy of inscriptions theelucidation of this point. 

Assuredly, the first man who took it into his head, at the inspirationof the devil, not to leave his wife, even while she was asleep, shouldknow how to sleep in the very best style; but do not forget to reckonamong the sciences necessary to a man on setting up an establishment, the art of sleeping with elegance. Moreover, we will place here as acorollary to Axiom XXV of our Marriage Catechism the two followingaphorisms:

 A husband should sleep as lightly as a watch-dog, so as never to be caught with his eyes shut. 

 A man should accustom himself from childhood to go to bed bareheaded. 

Certain poets discern in modesty, in the alleged mysteries of love, some reason why the married couple should share the same bed; but thefact must be recognized that if primitive men sought the shade ofcaverns, the mossy couch of deep ravines, the flinty roof of grottoesto protect his pleasure, it was because the delight of love left himwithout defence against his enemies. No, it is not more natural to laytwo heads upon the same pillow, than it is reasonable to tie a stripof muslin round the neck. Civilization is come. It has shut up amillion of men within an area of four square leagues; it has stalledthem in streets, houses, apartments, rooms, and chambers eight feetsquare; after a time it will make them shut up one upon another likethe tubes of a telescope. 

From this cause and from many others, such as thrift, fear, andill-concealed jealousy, has sprung the custom of the sleeping togetherof the married couple; and this custom has given rise to punctualityand simultaneity in rising and retiring. 

And here you find the most capricious thing in the world, the feelingmost pre-eminently fickle, the thing which is worthless without itsown spontaneous inspiration, which takes all its charm from thesuddenness of its desires, which owes its attractions to thegenuineness of its outbursts--this thing we call love, subjugated to amonastic rule, to that law of geometry which belongs to the Board ofLongitude!

If I were a father I should hate the child, who, punctual as theclock, had every morning and evening an explosion of tenderness andwished me good-day and good-evening, because he was ordered to do so. It is in this way that all that is generous and spontaneous in humansentiment becomes strangled at its birth. You may judge from this whatlove means when it is bound to a fixed hour!

Only the Author of everything can make the sun rise and set, morn andeve, with a pomp invariably brilliant and always new, and no one herebelow, if we may be permitted to use the hyperbole of Jean-BaptisteRousseau, can play the role of the sun. 

From these preliminary observations, we conclude that it is notnatural for two to lie under the canopy in the same bed;

That a man is almost always ridiculous when he is asleep;

And that this constant living together threatens the husband withinevitable dangers. 

We are going to try, therefore, to find out a method which will bringour customs in harmony with the laws of nature, and to combine customand nature in a way that will enable a husband to find in the mahoganyof his bed a useful ally, and an aid in defending himself. 

 1. TWIN BEDS. 

If the most brilliant, the best-looking, the cleverest of husbandswishes to find himself minotaurized just as the first year of hismarried life ends, he will infallibly attain that end if he is unwiseenough to place two beds side by side, under the voluptuous dome ofthe same alcove. 

The argument in support of this may be briefly stated. The followingare its main lines:

The first husband who invented the twin beds was doubtless anobstetrician, who feared that in the involuntary struggles of somedream he might kick the child borne by his wife. 

But no, he was rather some predestined one who distrusted his power ofchecking a snore. 

Perhaps it was some young man who, fearing the excess of his owntenderness, found himself always lying at the edge of the bed and indanger of tumbling off, or so near to a charming wife that hedisturbed her slumber. 

But may it not have been some Maintenon who received the suggestionfrom her confessor, or, more probably, some ambitious woman who wishedto rule her husband? Or, more undoubtedly, some pretty littlePompadour overcome by that Parisian infirmity so pleasantly describedby M. De Maurepas in that quatrain which cost him his protracteddisgrace and certainly contributed to the disasters of Louis XVI'sreign:

 "Iris, we love those features sweet, Your graces all are fresh and free; And flowerets spring beneath your feet, Where naught, alas! but flowers are seen. "

But why should it not have been a philosopher who dreaded thedisenchantment which a woman would experience at the sight of a manasleep? And such a one would always roll himself up in a coverlet andkeep his head bare. 

Unknown author of this Jesuitical method, whoever thou art, in thedevil's name, we hail thee as a brother! Thou hast been the cause ofmany disasters. Thy work has the character of all half measures; it issatisfactory in no respect, and shares the bad points of the two othermethods without yielding the advantages of either. How can the man ofthe nineteenth century, how can this creature so supremelyintelligent, who has displayed a power well-nigh supernatural, who hasemployed the resources of his genius in concealing the machinery ofhis life, in deifying his necessary cravings in order that he mightnot despise them, going so far as to wrest from Chinese leaves, fromEgyptian beans, from seeds of Mexico, their perfume, their treasure, their soul; going so far as to chisel the diamond, chase the silver, melt the gold ore, paint the clay and woo every art that may serve todecorate and to dignify the bowl from which he feeds!--how can thisking, after having hidden under folds of muslin covered with diamonds, studded with rubies, and buried under linen, under folds of cotton, under the rich hues of silk, under the fairy patterns of lace, thepartner of his wretchedness, how can he induce her to make shipwreckin the midst of all this luxury on the decks of two beds. Whatadvantage is it that we have made the whole universe subserve ourexistence, our delusions, the poesy of our life? What good is it tohave instituted law, morals and religion, if the invention of anupholsterer [for probably it was an upholsterer who invented the twinbeds] robs our love of all its illusions, strips it bare of themajestic company of its delights and gives it in their stead nothingbut what is ugliest and most odious? For this is the whole history ofthe two bed system. 

 LXIII. That it shall appear either sublime or grotesque are the alternatives to which we have reduced a desire. 

If it be shared, our love is sublime; but should you sleep in twinbeds, your love will always be grotesque. The absurdities which thishalf separation occasions may be comprised in either one of twosituations, which will give us occasion to reveal the causes of verymany marital misfortunes. 

Midnight is approaching as a young woman is putting on her curl papersand yawning as she did so. I do not know whether her melancholyproceeded from a headache, seated in the right or left lobe of herbrain, or whether she was passing through one of those seasons ofweariness during which all things appear black to us; but to see hernegligently putting up her hair for the night, to see her languidlyraising her leg to take off her garter, it seemed to me that she wouldprefer to be drowned rather than to be denied the relief of plungingher draggled life into the slumber that might restore it. At thisinstant, I know not to what degree from the North Pole she stands, whether at Spitzberg or in Greenland. Cold and indifferent she goes tobed thinking, as Mistress Walter Shandy might have thought, that themorrow would be a day of sickness, that her husband is coming homevery late, that the beaten eggs which she has just eaten were notsufficiently sweetened, that she owes more than five hundred francs toher dressmaker; in fine, thinking about everything which you maysuppose would occupy the mind of a tired woman. In the meanwhilearrives her great lout of a husband, who, after some business meeting, has drunk punch, with a consequent elation. He takes off his boots, leaves his stockings on a lounge, his bootjack lies before thefireplace; and wrapping his head up in a red silk handkerchief, without giving himself the trouble to tuck in the corners, he firesoff at his wife certain interjectory phrases, those little maritalendearments, which form almost the whole conversation at thosetwilight hours, where drowsy reason is no longer shining in thismechanism of ours. "What, in bed already! It was devilish cold thisevening! Why don't you speak, my pet? You've already rolled yourselfup in bed, then! Ah! you are in the dumps and pretend to be asleep!"These exclamations are mingled with yawns; and after numberless littleincidents which according to the usage of each home vary this prefaceof the night, our friend flings himself into his own bed with a heavythud. 

Alas! before a woman who is cold, how mad a man must appear whendesire renders him alternately angry and tender, insolent and abject, biting as an epigram and soothing as a madrigal; when he enacts withmore or less sprightliness the scene where, in _Venice Preserved_, thegenius of Orway has represented the senator Antonio, repeating ahundred times over at the feet of Aquilina: "Aquilina, Quilina, Lina, Aqui, Nacki!" without winning from her aught save the stroke of herwhip, inasmuch as he has undertaken to fawn upon her like a dog. Inthe eyes of every woman, even of a lawful wife, the more a man showseager passion under these circumstances, the more silly he appears. Heis odious when he commands, he is minotaurized if he abuses his power. On this point I would remind you of certain aphorisms in the marriagecatechism from which you will see that you are violating its mostsacred precepts. Whether a woman yields, or does not yield, thisinstitution of twin beds gives to marriage such an element ofroughness and nakedness that the most chaste wife and the mostintelligent husband are led to immodesty. 

This scene, which is enacted in a thousand ways and which mayoriginate in a thousand different incidents, has a sequel in thatother situation which, while it is less pleasant, is far moreterrible. 

One evening when I was talking about these serious matters with thelate Comte de Noce, of whom I have already had occasion to speak, atall white-haired old man, his intimate friend, whose name I will notgive, because he is still alive, looked at us with a somewhatmelancholy air. We guessed that he was about to relate some tale ofscandal, and we accordingly watched him, somewhat as the stenographerof the _Moniteur_ might watch, as he mounted the tribune, a ministerwhose speech had already been written out for the reporter. Thestory-teller on this occasion was an old marquis, whose fortune, together with his wife and children, had perished in the disasters ofthe Revolution. The marchioness had been one of the most inconsistentwomen of the past generation; the marquis accordingly was not wantingin observations on feminine human nature. Having reached an age inwhich he saw nothing before him but the gulf of the grave, he spokeabout himself as if the subject of his talk were Mark Antony orCleopatra. 

"My young friend"--he did me the honor to address me, for it was I whomade the last remark in this discussion--"your reflections make methink of a certain evening, in the course of which one of my friendsconducted himself in such a manner as to lose forever the respect ofhis wife. Now, in those days a woman could take vengeance withmarvelous facility--for it was always a word and a blow. The marriedcouple I speak of were particular in sleeping on separate beds, withtheir head under the arch of the same alcove. They came home one nightfrom a brilliant ball given by the Comte de Mercy, ambassador of theemperor. The husband had lost a considerable sum at play, so he wascompletely absorbed in thought. He had to pay a debt, the next day, ofsix thousand crowns!--and you will recollect, Noce, that a hundredcrowns couldn't be made up from scraping together the resources of tensuch musketeers. The young woman, as generally happens under suchcircumstances, was in a gale of high spirits. 'Give to the marquis, 'she said to a _valet de chambre_, 'all that he requires for histoilet. ' In those days people dressed for the night. Theseextraordinary words did not rouse the husband from his mood ofabstraction, and then madame, assisted by her maid, began to indulgein a thousand coquetries. 'Was my appearance to your taste thisevening?' 'You are always to my taste, ' answered the marquis, continuing to stride up and down the room. 'You are very gloomy! Comeand talk to me, you frowning lover, ' said she, placing herself beforehim in the most seductive negligee. But you can have no idea of theenchantments of the marchioness unless you had known her. Ah! you haveseen her, Noce!" he said with a mocking smile. "Finally, in spite ofall her allurements and beauty, the marchioness was lost sight of amidthoughts of the six thousand crowns which this fool of a husband couldnot get out of his head, and she went to bed all alone. But womenalways have one resource left; so that the moment that the goodhusband made as though he would get into his bed, the marchionesscried, 'Oh, how cold I am!' 'So am I, ' he replied. 'How is it that theservants have not warmed our beds?'--And then I rang. "

The Comte de Noce could not help laughing, and the old marquis, quiteput out of countenance, stopped short. 

Not to divine the desire of a wife, to snore while she lies awake, tobe in Siberia when she is in the tropics, these are the slighterdisadvantages of twin beds. What risks will not a passionate woman runwhen she becomes aware that her husband is a heavy sleeper?

I am indebted to Beyle for an Italian anecdote, to which his dry andsarcastic manner lent an infinite charm, as he told me this tale offeminine hardihood. 

Ludovico had his palace at one end of the town of Milan; at the otherwas that of the Countess of Pernetti. At midnight, on a certainoccasion, Ludovico resolved, at the peril of his life, to make a rashexpedition for the sake of gazing for one second on the face headored, and accordingly appeared as if by magic in the palace of hiswell-beloved. He reached the nuptial chamber. Elisa Pernetti, whoseheart most probably shared the desire of her lover, heard the sound ofhis footsteps and divined his intention. She saw through the walls ofher chamber a countenance glowing with love. She rose from hermarriage bed, light as a shadow she glided to the threshold of herdoor, with a look she embraced him, she seized his hand, she made asign to him, she drew him in. 

"But he will kill you!" said he. 

"Perhaps so. "

But all this amounts to nothing. Let us grant that most husbands sleeplightly. Let us grant that they sleep without snoring, and that theyalways discern the degree of latitude at which their wives are to befound. Moreover, all the reasons which we have given why twin bedsshould be condemned, let us consider but dust in the balance. But, after all, a final consideration would make us also proscribe the useof beds ranged within the limits of the same alcove. 

To a man placed in the position of a husband, there are circumstanceswhich have led us to consider the nuptial couch as an actual means ofdefence. For it is only in bed that a man can tell whether his wife'slove is increasing or decreasing. It is the conjugal barometer. Now tosleep in twin beds is to wish for ignorance. You will understand, whenwe come to treat of _civil war_ (See Part Third) of what extremeusefulness a bed is and how many secrets a wife reveals in bed, without knowing it. 

Do not therefore allow yourself to be led astray by the specious goodnature of such an institution as that of twin beds. 

It is the silliest, the most treacherous, the most dangerous in theworld. Shame and anathema to him who conceived it!

But in proportion as this method is pernicious in the case of youngmarried people, it is salutary and advantageous for those who havereached the twentieth year of married life. Husband and wife can thenmost conveniently indulge their duets of snoring. It will, moreover, be more convenient for their various maladies, whether rheumatism, obstinate gout, or even the taking of a pinch of snuff; and the coughor the snore will not in any respect prove a greater hindrance than itis found to be in any other arrangement. 

We have not thought it necessary to mention the exceptional caseswhich authorize a husband to resort to twin beds. However, the opinionof Bonaparte was that when once there had taken place an interchangeof life and breath (such are his words), nothing, not even sickness, should separate married people. This point is so delicate that it isnot possible here to treat it methodically. 

Certain narrow minds will object that there are certain patriarchalfamilies whose legislation of love is inflexible in the matter of twobeds and an alcove, and that, by this arrangement, they have beenhappy from generation to generation. But, the only answer that theauthor vouchsafes to this is that he knows a great many respectablepeople who pass their lives in watching games of billiards. 

 2. SEPARATE ROOMS. 

There cannot be found in Europe a hundred husbands of each nationsufficiently versed in the science of marriage, or if you like, oflife, to be able to dwell in an apartment separate from that of theirwives. 

The power of putting this system into practice shows the highestdegree of intellectual and masculine force. 

The married couple who dwell in separate apartments have become eitherdivorced, or have attained to the discovery of happiness. They eitherabominate or adore each other. We will not undertake to detail herethe admirable precepts which may be deduced from this theory whose endis to make constancy and fidelity easy and delightful. It may besufficient to declare that by this system alone two married people canrealize the dream of many noble souls. This will be understood by allthe faithful. 

As for the profane, their curious questionings will be sufficientlyanswered by the remark that the object of this institution is to givehappiness to one woman. Which among them will be willing to deprivegeneral society of any share in the talents with which they thinkthemselves endowed, to the advantage of one woman? Nevertheless, therendering of his mistress happy gives any one the fairest title toglory which can be earned in this valley of Jehosaphat, since, according to Genesis, Eve was not satisfied even with a terrestrialParadise. She desired to taste the forbidden fruit, the eternal emblemof adultery. 

But there is an insurmountable reason why we should refrain fromdeveloping this brilliant theory. It would cause a digression from themain theme of our work. In the situation which we have supposed to bethat of a married establishment, a man who is sufficiently unwise tosleep apart from his wife deserves no pity for the disaster which hehimself invites. 

Let us then resume our subject. Every man is not strong enough toundertake to occupy an apartment separate from that of his wife;although any man might derive as much good as evil from thedifficulties which exist in using but one bed. 

We now proceed to solve the difficulties which superficial minds maydetect in this method, for which our predilection is manifest. 

But this paragraph, which is in some sort a silent one, inasmuch as weleave it to the commentaries which will be made in more than one home, may serve as a pedestal for the imposing figure of Lycurgus, thatancient legislator, to whom the Greeks are indebted for theirprofoundest thoughts on the subject of marriage. May his system beunderstood by future generations! And if modern manners are too muchgiven to softness to adopt his system in its entirety, they may atleast be imbued with the robust spirit of this admirable code. 

 3. ONE BED FOR BOTH. 

On a night in December, Frederick the Great looked up at the sky, whose stars were twinkling with that clear and living light whichpresages heavy frost, and he exclaimed, "This weather will result in agreat many soldiers to Prussia. "

The king expressed here, by a single phrase, the principaldisadvantage which results from the constant living together ofmarried people. Although it may be permitted to Napoleon and toFrederick to estimate the value of a woman more or less according tothe number of her children, yet a husband of talent ought, accordingto the maxims of the thirteenth Meditation, to considerchild-begetting merely as a means of defence, and it is for him toknow to what extent it may take place. 

The observation leads into mysteries from which the physiological Muserecoils. She has been quite willing to enter the nuptial chamberswhile they are occupied, but she is a virgin and a prude, and thereare occasions on which she retires. For, since it is at this passagein my book that the Muse is inclined to put her white hands before hereyes so as to see nothing, like the young girl looking through theinterstices of her tapering fingers, she will take advantage of thisattack of modesty, to administer a reprimand to our manners. InEngland the nuptial chamber is a sacred place. The married couplealone have the privilege of entering it, and more than one lady, weare told, makes her bed herself. Of all the crazes which reign beyondthe sea, why should the only one which we despise be precisely that, whose grace and mystery ought undoubtedly to meet the approval of alltender souls on this continent? Refined women condemn the immodestywith which strangers are introduced into the sanctuary of marriage. Asfor us, who have energetically anathematized women who walk abroad atthe time when they expect soon to be confined, our opinion cannot bedoubted. If we wish the celibate to respect marriage, married peopleought to have some regard for the inflammability of bachelors. 

To sleep every night with one's wife may seem, we confess, an act ofthe most insolent folly. 

Many husbands are inclined to ask how a man, who desires to bringmarriage to perfection, dare prescribe to a husband a rule of conductwhich would be fatal in a lover. 

Nevertheless, such is the decision of a doctor of arts and sciencesconjugal. 

In the first place, without making a resolution never to sleep byhimself, this is the only course left to a husband, since we havedemonstrated the dangers of the preceding systems. We must now try toprove that this last method yields more advantage and lessdisadvantage than the two preceding methods, that is, so far asrelates to the critical position in which a conjugal establishmentstands. 

Our observations on the twin beds ought to have taught husbands thatthey should always be strung into the same degree of fervor as thatwhich prevails in the harmonious organization of their wives. Now itseems to us that this perfect equality in feelings would naturally becreated under the white Aegis, which spreads over both of them itsprotecting sheet; this at the outset is an immense advantage, andreally nothing is easier to verify at any moment than the degree oflove and expansion which a woman reaches when the same pillow receivesthe heads of both spouses. 

Man [we speak now of the species] walks about with a memorandum alwaystotalized, which shows distinctly and without error the amount ofpassion which he carries within him. This mysterious gynometer istraced in the hollow of the hand, for the hand is really that one ofour members which bears the impress most plainly of our characters. Chirology is a fifth work which I bequeath to my successors, for I amcontented here to make known but the elements of this interestingscience. 

The hand is the essential organ of touch. Touch is the sense whichvery nearly takes the place of all the others, and which alone isindispensable. Since the hand alone can carry out all that a mandesires, it is to an extent action itself. The sum total of ourvitality passes through it; and men of powerful intellects are usuallyremarkable for their shapely hands, perfection in that respect being adistinguishing trait of their high calling. 

Jesus Christ performed all His miracles by the imposition of hands. The hand is the channel through which life passes. It reveals to thephysician all the mysteries of our organism. It exhales more than anyother part of our bodies the nervous fluid, or that unknown substance, which for want of another term we style _will_. The eye can discoverthe mood of our soul but the hand betrays at the same time the secretsof the body and those of the soul. We can acquire the faculty ofimposing silence on our eyes, on our lips, on our brows, and on ourforehead; but the hand never dissembles and nothing in our featurescan be compared to the richness of its expression. The heat and coldwhich it feels in such delicate degrees often escape the notice ofother senses in thoughtless people; but a man knows how to distinguishthem, however little time he may have bestowed in studying the anatomyof sentiments and the affairs of human life. Thus the hand has athousand ways of becoming dry, moist, hot, cold, soft, rough, unctuous. The hand palpitates, becomes supple, grows hard and again issoftened. In fine it presents a phenomenon which is inexplicable sothat one is tempted to call it the incarnation of thought. It causesthe despair of the sculptor and the painter when they wish to expressthe changing labyrinth of its mysterious lineaments. To stretch outyour hand to a man is to save him, it serves as a ratification of thesentiments we express. The sorcerers of every age have tried to readour future destines in those lines which have nothing fanciful inthem, but absolutely correspond with the principles of each one's lifeand character. When she charges a man with want of tact, which ismerely touch, a woman condemns him without hope. We use theexpressions, the "Hand of Justice, " the "Hand of God;" and a _coup demain_ means a bold undertaking. 

To understand and recognize the hidden feelings by the atmosphericvariations of the hand, which a woman almost always yields withoutdistrust, is a study less unfruitful and surer than that ofphysiognomy. 

In this way you will be able, if you acquire this science, to wieldvast power, and to find a clue which will guide you through thelabyrinth of the most impenetrable heart. This will render your livingtogether free from very many mistakes, and, at the same time, rich inthe acquisition of many a treasure. 

Buffon and certain physiologists affirm that our members are morecompletely exhausted by desire than by the most keen enjoyments. Andreally, does not desire constitute of itself a sort of intuitivepossession? Does it not stand in the same relation to visible action, as those incidents in our mental life, in which we take part in adream, stand to the incidents of our actual life? This energeticapprehension of things, does it not call into being an internalemotion more powerful than that of the external action? If ourgestures are only the accomplishment of things already enacted by ourthought, you may easily calculate how desire frequently entertainedmust necessarily consume the vital fluids. But the passions which areno more than the aggregation of desires, do they not furrow with thewrinkle of their lightning the faces of the ambitious, of gamblers, for instance, and do they not wear out their bodies with marvelousswiftness?

These observations, therefore, necessarily contain the germs of amysterious system equally favored by Plato and by Epicurus; we willleave it for you to meditate upon, enveloped as it is in the veilwhich enshrouds Egyptian statues. 

But the greatest mistake that a man commits is to believe that lovecan belong only to those fugitive moments which, according to themagnificent expression of Bossuet, are like to the nails scatteredover a wall: to the eye they appear numerous; but when they arecollected they make but a handful. 

Love consists almost always in conversation. There are few thingsinexhaustible in a lover: goodness, gracefulness and delicacy. To feeleverything, to divine everything, to anticipate everything; toreproach without bringing affliction upon a tender heart; to make apresent without pride; to double the value of a certain action by theway in which it is done; to flatter rather by actions than by words;to make oneself understood rather than to produce a vivid impression;to touch without striking; to make a look and the sound of the voiceproduce the effect of a caress; never to produce embarrassment; toamuse without offending good taste; always to touch the heart; tospeak to the soul--this is all that women ask. They will abandon allthe delights of all the nights of Messalina, if only they may livewith a being who will yield them those caresses of the soul, for whichthey are so eager, and which cost nothing to men if only they have alittle consideration. 

This outline comprises a great portion of such secrets as belong tothe nuptial couch. There are perhaps some witty people who may takethis long definition of politeness for a description of love, while inany case it is no more than a recommendation to treat your wife as youwould treat the minister on whose good-will depends your promotion tothe post you covet. 

I hear numberless voices crying out that this book is a specialadvocate for women and neglects the cause of men;

That the majority of women are unworthy of these delicate attentionsand would abuse them;

That there are women given to licentiousness who would not lendthemselves to very much of what they would call mystification;

That women are nothing but vanity and think of nothing but dress;

That they have notions which are truly unreasonable;

That they are very often annoyed by an attention;

That they are fools, they understand nothing, are worth nothing, etc. 

In answer to all these clamors we will write here the followingphrases, which, placed between two spaces, will perhaps have the airof a thought, to quote an expression of Beaumarchais. 

 LXIV. A wife is to her husband just what her husband has made her. 

The reasons why the single bed must triumph over the other two methodsof organizing the nuptial couch are as follows: In the single couch wehave a faithful interpreter to translate with profound truthfulnessthe sentiments of a woman, to render her a spy over herself, to keepher at the height of her amorous temperature, never to leave her, tohave the power of hearing her breathe in slumber, and thus to avoidall the nonsense which is the ruin of so many marriages. 

As it is impossible to receive benefits without paying for them, youare bound to learn how to sleep gracefully, to preserve your dignityunder the silk handkerchief that wraps your head, to be polite, to seethat your slumber is light, not to cough too much, and to imitatethose modern authors who write more prefaces than books. 

 MEDITATION XVIII. 

 OF MARITAL REVOLUTIONS. 

The time always comes in which nations and women even the most stupidperceive that their innocence is being abused. The cleverest policymay for a long time proceed in a course of deceit; but it would bevery happy for men if they could carry on their deceit to an infiniteperiod; a vast amount of bloodshed would then be avoided, both innations and in families. 

Nevertheless, we hope that the means of defence put forth in thepreceding Meditations will be sufficient to deliver a certain numberof husbands from the clutches of the Minotaur! You must agree with thedoctor that many a love blindly entered upon perishes under thetreatment of hygiene or dies away, thanks to marital policy. Yes [whata consoling mistake!] many a lover will be driven away by personalefforts, many a husband will learn how to conceal under animpenetrable veil the machinery of his machiavelism, and many a manwill have better success than the old philosopher who cried: _Nolocoronari!_

But we are here compelled to acknowledge a mournful truth. Despotismhas its moments of secure tranquillity. Her reign seems like the hourwhich precedes the tempest, and whose silence enables the traveler, stretched upon the faded grass, to hear at a mile's distance, the songof the cicada. Some fine morning an honest woman, who will be imitatedby a great portion of our own women, discerns with an eagle eye theclever manoeuvres which have rendered her the victim of an infernalpolicy. She is at first quite furious at having for so long a timepreserved her virtue. At what age, in what day, does this terriblerevolution occur? This question of chronology depends entirely uponthe genius of each husband; for it is not the vocation of all to putin practice with the same talent the precepts of our conjugal gospel. 

"A man must have very little love, " the mystified wife will exclaim, "to enter upon such calculations as these! What! From the first day Ihave been to him perpetually an object of suspicion! It is monstrous, even a woman would be incapable of such artful and cruel treachery!"

This is the question. Each husband will be able to understand thevariations of this complaint which will be made in accordance with thecharacter of the young Fury, of whom he has made a companion. 

A woman by no means loses her head under these circumstances; sheholds her tongue and dissembles. Her vengeance will be concealed. Onlyyou will have some symptoms of hesitation to contend with on thearrival of the crisis, which we presume you to have reached on theexpiration of the honeymoon; but you will also have to contend againsta resolution. She has determined to revenge herself. From that day, sofar as regards you, her mask, like her heart, has turned to bronze. Formerly you were an object of indifference to her; you are becomingby degrees absolutely insupportable. The Civil War commences only atthe moment in which, like the drop of water which makes the full glassoverflow, some incident, whose more or less importance we finddifficulty in determining, has rendered you odious. The lapse of timewhich intervenes between this last hour, the limit of your goodunderstanding, and the day when your wife becomes cognizant of yourartifices, is nevertheless quite sufficient to permit you to institutea series of defensive operations, which we will now explain. 

Up to this time you have protected your honor solely by the exertionof a power entirely occult. Hereafter the wheels of your conjugalmachinery must be set going in sight of every one. In this case, ifyou would prevent a crime you must strike a blow. You have begun bynegotiating, you must end by mounting your horse, sabre in hand, likea Parisian gendarme. You must make your horse prance, you mustbrandish your sabre, you must shout strenuously, and you must endeavorto calm the revolt without wounding anybody. 

Just as the author has found a means of passing from occult methods tomethods that are patent, so it is necessary for the husband to justifythe sudden change in his tactics; for in marriage, as in literature, art consists entirely in the gracefulness of the transitions. This isof the highest importance for you. What a frightful position you willoccupy if your wife has reason to complain of your conduct at themoment, which is, perhaps, the most critical of your whole marriedlife!

You must therefore find some means or other to justify the secrettyranny of your initial policy; some means which still prepare themind of your wife for the severe measures which you are about to take;some means which so far from forfeiting her esteem will conciliateher; some means which will gain her pardon, which will restore somelittle of that charm of yours, by which you won her love before yourmarriage. 

"But what policy is it that demands this course of action? Is theresuch a policy?"

Certainly there is. 

But what address, what tact, what histrionic art must a husbandpossess in order to display the mimic wealth of that treasure which weare about to reveal to him! In order to counterfeit the passion whosefire is to make you a new man in the presence of your wife, you willrequire all the cunning of Talma. 

This passion is JEALOUSY. 

"My husband is jealous. He has been so from the beginning of ourmarriage. He has concealed this feeling from me by his usual refineddelicacy. Does he love me still? I am going to do as I like with him!"

Such are the discoveries which a woman is bound to make, one afteranother, in accordance with the charming scenes of the comedy whichyou are enacting for your amusement; and a man of the world must be anactual fool, if he fails in making a woman believe that which flattersher. 

With what perfection of hypocrisy must you arrange, step by step, yourhypocritical behavior so as to rouse the curiosity of your wife, toengage her in a new study, and to lead her astray among the labyrinthsof your thought!

Ye sublime actors! Do ye divine the diplomatic reticence, the gesturesof artifice, the veiled words, the looks of doubtful meaning whichsome evening may induce your wife to attempt the capture of yoursecret thoughts?

Ah! to laugh in your sleeve while you are exhibiting the fierceness ofa tiger; neither to lie nor to tell the truth; to comprehend thecapricious mood of a woman, and yet to make her believe that shecontrols you, while you intend to bind her with a collar of iron! Ocomedy that has no audience, which yet is played by one heart beforeanother heart and where both of you applaud because both of you thinkthat you have obtained success!

She it is who will tell you that you are jealous, who will point outto you that she knows you better than you know yourself, who willprove to you the uselessness of your artifices and who perhaps willdefy you. She triumphs in the excited consciousness of the superioritywhich she thinks she possesses over you; you of course are ennobled inher eyes; for she finds your conduct quite natural. The only thing shefeels is that your want of confidence was useless; if she wished tobetray, who could hinder her?

Then, some evening, you will burst into a passion, and, as some trifleaffords you a pretext, you will make a scene, in the course of whichyour anger will make you divulge the secret of your distress. And herecomes in the promulgation of our new code. 

Have no fear that a woman is going to trouble herself about this. Sheneeds your jealousy, she rather likes your severity. This comes fromthe fact that in the first place she finds there a justification forher own conduct; and then she finds immense satisfaction in playingbefore other people the part of a victim. What delightful expressionsof sympathy will she receive! Afterwards she will use this as a weaponagainst you, in the expectation thereby of leading you into a pitfall. 

She sees in your conduct the source of a thousand more pleasures inher future treachery, and her imagination smiles at all the barricadeswith which you surround her, for will she not have the delight ofsurmounting them all?

Women understand better than we do the art of analyzing the two humanfeelings, which alternately form their weapons of attack, or theweapons of which they are victims. They have the instinct of love, because it is their whole life, and of jealousy, because it is almostthe only means by which they can control us. Within them jealousy is agenuine sentiment and springs from the instinct of self-preservation;it is vital to their life or death. But with men this feeling isabsolutely absurd when it does not subserve some further end. 

To entertain feelings of jealousy towards the woman you love, is tostart from a position founded on vicious reasoning. We are loved, orwe are not loved; if a man entertains jealousy under either of thesecircumstances, it is a feeling absolutely unprofitable to him;jealousy may be explained as fear, fear in love. But to doubt one'swife is to doubt one's self. 

To be jealous is to exhibit, at once, the height of egotism, the errorof _amour-propre_, the vexation of morbid vanity. Women ratherencourage this ridiculous feeling, because by means of it they canobtain cashmere shawls, silver toilet sets, diamonds, which for themmark the high thermometer mark of their power. Moreover, unless youappear blinded by jealousy, your wife will not keep on her guard; forthere is no pitfall which she does not distrust, excepting that whichshe makes for herself. 

Thus the wife becomes the easy dupe of a husband who is clever enoughto give to the inevitable revolution, which comes sooner or later, theadvantageous results we have indicated. 

You must import into your establishment that remarkable phenomenonwhose existence is demonstrated in the asymptotes of geometry. Yourwife will always try to minotaurize you without being successful. Likethose knots which are never so tight as when one tries to loosen them, she will struggle to the advantage of your power over her, while shebelieves that she is struggling for her independence. 

The highest degree of good play on the part of a prince lies inpersuading his people that he goes to war for them, while all the timehe is causing them to be killed for his throne. 

But many husbands will find a preliminary difficulty in executing thisplan of campaign. If your wife is a woman of profound dissimulation, the question is, what signs will indicate to her the motives of yourlong mystification?

It will be seen that our Meditation on the Custom House, as well asthat on the Bed, has already revealed certain means of discerning thethought of a woman; but we make no pretence in this book ofexhaustively stating the resources of human wit, which areimmeasurable. Now here is a proof of this. On the day of theSaturnalia the Romans discovered more features in the character oftheir slaves, in ten minutes, than they would have found out duringthe rest of the year! You ought therefore to ordain Saturnalia in yourestablishment, and to imitate Gessler, who, when he saw William Tellshoot the apple off his son's head, was forced to remark, "Here is aman whom I must get rid of, for he could not miss his aim if he wishedto kill me. "

You understand, then, that if your wife wishes to drink Roussillonwine, to eat mutton chops, to go out at all hours and to read theencyclopaedia, you are bound to take her very seriously. In the firstplace, she will begin to distrust you against her own wish, on seeingthat your behaviour towards her is quite contrary to your previousproceedings. She will suppose that you have some ulterior motive inthis change of policy, and therefore all the liberty that you give herwill make her so anxious that she cannot enjoy it. As regards themisfortunes that this change may bring, the future will provide forthem. In a revolution the primary principle is to exercise a controlover the evil which cannot be prevented and to attract the lightningby rods which shall lead it to the earth. 

And now the last act of the comedy is in preparation. 

The lover who, from the day when the feeblest of all first symptomsshows itself in your wife until the moment when the marital revolutiontakes place, has jumped upon the stage, either as a material creatureor as a being of the imagination--the LOVER, summoned by a sign fromher, now declares: "Here I am!"

 MEDITATION XIX. 

 OF THE LOVER. 

We offer the following maxims for your consideration:

We should despair of the human race if these maxims had been madebefore 1830; but they set forth in so clear a manner the agreementsand difficulties which distinguish you, your wife and a lover; they sobrilliantly describe what your policy should be, and demonstrate toyou so accurately the strength of the enemy, that the teacher has puthis _amour-propre_ aside, and if by chance you find here a single newthought, send it to the devil, who suggested this work. 

 LXV. To speak of love is to make love. 

 LXVI. In a lover the coarsest desire always shows itself as a burst of honest admiration. 

 LXVII. A lover has all the good points and all the bad points which are lacking in a husband. 

 LXVIII. A lover not only gives life to everything, he makes one forget life; the husband does not give life to anything. 

 LXIX. All the affected airs of sensibility which a woman puts on invariablydeceive a lover; and on occasions when a husband shrugs his shoulders, a lover is in ecstasies. 

 LXX. A lover betrays by his manner alone the degree of intimacy in which he stands to a married woman. 

 LXXI. A woman does not always know why she is in love. It is rarely that aman falls in love without some selfish purpose. A husband shoulddiscover this secret motive of egotism, for it will be to him thelever of Archimedes. 

 LXXII. A clever husband never betrays his supposition that his wife has a lover. 

 LXXIII. The lover submits to all the caprices of a woman; and as a man isnever vile while he lies in the arms of his mistress, he will take themeans to please her that a husband would recoil from. 

 LXXIV. A lover teaches a wife all that her husband has concealed from her. 

 LXXV. All the sensations which a woman yields to her lover, she gives inexchange; they return to her always intensified; they are as rich inwhat they give as in what they receive. This is the kind of commercein which almost all husbands end by being bankrupt. 

 LXXVI. A lover speaks of nothing to a woman but that which exalts her; whilea husband, although he may be a loving one, can never refrain fromgiving advice which always has the appearance of reprimand. 

 LXXVII. A lover always starts from his mistress to himself; with a husband the contrary is the case. 

 LXXVIII. A lover always has a desire to appear amiable. There is in thissentiment an element of exaggeration which leads to ridicule; studyhow to take advantage of this. 

 LXXIX. When a crime has been committed the magistrate who investigates thecase knows [excepting in the case of a released convict who commitsmurder in jail] that there are not more than five persons to whom hecan attribute the act. He starts from this premise a series ofconjectures. The husband should reason like the judge; there are onlythree people in society whom he can suspect when seeking the lover of his wife. 

 LXXX. A lover is never in the wrong. 

 LXXXI. The lover of a married woman says to her: "Madame, you have need ofrest. You have to give an example of virtue to your children. You havesworn to make your husband happy, and although he has some faults--hehas fewer than I have--he is worthy of your esteem. Nevertheless youhave sacrificed everything for me. Do not let a single murmur escapeyou; for regret is an offence which I think worthy of a severerpenalty than the law decrees against infidelity. As a reward for thesesacrifices, I will bring you as much pleasure as pain. " And theincredible part about it is, that the lover triumphs. The form whichhis speech takes carries it. He says but one phrase: "I love you. " Alover is a herald who proclaims either the merit, the beauty, or thewit of a woman. What does a husband proclaim?

To sum up all, the love which a married woman inspires, or that whichshe gives back, is the least creditable sentiment in the world; in herit is boundless vanity; in her lover it is selfish egotism. The loverof a married woman contracts so many obligations, that scarcely threemen in a century are met with who are capable of discharging them. Heought to dedicate his whole life to his mistress, but he always endsby deserting her; both parties are aware of this, and, from thebeginning of social life, the one has always been sublime inself-sacrifice, the other an ingrate. The infatuation of love alwaysrouses the pity of the judges who pass sentence on it. But where doyou find such love genuine and constant? What power must a husbandpossess to struggle successfully against a man who casts over a womana spell strong enough to make her submit to such misfortunes!

We think, then, as a general rule, a husband, if he knows how to usethe means of defence which we have outlined, can lead his wife up toher twenty-seventh year, not without her having chosen a lover, butwithout her having committed the great crime. Here and there we meetwith men endowed with deep marital genius, who can keep their wives, body and soul to themselves alone up to their thirtieth orthirty-fifth year; but these exceptions cause a sort of scandal andalarm. The phenomenon scarcely ever is met with excepting in thecountry, where life is transparent and people live in glass houses andthe husband wields immense power. The miraculous assistance which menand things thus give to a husband always vanishes in the midst of acity whose population reaches to two hundred and fifty thousand. 

It would therefore almost appear to be demonstrated that thirty is theage of virtue. At that critical period, a woman becomes so difficultto guard, that in order successfully to enchain her within theconjugal Paradise, resort must be had to those last means of defencewhich remain to be described, and which we will reveal in the _Essayon Police_, the _Art of Returning Home_, and _Catastrophes_. 

 MEDITATION XX. 

 ESSAY ON POLICE. 

The police of marriage consist of all those means which are given youby law, manners, force, and stratagem for preventing your wife in herattempt to accomplish those three acts which in some sort make up thelife of love: writing, seeing and speaking. 

The police combine in greater or less proportion the means of defenceput forth in the preceding Meditations. Instinct alone can teach inwhat proportions and on what occasions these compounded elements areto be employed. The whole system is elastic; a clever husband willeasily discern how it must be bent, stretched or retrenched. By theaid of the police a man can guide his wife to her fortieth year purefrom any fault. 

We will divide this treatise on Police into five captions:

 1. OF MOUSE-TRAPS. 2. OF CORRESPONDENCE. 3. OF SPIES. 4. THE INDEX. 5. OF THE BUDGET. 

 1. OF MOUSE-TRAPS. 

In spite of the grave crisis which the husband has reached, we do notsuppose that the lover has completely acquired the freedom of the cityin the marital establishment. Many husbands often suspect that theirwives have a lover, and yet they do not know upon which of the five orsix chosen ones of whom we have spoken their suspicions ought to fall. This hesitation doubtless springs from some moral infirmity, to whoseassistance the professor must come. 

Fouche had in Paris three or four houses resorted to by people of thehighest distinction; the mistresses of these dwellings were devoted tohim. This devotion cost a great deal of money to the state. Theminister used to call these gatherings, of which nobody at the timehad any suspicion, his _mouse-traps_. More than one arrest was made atthe end of the ball at which the most brilliant people of Paris hadbeen made accomplices of this oratorian. 

The act of offering some fragments of roasted nuts, in order to seeyour wife put her white hand in the trap, is certainly exceedinglydelicate, for a woman is certain to be on her guard; nevertheless, wereckon upon at least three kinds of mouse-traps: _The Irresistible_, _The Fallacious_, and that which is _Touch and Go_. 

 _The Irresistible. _

Suppose two husbands, we will call them A and B, wish to discover whoare the lovers of their wives. We will put the husband A at the centreof a table loaded with the finest pyramids of fruit, of crystals, ofcandies and of liqueurs, and the husband B shall be at whatever pointof this brilliant circle you may please to suppose. The champagne hasgone round, every eye is sparkling and every tongue is wagging. 

HUSBAND A. (peeling a chestnut)--Well, as for me, I admire literarypeople, but from a distance. I find them intolerable; in conversationthey are despotic; I do not know what displeases me more, their faultsor their good qualities. In short (he swallows his chestnut), peopleof genius are like tonics--you like, but you must use themtemperately. 

WIFE B. (who has listened attentively)--But, M. A. , you are veryexacting (with an arch smile); it seems to me that dull people have asmany faults as people of talent, with this difference perhaps, thatthe former have nothing to atone for them!

HUSBAND A. (irritably)--You will agree at least, madame, that they arenot very amiable to you. 

WIFE B. (with vivacity)--Who told you so?

HUSBAND A. (smiling)--Don't they overwhelm you all the time with theirsuperiority? Vanity so dominates their souls that between you and themthe effort is reciprocal--

THE MISTRESS OF THE HOUSE. (aside to Wife A)--You well deserved it, mydear. (Wife A shrugs her shoulders. )

HUSBAND A. (still continuing)--Then the habit they have of combiningideas which reveal to them the mechanism of feeling! For them love ispurely physical and every one knows that they do not shine. 

WIFE B. (biting her lips, interrupting him)--It seems to me, sir, thatwe are the sole judges in this matter. I can well understand why menof the world do not like men of letters! But it is easier to criticisethan to imitate them. 

HUSBAND A. (disdainfully)--Oh, madame, men of the world can assail theauthors of the present time without being accused of envy. There ismany a gentleman of the drawing-room, who if he undertook to write--

WIFE B. (with warmth)--Unfortunately for you, sir, certain friends ofyours in the Chamber have written romances; have you been able to readthem?--But really, in these days, in order to attain the leastoriginality, you must undertake historic research, you must--

HUSBAND B. (making no answer to the lady next him and speaking aside)--Oh! Oh! Can it be that it is M. De L-----, author of the _Dreams ofa Young Girl_, whom my wife is in love with?--That is singular; Ithought that it was Doctor M-----. But stay! (Aloud. ) Do you know, mydear, that you are right in what you say? (All laugh. ) Really, Ishould prefer to have always artists and men of letters in mydrawing-room--(aside) when we begin to receive!--rather than to seethere other professional men. In any case artists speak of thingsaboutwhich every one is enthusiastic, for who is there who does not believein good taste? But judges, lawyers, and, above all, doctors--Heavens!I confess that to hear them constantly speaking about lawsuits anddiseases, those two human ills--

WIFE A. (sitting next to Husband B, speaking at the same time)--Whatis that you are saying, my friend? You are quite mistaken. In thesedays nobody wishes to wear a professional manner; doctors, since youhave mentioned doctors, try to avoid speaking of professional matters. They talk politics, discuss the fashions and the theatres, they tellanecdotes, they write books better than professional authors do; thereis a vast difference between the doctors of to-day and those ofMoliere--

HUSBAND A. (aside)--Whew! Is it possible my wife is in love with Dr. M-----? That would be odd. (Aloud. ) That is quite possible, my dear, but I would not give a sick dog in charge of a physician who writes. 

WIFE A. (interrupting her husband)--I know people who have five or sixoffices, yet the government has the greatest confidence in them;anyway, it is odd that you should speak in this way, you who were oneof Dr. M-----'s great cases--

HUSBAND A. (aside)--There can be no doubt of it!

 _The Fallacious. _

A HUSBAND. (as he reaches home)--My dear, we are invited by Madame deFischtaminel to a concert which she is giving next Tuesday. I reckonedon going there, as I wanted to speak with a young cousin of theminister who was among the singers; but he is gone to Frouville to seehis aunt. What do you propose doing?

HIS WIFE. --These concerts tire me to death!--You have to sit nailed toyour chair whole hours without saying a word. --Besides, you know quitewell that we dine with my mother on that day, and it is impossible tomiss paying her a visit. 

HER HUSBAND. (carelessly)--Ah! that is true. 

_(Three days afterwards. )_

THE HUSBAND. (as he goes to bed)--What do you think, my darling?To-morrow I will leave you at your mother's, for the count hasreturned from Frouville and will be at Madame de Fischtaminel'sconcert. 

HIS WIFE. (vivaciously)--But why should you go alone? You know how Iadore music!

 _The Touch and Go Mouse-Trap. _

THE WIFE. --Why did you go away so early this evening?

THE HUSBAND. (mysteriously)--Ah! It is a sad business, and all themore so because I don't know how I can settle it. 

THE WIFE. --What is it all about, Adolph? You are a wretch if you donot tell me what you are going to do!

THE HUSBAND. --My dear, that ass of a Prosper Magnan is fighting a duelwith M. De Fontanges, on account of an Opera singer. --But what is thematter with you?

THE WIFE. --Nothing. --It is very warm in this room and I don't knowwhat ails me, for the whole day I have been suffering from suddenflushing of the face. 

THE HUSBAND. (aside)--She is in love with M. De Fontanges. (Aloud. )Celestine! (He shouts out still louder. ) Celestine! Come quick, madameis ill!

You will understand that a clever husband will discover a thousandways of setting these three kinds of traps. 

 2. OF CORRESPONDENCE. 

To write a letter, and to have it posted; to get an answer, to read itand burn it; there we have correspondence stated in the simplestterms. 

Yet consider what immense resources are given by civilization, by ourmanners and by our love to the women who wish to conceal thesematerial actions from the scrutiny of a husband. 

The inexorable box which keeps its mouth open to all comers receivesits epistolary provender from all hands. 

There is also the fatal invention of the General Delivery. A loverfinds in the world a hundred charitable persons, male and female, who, for a slight consideration, will slip the billets-doux into theamorous and intelligent hand of his fair mistress. 

A correspondence is a variable as Proteus. There are sympathetic inks. A young celibate has told us in confidence that he has written aletter on the fly-leaf of a new book, which, when the husband askedfor it of the bookseller, reached the hands of his mistress, who hadbeen prepared the evening before for this charming article. 

A woman in love, who fears her husband's jealousy, will write and readbillets-doux during the time consecrated to those mysteriousoccupations during which the most tyrannical husband must leave heralone. 

Moreover, all lovers have the art of arranging a special code ofsignals, whose arbitrary import it is difficult to understand. At aball, a flower placed in some odd way in the hair; at the theatre, apocket handkerchief unfolded on the front of the box; rubbing thenose, wearing a belt of a particular color, putting the hat on oneside, wearing one dress oftener than another, singing a certain songin a concert or touching certain notes on the piano; fixing the eyeson a point agreed; everything, in fact, from the hurdy-gurdy whichpasses your windows and goes away if you open the shutter, to thenewspaper announcement of a horse for sale--all may be reckoned ascorrespondence. 

How many times, in short, will a wife craftily ask her husband to dosuch and such commission for her, to go to such and such a shop orhouse, having previously informed her lover that your presence at suchor such a place means yes or no?

On this point the professor acknowledges with shame that there is nopossible means of preventing correspondence between lovers. But alittle machiavelism on the part of the husband will be much morelikely to remedy the difficulty than any coercive measures. 

An agreement, which should be kept sacred between married people, istheir solemn oath that they will respect each other's sealed letters. Clever is the husband who makes this pledge on his wedding-day and isable to keep it conscientiously. 

In giving your wife unrestrained liberty to write and to receiveletters, you will be enabled to discern the moment she begins tocorrespond with a lover. 

But suppose your wife distrusts you and covers with impenetrableclouds the means she takes to conceal from you her correspondence. Isit not then time to display that intellectual power with which wearmed you in our Meditation entitled _Of the Custom House_? The manwho does not see when his wife writes to her lover, and when shereceives an answer, is a failure as a husband. 

The proposed study which you ought to bestow upon the movements, theactions, the gestures, the looks of your wife, will be perhapstroublesome and wearying, but it will not last long; the only point isto discover when your wife and her lover correspond and in what way. 

We cannot believe that a husband, even of moderate intelligence, willfail to see through this feminine manoeuvre, when once he suspects itsexistence. 

Meanwhile, you can judge from a single incident what means of policeand of restraint remain to you in the event of such a correspondence. 

A young lawyer, whose ardent passion exemplified certain of theprinciples dwelt upon in this important part of our work, had marrieda young person whose love for him was but slight; yet thiscircumstance he looked upon as an exceedingly happy one; but at theend of his first year of marriage he perceived that his dear Anna [forAnna was her name] had fallen in love with the head clerk of astock-broker. 

Adolph was a young man of about twenty-five, handsome in face and asfond of amusement as any other celibate. He was frugal, discreet, possessed of an excellent heart, rode well, talked well, had fineblack hair always curled, and dressed with taste. In short, he wouldhave done honor and credit to a duchess. The advocate was ugly, short, stumpy, square-shouldered, mean-looking, and, moreover, a husband. Anna, tall and pretty, had almond eyes, white skin and refinedfeatures. She was all love; and passion lighted up her glance with abewitching expression. While her family was poor, Maitre Lebrun had anincome of twelve thousand francs. That explains all. 

One evening Lebrun got home looking extremely chop-fallen. He wentinto his study to work; but he soon came back shivering to his wife, for he had caught a fever and hurriedly went to bed. There he laygroaning and lamenting for his clients and especially for a poor widowwhose fortune he was to save the very next day by effecting acompromise. An appointment had been made with certain business men andhe was quite incapable of keeping it. After having slept for a quarterof an hour, he begged his wife in a feeble voice to write to one ofhis intimate friends, asking him to take his (Lebrun's) place next dayat the conference. He dictated a long letter and followed with his eyethe space taken up on the paper by his phrases. When he came to beginthe second page of the last sheet, the advocate set out to describe tohis confrere the joy which his client would feel on the signing of thecompromise, and the fatal page began with these words:

 "My good friend, go for Heaven's sake to Madame Vernon's at once; you are expected with impatience there; she lives at No. 7 Rue de Sentier. Pardon my brevity; but I count on your admirable good sense to guess what I am unable to explain. 

 "Tout a vous, "

"Give me the letter, " said the lawyer, "that I may see whether it iscorrect before signing it. "

The unfortunate wife, who had been taken off her guard by this letter, which bristled with the most barbarous terms of legal science, gave upthe letter. As soon as Lebrun got possession of the wily script hebegan to complain, to twist himself about, as if in pain, and todemand one little attention after another of his wife. Madame left theroom for two minutes during which the advocate leaped from his bed, folded a piece of paper in the form of a letter and hid the missivewritten by his wife. When Anna returned, the clever husband seized theblank paper, made her address it to the friend of his, to whom theletter which he had taken out was written, and the poor creaturehanded the blank letter to his servant. Lebrun seemed to growgradually calmer; he slept or pretended to do so, and the next morninghe still affected to feel strange pains. Two days afterwards he toreoff the first leaf of the letter and put an "e" to the word _tout_ inthe phrase "tout a vous. "[*] He folded mysteriously the paper whichcontained the innocent forgery, sealed it, left his bedroom and calledthe maid, saying to her:

[*] Thus giving a feminine ending to the signature, and lending the impression that the note emanated from the wife personally--J. W. M. 

"Madame begs that you will take this to the house of M. Adolph; now, be quick about it. "

He saw the chambermaid leave the house and soon afterwards he, on aplea of business, went out, hurried to Rue de Sentier, to the addressindicated, and awaited the arrival of his rival at the house of afriend who was in the secret of his stratagem. The lover, intoxicatedwith happiness, rushed to the place and inquired for Madame de Vernon;he was admitted and found himself face to face with Maitre Lebrun, whoshowed a countenance pale but chill, and gazed at him with tranquilbut implacable glance. 

"Sir, " he said in a tone of emotion to the young clerk, whose heartpalpitated with terror, "you are in love with my wife, and you aretrying to please her; I scarcely know how to treat you in return forthis, because in your place and at your age I should have done exactlythe same. But Anna is in despair; you have disturbed her happiness, and her heart is filled with the torments of hell. Moreover, she hastold me all, a quarrel soon followed by a reconciliation forced her towrite the letter which you have received, and she has sent me here inher place. I will not tell you, sir, that by persisting in your planof seduction you will cause the misery of her you love, that you willforfeit her my esteem, and eventually your own; that your crime willbe stamped on the future by causing perhaps sorrow to my children. Iwill not even speak to you of the bitterness you will infuse into mylife;--unfortunately these are commonplaces! But I declare to you, sir, that the first step you take in this direction will be the signalfor a crime; for I will not trust the risk of a duel in order to stabyou to the heart!"

And the eyes of the lawyer flashed ominously. 

"Now, sir, " he went on in a gentler voice, "you are young, you have agenerous heart. Make a sacrifice for the future happiness of her youlove; leave her and never see her again. And if you must needs be amember of my family, I have a young aunt who is yet unsettled in life;she is charming, clever and rich. Make her acquaintance, and leave avirtuous woman undisturbed. "

This mixture of raillery and intimidation, together with theunwavering glance and deep voice of the husband, produced a remarkableimpression on the lover. He remained for a moment utterly confused, like people overcome with passion and deprived of all presence of mindby a sudden shock. If Anna has since then had any lovers [which is apure hypothesis] Adolph certainly is not one of them. 

This occurrence may help you to understand that correspondence is adouble-edged weapon which is of as much advantage for the defence ofthe husband as for the inconsistency of the wife. You should thereforeencourage correspondence for the same reason that the prefect ofpolice takes special care that the street lamps of Paris are keptlighted. 

 3. OF SPIES. 

To come so low as to beg servants to reveal secrets to you, and tofall lower still by paying for a revelation, is not a crime; it isperhaps not even a dastardly act, but it is certainly a piece offolly; for nothing will ever guarantee to you the honesty of a servantwho betrays her mistress, and you can never feel certain whether sheis operating in your interest or in that of your wife. This pointtherefore may be looked upon as beyond controversy. 

Nature, that good and tender parent, has set round about the mother ofa family the most reliable and the most sagacious of spies, the mosttruthful and at the same time the most discreet in the world. They aresilent and yet they speak, they see everything and appear to seenothing. 

One day I met a friend of mine on the boulevard. He invited me todinner, and we went to his house. Dinner had been already served, andthe mistress of the house was helping her two daughters to plates ofsoup. 

"I see here my first symptoms, " I said to myself. 

We sat down. The first word of the husband, who spoke withoutthinking, and for the sake of talking, was the question:

"Has any one been here to-day?"

"Not a soul, " replied his wife, without lifting her eyes. 

I shall never forget the quickness with which the two daughters lookedup to their mother. The elder girl, aged eight, had somethingespecially peculiar in her glance. There was at the same timerevelation and mystery, curiosity and silence, astonishment and apathyin that look. If there was anything that could be compared to thespeed with which the light of candor flashed from their eyes, it wasthe prudent reserve with which both of them closed down, likeshutters, the folds of their white eyelids. 

Ye sweet and charming creatures, who from the age of nine even to theage of marriage too often are the torment of a mother even when she isnot a coquette, is it by the privilege of your years or the instinctof your nature that your young ears catch the faint sound of a man'svoice through walls and doors, that your eyes are awake to everything, and that your young spirit busies itself in divining all, even themeaning of a word spoken in the air, even the meaning of your mother'sslightest gesture?

There is something of gratitude, something in fact instinctive, in thepredilection of fathers for their daughters and mothers for theirsons. 

But the act of setting spies which are in some way inanimate is meredotage, and nothing is easier than to find a better plan than that ofthe beadle, who took it into his head to put egg-shells in his bed, and who obtained no other sympathy from his confederate than thewords, "You are not very successful in breaking them. "

The Marshal de Saxe did not give much consolation to his Popelinierewhen they discovered in company that famous revolving chimney, invented by the Duc de Richelieu. 

"That is the finest piece of horn work that I have ever seen!" criedthe victor of Fontenoy. 

Let us hope that your espionage will not give you so troublesome alesson. Such misfortunes are the fruits of the civil war and we do notlive in that age. 

 4. THE INDEX. 

The Pope puts books only on the Index; you will mark with a stigma ofreprobation men and things. 

It is forbidden to madame to go into a bath except in her own house. 

It is forbidden to madame to receive into her house him whom yoususpect of being her lover, and all those who are the accomplices oftheir love. 

It is forbidden to madame to take a walk without you. 

But the peculiarities which in each household originate from thediversity of characters, the numberless incidents of passion, and thehabits of the married people give to this black book so manyvariations, the lines in it are multiplied or erased with suchrapidity that a friend of the author has called this Index _TheHistory of Changes in the Marital Church_. 

There are only two things which can be controlled or prescribed inaccordance with definite rules; the first is the country, the secondis the promenade. 

A husband ought never to take his wife to the country nor permit herto go there. Have a country home if you like, live there, entertainthere nobody excepting ladies or old men, but never leave your wifealone there. But to take her, for even half a day, to the house ofanother man is to show yourself as stupid as an ostrich. 

To keep guard over a wife in the country is a task most difficult ofaccomplishment. Do you think that you will be able to be in thethickets, to climb the trees, to follow the tracks of a lover over thegrass trodden down at night, but straightened by the dew in themorning and refreshed by the rays of the sun? Can you keep your eye onevery opening in the fence of the park? Oh! the country and theSpring! These are the two right arms of the celibate. 

When a woman reaches the crisis at which we suppose her to be, ahusband ought to remain in town till the declaration of war, or toresolve on devoting himself to all the delights of a cruel espionage. 

With regard to the promenade: Does madame wish to go to parties, tothe theatre, to the Bois de Boulogne, to purchase her dresses, to findout what is the fashion? Madame shall go, shall see everything in therespectable company of her lord and master. 

If she take advantage of the moment when a business appointment, whichyou cannot fail to keep, detains you, in order to obtain your tacitpermission to some meditated expedition; if in order to obtain thatpermission she displays all the witcheries of those cajoleries inwhich women excel and whose powerful influence you ought already tohave known, well, well, the professor implores you to allow her to winyou over, while at the same time you sell dear the boon she asks; andabove all convince this creature, whose soul is at once as changeableas water and as firm as steel, that it is impossible for you from theimportance of your work to leave your study. 

But as soon as your wife has set foot upon the street, if she goes onfoot, don't give her time to make fifty steps; follow and track her insuch a way that you will not be noticed. 

It is possible that there exist certain Werthers whose refined anddelicate souls recoil from this inquisition. But this is not moreblamable than that of a landed proprietor who rises at night and looksthrough the windows for the purpose of keeping watch over the peacheson his _espaliers_. You will probably by this course of action obtain, before the crime is committed, exact information with regard to theapartments which so many lovers rent in the city under fictitiousnames. If it happens [which God forbid!] that your wife enters a housesuspected by you, try to find out if the place has several exits. 

Should your wife take a hack, what have you to fear? Is there not aprefect of police, to whom all husbands ought to decree a crown ofsolid gold, and has he not set up a little shed or bench where thereis a register, an incorruptible guardian of public morality? And doeshe not know all the comings and goings of these Parisian gondolas?

One of the vital principles of our police will consist in alwaysfollowing your wife to the furnishers of your house, if she isaccustomed to visit them. You will carefully find out whether there isany intimacy between her and her draper, her dressmaker or hermilliner, etc. In this case you will apply the rules of the conjugalCustom House, and draw your own conclusions. 

If in your absence your wife, having gone out against your will, tellsyou that she had been to such a place, to such a shop, go thereyourself the next day and try to find out whether she has spoken thetruth. 

But passion will dictate to you, even better than the Meditation, thevarious resources of conjugal tyranny, and we will here cut shortthese tiresome instructions. 

 5. OF THE BUDGET. 

In outlining the portrait of a sane and sound husband (See _Meditationon the Predestined_), we urgently advise that he should conceal fromhis wife the real amount of his income. 

In relying upon this as the foundation stone of our financial systemwe hope to do something towards discounting the opinion, so verygenerally held, that a man ought not to give the handling of hisincome to his wife. This principle is one of the many popular errorsand is one of the chief causes of misunderstanding in the domesticestablishment. 

But let us, in the first place, deal with the question of heart, before we proceed to that of money. 

To draw up a little civil list for your wife and for the requirementsof the house and to pay her money as if it were a contribution, intwelve equal portions month by month, has something in it that is alittle mean and close, and cannot be agreeable to any but sordid andmistrustful souls. By acting in this way you prepare for yourselfinnumerable annoyances. 

I could wish that during the first year of your mellifluous union, scenes more or less delightful, pleasantries uttered in good taste, pretty purses and caresses might accompany and might decorate thehanding over of this monthly gift; but the time will come when theself-will of your wife or some unforeseen expenditure will compel herto ask a loan of the Chamber; I presume that you will always grant herthe bill of indemnity, as our unfaithful deputies never fail to do. They pay, but they grumble; you must pay and at the same timecompliment her. I hope it will be so. 

But in the crisis which we have reached, the provisions of the annualbudget can never prove sufficient. There must be an increase offichus, of bonnets, of frocks; there is an expense which cannot becalculated beforehand demanded by the meetings, by the diplomaticmessengers, by the ways and means of love, even while the receiptsremain the same as usual. Then must commence in your establishment acourse of education the most odious, and the most dreadful which awoman can undergo. I know but few noble and generous souls who value, more than millions, purity of heart, frankness of soul, and who woulda thousand times more readily pardon a passion than a lie, whoseinstinctive delicacy has divined the existence of this plague of thesoul, the lowest step in human degradation. 

Under these circumstances there occur in the domestic establishmentthe most delightful scenes of love. It is then that a woman becomesutterly pliant and like to the most brilliant of all the strings of aharp, when thrown before the fire; she rolls round you, she claspsyou, she holds you tight; she defers to all your caprices; never washer conversation so full of tenderness; she lavishes her endearmentsupon you, or rather she sells them to you; she at last becomes lowerthan a chorus girl, for she prostitutes herself to her husband. In hersweetest kisses there is money; in all her words there is money. Inplaying this part her heart becomes like lead towards you. The mostpolished, the most treacherous usurer never weighs so completely witha single glance the future value in bullion of a son of a family whomay sign a note to him, than your wife appraises one of your desiresas she leaps from branch to branch like an escaping squirrel, in orderto increase the sum of money she may demand by increasing the appetitewhich she rouses in you. You must not expect to get scot-free fromsuch seductions. Nature has given boundless gifts of coquetry to awoman, the usages of society have increased them tenfold by itsfashions, its dresses, its embroideries and its tippets. 

"If I ever marry, " one of the most honorable generals of our ancientarmy used to say, "I won't put a sou among the wedding presents--"

"What will you put there then, general?" asked a young girl. 

"The key of my safe. "

The young girl made a curtsey of approbation. She moved her littlehead with a quiver like that of the magnetic needle; raised her chinslightly as if she would have said:

"I would gladly marry the general in spite of his forty-five years. "

But with regard to money, what interest can you expect your wife totake in a machine in which she is looked upon as a mere bookkeeper?

Now look at the other system. 

In surrendering to your wife, with an avowal of absolute confidence inher, two-thirds of your fortune and letting her as mistress controlthe conjugal administration, you win from her an esteem which nothingcan destroy, for confidence and high-mindedness find powerful echoesin the heart of a woman. Madame will be loaded with a responsibilitywhich will often raise a barrier against extravagances, all thestronger because it is she herself who has created it in her heart. You yourself have made a portion of the work, and you may be sure thatfrom henceforth your wife will never perhaps dishonor herself. 

Moreover, by seeking in this way a method of defence, consider whatadmirable aids are offered to you by this plan of finances. 

You will have in your house an exact estimate of the morality of yourwife, just as the quotations of the Bourse give you a just estimate ofthe degree of confidence possessed by the government. 

And doubtless, during the first years of your married life, your wifewill take pride in giving you every luxury and satisfaction which yourmoney can afford. 

She will keep a good table, she will renew the furniture, and thecarriages; she will always keep in her drawer a sum of money sacred toher well-beloved and ready for his needs. But of course, in the actualcircumstances of life, the drawer will be very often empty andmonsieur will spend a great deal too much. The economies ordered bythe Chamber never weigh heavily upon the clerks whose income is twelvehundred francs; and you will be the clerk at twelve hundred francs inyour own house. You will laugh in your sleeve, because you will havesaved, capitalized, invested one-third of your income during a longtime, like Louis XV, who kept for himself a little separate treasury, "against a rainy day, " he used to say. 

Thus, if your wife speaks of economy, her discourse will be equal tothe varying quotations of the money-market. You will be able to divinethe whole progress of the lover by these financial fluctuations, andyou will have avoided all difficulties. _E sempre bene. _

If your wife fails to appreciate the excessive confidence, anddissipates in one day a large proportion of your fortune, in the firstplace it is not probable that this prodigality will amount toone-third of the revenue which you have been saving for ten years;moreover you will learn, from the Meditation on _Catastrophes_, thatin the very crisis produced by the follies of your wife, you will havebrilliant opportunities of slaying the Minotaur. 

But the secret of the treasure which has been amassed by yourthoughtfulness need never be known till after your death; and if youhave found it necessary to draw upon it, in order to assist your wife, you must always let it be thought that you have won at play, or made aloan from a friend. 

These are the true principles which should govern the conjugal budget. 

The police of marriage has its martyrology. We will cite but oneinstance which will make plain how necessary it is for husbands whoresort to severe measures to keep watch over themselves as well asover their wives. 

An old miser who lived at T-----, a pleasure resort if there ever wasone, had married a young and pretty woman, and he was so wrapped up inher and so jealous that love triumphed over avarice; he actually gaveup trade in order to guard his wife more closely, but his only realchange was that his covetousness took another form. I acknowledge thatI owe the greater portion of the observations contained in this essay, which still is doubtless incomplete, to the person who made a study ofthis remarkable marital phenomenon, to portray which, one singledetail will be amply sufficient. When he used to go to the country, this husband never went to bed without secretly raking over thepathways of his park, and he had a special rake for the sand of histerraces. He had made a close study of the footprints made by thedifferent members of his household; and early in the morning he usedto go and identify the tracks that had been made there. 

"All this is old forest land, " he used to say to the person I havereferred to, as he showed him over the park; "for nothing can be seenthrough the brushwood. "

His wife fell in love with one of the most charming young men of thetown. This passion had continued for nine years bright and fresh inthe hearts of the two lovers, whose sole avowal had been a lookexchanged in a crowded ball-room; and while they danced together theirtrembling hands revealed through the scented gloves the depth of theirlove. From that day they had both of them taken great delight on thosetrifles which happy lovers never disdain. One day the young man ledhis only confidant, with a mysterious air, into a chamber where hekept under glass globes upon his table, with more care than he wouldhave bestowed upon the finest jewels in the world, the flowers that, in the excitement of the dance, had fallen from the hair of hismistress, and the finery which had been caught in the trees which shehad brushed through in the park. He also preserved there the narrowfootprint left upon the clay soil by the lady's step. 

"I could hear, " said this confidant to me afterwards, "the violent andrepressed palpitations of his heart sounding in the silence which wepreserved before the treasures of this museum of love. I raised myeyes to the ceiling, as if to breathe to heaven the sentiment which Idared not utter. 'Poor humanity!' I thought. 'Madame de ----- told methat one evening at a ball you had been found nearly fainting in hercard-room?' I remarked to him. 

"'I can well believe it, ' said he casting down his flashing glance, 'Ihad kissed her arm!--But, ' he added as he pressed my hand and shot atme a glance that pierced my heart, 'her husband at that time had thegout which threatened to attack his stomach. '"

Some time afterwards, the old man recovered and seemed to take a newlease of life; but in the midst of his convalescence he took to hisbed one morning and died suddenly. There were such evident symptoms ofpoisoning in the condition of the dead man that the officers ofjustice were appealed to, and the two lovers were arrested. Then wasenacted at the court of assizes the most heartrending scene that everstirred the emotions of the jury. At the preliminary examination, eachof the two lovers without hesitation confessed to the crime, and withone thought each of them was solely bent on saving, the one her lover, the other his mistress. There were two found guilty, where justice waslooking for but a single culprit. The trial was entirely taken up withthe flat contradictions which each of them, carried away by the furyof devoted love, gave to the admissions of the other. There they wereunited for the first time, but on the criminals' bench with a gendarmeseated between them. They were found guilty by the unanimous verdictof a weeping jury. No one among those who had the barbarous courage towitness their conveyance to the scaffold can mention them to-daywithout a shudder. Religion had won for them a repentance for theircrime, but could not induce them to abjure their love. The scaffoldwas their nuptial bed, and there they slept together in the long nightof death. 

 MEDITATION XXI. 

 THE ART OF RETURNING HOME. 

Finding himself incapable of controlling the boiling transports of hisanxiety, many a husband makes the mistake of coming home and rushinginto the presence of his wife, with the object of triumphing over herweakness, like those bulls of Spain, which, stung by the red_banderillo_, disembowel with furious horns horses, matadors, picadors, toreadors and their attendants. 

But oh! to enter with a tender gentle mien, like Mascarillo, whoexpects a beating and becomes merry as a lark when he finds his masterin a good humor! Well--that is the mark of a wise man!--

"Yes, my darling, I know that in my absence you could have behavedbadly! Another in your place would have turned the house topsy-turvy, but you have only broken a pane of glass! God bless you for yourconsiderateness. Go on in the same way and you will earn my eternalgratitude. "

Such are the ideas which ought to be expressed by your face andbearing, but perhaps all the while you say to yourself:

"Probably he has been here!"

Always to bring home a pleasant face, is a rule which admits of noexception. 

But the art of never leaving your house without returning when thepolice have revealed to you a conspiracy--to know how to return at theright time--this is the lesson which is hard to learn. In this mattereverything depends upon tact and penetration. The actual events oflife always transcend anything that is imaginable. 

The manner of coming home is to be regulated in accordance with anumber of circumstances. For example:

Lord Catesby was a man of remarkable strength. It happened one daythat he was returning from a fox hunt, to which he had doubtlesspromised to go, with some ulterior view, for he rode towards the fenceof his park at a point where, he said, he saw an extremely fine horse. As he had a passion for horses, he drew near to examine this one closeat hand, There he caught sight of Lady Catesby, to whose rescue it wascertainly time to go, if he were in the slightest degree jealous forhis own honor. He rushed upon the gentleman he saw there, and seizinghim by the belt he hurled him over the fence on to the road side. 

"Remember, sir, " he said calmly, "it rests with me to decide whetherit well be necessary to address you hereafter and ask for satisfactionon this spot. "

"Very well, my lord; but would you have the goodness to throw over myhorse also?"

But the phlegmatic nobleman had already taken the arm of his wife ashe gravely said:

"I blame you very much, my dear creature, for not having told me thatI was to love you for two. Hereafter every other day I shall love youfor the gentleman yonder, and all other days for myself. "

This adventure is regarded in England as one of the best returns homethat were ever known. It is true it consisted in uniting, withsingular felicity, eloquence of deed to that of word. 

But the art of re-entering your home, principles of which are nothingelse but natural deductions from the system of politeness anddissimulation which have been commended in preceding Meditations, isafter all merely to be studied in preparation for the conjugalcatastrophes which we will now consider. 

 MEDITATION XXII. 

 OF CATASTROPHES. 

The word _Catastrophe_ is a term of literature which signifies thefinal climax of a play. 

To bring about a catastrophe in the drama which you are playing is amethod of defence which is as easy to undertake as it is certain tosucceed. In advising to employ it, we would not conceal from you itsperils. 

The conjugal catastrophe may be compared to one of those high feverswhich either carry off a predisposed subject or completely restore hishealth. Thus, when the catastrophe succeeds, it keeps a woman foryears in the prudent realms of virtue. 

Moreover, this method is the last of all those which science has beenable to discover up to this present moment. 

The massacre of St. Bartholomew, the Sicilian Vespers, the death ofLucretia, the two embarkations of Napoleon at Frejus are examples ofpolitical catastrophe. It will not be in your power to act on such alarge scale; nevertheless, within their own area, your dramaticclimaxes in conjugal life will not be less effective than these. 

But since the art of creating a situation and of transforming it, bythe introduction of natural incidents, constitutes genius; since thereturn to virtue of a woman, whose foot has already left some tracksupon the sweet and gilded sand which mark the pathway of vice, is themost difficult to bring about of all denouements, and since geniusneither knows it nor teaches it, the practitioner in conjugal lawsfeels compelled to confess at the outset that he is incapable ofreducing to definite principles a science which is as changeable ascircumstances, as delusive as opportunity, and as indefinable asinstinct. 

If we may use an expression which neither Diderot, d'Alembert norVoltaire, in spite of every effort, have been able to engraft on ourlanguage, a conjugal catastrophe _se subodore_ is scented from afar;so that our only course will be to sketch out imperfectly certainconjugal situations of an analogous kind, thus imitating thephilosopher of ancient time who, seeking in vain to explain motion, walked forward in his attempt to comprehend laws which wereincomprehensible. 

A husband, in accordance with the principles comprised in ourMeditation on _Police_, will expressly forbid his wife to receive thevisits of a celibate whom he suspects of being her lover, and whom shehas promised never again to see. Some minor scenes of the domesticinterior we leave for matrimonial imaginations to conjure up; ahusband can delineate them much better than we can; he will betakehimself in thought back to those days when delightful longings invitedsincere confidences and when the workings of his policy put intomotion certain adroitly handled machinery. 

Let us suppose, in order to make more interesting the natural scene towhich I refer, that you who read are a husband, whose carefullyorganized police has made the discovery that your wife, profiting bythe hours devoted by you to a ministerial banquet, to which sheprobably procured you an invitation, received at your house M. A----z. 

Here we find all the conditions necessary to bring about the finestpossible of conjugal catastrophes. 

You return home just in time to find your arrival has coincided withthat of M. A----z, for we would not advise you to have the intervalbetween acts too long. But in what mood should you enter? Certainlynot in accordance with the rules of the previous Meditation. In a ragethen? Still less should you do that. You should come in withgood-natured carelessness, like an absent-minded man who has forgottenhis purse, the statement which he has drawn up for the minister, hispocket-handkerchief or his snuff-box. 

In that case you will either catch two lovers together, or your wife, forewarned by the maid, will have hidden the celibate. 

Now let us consider these two unique situations. 

But first of all we will observe that husbands ought always to be in aposition to strike terror in their homes and ought long before to makepreparations for the matrimonial second of September. 

Thus a husband, from the moment that his wife has caused him toperceive certain _first symptoms_, should never fail to give, timeafter time, his personal opinion on the course of conduct to bepursued by a husband in a great matrimonial crisis. 

"As for me, " you should say, "I should have no hesitation in killingthe man I caught at my wife's feet. "

With regard to the discussion that you will thus give rise to, youwill be led on to aver that the law ought to have given to thehusband, as it did in ancient Rome, the right of life and death overhis children, so that he could slay those who were spurious. 

These ferocious opinions, which really do not bind you to anything, will impress your wife with salutary terror; you will enumerate themlightly, even laughingly--and say to her, "Certainly, my dear, I wouldkill you right gladly. Would you like to be murdered by me?"

A woman cannot help fearing that this pleasantry may some day become avery serious matter, for in these crimes of impulse there is a certainproof of love; and then women who know better than any one else how tosay true things laughingly at times suspect their husbands of thisfeminine trick. 

When a husband surprises his wife engaged in even innocentconversation with her lover, his face still calm, should produce theeffect mythologically attributed to the celebrated Gorgon. 

In order to produce a favorable catastrophe at this juncture, you mustact in accordance with the character of your wife, either play apathetic scene a la Diderot, or resort to irony like Cicero, or rushto your pistols loaded with a blank charge, or even fire them off, ifyou think that a serious row is indispensable. 

A skillful husband may often gain a great advantage from a scene ofunexaggerated sentimentality. He enters, he sees the lover andtransfixes him with a glance. As soon as the celibate retires, hefalls at the feet of his wife, he declaims a long speech, in whichamong other phrases there occurs this:

"Why, my dear Caroline, I have never been able to love you as Ishould!"

He weeps, and she weeps, and this tearful catastrophe leaves nothingto be desired. 

We would explain, apropos of the second method by which thecatastrophe may be brought about, what should be the motives whichlead a husband to vary this scene, in accordance with the greater orless degree of strength which his wife's character possesses. 

Let us pursue this subject. 

If by good luck it happens that your wife has put her lover in a placeof concealment, the catastrophe will be very much more successful. 

Even if the apartment is not arranged according to the principlesprescribed in the Meditation, you will easily discern the place intowhich the celibate has vanished, although he be not, like Lord Byron'sDon Juan, bundled up under the cushion of a divan. If by chance yourapartment is in disorder, you ought to have sufficient discernment toknow that there is only one place in which a man could bestow himself. Finally, if by some devilish inspiration he has made himself so smallthat he has squeezed into some unimaginable lurking-place (for we mayexpect anything from a celibate), well, either your wife cannot helpcasting a glance towards this mysterious spot, or she will pretend tolook in an exactly opposite direction, and then nothing is easier fora husband than to set a mouse-trap for his wife. 

The hiding-place being discovered, you must walk straight up to thelover. You must meet him face to face!

And now you must endeavor to produce a fine effect. With your faceturned three-quarters towards him, you must raise your head with anair of superiority. This attitude will enhance immensely the effectwhich you aim at producing. 

The most essential thing to do at this moment, is to overwhelm thecelibate by some crushing phrase which you have been manufacturing allthe time; when you have thus floored him, you will coldly show him thedoor. You will be very polite, but as relentless as the executioner'saxe, and as impassive as the law. This freezing contempt will alreadyprobably have produced a revolution in the mind of your wife. Theremust be no shouts, no gesticulations, no excitement. "Men of highsocial rank, " says a young English author, "never behave like theirinferiors, who cannot lose a fork without sounding the alarmthroughout the whole neighborhood. "

When the celibate has gone, you will find yourself alone with yourwife, and then is the time when you must subjugate her forever. 

You should therefore stand before her, putting on an air whoseaffected calmness betrays the profoundest emotion; then you mustchoose from among the following topics, which we have rhetoricallyamplified, and which are most congenial to your feelings: "Madame, "you must say, "I will speak to you neither of your vows, nor of mylove; for you have too much sense and I have too much pride to make itpossible that I should overwhelm you with those execrations, which allhusbands have a right to utter under these circumstances; for theleast of the mistakes that I should make, if I did so, is that I wouldbe fully justified. I will not now, even if I could, indulge either inwrath or resentment. It is not I who have been outraged; for I havetoo much heart to be frightened by that public opinion which almostalways treats with ridicule and condemnation a husband whose wife hasmisbehaved. When I examine my life, I see nothing there that makesthis treachery deserved by me, as it is deserved by many others. Istill love you. I have never been false, I will not say to my duty, for I have found nothing onerous in adoring you, but not even to thosewelcome obligations which sincere feeling imposes upon us both. Youhave had all my confidence and you have also had the administration ofmy fortune. I have refused you nothing. And now this is the first timethat I have turned to you a face, I will not say stern, but which isyet reproachful. But let us drop this subject, for it is of no use forme to defend myself at a moment when you have proved to me with suchenergy that there is something lacking in me, and that I am notintended by nature to accomplish the difficult task of rendering youhappy. But I would ask you, as a friend speaking to a friend, howcould you have the heart to imperil at the same time the lives ofthree human creatures: that of the mother of my children, who willalways be sacred to me; that of the head of the family; and finally ofhim--who loves--[she perhaps at these words will throw herself at yourfeet; you must not permit her to do so; she is unworthy of kneelingthere]. For you no longer love me, Eliza. Well, my poor child [youmust not call her _my poor child_ excepting when the crime has notbeen committed]--why deceive ourselves? Why do you not answer me? Iflove is extinguished between a married couple, cannot friendship andconfidence still survive? Are we not two companions united in makingthe same journey? Can it be said that during the journey the one mustnever hold out his hand to the other to raise up a comrade or toprevent a comrade's fall? But I have perhaps said too much and I amwounding your pride--Eliza! Eliza!"

Now what the deuce would you expect a woman to answer? Why acatastrophe naturally follows, without a single word. 

In a hundred women there may be found at least a good half dozen offeeble creatures who under this violent shock return to their husbandsnever perhaps again to leave them, like scorched cats that dread thefire. But this scene is a veritable alexipharmaca, the doses of whichshould be measured out by prudent hands. 

For certain women of delicate nerves, whose souls are soft and timid, it would be sufficient to point out the lurking-place where the loverlies, and say: "M. A----z is there!" [at this point shrug yourshoulders]. "How can you thus run the risk of causing the death of twoworthy people? I am going out; let him escape and do not let thishappen again. "

But there are women whose hearts, too violently strained in theseterrible catastrophes, fail them and they die; others whose bloodundergoes a change, and they fall a prey to serious maladies; othersactually go out of their minds. These are examples of women who takepoison or die suddenly--and we do not suppose that you wish the deathof the sinner. 

Nevertheless, the most beautiful and impressionable of all the queensof France, the charming and unfortunate Mary Stuart, after having seenRizzio murdered almost in her arms, fell in love, nevertheless, withthe Earl of Bothwell; but she was a queen and queens are abnormal indisposition. 

We will suppose, then, that the woman whose portrait adorns our firstMeditation is a little Mary Stuart, and we will hasten to raise thecurtain for the fifth act in this grand drama entitled _Marriage_. 

A conjugal catastrophe may burst out anywhere, and a thousandincidents which we cannot describe may give it birth. Sometimes it isa handkerchief, as in _Othello_; or a pair of slippers, as in _DonJuan_; sometimes it is the mistake of your wife, who cries out--"DearAlphonse!" instead of "Dear Adolph!" Sometimes a husband, finding outthat his wife is in debt, will go and call on her chief creditor, andwill take her some morning to his house, as if by chance, in order tobring about a catastrophe. "Monsieur Josse, you are a jeweler and yousell your jewels with a readiness which is not equaled by thereadiness of your debtors to pay for them. The countess owes youthirty thousand francs. If you wish to be paid to-morrow [tradesmenshould always be visited at the end of the month] come to her at noon;her husband will be in the chamber. Do not attend to any sign whichshe may make to impose silence upon you--speak out boldly. I will payall. "

So that the catastrophe in the science of marriage is what figures arein arithmetic. 

All the principles of higher conjugal philosophy, on which are basedthe means of defence outlined in this second part of our book, arederived from the nature of human sentiments, and we have found them indifferent places in the great book of the world. Just as persons ofintellect instinctively apply the laws of taste whose principles theywould find difficulty in formulating, so we have seen numberlesspeople of deep feeling employing with singular felicity the preceptswhich we are about to unfold, yet none of them consciously acted on adefinite system. The sentiments which this situation inspired onlyrevealed to them incomplete fragments of a vast system; just as thescientific men of the sixteenth century found that their imperfectmicroscopes did not enable them to see all the living organisms, whoseexistence had yet been proved to them by the logic of their patientgenius. 

We hope that the observations already made in this book, and in thosewhich follow, will be of a nature to destroy the opinion whichfrivolous men maintain, namely that marriage is a sinecure. Accordingto our view, a husband who gives way to ennui is a heretic, and morethan that, he is a man who lives quite out of sympathy with themarriage state, of whose importance he has no conception. In thisconnection, these Meditations perhaps will reveal to very manyignorant men the mysteries of a world before which they stand withopen eyes, yet without seeing it. 

We hope, moreover, that these principles when well applied willproduce many conversions, and that among the pages that separate thissecond part from that entitled _Civil War_ many tears will be shed andmany vows of repentance breathed. 

Yes, among the four hundred thousand honest women whom we have socarefully sifted out from all the European nations, we indulge thebelief that there are a certain number, say three hundred thousand, who will be sufficiently self-willed, charming, adorable, andbellicose to raise the standard of _Civil War_. 

To arms then, to arms!

 THIRD PART

 RELATING TO CIVIL WAR. 

 "Lovely as the seraphs of Klopstock, Terrible as the devils of Milton. " --DIDEROT. 

 MEDITATION XXIII. 

 OF MANIFESTOES. 

The Preliminary precepts, by which science has been enabled at thispoint to put weapons into the hand of a husband, are few in number; itis not of so much importance to know whether he will be vanquished, asto examine whether he can offer any resistance in the conflict. 

Meanwhile, we will set up here certain beacons to light up the arenawhere a husband is soon to find himself, in alliance with religion andlaw, engaged single-handed in a contest with his wife, who issupported by her native craft and the whole usages of society as herallies. 

 LXXXII. Anything may be expected and anything may be supposed of a woman who is in love. 

 LXXXIII. The actions of a woman who intends to deceive her husband are almost always the result of study, but never dictated by reason. 

 LXXXIV. The greater number of women advance like the fleas, by erratic leapsand bounds, They owe their escape to the height or depth of theirfirst ideas, and any interruption of their plans rather favors theirexecution. But they operate only within a narrow area which it is easyfor the husband to make still narrower; and if he keeps cool he willend by extinguishing this piece of living saltpetre. 

 LXXXV. A husband should never allow himself to address a single disparaging remark to his wife, in presence of a third party. 

 LXXXVI. The moment a wife decides to break her marriage vow she reckons herhusband as everything or nothing. All defensive operations must startfrom this proposition. 

 LXXXVII. The life of a woman is either of the head, of the heart, or ofpassion. When a woman reaches the age to form an estimate of life, herhusband ought to find out whether the primary cause of her intendedinfidelity proceeds from vanity, from sentiment or from temperament. Temperament may be remedied like disease; sentiment is something inwhich the husband may find great opportunities of success; but vanityis incurable. A woman whose life is of the head may be a terriblescourge. She combines the faults of a passionate woman with those ofthe tender-hearted woman, without having their palliations. She isdestitute alike of pity, love, virtue or sex. 

 LXXXVIII. A woman whose life is of the head will strive to inspire her husbandwith indifference; the woman whose life is of the heart, with hatred;the passionate woman, with disgust. 

 LXXXIX. A husband never loses anything by appearing to believe in the fidelityof his wife, by preserving an air of patience and by keeping silence. Silence especially troubles a woman amazingly. 

 XC. To show himself aware of the passion of his wife is the mark of afool; but to affect ignorance of all proves that a man has sense, andthis is in fact the only attitude to take. We are taught, moreover, that everybody in France is sensible. 

 XCI. The rock most to be avoided is ridicule. --"At least, let us beaffectionate in public, " ought to be the maxim of a marriedestablishment. For both the married couple to lose honor, esteem, consideration, respect and all that is worth living for in society, is to become a nonentity. 

These axioms relate to the contest alone. As for the catastrophe, others will be needed for that. 

We have called this crisis _Civil War_ for two reasons; never was awar more really intestine and at the same time so polite as this war. But in what point and in what manner does this fatal war break out?You do not believe that your wife will call out regiments and soundthe trumpet, do you? She will, perhaps, have a commanding officer, butthat is all. And this feeble army corps will be sufficient to destroythe peace of your establishment. 

"You forbid me to see the people that I like!" is an exordium whichhas served for a manifesto in most homes. This phrase, with all theideas that are concomitant, is oftenest employed by vain andartificial women. 

The most usual manifesto is that which is proclaimed in the conjugalbed, the principal theatre of war. This subject will be treated indetail in the Meditation entitled: _Of Various Weapons_, in theparagraph, _Of Modesty in its Connection with Marriage_. 

Certain women of a lymphatic temperament will pretend to have thespleen and will even feign death, if they can only gain thereby thebenefit of a secret divorce. 

But most of them owe their independence to the execution of a plan, whose effect upon the majority of husbands is unfailing and whoseperfidies we will now reveal. 

One of the greatest of human errors springs from the belief that ourhonor and our reputation are founded upon our actions, or result fromthe approbation which the general conscience bestows upon on conduct. A man who lives in the world is born to be a slave to public opinion. Now a private man in France has less opportunity of influencing theworld than his wife, although he has ample occasion for ridiculing it. Women possess to a marvelous degree the art of giving color byspecious arguments to the recriminations in which they indulge. Theynever set up any defence, excepting when they are in the wrong, and inthis proceeding they are pre-eminent, knowing how to oppose argumentsby precedents, proofs by assertions, and thus they very often obtainvictory in minor matters of detail. They see and know with admirablepenetration, when one of them presents to another a weapon which sheherself is forbidden to whet. It is thus that they sometimes lose ahusband without intending it. They apply the match and long afterwardsare terror-stricken at the conflagration. 

As a general thing, all women league themselves against a married manwho is accused of tyranny; for a secret tie unites them all, as itunites all priests of the same religion. They hate each other, yetshield each other. You can never gain over more than one of them; andyet this act of seduction would be a triumph for your wife. 

You are, therefore, outlawed from the feminine kingdom. You seeironical smiles on every lip, you meet an epigram in every answer. These clever creatures force their daggers and amuse themselves bysculpturing the handle before dealing you a graceful blow. 

The treacherous art of reservation, the tricks of silence, the maliceof suppositions, the pretended good nature of an inquiry, all thesearts are employed against you. A man who undertakes to subjugate hiswife is an example too dangerous to escape destruction from them, forwill not his conduct call up against them the satire of every husband?Moreover, all of them will attack you, either by bitter witticisms, orby serious arguments, or by the hackneyed maxims of gallantry. A swarmof celibates will support all their sallies and you will be assailedand persecuted as an original, a tyrant, a bad bed-fellow, aneccentric man, a man not to be trusted. 

Your wife will defend you like the bear in the fable of La Fontaine;she will throw paving stones at your head to drive away the flies thatalight on it. She will tell you in the evening all the things thathave been said about you, and will ask an explanation of acts whichyou never committed, and of words which you never said. She professesto have justified you for faults of which you are innocent; she hasboasted of a liberty which she does not possess, in order to clear youof the wrong which you have done in denying that liberty. Thedeafening rattle which your wife shakes will follow you everywherewith its obtrusive din. Your darling will stun you, will torture you, meanwhile arming herself by making you feel only the thorns of marriedlife. She will greet you with a radiant smile in public, and will besullen at home. She will be dull when you are merry, and will make youdetest her merriment when you are moody. Your two faces will present aperpetual contrast. 

Very few men have sufficient force of mind not to succumb to thispreliminary comedy, which is always cleverly played, and resembles the_hourra_ raised by the Cossacks, as they advance to battle. Manyhusbands become irritated and fall into irreparable mistakes. Othersabandon their wives. And, indeed, even those of superior intelligencedo not know how to get hold of the enchanted ring, by which to dispelthis feminine phantasmagoria. 

Two-thirds of such women are enabled to win their independence by thissingle manoeuvre, which is no more than a review of their forces. Inthis case the war is soon ended. 

But a strong man who courageously keeps cool throughout this firstassault will find much amusement in laying bare to his wife, in alight and bantering way, the secret feelings which make her thusbehave, in following her step by step through the labyrinth which shetreads, and telling her in answer to her every remark, that she isfalse to herself, while he preserves throughout a tone of pleasantryand never becomes excited. 

Meanwhile war is declared, and if her husband has not been dazzled bythese first fireworks, a woman has yet many other resources forsecuring her triumph; and these it is the purpose of the followingMeditations to discover. 

 MEDITATION XXIV. 

 PRINCIPLES OF STRATEGY. 

The Archduke Charles published a very fine treatise on military underthe title _Principles of Strategy in Relation to the Campaigns of1796_. These principles seem somewhat to resemble poetic canonsprepared for poems already published. In these days we are become verymuch more energetic, we invent rules to suit works and works to suitrules. But of what use were ancient principles of military art inpresence of the impetuous genius of Napoleon? If, to-day, however, wereduce to a system the lessons taught by this great captain whose newtactics have destroyed the ancient ones, what future guarantee do wepossess that another Napoleon will not yet be born? Books on militaryart meet, with few exceptions, the fate of ancient works on Chemistryand Physics. Everything is subject to change, either constant orperiodic. 

This, in a few words, is the history of our work. 

So long as we have been dealing with a woman who is inert or lapped inslumber, nothing has been easier than to weave the meshes with whichwe have bound her; but the moment she wakes up and begins to struggle, all is confusion and complication. If a husband would make an effortto recall the principles of the system which we have just described inorder to involve his wife in the nets which our second part has setfor her, he would resemble Wurmser, Mack and Beaulieu arranging theirhalts and their marches while Napoleon nimbly turns their flank, andmakes use of their own tactics to destroy them. 

This is just what your wife will do. 

How is it possible to get at the truth when each of you conceals itunder the same lie, each setting the same trap for the other? Andwhose will be the victory when each of you is caught in a similarsnare?

"My dear, I have to go out; I have to pay a visit to Madame So and So. I have ordered the carriage. Would you like to come with me? Come, begood, and go with your wife. "

You say to yourself:

"She would be nicely caught if I consented! She asks me only to berefused. "

Then you reply to her:

"Just at the moment I have some business with Monsieur Blank, for hehas to give a report in a business matter which deeply concerns usboth, and I must absolutely see him. Then I must go to the Minister ofFinance. So your arrangement will suit us both. "

"Very well, dearest, go and dress yourself, while Celine finishesdressing me; but don't keep me waiting. "

"I am ready now, love, " you cry out, at the end of ten minutes, as youstand shaved and dressed. 

But all is changed. A letter has arrived; madame is not well; herdress fits badly; the dressmaker has come; if it is not the dressmakerit is your mother. Ninety-nine out of a hundred husbands will leavethe house satisfied, believing that their wives are well guarded, when, as a matter of fact, the wives have gotten rid of them. 

A lawful wife who from her husband cannot escape, who is notdistressed by pecuniary anxiety, and who in order to give employmentto a vacant mind, examines night and day the changing tableaux of eachday's experience, soon discovers the mistake she has made in fallinginto a trap or allowing herself to be surprised by a catastrophe; shewill then endeavor to turn all these weapons against you. 

There is a man in society, the sight of whom is strangely annoying toyour wife; she can tolerate neither his tone, his manners nor his wayof regarding things. Everything connected with him is revolting toher; she is persecuted by him, he is odious to her; she hopes that noone will tell him this. It seems almost as if she were attempting tooppose you; for this man is one for whom you have the highest esteem. You like his disposition because he flatters you; and thus your wifepresumes that your esteem for him results from flattered vanity. Whenyou give a ball, an evening party or a concert, there is almost adiscussion on this subject, and madame picks a quarrel with you, because you are compelling her to see people who are not agreeable toher. 

"At least, sir, I shall never have to reproach myself with omitting towarn you. That man will yet cause you trouble. You should put someconfidence in women when they pass sentence on the character of a man. And permit me to tell you that this baron, for whom you have such apredilection, is a very dangerous person, and you are doing very wrongto bring him to your house. And this is the way you behave; youabsolutely force me to see one whom I cannot tolerate, and if I askyou to invite Monsieur A-----, you refuse to do so, because you thinkthat I like to have him with me! I admit that he talks well, that heis kind and amiable; but you are more to me than he can ever be. "

These rude outlines of feminine tactics, which are emphasized byinsincere gestures, by looks of feigned ingenuousness, by artfulintonations of the voice and even by the snare of cunning silence, arecharacteristic to some degree of their whole conduct. 

There are few husbands who in such circumstances as these do not formthe idea of setting a mouse-trap; they welcome as their guests bothMonsieur A----- and the imaginary baron who represents the person whomtheir wives abhor, and they do so in the hope of discovering a loverin the celibate who is apparently beloved. 

Oh yes, I have often met in the world young men who were absolutelystarlings in love and complete dupes of a friendship which womenpretended to show them, women who felt themselves obliged to make adiversion and to apply a blister to their husbands as their husbandshad previously done to them! These poor innocents pass their time inrunning errands, in engaging boxes at the theatre, in riding in theBois de Boulogne by the carriages of their pretended mistresses; theyare publicly credited with possessing women whose hands they have noteven kissed. Vanity prevents them from contradicting these flatteringrumors, and like the young priests who celebrate masses without aHost, they enjoy a mere show passion, and are veritablesupernumeraries of love. 

Under these circumstances sometimes a husband on returning home asksthe porter: "Has no one been here?"--"M. Le Baron came past at twoo'clock to see monsieur; but as he found no one was in but madame hewent away; but Monsieur A----- is with her now. "

You reach the drawing-room, you see there a young celibate, sprightly, scented, wearing a fine necktie, in short a perfect dandy. He is a manwho holds you in high esteem; when he comes to your house your wifelistens furtively for his footsteps; at a ball she always dances withhim. If you forbid her to see him, she makes a great outcry and it isnot till many years afterwards [see Meditation on _Las Symptoms_] thatyou see the innocence of Monsieur A----- and the culpability of thebaron. 

We have observed and noted as one of the cleverest manoeuvres, that ofa young woman who, carried away by an irresistible passion, exhibiteda bitter hatred to the man she did not love, but lavished upon herlover secret intimations of her love. The moment that her husband waspersuaded that she loved the _Cicisbeo_ and hated the _Patito_, shearranged that she and the _Patito_ should be found in a situationwhose compromising character she had calculated in advance, and herhusband and the execrated celibate were thus induced to believe thather love and her aversion were equally insincere. When she had broughther husband into the condition of perplexity, she managed that apassionate letter should fall into his hands. One evening in the midstof the admirable catastrophe which she had thus brought to a climax, madame threw herself at her husband's feet, wet them with her tears, and thus concluded the climax to her own satisfaction. 

"I esteem and honor you profoundly, " she cried, "for keeping your owncounsel as you have done. I am in love! Is this a sentiment which iseasy for me to repress? But what I can do is to confess the fact toyou; to implore you to protect me from myself, to save me from my ownfolly. Be my master and be a stern master to me; take me away fromthis place, remove me from what has caused all this trouble, consoleme; I will forget him, I desire to do so. I do not wish to betray you. I humbly ask your pardon for the treachery love has suggested to me. Yes, I confess to you that the love which I pretended to have for mycousin was a snare set to deceive you. I love him with the love offriendship and no more. --Oh! forgive me! I can love no one but"--hervoice was choked in passionate sobs--"Oh! let us go away, let us leaveParis!"

She began to weep; her hair was disheveled, her dress in disarray; itwas midnight, and her husband forgave her. From henceforth, the cousinmade his appearance without risk, and the Minotaur devoured one victimmore. 

What instructions can we give for contending with such adversaries asthese? Their heads contain all the diplomacy of the congress ofVienna; they have as much power when they are caught as when theyescape. What man has a mind supple enough to lay aside brute force andstrength and follow his wife through such mazes as these?

To make a false plea every moment, in order to elicit the truth, atrue plea in order to unmask falsehood; to charge the battery whenleast expected, and to spike your gun at the very moment of firing it;to scale the mountain with the enemy, in order to descend to the plainagain five minutes later; to accompany the foe in windings as rapid, as obscure as those of a plover on the breezes; to obey when obedienceis necessary, and to oppose when resistance is inertial; to traversethe whole scale of hypotheses as a young artist with one stroke runsfrom the lowest to the highest note of his piano; to divine at lastthe secret purpose on which a woman is bent; to fear her caresses andto seek rather to find out what are the thoughts that suggested themand the pleasure which she derived from them--this is mere child's payfor the man of intellect and for those lucid and searchingimaginations which possess the gift of doing and thinking at the sametime. But there are a vast number of husbands who are terrified at themere idea of putting in practice these principles in their dealingswith a woman. 

Such men as these prefer passing their lives in making huge efforts tobecome second-class chess-players, or to pocket adroitly a ball inbilliards. 

Some of them will tell you that they are incapable of keeping theirminds on such a constant strain and breaking up the habits of theirlife. In that case the woman triumphs. She recognizes that in mind andenergy she is her husband's superior, although the superiority may bebut temporary; and yet there rises in her a feeling of contempt forthe head of the house. 

If many man fail to be masters in their own house this is not fromlack of willingness, but of talent. As for those who are ready toundergo the toils of this terrible duel, it is quite true that theymust needs possess great moral force. 

And really, as soon as it is necessary to display all the resources ofthis secret strategy, it is often useless to attempt setting any trapsfor these satanic creatures. Once women arrive at a point when theywillfully deceive, their countenances become as inscrutable asvacancy. Here is an example which came within my own experience. 

A very young, very pretty, and very clever coquette of Paris had notyet risen. Seated by her bed was one of her dearest friends. A letterarrived from another, a very impetuous fellow, to whom she had allowedthe right of speaking to her like a master. The letter was in penciland ran as follows:

"I understand that Monsieur C----- is with you at this moment. I amwaiting for him to blow his brains out. "

Madame D----- calmly continued the conversation with Monsieur C-----. She asked him to hand her a little writing desk of red leather whichstood on the table, and he brought it to her. 

"Thanks, my dear, " she said to him; "go on talking, I am listening toyou. "

C----- talked away and she replied, all the while writing thefollowing note:

"As soon as you become jealous of C----- you two can blow out eachother's brains at your pleasure. As for you, you may die; but brains--you haven't any brains to blow out. "

"My dear friend, " she said to C-----, "I beg you will light thiscandle. Good, you are charming. And now be kind enough to leave me andlet me get up, and give this letter to Monsieur d'H-----, who iswaiting at the door. "

All this was said with admirable coolness. The tones and intonationsof her voice, the expression of her face showed no emotion. Heraudacity was crowned with complete success. On receiving the answerfrom the hand of Monsieur C-----, Monsieur d'H----- felt his wrathsubside. He was troubled with only one thing and that was how todisguise his inclination to laugh. 

The more torch-light one flings into the immense cavern which we arenow trying to illuminate, the more profound it appears. It is abottomless abyss. It appears to us that our task will be accomplishedmore agreeably and more instructively if we show the principles ofstrategy put into practice in the case of a woman, when she hasreached a high degree of vicious accomplishment. An example suggestsmore maxims and reveals the existence of more methods than allpossible theories. 

One day at the end of a dinner given to certain intimate friends byPrince Lebrun, the guests, heated by champagne, were discussing theinexhaustible subject of feminine artifice. The recent adventure whichwas credited to the Countess R. D. S. J. D. A-----, apropos of anecklace, was the subject first broached. A highly esteemed artist, agifted friend of the emperor, was vigorously maintaining the opinion, which seemed somewhat unmanly, that it was forbidden to a man toresist successfully the webs woven by a woman. 

"It is my happy experience, " he said, "that to them nothing issacred. "

The ladies protested. 

"But I can cite an instance in point. "

"It is an exception!"

"Let us hear the story, " said a young lady. 

"Yes, tell it to us, " cried all the guests. 

The prudent old gentleman cast his eyes around, and, after havingformed his conclusions as to the age of the ladies, smiled and said:

"Since we are all experienced in life, I consent to relate theadventure. "

Dead silence followed, and the narrator read the following from alittle book which he had taken from his pocket:

I was head over ears in love with the Comtesse de -----. I was twentyand I was ingenuous. She deceived me. I was angry; she threw me over. I was ingenuous, I repeat, and I was grieved to lose her. I wastwenty; she forgave me. And as I was twenty, as I was alwaysingenuous, always deceived, but never again thrown over by her, Ibelieved myself to have been the best beloved of lovers, consequentlythe happiest of men. The countess had a friend, Madame de T-----, whoseemed to have some designs on me, but without compromising herdignity; for she was scrupulous and respected the proprieties. One daywhile I was waiting for the countess in her Opera box, I heard my namecalled from a contiguous box. It was Madame de T-----. 

"What, " she said, "already here? Is this fidelity or merely a want ofsomething to do? Won't you come to me?"

Her voice and her manner had a meaning in them, but I was far frominclined at that moment to indulge in a romance. 

"Have you any plans for this evening?" she said to me. "Don't makeany! If I cheer your tedious solitude you ought to be devoted to me. Don't ask any questions, but obey. Call my servants. "

I answered with a bow and on being requested to leave the Opera box, Iobeyed. 

"Go to this gentleman's house, " she said to the lackey. "Say he willnot be home till to-morrow. "

She made a sign to him, he went to her, she whispered in his ear, andhe left us. The Opera began. I tried to venture on a few words, butshe silenced me; some one might be listening. The first act ended, thelackey brought back a note, and told her that everything was ready. Then she smiled, asked for my hand, took me off, put me in hercarriage, and I started on my journey quite ignorant of mydestination. Every inquiry I made was answered by a peal of laughter. If I had not been aware that this was a woman of great passion, thatshe had long loved the Marquis de V-----, that she must have known Iwas aware of it, I should have believed myself in good luck; but sheknew the condition of my heart, and the Comtesse de -----. I thereforerejected all presumptuous ideas and bided my time. At the first stop, a change of horses was supplied with the swiftness of lightning and westarted afresh. The matter was becoming serious. I asked with someinsistency, where this joke was to end. 

"Where?" she said, laughing. "In the pleasantest place in the world, but can't you guess? I'll give you a thousand chances. Give it up, foryou will never guess. We are going to my husband's house. Do you knowhim?"

"Not in the least. "

"So much the better, I thought you didn't. But I hope you will likehim. We have lately become reconciled. Negotiations went on for sixmonths; and we have been writing to one another for a month. I thinkit is very kind of me to go and look him up. "

"It certainly is, but what am I going to do there? What good will I bein this reconciliation?"

"Ah, that is my business. You are young, amiable, unconventional; yousuit me and will save me from the tediousness of a tete-a-tete. "

"But it seems odd to me, to choose the day or the night of areconciliation to make us acquainted; the awkwardness of the firstinterview, the figure all three of us will cut, --I don't see anythingparticularly pleasant in that. "

"I have taken possession of you for my own amusement!" she said withan imperious air, "so please don't preach. "

I saw she was decided, so surrendered myself to circumstances. I beganto laugh at my predicament and we became exceedingly merry. We againchanged horses. The mysterious torch of night lit up a sky of extremeclearness and shed around a delightful twilight. We were approachingthe spot where our tete-a-tete must end. She pointed out to me atintervals the beauty of the landscape, the tranquillity of the night, the all-pervading silence of nature. In order to admire these thingsin company as it was natural we should, we turned to the same windowand our faces touched for a moment. In a sudden shock she seized myhand, and by a chance which seemed to me extraordinary, for the stoneover which our carriage had bounded could not have been very large, Ifound Madame de T----- in my arms. I do not know what we were tryingto see; what I am sure of is that the objects before our eyes began inspite of the full moon to grow misty, when suddenly I was releasedfrom her weight, and she sank into the back cushions of the carriage. 

"Your object, " she said, rousing herself from a deep reverie, "ispossibly to convince me of the imprudence of this proceeding. Judge, therefore, of my embarrassment!"

"My object!" I replied, "what object can I have with regard to you?What a delusion! You look very far ahead; but of course the suddensurprise or turn of chance may excuse anything. "

"You have counted, then, upon that chance, it seems to me?"

We had reached our destination, and before we were aware of it, we hadentered the court of the chateau. The whole place was brightly lit up. Everything wore a festal air, excepting the face of its master, who atthe sight of me seemed anything but delighted. He came forward andexpressed in somewhat hesitating terms the tenderness proper to theoccasion of a reconciliation. I understood later on that thisreconciliation was absolutely necessary from family reasons. I waspresented to him and was coldly greeted. He extended his hand to hiswife, and I followed the two, thinking of my part in the past, in thepresent and in the future. I passed through apartments decorated withexquisite taste. The master in this respect had gone beyond all theordinary refinement of luxury, in the hope of reanimating, by theinfluence of voluptuous imagery, a physical nature that was dead. Notknowing what to say, I took refuge in expressions of admiration. Thegoddess of the temple, who was quite ready to do the honors, acceptedmy compliments. 

"You have not seen anything, " she said. "I must take you to theapartments of my husband. "

"Madame, five years ago I caused them to be pulled down. "

"Oh! Indeed!" said she. 

At the dinner, what must she do but offer the master some fish, onwhich he said to her:

"Madame, I have been living on milk for the last three years. "

"Oh! Indeed!" she said again. 

Can any one imagine three human beings as astonished as we were tofind ourselves gathered together? The husband looked at me with asupercilious air, and I paid him back with a look of audacity. 

Madame de T----- smiled at me and was charming to me; Monsieur deT----- accepted me as a necessary evil. Never in all my life have Itaken part in a dinner which was so odd as that. The dinner ended, Ithought that we would go to bed early--that is, I thought thatMonsieur de T----- would. As we entered the drawing-room:

"I appreciate, madame, " said he, "your precaution in bringing thisgentleman with you. You judged rightly that I should be but poorcompany for the evening, and you have done well, for I am going toretire. "

Then turning to me, he added in a tone of profound sarcasm:

"You will please to pardon me, and obtain also pardon from madame. "

He left us. My reflections? Well, the reflections of a twelvemonthwere then comprised in those of a minute. When we were left alone, Madame de T----- and I, we looked at each other so curiously that, inorder to break through the awkwardness, she proposed that we shouldtake a turn on the terrace while we waited, as she said, until theservants had supped. 

It was a superb night. It was scarcely possible to discern surroundingobjects, they seemed to be covered with a veil, that imagination mightbe permitted to take a loftier flight. The gardens, terraced on theside of a mountain, sloped down, platform after platform, to the banksof the Seine, and the eye took in the many windings of the streamcovered with islets green and picturesque. These variations in thelandscape made up a thousand pictures which gave to the spot, naturally charming, a thousand novel features. We walked along themost extensive of these terraces, which was covered with a thickumbrage of trees. She had recovered from the effects of her husband'spersiflage, and as we walked along she gave me her confidence. Confidence begets confidence, and as I told her mine, all she said tome became more intimate and more interesting. Madame de T----- atfirst gave me her arm; but soon this arm became interlaced in mine, Iknow not how, but in some way almost lifted her up and prevented herfrom touching the ground. The position was agreeable, but became atlast fatiguing. We had been walking for a long time and we still hadmuch to say to each other. A bank of turf appeared and she sat downwithout withdrawing her arm. And in this position we began to soundthe praises of mutual confidence, its charms and its delights. 

"Ah!" she said to me, "who can enjoy it more than we and with lesscause of fear? I know well the tie that binds you to another, andtherefore have nothing to fear. "

Perhaps she wished to be contradicted. But I answered not a word. Wewere then mutually persuaded that it was possible for us to be friendswithout fear of going further. 

"But I was afraid, however, " I said, "that that sudden jolt in thecarriage and the surprising consequences may have frightened you. "

"Oh, I am not so easily alarmed!"

"I fear it has left a little cloud on your mind?"

"What must I do to reassure you?"

"Give me the kiss here which chance--"

"I will gladly do so; for if I do not, your vanity will lead you tothink that I fear you. "

I took the kiss. 

It is with kisses as with confidences, the first leads to another. They are multiplied, they interrupt conversation, they take its place;they scarce leave time for a sigh to escape. Silence followed. Wecould hear it, for silence may be heard. We rose without a word andbegan to walk again. 

"We must go in, " said she, "for the air of the river is icy, and it isnot worth while--"

"I think to go in would be more dangerous, " I answered. 

"Perhaps so! Never mind, we will go in. "

"Why, is this out of consideration for me? You wish doubtless to saveme from the impressions which I may receive from such a walk as this--the consequences which may result. Is it for me--for me only--?"

"You are modest, " she said smiling, "and you credit me with singularconsideration. "

"Do you think so? Well, since you take it in this way, we will go in;I demand it. "

A stupid proposition, when made by two people who are forcingthemselves to say something utterly different from what they think. 

Then she compelled me to take the path that led back to the chateau. Ido not know, at least I did not then know, whether this course was onewhich she forced upon herself, whether it was the result of a vigorousresolution, or whether she shared my disappointment in seeing anincident which had begun so well thus suddenly brought to a close butby a mutual instinct our steps slackened and we pursued our waygloomily dissatisfied the one with the other and with ourselves. Weknew not the why and the wherefore of what we were doing. Neither ofus had the right to demand or even to ask anything. We had neither ofus any ground for uttering a reproach. O that we had got up a quarrel!But how could I pick one with her? Meanwhile we drew nearer andnearer, thinking how we might evade the duty which we had so awkwardlyimposed upon ourselves. We reached the door, when Madame de T-----said to me:

"I am angry with you! After the confidences I have given you, not togive me a single one! You have not said a word about the countess. Andyet it is so delightful to speak of the one we love! I should havelistened with such interest! It was the very best I could do after Ihad taken you away from her!"

"Cannot I reproach you with the same thing?" I said, interrupting her, "and if instead of making me a witness to this singular reconciliationin which I play so odd a part, you had spoken to me of the marquis--"

"Stop, " she said, "little as you know of women, you are aware thattheir confidences must be waited for, not asked. But to return toyourself. Are you very happy with my friend? Ah! I fear thecontrary--"

"Why, madame, should everything that the public amuses itself bysaying claim our belief?"

"You need not dissemble. The countess makes less a mystery of thingsthan you do. Women of her stamp do not keep the secrets of their lovesand of their lovers, especially when you are prompted by discretion toconceal her triumph. I am far from accusing her of coquetry; but aprude has as much vanity as a coquette. --Come, tell me frankly, haveyou not cause of complaint against her?"

"But, madame, the air is really too icy for us to stay here. Would youlike to go in?" said I with a smile. 

"Do you find it so?--That is singular. The air is quite warm. "

She had taken my arm again, and we continued to walk, although I didnot know the direction which we took. All that she had hinted atconcerning the lover of the countess, concerning my mistress, togetherwith this journey, the incident which took place in the carriage, ourconversation on the grassy bank, the time of night, the moonlight--allmade me feel anxious. I was at the same time carried along by vanity, by desire, and so distracted by thought, that I was too excitedperhaps to take notice of all that I was experiencing. And, while Iwas overwhelmed with these mingled feelings, she continued talking tome of the countess, and my silence confirmed the truth of all that shechose to say about her. Nevertheless, certain passages in her talkrecalled me to myself. 

"What an exquisite creature she is!" she was saying. "How graceful! Onher lips the utterances of treachery sound like witticism; an act ofinfidelity seems the prompting of reason, a sacrifice to propriety;while she is never reckless, she is always lovable; she is seldomtender and never sincere; amorous by nature, prudish on principle;sprightly, prudent, dexterous though utterly thoughtless, varied asProteus in her moods, but charming as the Graces in her manner; sheattracts but she eludes. What a number of parts I have seen her play!_Entre nous_, what a number of dupes hang round her! What fun she hasmade of the baron, what a life she has led the marquis! When she tookyou, it was merely for the purpose of throwing the two rivals off thescent; they were on the point of a rupture; for she had played withthem too long, and they had had time to see through her. But shebrought you on the scene. Their attention was called to you, she ledthem to redouble their pursuit, she was in despair over you, shepitied you, she consoled you-- Ah! how happy is a clever woman when insuch a game as this she professes to stake nothing of her own! Butyet, is this true happiness?"

This last phrase, accompanied by a significant sigh, was amaster-stroke. I felt as if a bandage had fallen from my eyes, withoutseeing who had put it there. My mistress appeared to me the falsest ofwomen, and I believed that I held now the only sensible creature intheworld. Then I sighed without knowing why. She seemed grieved at havinggiven me pain and at having in her excitement drawn a picture, thetruth of which might be open to suspicion, since it was the work of awoman. I do not know how I answered; for without realizing the driftof all I heard, I set out with her on the high road of sentiment, andwe mounted to such lofty heights of feeling that it was impossible toguess what would be the end of our journey. It was fortunate that wealso took the path towards a pavilion which she pointed out to me atthe end of the terrace, a pavilion, the witness of many sweet moments. She described to me the furnishing of it. What a pity that she had notthe key! As she spoke we reached the pavilion and found that it wasopen. The clearness of the moonlight outside did not penetrate, butdarkness has many charms. We trembled as we went in. It was asanctuary. Might it not be the sanctuary of love? We drew near a sofaand sat down, and there we remained a moment listening to ourheart-beats. The last ray of the moon carried away the last scruple. The hand which repelled me felt my heart beat. She struggled to getaway, but fell back overcome with tenderness. We talked togetherthrough that silence in the language of thought. Nothing is morerapturous than these mute conversations. Madame de T----- took refugein my arms, hid her head in my bosom, sighed and then grew calm undermy caresses. She grew melancholy, she was consoled, and she asked oflove all that love had robbed her of. The sound of the river broke thesilence of night with a gentle murmur, which seemed in harmony withthe beating of our hearts. Such was the darkness of the place it wasscarcely possible to discern objects; but through the transparentcrepe of a fair summer's night, the queen of that lovely place seemedto me adorable. 

"Oh!" she said to me with an angelic voice, "let us leave thisdangerous spot. Resistance here is beyond our strength. "

She drew me away and we left the pavilion with regret. 

"Ah! how happy is she!" cried Madame de T-----. 

"Whom do you mean?" I asked. 

"Did I speak?" said she with a look of alarm. 

And then we reached the grassy bank, and stopped there involuntarily. "What a distance there is, " she said to me, "between this place andthe pavilion!"

"Yes indeed, " said I. "But must this bank be always ominous? Is therea regret? Is there--?"

I do not know by what magic it took place; but at this point theconversation changed and became less serious. She ventured even tospeak playfully of the pleasures of love, to eliminate from them allmoral considerations, to reduce them to their simplest elements, andto prove that the favors of lovers were mere pleasure, that there wereno pledges--philosophically speaking--excepting those which were givento the world, when we allowed it to penetrate our secrets and joinedit in the acts of indiscretion. 

"How mild is the night, " she said, "which we have by chance pickedout! Well, if there are reasons, as I suppose there are, which compelus to part to-morrow, our happiness, ignored as it is by all nature, will not leave us any ties to dissolve. There will, perhaps, be someregrets, the pleasant memory of which will give us reparation; andthen there will be a mutual understanding, without all the delays, thefuss and the tyranny of legal proceedings. We are such machines--and Iblush to avow it--that in place of all the shrinkings that tormentedme before this scene took place, I was half inclined to embrace theboldness of these principles, and I felt already disposed to indulgein the love of liberty. 

"This beautiful night, " she continued, "this lovely scenery at thismoment have taken on fresh charms. O let us never forget thispavilion! The chateau, " she added smilingly, "contains a still morecharming place, but I dare not show you anything; you are like achild, who wishes to touch everything and breaks everything that hetouches. "

Moved by a sentiment of curiosity I protested that I was a very goodchild. She changed the subject. 

"This night, " she said, "would be for me without a regret if I werenot vexed with myself for what I said to you about the countess. Notthat I wish to find fault with you. Novelty attracts me. You havefound me amiable, I should like to believe in your good faith. But thedominion of habit takes a long time to break through and I have notlearned the secret of doing this--By the bye, what do you think of myhusband?"

"Well, he is rather cross, but I suppose he could not be otherwise tome. "

"Oh, that is true, but his way of life isn't pleasant, and he couldnot see you here with indifference. He might be suspicious even of ourfriendship. "

"Oh! he is so already. "

"Confess that he has cause. Therefore you must not prolong this visit;he might take it amiss. As soon as any one arrives--" and she addedwith a smile, "some one is going to arrive--you must go. You have tokeep up appearance, you know. Remember his manner when he left usto-night. "

I was tempted to interpret this adventure as a trap, but as shenoticed the impression made by her words, she added:

"Oh, he was very much gayer when he was superintending the arrangementof the cabinet I told you about. That was before my marriage. Thispassage leads to my apartment. Alas! it testifies to the cunningartifices to which Monsieur de T----- has resorted in protecting hislove for me. "

"How pleasant it would be, " I said to her, keenly excited by thecuriosity she had roused in me, "to take vengeance in this spot forthe insults which your charms have suffered, and to seek to makerestitution for the pleasures of which you have been robbed. "

She doubtless thought this remark in good taste, but she said: "Youpromised to be good!"

 * * * * *

I threw a veil over the follies which every age will pardon to youth, on the ground of so many balked desires and bitter memories. In themorning, scarcely raising her liquid eyes, Madame de T-----, fairerthan ever, said to me:

"Now will you ever love the countess as much as you do me?"

I was about to answer when her maid, her confidante, appeared saying:

"You must go. It is broad daylight, eleven o'clock, and the chateau isalready awake. "

All had vanished like a dream! I found myself wandering through thecorridors before I had recovered my senses. How could I regain myapartment, not knowing where it was? Any mistake might bring about anexposure. I resolved on a morning walk. The coolness of the fresh airgradually tranquilized my imagination and brought me back to the worldof reality; and now instead of a world of enchantment I saw myself inmy soul, and my thoughts were no longer disturbed but followed eachother in connected order; in fact, I breathed once more. I was, aboveall things, anxious to learn what I was to her so lately left--I whoknew that she had been desperately in love with the Marquis de V-----. Could she have broken with him? Had she taken me to be his successor, or only to punish him? What a night! What an adventure! Yes, and whata delightful woman! While I floated on the waves of these thoughts, Iheard a sound near at hand. I raised my eyes, I rubbed them, I couldnot believe my senses. Can you guess who it was? The Marquis deV-----!

"You did not expect to see me so early, did you?" he said. "How has itall gone off?"

"Did you know that I was here?" I asked in utter amazement. 

"Oh, yes, I received word just as you left Paris. Have you played yourpart well? Did not the husband think your visit ridiculous? Was he putout? When are you going to take leave? You had better go, I have madeevery provision for you. I have brought you a good carriage. It is atyour service. This is the way I requite you, my dear friend. You mayrely on me in the future, for a man is grateful for such services asyours. "

These last words gave me the key to the whole mystery, and I saw how Istood. 

"But why should you have come so soon?" I asked him; "it would havebeen more prudent to have waited a few days. "

"I foresaw that; and it is only chance that has brought me here. I amsupposed to be on my way back from a neighboring country house. Buthas not Madame de T----- taken you into her secret? I am surprised ather want of confidence, after all you have done for us. "

"My dear friend, " I replied, "she doubtless had her reasons. Perhaps Idid not play my part very well. "

"Has everything been very pleasant? Tell me the particulars; come, tell me. "

"Now wait a moment. I did not know that this was to be a comedy; andalthough Madame de T----- gave me a part in the play--"

"It wasn't a very nice one. "

"Do not worry yourself; there are no bad parts for good actors. "

"I understand, you acquitted yourself well. "

"Admirably. "

"And Madame de T-----?"

"Is adorable. "

"To think of being able to win such a woman!" said he, stopping shortin our walk, and looking triumphantly at me. "Oh, what pains I havetaken with her! And I have at last brought her to a point where she isperhaps the only woman in Paris on whose fidelity a man may infalliblycount!"

"You have succeeded--?"

"Yes; in that lies my special talent. Her inconstancy was merefrivolity, unrestrained imagination. It was necessary to change thatdisposition of hers, but you have no idea of her attachment to me. Butreally, is she not charming?"

"I quite agree with you. "

"And yet _entre nous_ I recognize one fault in her. Nature in givingher everything, has denied her that flame divine which puts the crownon all other endowments; while she rouses in others the ardor ofpassion, she feels none herself, she is a thing of marble. "

"I am compelled to believe you, for I have had no opportunity ofjudging, but do you think that you know that woman as well as if youwere her husband? It is possible to be deceived. If I had not dinedyesterday with the veritable--I should take you--"

"By the way, has he been good?"

"Oh, I was received like a dog!"

"I understand. Let us go in, let us look for Madame de T-----. Shemust be up by this time. "

"But should we not out of decency begin with the husband?" I said tohim. 

"You are right. Let us go to your room, I wish to put on a littlepowder. But tell me, did he really take you for her lover?"

"You may judge by the way he receives me; but let us go at once to hisapartment. "

I wished to avoid having to lead him to an apartment whose whereaboutsI did not know; but by chance we found it. The door was open and thereI saw my _valet de chambre_ asleep on an armchair. A candle was goingout on a table beside him. He drowsily offered a night robe to themarquis. I was on pins and needles; but the marquis was in a mood tobe easily deceived, took the man for a mere sleepy-head, and made ajoke of the matter. We passed on to the apartment of Monsieur deT-----. There was no misunderstanding the reception which he accordedme, and the welcome, the compliments which he addressed to themarquis, whom he almost forced to stay. He wished to take him tomadame in order that she might insist on his staying. As for me, Ireceived no such invitation. I was reminded that my health wasdelicate, the country was damp, fever was in the air, and I seemed sodepressed that the chateau would prove too gloomy for me. The marquisoffered me his chaise and I accepted it. The husband seemed delightedand we were all satisfied. But I could not refuse myself the pleasureof seeing Madame de T----- once more. My impatience was wonderful. Myfriend conceived no suspicions from the late sleep of his mistress. 

"Isn't this fine?" he said to me as we followed Monsieur de T-----. "He couldn't have spoken more kindly if she had dictated his words. Heis a fine fellow. I am not in the least annoyed by thisreconciliation; they will make a good home together, and you willagree with me, that he could not have chosen a wife better able to dothe honors. "

"Certainly, " I replied. 

"However pleasant the adventure has been, " he went on with an air ofmystery, "you must be off! I will let Madame de T----- understand thather secret will be well kept. "

"On that point, my friend, she perhaps counts more on me than on you;for you see her sleep is not disturbed by the matter. "

"Oh! I quite agree that there is no one like you for putting a womanto sleep. "

"Yes, and a husband too, and if necessary a lover, my dear friend. "

At last Monsieur de T----- was admitted to his wife's apartment, andthere we were all summoned. 

"I trembled, " said Madame de T----- to me, "for fear you would gobefore I awoke, and I thank you for saving me the annoyance which thatwould have caused me. "

"Madame, " I said, and she must have perceived the feeling that was inmy tones--"I come to say good-bye. "

She looked at me and at the marquis with an air of disquietude; butthe self-satisfied, knowing look of her lover reassured her. Shelaughed in her sleeve with me as if she would console me as well asshe could, without lowering herself in my eyes. 

"He has played his part well, " the marquis said to her in a low voice, pointing to me, "and my gratitude--"

"Let us drop the subject, " interrupted Madame de T-----; "you may besure that I am well aware of all I owe him. "

At last Monsieur de T-----, with a sarcastic remark, dismissed me; myfriend threw the dust in his eyes by making fun of me; and I paid backboth of them by expressing my admiration for Madame de T-----, whomade fools of us all without forfeiting her dignity. I took myselfoff; but Madame de T----- followed me, pretending to have a commissionto give me. 

"Adieu, monsieur!" she said, "I am indebted to you for the very greatpleasure you have given me; but I have paid you back with a beautifuldream, " and she looked at me with an expression of subtle meaning. "But adieu, and forever! You have plucked a solitary flower, blossoming in its loveliness, which no man--"

She stopped and her thought evaporated in a sigh; but she checked therising flood of sensibility and smiled significantly. 

"The countess loves you, " she said. "If I have robbed her of sometransports, I give you back to her less ignorant than before. Adieu!Do not make mischief between my friend and me. "

She wrung my hand and left me. 

More than once the ladies who had mislaid their fans blushed as theylistened to the old gentleman, whose brilliant elocution won theirindulgence for certain details which we have suppressed, as too eroticfor the present age; nevertheless, we may believe that each ladycomplimented him in private; for some time afterwards he gave to eachof them, as also to the masculine guests, a copy of this charmingstory, twenty-five copies of which were printed by Pierre Didot. It isfrom copy No. 24 that the author has transcribed this tale, hithertounpublished, and, strange to say, attributed to Dorat. It has themerit of yielding important lessons for husbands, while at the sametime it gives the celibates a delightful picture of morals in the lastcentury. 

 MEDITATION XXV. 

 OF ALLIES. 

Of all the miseries that civil war can bring upon a country thegreatest lies in the appeal which one of the contestants always endsby making to some foreign government. 

Unhappily we are compelled to confess that all women make this greatmistake, for the lover is only the first of their soldiers. It may bea member of their family or at least a distant cousin. ThisMeditation, then, is intended to answer the inquiry, what assistancecan each of the different powers which influence human life give toyour wife? or better than that, what artifices will she resort to toarm them against you?

Two beings united by marriage are subject to the laws of religion andsociety; to those of private life, and, from considerations of health, to those of medicine. We will therefore divide this importantMeditation into six paragraphs:

 1. OF RELIGIONS AND OF CONFESSION; CONSIDERED IN THEIR CONNECTION WITH MARRIAGE. 2. OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW. 3. OF BOARDING SCHOOL FRIENDS AND INTIMATE FRIENDS. 4. OF THE LOVER'S ALLIES. 5. OF THE MAID. 6. OF THE DOCTOR. 

 1. OF RELIGIONS AND OF CONFESSION; CONSIDERED IN THEIR CONNECTION WITH MARRIAGE. 

La Bruyere has very wittily said, "It is too much for a husband tohave ranged against him both devotion and gallantry; a woman ought tochoose but one of them for her ally. "

The author thinks that La Bruyere is mistaken. 

 2. OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

Up to the age of thirty the face of a woman is a book written in aforeign tongue, which one may still translate in spite of all the_feminisms_ of the idiom; but on passing her fortieth year a womanbecomes an insoluble riddle; and if any one can see through an oldwoman, it is another old woman. 

Some diplomats have attempted on more than one occasion the diabolicaltask of gaining over the dowagers who opposed their machinations; butif they have ever succeeded it was only after making enormousconcessions to them; for diplomats are practiced people and we do notthink that you can employ their recipe in dealing with yourmother-in-law. She will be the first aid-de-camp of her daughter, forif the mother did not take her daughter's side, it would be one ofthose monstrous and unnatural exceptions, which unhappily for husbandsare extremely rare. 

When a man is so happy as to possess a mother-in-law who iswell-preserved, he may easily keep her in check for a certain time, although he may not know any young celibate brave enough to assailher. But generally husbands who have the slightest conjugal geniuswill find a way of pitting their own mother against that of theirwife, and in that case they will naturally neutralize each other'spower. 

To be able to keep a mother-in-law in the country while he lives inParis, and vice versa, is a piece of good fortune which a husband toorarely meets with. 

What of making mischief between the mother and the daughter?--That maybe possible; but in order to accomplish such an enterprise he musthave the metallic heart of Richelieu, who made a son and a motherdeadly enemies to each other. However, the jealousy of a husband whoforbids his wife to pray to male saints and wishes her to address onlyfemale saints, would allow her liberty to see her mother. 

Many sons-in-law take an extreme course which settles everything, which consists in living on bad terms with their mothers-in-law. Thisunfriendliness would be very adroit policy, if it did not inevitablyresult in drawing tighter the ties that unite mother and daughter. These are about all the means which you have for resisting maternalinfluence in your home. As for the services which your wife can claimfrom her mother, they are immense; and the assistance which she mayderive from the neutrality of her mother is not less powerful. But onthis point everything passes out of the domain of science, for all isveiled in secrecy. The reinforcements which a mother brings up insupport of a daughter are so varied in nature, they depend so much oncircumstances, that it would be folly to attempt even a nomenclaturefor them. Yet you may write out among the most valuable precepts ofthis conjugal gospel, the following maxims. 

A husband should never let his wife visit her mother unattended. 

A husband ought to study all the reasons why all the celibates underforty who form her habitual society are so closely united by ties offriendship to his mother-in-law; for, if a daughter rarely falls inlove with the lover of her mother, her mother has always a weak spotfor her daughter's lover. 

 3. OF BOARDING SCHOOL FRIENDS AND INTIMATE FRIENDS. 

Louise de L-----, daughter of an officer killed at Wagram, had beenthe object of Napoleon's special protection. She left Ecouen to marrya commissary general, the Baron de V-----, who is very rich. 

Louise was eighteen and the baron forty. She was ordinary in face andher complexion could not be called white, but she had a charmingfigure, good eyes, a small foot, a pretty hand, good taste andabundant intelligence. The baron, worn out by the fatigues of war andstill more by the excesses of a stormy youth, had one of those facesupon which the Republic, the Directory, the Consulate and the Empireseemed to have set their impress. 

He became so deeply in love with his wife, that he asked and obtainedfrom the Emperor a post at Paris, in order that he might be enabled towatch over his treasure. He was as jealous as Count Almaviva, stillmore from vanity than from love. The young orphan had married herhusband from necessity, and, flattered by the ascendancy she wieldedover a man much older than herself, waited upon his wishes and hisneeds; but her delicacy was offended from the first days of theirmarriage by the habits and ideas of a man whose manners were tingedwith republican license. He was a predestined. 

I do not know exactly how long the baron made his honeymoon last, norwhen war was declared in his household; but I believe it happened in1816, at a very brilliant ball given by Monsieur D-----, acommissariat officer, that the commissary general, who had beenpromoted head of the department, admired the beautiful Madame B-----, the wife of a banker, and looked at her much more amorously than amarried man should have allowed himself to do. 

At two o'clock in the morning it happened that the banker, tired ofwaiting any longer, went home leaving his wife at the ball. 

"We are going to take you home to your house, " said the baroness toMadame B-----. "Monsieur de V-----, offer your arm to Emilie!"

And now the baron is seated in his carriage next to a woman who, during the whole evening, had been offered and had refused a thousandattentions, and from whom he had hoped in vain to win a single look. There she was, in all the lustre of her youth and beauty, displayingthe whitest shoulders and the most ravishing lines of beauty. Herface, which still reflected the pleasures of the evening, seemed tovie with the brilliancy of her satin gown; her eyes to rival the blazeof her diamonds; and her skin to cope with the soft whiteness of themarabouts which tied in her hair, set off the ebon tresses and theringlets dangling from her headdress. Her tender voice would stir thechords of the most insensible hearts; in a word, so powerfully did shewake up love in the human breast that Robert d'Abrissel himself wouldperhaps have yielded to her. 

The baron glanced at his wife, who, overcome with fatigue, had sunk tosleep in a corner of the carriage. He compared, in spite of himself, the toilette of Louise and that of Emilie. Now on occasions of thiskind the presence of a wife is singularly calculated to sharpen theunquenchable desires of a forbidden love. Moreover, the glances of thebaron, directed alternately to his wife and to her friend, were easyto interpret, and Madame B----- interpreted them. 

"Poor Louise, " she said, "she is overtired. Going out does not suither, her tastes are so simple. At Ecouen she was always reading--"

"And you, what used you to do?"

"I, sir? Oh, I thought about nothing but acting comely. It was mypassion!"

"But why do you so rarely visit Madame de V-----? We have a countryhouse at Saint-Prix, where we could have a comedy acted, in a littletheatre which I have built there. "

"If I have not visited Madame de V-----, whose fault is it?" shereplied. "You are so jealous that you will not allow her either tovisit her friends or to receive them. "

"I jealous!" cried Monsieur de V-----, "after four years of marriage, and after having had three children!"

"Hush, " said Emilie, striking the fingers of the baron with her fan, "Louise is not asleep!"

The carriage stopped, and the baron offered his hand to his wife'sfair friend and helped her to get out. 

"I hope, " said Madame B-----, "that you will not prevent Louise fromcoming to the ball which I am giving this week. "

The baron made her a respectful bow. 

This ball was a triumph of Madame B-----'s and the ruin of the husbandof Louise; for he became desperately enamored of Emilie, to whom hewould have sacrificed a hundred lawful wives. 

Some months after that evening on which the baron gained some hopes ofsucceeding with his wife's friend, he found himself one morning at thehouse of Madame B-----, when the maid came to announce the Baroness deV-----. 

"Ah!" cried Emilie, "if Louise were to see you with me at such an houras this, she would be capable of compromising me. Go into that closetand don't make the least noise. "

The husband, caught like a mouse in a trap, concealed himself in thecloset. 

"Good-day, my dear!" said the two women, kissing each other. 

"Why are you come so early?" asked Emilie. 

"Oh! my dear, cannot you guess? I came to have an understanding withyou!"

"What, a duel?"

"Precisely, my dear. I am not like you, not I! I love my husband andam jealous of him. You! you are beautiful, charming, you have theright to be a coquette, you can very well make fun of B-----, to whomyour virtue seems to be of little importance. But as you have plentyof lovers in society, I beg you that you will leave me my husband. Heis always at your house, and he certainly would not come unless youwere the attraction. "

"What a very pretty jacket you have on. "

"Do you think so? My maid made it. "

"Then I shall get Anastasia to take a lesson from Flore--"

"So, then, my dear, I count on your friendship to refrain frombringing trouble in my house. "

"But, my child, I do not know how you can conceive that I should fallin love with your husband; he is coarse and fat as a deputy of thecentre. He is short and ugly--Ah! I will allow that he is generous, but that is all you can say for him, and this is a quality which isall in all only to opera girls; so that you can understand, my dear, that if I were choosing a lover, as you seem to suppose I am, Iwouldn't choose an old man like your baron. If I have given him anyhopes, if I have received him, it was certainly for the purpose ofamusing myself, and of giving you liberty; for I believed you had aweakness for young Rostanges. "

"I?" exclaimed Louise, "God preserve me from it, my dear; he is themost intolerable coxcomb in the world. No, I assure you, I love myhusband! You may laugh as you choose; it is true. I know it may seemridiculous, but consider, he has made my fortune, he is no miser, andhe is everything to me, for it has been my unhappy lot to be left anorphan. Now even if I did not love him, I ought to try to preserve hisesteem. Have I a family who will some day give me shelter?"

"Come, my darling, let us speak no more about it, " said Emilie, interrupting her friend, "for it tires me to death. "

After a few trifling remarks the baroness left. 

"How is this, monsieur?" cried Madame B-----, opening the door of thecloset where the baron was frozen with cold, for this incident tookplace in winter; "how is this? Aren't you ashamed of yourself for notadoring a little wife who is so interesting? Don't speak to me oflove; you may idolize me, as you say you do, for a certain time, butyou will never love me as you love Louise. I can see that in yourheart I shall never outweigh the interest inspired by a virtuous wife, children, and a family circle. I should one day be deserted and becomethe object of your bitter reflections. You would coldly say of me 'Ihave had that woman!' That phrase I have heard pronounced by men withthe most insulting indifference. You see, monsieur, that I reason incold blood, and that I do not love you, because you never would beable to love me. "

"What must I do then to convince you of my love?" cried the baron, fixing his gaze on the young woman. 

She had never appeared to him so ravishingly beautiful as at thatmoment, when her soft voice poured forth a torrent of words whosesternness was belied by the grace of her gestures, by the pose of herhead and by her coquettish attitude. 

"Oh, when I see Louise in possession of a lover, " she replied, "when Iknow that I am taking nothing away from her, and that she has nothingto regret in losing your affection; when I am quite sure that you loveher no longer, and have obtained certain proof of your indifferencetowards her--Oh, then I may listen to you!--These words must seemodious to you, " she continued in an earnest voice; "and so indeed theyare, but do not think that they have been pronounced by me. I am therigorous mathematician who makes his deductions from a preliminaryproposition. You are married, and do you deliberately set about makinglove to some one else? I should be mad to give any encouragement to aman who cannot be mine eternally. "

"Demon!" exclaimed the husband. "Yes, you are a demon, and not awoman!"

"Come now, you are really amusing!" said the young woman as she seizedthe bell-rope. 

"Oh! no, Emilie, " continued the lover of forty, in a calmer voice. "Donot ring; stop, forgive me! I will sacrifice everything for you. "

"But I do not promise you anything!" she answered quickly with alaugh. 

"My God! How you make me suffer!" he exclaimed. 

"Well, and have not you in your life caused the unhappiness of morethan one person?" she asked. "Remember all the tears which have beenshed through you and for you! Oh, your passion does not inspire mewith the least pity. If you do not wish to make me laugh, make meshare your feelings. "

"Adieu, madame, there is a certain clemency in your sternness. Iappreciate the lesson you have taught me. Yes, I have many faults toexpiate. "

"Well then, go and repent of them, " she said with a mocking smile; "inmaking Louise happy you will perform the rudest penance in yourpower. "

They parted. But the love of the baron was too violent to allow ofMadame B-----'s harshness failing to accomplish her end, namely, theseparation of the married couple. 

At the end of some months the Baron de V----- and his wife livedapart, though they lived in the same mansion. The baroness was theobject of universal pity, for in public she always did justice to herhusband and her resignation seemed wonderful. The most prudish womenof society found nothing to blame in the friendship which unitedLouise to the young Rostanges. And all was laid to the charge ofMonsieur de V-----'s folly. 

When this last had made all the sacrifices that a man could make forMadame B-----, his perfidious mistress started for the waters of MountDore, for Switzerland and for Italy, on the pretext of seeking therestoration of her health. 

The baron died of inflammation of the liver, being attended during hissickness by the most touching ministrations which his wife couldlavish upon him; and judging from the grief which he manifested athaving deserted her, he seemed never to have suspected herparticipation in the plan which had been his ruin. 

This anecdote, which we have chosen from a thousand others, exemplifies the services which two women can render each other. 

From the words--"Let me have the pleasure of bringing my husband" upto the conception of the drama, whose denouement was inflammation ofthe liver, every female perfidy was assembled to work out the end. Certain incidents will, of course, be met with which diversify more orless the typical example which we have given, but the march of thedrama is almost always the same. Moreover a husband ought always todistrust the woman friends of his wife. The subtle artifices of theselying creatures rarely fail of their effect, for they are seconded bytwo enemies, who always keep close to a man--and these are vanity anddesire. 

 4. OF THE LOVER'S ALLIES. 

The man who hastens to tell another man that he has dropped a thousandfranc bill from his pocket-book, or even that the handkerchief iscoming out of his pocket, would think it a mean thing to warn him thatsome one was carrying off his wife. There is certainly somethingextremely odd in this moral inconsistency, but after all it admits ofexplanation. Since the law cannot exercise any interference withmatrimonial rights, the citizens have even less right to constitutethemselves a conjugal police; and when one restores a thousand francbill to him who has lost it, he acts under a certain kind ofobligation, founded on the principle which says, "Do unto others as yewould they should do unto you!"

But by what reasoning can justification be found for the help whichone celibate never asks in vain, but always receives from anothercelibate in deceiving a husband, and how shall we qualify therendering of such help? A man who is incapable of assisting a gendarmein discovering an assassin, has no scruple in taking a husband to atheatre, to a concert or even to a questionable house, in order tohelp a comrade, whom he would not hesitate to kill in a duelto-morrow, in keeping an assignation, the result of which is tointroduce into a family a spurious child, and to rob two brothers of aportion of their fortune by giving them a co-heir whom they neverperhaps would otherwise have had; or to effect the misery of threehuman beings. We must confess that integrity is a very rare virtue, and, very often, the man that thinks he has most actually has least. Families have been divided by feuds, and brothers have been murdered, which events would never have taken place if some friend had refusedto perform what passes to the world as a harmless trick. 

It is impossible for a man to be without some hobby or other, and allof us are devoted either to hunting, fishing, gambling, music, money, or good eating. Well, your ruling passion will always be an accomplicein the snare which a lover sets for you, the invisible hand of thispassion will direct your friends, or his, whether they consent or not, to play a part in the little drama when they want to take you awayfrom home, or to induce you to leave your wife to the mercy ofanother. A lover will spend two whole months, if necessary, inplanning the construction of the mouse-trap. 

I have seen the most cunning men on earth thus taken in. 

There was a certain retired lawyer of Normandy. He lived in the littletown of B-----, where a regiment of the chasseurs of Cantal weregarrisoned. A fascinating officer of this regiment had fallen in lovewith the wife of this pettifogger, and the regiment was leaving beforethe two lovers had been able to enjoy the least privacy. It was thefourth military man over whom the lawyer had triumphed. As he left thedinner-table one evening, about six o'clock, the husband took a walkon the terrace of his garden from which he could see the whole countryside. The officers arrived at this moment to take leave of him. Suddenly the flame of a conflagration burst forth on the horizon. "Heavens! La Daudiniere is on fire!" exclaimed the major. He was anold simple-minded soldier, who had dined at home. Every one mountedhorse. The young wife smiled as she found herself alone, for herlover, hidden in the coppice, had said to her, "It is a straw stack onfire!" The flank of the husband was turned with all the more facilityin that a fine courser was provided for him by the captain, and with adelicacy very rare in the cavalry, the lover actually sacrificed a fewmoments of his happiness in order to catch up with the cavalcade, andreturn in company with the husband. 

Marriage is a veritable duel, in which persistent watchfulness isrequired in order to triumph over an adversary; for, if you areunlucky enough to turn your head, the sword of the celibate willpierce you through and through. 

 5. OF THE MAID. 

The prettiest waiting-maid I have ever seen is that of Madame V----y, a lady who to-day plays at Paris a brilliant part among the mostfashionable women, and passes for a wife who keeps on excellent termswith her husband. Mademoiselle Celestine is a person whose points ofbeauty are so numerous that, in order to describe her, it would benecessary to translate the thirty verses which we are told form aninscription in the seraglio of the Grand Turk and contain each of theman excellent description of one of the thirty beauties of women. 

"You show a great deal of vanity in keeping near you such anaccomplished creature, " said a lady to the mistress of the house. 

"Ah! my dear, some day perhaps you will find yourself jealous of me inpossessing Celestine. "

"She must be endowed with very rare qualities, I suppose? She perhapsdresses you well?"

"Oh, no, very badly!"

"She sews well?"

"She never touches her needle. "

"She is faithful?"

"She is one of those whose fidelity costs more than the most cunningdishonesty. "

"You astonish me, my dear; she is then your foster-sister?"

"Not at all; she is positively good for nothing, but she is moreuseful to me than any other member of my household. If she remainswith me ten years, I have promised her twenty thousand francs. It willbe money well earned, and I shall not forget to give it!" said theyoung woman, nodding her head with a meaning gesture. 

At last the questioner of Madame V----y understood. 

When a woman has no friend of her own sex intimate enough to assisther in proving false to marital love, her maid is a last resourcewhich seldom fails in bringing about the desired result. 

Oh! after ten years of marriage to find under his roof, and to see allthe time, a young girl of from sixteen to eighteen, fresh, dressedwith taste, the treasures of whose beauty seem to breathe defiance, whose frank bearing is irresistibly attractive, whose downcast eyesseem to fear you, whose timid glance tempts you, and for whom theconjugal bed has no secrets, for she is at once a virgin and anexperienced woman! How can a man remain cold, like St. Anthony, beforesuch powerful sorcery, and have the courage to remain faithful to thegood principles represented by a scornful wife, whose face is alwaysstern, whose manners are always snappish, and who frequently refusesto be caressed? What husband is stoical enough to resist such fires, such frosts? There, where you see a new harvest of pleasure, the younginnocent sees an income, and your wife her liberty. It is a littlefamily compact, which is signed in the interest of good will. 

In this case, your wife acts with regard to marriage as youngfashionables do with regard to their country. If they are drawn forthe army, they buy a man to carry the musket, to die in their placeand to spare them the hardships of military life. 

In compromises of this sort there is not a single woman who does notknow how to put her husband in the wrong. I have noticed that, by asupreme stroke of diplomacy, the majority of wives do not admit theirmaids into the secret of the part which they give them to play. Theytrust to nature, and assume an affected superiority over the lover andhis mistress. 

These secret perfidies of women explain to a great degree the oddfeatures of married life which are to be observed in the world; and Ihave heard women discuss, with profound sagacity, the dangers whichare inherent in this terrible method of attack, and it is necessary toknow thoroughly both the husband and the creature to whom he is to beabandoned, in order to make successful use of her. Many a woman, inthis connection, has been the victim of her own calculations. 

Moreover, the more impetuous and passionate a husband shows himself, the less will a woman dare to employ this expedient; but a husbandcaught in this snare will never have anything to say to his sternbetter-half, when the maid, giving evidence of the fault she hascommitted, is sent into the country with an infant and a dowry. 

 6. OF THE DOCTOR. 

The doctor is one of the most potent auxiliaries of an honest woman, when she wishes to acquire a friendly divorce from her husband. Theservices that the doctor renders, most of the time without knowing it, to a woman, are of such importance that there does not exist a singlehouse in France where the doctor is chosen by any one but the wife. 

All doctors know what great influence women have on their reputation;thus we meet with few doctors who do not study to please the ladies. When a man of talent has become celebrated it is true that he does notlend himself to the crafty conspiracies which women hatch; but withoutknowing it he becomes involved in them. 

I suppose that a husband taught by the adventures of his own youthmakes up his mind to pick out a doctor for his wife, from the firstdays of his marriage. So long as his feminine adversary fails toconceive the assistance that she may derive from this ally, she willsubmit in silence; but later on, if all her allurements fail to winover the man chosen by her husband, she will take a more favorableopportunity to give her husband her confidence, in the followingremarkable manner. 

"I don't like the way in which the doctor feels my pulse!"

And of course the doctor is dropped. 

Thus it happens that either a woman chooses her doctor, wins over theman who has been imposed upon her, or procures his dismissal. But thiscontest is very rare; the majority of young men who marry areacquainted with none but beardless doctors whom they have no anxietyto procure for their wives, and almost always the Esculapius of thehousehold is chosen by the feminine power. Thus it happens that somefine morning the doctor, when he leaves the chamber of madame, who hasbeen in bed for a fortnight, is induced by her to say to you:

"I do not say that the condition of madame presents any serioussymptoms; but this constant drowsiness, this general listlessness, andher natural tendency to a spinal affection demand great care. Herlymph is inspissated. She wants a change of air. She ought to be senteither to the waters of Bareges or to the waters of Plombieres. "

"All right, doctor. "

You allow your wife to go to Plombieres; but she goes there becauseCaptain Charles is quartered in the Vosges. She returns in capitalhealth and the waters of Plombieres have done wonders for her. She haswritten to you every day, she has lavished upon you from a distanceevery possible caress. The danger of a spinal affection has utterlydisappeared. 

There is extant a little pamphlet, whose publication was prompteddoubtless by hate. It was published in Holland, and it contains somevery curious details of the manner in which Madame de Maintenonentered into an understanding with Fagon, for the purposes ofcontrolling Louis XIV. Well, some morning your doctor will threatenyou, as Fagon threatened his master, with a fit of apoplexy, if you donot diet yourself. This witty work of satire, doubtless the productionof some courtier, entitled "Madame de Saint Tron, " has beeninterpreted by the modern author who has become proverbial as "theyoung doctor. " But his delightful sketch is very much superior to thework whose title I cite for the benefit of the book-lovers, and wehave great pleasure in acknowledging that the work of our clevercontemporary has prevented us, out of regard for the glory of theseventeenth century, from publishing the fragment of the old pamphlet. 

Very frequently a doctor becomes duped by the judicious manoeuvres ofa young and delicate wife, and comes to you with the announcement:

"Sir, I would not wish to alarm madame with regard to her condition;but I will advise you, if you value her health, to keep her in perfecttranquillity. The irritation at this moment seems to threaten thechest, and we must gain control of it; there is need of rest for her, perfect rest; the least agitation might change the seat of the malady. At this crisis, the prospect of bearing a child would be fatal toher. "

"But, doctor--"

"Ah, yes! I know that!"

He laughs and leaves the house. 

Like the rod of Moses, the doctor's mandate makes and unmakesgenerations. The doctor will restore you to your marriage bed with thesame arguments that he used in debarring you. He treats your wife forcomplaints which she has not, in order to cure her of those which shehas, and all the while you have no idea of it; for the scientificjargon of doctors can only be compared to the layers in which theyenvelop their pills. 

An honest woman in her chamber with the doctor is like a minister sureof a majority; she has it in her power to make a horse, or a carriage, according to her good pleasure and her taste; she will send you awayor receive you, as she likes. Sometimes she will pretend to be ill inorder to have a chamber separate from yours; sometimes she willsurround herself with all the paraphernalia of an invalid; she willhave an old woman for a nurse, regiments of vials and of bottles, and, environed by these ramparts, will defy you by her invalid airs. Shewill talk to you in such a depressing way of the electuaries and ofthe soothing draughts which she has taken, of the agues which she hashad, of her plasters and cataplasms, that she will fill you withdisgust at these sickly details, if all the time these sham sufferingsare not intended to serve as engines by means of which, eventually, asuccessful attack may be made on that singular abstraction known as_your honor_. 

In this way your wife will be able to fortify herself at every pointof contact which you possess with the world, with society and withlife. Thus everything will take arms against you, and you will bealone among all these enemies. But suppose that it is yourunprecedented privilege to possess a wife who is without religiousconnections, without parents or intimate friends; that you havepenetration enough to see through all the tricks by which your wife'slover tries to entrap you; that you still have sufficient love foryour fair enemy to resist all the Martons of the earth; that, in fact, you have for your doctor a man who is so celebrated that he has notime to listen to the maunderings of your wife; or that if yourEsculapius is madame's vassal, you demand a consultation, and anincorruptible doctor intervenes every time the favorite doctorprescribes a remedy that disquiets you; even in that case, yourprospects will scarcely be more brilliant. In fact, even if you do notsuccumb to this invasion of allies, you must not forget that, so far, your adversary has not, so to speak, struck the decisive blow. If youhold out still longer, your wife, having flung round you thread uponthread, as a spider spins his web, an invisible net, will resort tothe arms which nature has given her, which civilization has perfected, and which will be treated of in the next Meditation. 

 MEDITATION XXVI. 

 OF DIFFERENT WEAPONS. 

A weapon is anything which is used for the purpose of wounding. Fromthis point of view, some sentiments prove to be the most cruel weaponswhich man can employ against his fellow man. The genius of Schiller, lucid as it was comprehensive, seems to have revealed all thephenomena which certain ideas bring to light in the human organizationby their keen and penetrating action. A man may be put to death by athought. Such is the moral of those heartrending scenes, when in _TheBrigands_ the poet shows a young man, with the aid of certain ideas, making such powerful assaults on the heart of an old man, that he endsby causing the latter's death. The time is not far distant whenscience will be able to observe the complicated mechanism of ourthoughts and to apprehend the transmission of our feelings. Somedeveloper of the occult sciences will prove that our intellectualorganization constitutes nothing more than a kind of interior man, whoprojects himself with less violence than the exterior man, and thatthe struggle which may take place between two such powers as these, although invisible to our feeble eyes, is not a less mortal strugglethan that in which our external man compels us to engage. 

But these considerations belong to a different department of studyfrom that in which we are now engaged; these subjects we intend todeal with in a future publication; some of our friends are alreadyacquainted with one of the most important, --that, namely, entitled"THE PATHOLOGY OF SOCIAL LIFE, _or Meditations mathematical, physical, chemical and transcendental on the manifestations of thought, takenunder all the forms which are produced by the state of society, whether by living, marriage, conduct, veterinary medicine, or byspeech and action, etc. _, " in which all these great questions arefully discussed. The aim of this brief metaphysical observation isonly to remind you that the higher classes of society reason too wellto admit of their being attacked by any other than intellectual arms. 

Although it is true that tender and delicate souls are found envelopedin a body of metallic hardness, at the same time there are souls ofbronze enveloped in bodies so supple and capricious that their graceattracts the friendship of others, and their beauty calls for acaress. But if you flatter the exterior man with your hand, the _Homoduplex_, the interior man, to use an expression of Buffon, immediatelyrouses himself and rends you with his keen points of contact. 

This description of a special class of human creatures, which we hopeyou will not run up against during your earthly journey, presents apicture of what your wife may be to you. Every one of the sentimentswhich nature has endowed your heart with, in their gentlest form, willbecome a dagger in the hand of your wife. You will be stabbed everymoment, and you will necessarily succumb; for your love will flow likeblood from every wound. 

This is the last struggle, but for her it also means victory. 

In order to carry out the distinction which we think we haveestablished among three sorts of feminine temperament, we will dividethis Meditation into three parts, under the following titles:

 1. OF HEADACHES. 2. OF NERVOUS AFFECTATIONS. 3. OF MODESTY, IN ITS CONNECTION WITH MARRIAGE. 

 1. OF HEADACHES. 

Women are constantly the dupes or the victims of excessivesensibility; but we have already demonstrated that with the greaternumber of them this delicacy of soul must needs, almost without theirknowing it, receive many rude blows, from the very fact of theirmarriage. (See Meditations entitled _The Predestined_ and _Of theHoneymoon_. ) Most of the means of defence instinctively employed byhusbands are nothing but traps set for the liveliness of feminineaffections. 

Now the moment comes when the wife, during the Civil War, traces by asingle act of thought the history of her moral life, and is irritatedon perceiving the prodigious way in which you have taken advantage ofher sensibility. It is very rarely that women, moved either by aninnate feeling for revenge, which they themselves can never explain, or by their instinct of domination, fail to discover that this qualityin their natural machinery, when brought into play against the man, isinferior to no other instrument for obtaining ascendancy over him. 

With admirable cleverness, they proceed to find out what chords in thehearts of their husbands are most easily touched; and when once theydiscover this secret, they eagerly proceed to put it into practice;then, like a child with a mechanical toy, whose spring excites theircuriosity, they go on employing it, carelessly calling into play themovements of the instrument, and satisfied simply with their successin doing so. If they kill you, they will mourn over you with the bestgrace in the world, as the most virtuous, the most excellent, the mostsensible of men. 

In this way your wife will first arm herself with that generoussentiment which leads us to respect those who are in pain. The manmost disposed to quarrel with a woman full of life and health becomeshelpless before a woman who is weak and feeble. If your wife has notattained the end of her secret designs, by means of those variousmethods already described, she will quickly seize this all-powerfulweapon. In virtue of this new strategic method, you will see the younggirl, so strong in life and beauty, whom you had wedded in her flower, metamorphosing herself into a pale and sickly woman. 

Now headache is an affection which affords infinite resources to awoman. This malady, which is the easiest of all to feign, for it isdestitute of any apparent symptom, merely obliges her to say: "I havea headache. " A woman trifles with you and there is no one in the worldwho can contradict her skull, whose impenetrable bones defy touch orocular test. Moreover, headache is, in our opinion, the queen ofmaladies, the pleasantest and the most terrible weapon employed bywives against their husbands. There are some coarse and violent menwho have been taught the tricks of women by their mistresses, in thehappy hours of their celibacy, and so flatter themselves that they arenever to be caught by this vulgar trap. But all their efforts, alltheir arguments end by being vanquished before the magic of thesewords: "I have a headache. " If a husband complains, or ventures on areproach, if he tries to resist the power of this _Il buondo cani_ ofmarriage, he is lost. 

Imagine a young woman, voluptuously lying on a divan, her head softlysupported by a cushion, one hand hanging down; on a small table closeat hand is her glass of lime-water. Now place by her side a burlyhusband. He has made five or six turns round the room; but each timehe has turned on his heels to begin his walk all over again, thelittle invalid has made a slight movement of her eyebrows in a vainattempt to remind him that the slightest noise fatigues her. At lasthe musters all his courage and utters a protest against her pretendedmalady, in the bold phrase:

"And have you really a headache?"

At these words the young woman slightly raises her languid head, liftsan arm, which feebly falls back again upon her divan, raises her eyesto the ceiling, raises all that she has power to raise; then dartingat you a leaden glance, she says in a voice of remarkable feebleness:

"Oh! What can be the matter with me? I suffer the agonies of death!And this is all the comfort you give me! Ah! you men, it is plainlyseen that nature has not given you the task of bringing children intothe world. What egoists and tyrants you are! You take us in all thebeauty of our youth, fresh, rosy, with tapering waist, and then all iswell! When your pleasures have ruined the blooming gifts which wereceived from nature, you never forgive us for having forfeited themto you! That was all understood. You will allow us to have neither thevirtues nor the sufferings of our condition. You must needs havechildren, and we pass many nights in taking care of them. Butchild-bearing has ruined our health, and left behind the germs ofserious maladies. --Oh, what pain I suffer! There are few women who arenot subject to headaches; but your wife must be an exception. You evenlaugh at our sufferings; that is generosity!--please don't walk about--I should not have expected this of you!--Stop the clock; the clickof the pendulum rings in my head. Thanks! Oh, what an unfortunatecreature I am! Have you a scent-bottle with you? Yes, oh! for pity'ssake, allow me to suffer in peace, and go away; for this scent splitsmy head!"

What can you say in reply? Do you not hear within you a voice whichcries, "And what if she is actually suffering?" Moreover, almost allhusbands evacuate the field of battle very quietly, while their wiveswatch them from the corner of their eyes, marching off on tip-toe andclosing the door quietly on the chamber henceforth to be consideredsacred by them. 

Such is the headache, true or false, which is patronized at your home. Then the headache begins to play a regular role in the bosom of yourfamily. It is a theme on which a woman can play many admirablevariations. She sets it forth in every key. With the aid of theheadache alone a wife can make a husband desperate. A headache seizesmadame when she chooses, where she chooses, and as much as shechooses. There are headaches of five days, of ten minutes, periodic orintermittent headaches. 

You sometimes find your wife in bed, in pain, helpless, and the blindsof her room are closed. The headache has imposed silence on every one, from the regions of the porter's lodge, where he is cutting wood, evento the garret of your groom, from which he is throwing down innocentbundles of straw. Believing in this headache, you leave the house, buton your return you find that madame has decamped! Soon madame returns, fresh and ruddy:

"The doctor came, " she says, "and advised me to take exercise, and Ifind myself much better!"

Another day you wish to enter madame's room. 

"Oh, sir, " says the maid, showing the most profound astonishment, "madame has her usual headache, and I have never seen her in suchpain! The doctor has been sent for. "

"You are a happy man, " said Marshal Augereau to General R-----, "tohave such a pretty wife!"

"To have!" replied the other. "If I have my wife ten days in the year, that is about all. These confounded women have always either theheadache or some other thing!"

The headache in France takes the place of the sandals, which, inSpain, the Confessor leaves at the door of the chamber in which he iswith his penitent. 

If your wife, foreseeing some hostile intentions on your part, wishesto make herself as inviolable as the charter, she immediately gets upa little headache performance. She goes to bed in a most deliberatefashion, she utters shrieks which rend the heart of the hearer. Shegoes gracefully through a series of gesticulations so cleverlyexecuted that you might think her a professional contortionist. Nowwhat man is there so inconsiderate as to dare to speak to a sufferingwoman about desires which, in him, prove the most perfect health?Politeness alone demands of him perfect silence. A woman knows underthese circumstances that by means of this all-powerful headache, shecan at her will paste on her bed the placard which sends back home theamateurs who have been allured by the announcement of the ComedieFrancaise, when they read the words: "Closed through the suddenindisposition of Mademoiselle Mars. "

O headache, protectress of love, tariff of married life, buckleragainst which all married desires expire! O mighty headache! Can it bepossible that lovers have never sung thy praises, personified thee, orraised thee to the skies? O magic headache, O delusive headache, blestbe the brain that first invented thee! Shame on the doctor who shallfind out thy preventive! Yes, thou art the only ill that women bless, doubtless through gratitude for the good things thou dispensest tothem, O deceitful headache! O magic headache!

 2. OF NERVOUS AFFECTATIONS. 

There is, however, a power which is superior even to that of theheadache; and we must avow to the glory of France, that this power isone of the most recent which has been won by Parisian genius. As inthe case with all the most useful discoveries of art and science, noone knows to whose intellect it is due. Only, it is certain that itwas towards the middle of the last century that "Vapors" made theirfirst appearance in France. Thus while Papin was applying the force ofvaporized water in mechanical problems, a French woman, whose nameunhappily is unknown, had the glory of endowing her sex with thefaculty of vaporizing their fluids. Very soon the prodigious influenceobtained by vapors was extended to the nerves; it was thus in passingfrom fibre to fibre that the science of neurology was born. Thisadmirable science has since then led such men as Philips and otherclever physiologists to the discovery of the nervous fluid in itscirculation; they are now perhaps on the eve of identifying itsorgans, and the secret of its origin and of its evaporation. And thus, thanks to certain quackeries of this kind, we may be enabled some dayto penetrate the mysteries of that unknown power which we have alreadycalled more than once in the present book, the _Will_. But do not letus trespass on the territory of medical philosophy. Let us considerthe nerves and the vapors solely in their connection with marriage. 

Victims of Neurosis (a pathological term under which are comprised allaffections of the nervous system) suffer in two ways, as far asmarried women are concerned; for our physiology has the loftiestdisdain for medical classifications. Thus we recognize only:

 1. CLASSIC NEUROSIS. 2. ROMANTIC NEUROSIS. 

The classic affection has something bellicose and excitable on it. Those who thus suffer are as violent in their antics as pythonesses, as frantic as _monads_, as excited as _bacchantes_; it is a revival ofantiquity, pure and simple. 

The romantic sufferers are mild and plaintive as the ballads sung amidthe mists of Scotland. They are pallid as young girls carried to theirbier by the dance or by love; they are eminently elegiac and theybreathe all the melancholy of the North. 

That woman with black hair, with piercing eye, with high color, withdry lips and a powerful hand, will become excited and convulsive; sherepresents the genius of classic neurosis; while a young blonde woman, with white skin, is the genius of romantic neurosis; to one belongsthe empire gained by nerves, to the other the empire gained by vapors. 

Very frequently a husband, when he comes home, finds his wife intears. 

"What is the matter, my darling?"

"It is nothing. "

"But you are in tears!"

"I weep without knowing why. I am quite sad! I saw faces in theclouds, and those faces never appear to me except on the eve of somedisaster--I think I must be going to die. "

Then she talks to you in a low voice of her dead father, of her deaduncle, of her dead grandfather, of her dead cousin. She invokes allthese mournful shades, she feels as if she had all their sicknesses, she is attacked with all the pains they felt, she feels her heartpalpitate with excessive violence, she feels her spleen swelling. Yousay to yourself, with a self-satisfied air:

"I know exactly what this is all about!"

And then you try to soothe her; but you find her a woman who yawnslike an open box, who complains of her chest, who begins to weep anew, who implores you to leave her to her melancholy and her mournfulmemories. She talks to you about her last wishes, follows her ownfuneral, is buried, plants over her tomb the green canopy of a weepingwillow, and at the very time when you would like to raise a joyfulepithalamium, you find an epitaph to greet you all in black. Your wishto console her melts away in the cloud of Ixion. 

There are women of undoubted fidelity who in this way extort fromtheir feeling husbands cashmere shawls, diamonds, the payment of theirdebts, or the rent of a box at the theatre; but almost always vaporsare employed as decisive weapons in Civil War. 

On the plea of her spinal affection or of her weak chest, a womantakes pains to seek out some distraction or other; you see herdressing herself in soft fabrics like an invalid with all the symptomsof spleen; she never goes out because an intimate friend, her motheror her sister, has tried to tear her away from that divan whichmonopolizes her and on which she spends her life in improvisingelegies. Madame is going to spend a fortnight in the country becausethe doctor orders it. In short, she goes where she likes and does whatshe likes. Is it possible that there can be a husband so brutal as tooppose such desires, by hindering a wife from going to seek a cure forher cruel sufferings? For it has been established after many longdiscussions that in the nerves originate the most fearful torture. 

But it is especially in bed that vapors play their part. There when awoman has not a headache she has her vapors; and when she has neithervapors nor headache, she is under the protection of the girdle ofVenus, which, as you know, is a myth. 

Among the women who fight with you the battle of vapors, are some moreblonde, more delicate, more full of feeling than others, and whopossess the gift of tears. How admirably do they know how to weep!They weep when they like, as they like and as much as they like. Theyorganize a system of offensive warfare which consists of manifestingsublime resignation, and they gain victories which are all the morebrilliant, inasmuch as they remain all the time in excellent health. 

Does a husband, irritated beyond all measure, at last express hiswishes to them? They regard him with an air of submission, bow theirheads and keep silence. This pantomime almost always puts a husband torout. In conjugal struggles of this kind, a man prefers a woman shouldspeak and defend herself, for then he may show elation or annoyance;but as for these women, not a word. Their silence distresses you andyou experience a sort of remorse, like the murderer who, when he findshis victim offers no resistance, trembles with redoubled fear. Hewould prefer to slay him in self-defence. You return to the subject. As you draw near, your wife wipes away her tears and hides herhandkerchief, so as to let you see that she has been weeping. You aremelted, you implore your little Caroline to speak, your sensibilityhas been touched and you forget everything; then she sobs while shespeaks, and speaks while she sobs. This is a sort of machineeloquence; she deafens you with her tears, with her words which comejerked out in confusion; it is the clapper and torrent of a mill. 

French women and especially Parisians possess in a marvelous degreethe secret by which such scenes are enacted, and to these scenes theirvoices, their sex, their toilet, their manner give a wonderful charm. How often do the tears upon the cheeks of these adorable actressesgive way to a piquant smile, when they see their husbands hasten tobreak the silk lace, the weak fastening of their corsets, or torestore the comb which holds together the tresses of their hair andthe bunch of golden ringlets always on the point of falling down?

But how all these tricks of modernity pale before the genius ofantiquity, before nervous attacks which are violent, before thePyrrhic dance of married life! Oh! how many hopes for a lover arethere in the vivacity of those convulsive movements, in the fire ofthose glances, in the strength of those limbs, beautiful even incontortion! It is then that a woman is carried away like an impetuouswind, darts forth like the flames of a conflagration, exhibits amovement like a billow which glides over the white pebbles. She isovercome with excess of love, she sees the future, she is the seer whoprophesies, but above all, she sees the present moment and tramples onher husband, and impresses him with a sort of terror. 

The sight of his wife flinging off vigorous men as if they were somany feathers, is often enough to deter a man from ever striving towrong her. He will be like the child who, having pulled the trigger ofsome terrific engine, has ever afterwards an incredible respect forthe smallest spring. I have known a man, gentle and amiable in hisways, whose eyes were fixed upon those of his wife, exactly as if hehad been put into a lion's cage, and some one had said to him that hemust not irritate the beast, if he would escape with his life. 

Nervous attacks of this kind are very fatiguing and become every daymore rare. Romanticism, however, has maintained its ground. 

Sometimes, we meet with phlegmatic husbands, those men whose love islong enduring, because they store up their emotions, whose genius getsthe upper hand of these headaches and nervous attacks; but thesesublime creatures are rare. Faithful disciples of the blessed St. Thomas, who wished to put his finger into the wound, they are endowedwith an incredulity worthy of an atheist. Imperturbable in the midstof all these fraudulent headaches and all these traps set by neurosis, they concentrate their attention on the comedy which is being playedbefore them, they examine the actress, they search for one of thesprings that sets her going; and when they have discovered themechanism of this display, they arm themselves by giving a slightimpulse to the puppet-valve, and thus easily assure themselves eitherof the reality of the disease or the artifices of these conjugalmummeries. 

But if by study which is almost superhuman in its intensity a husbandescapes all the artifices which lawless and untamable love suggests towomen, he will beyond doubt be overcome by the employment of aterrible weapon, the last which a woman would resort to, for she neverdestroys with her own hands her empire over her husband without somesort of repugnance. But this is a poisoned weapon as powerful as thefatal knife of the executioner. This reflection brings us to the lastparagraph of the present Meditation. 

 3. OF MODESTY, IN ITS CONNECTION WITH MARRIAGE. 

Before taking up the subject of modesty, it may perhaps be necessaryto inquire whether there is such a thing. Is it anything in a womanbut well understood coquetry? Is it anything but a sentiment thatclaims the right, on a woman's part, to dispose of her own body as shechooses, as one may well believe, when we consider that half the womenin the world go almost naked? Is it anything but a social chimera, asDiderot supposed, reminding us that this sentiment always gives waybefore sickness and before misery?

Justice may be done to all these questions. 

An ingenious author has recently put forth the view that men are muchmore modest than women. He supports this contention by a great mass ofsurgical experiences; but, in order that his conclusions merit ourattention, it would be necessary that for a certain time men weresubjected to treatment by women surgeons. 

The opinion of Diderot is of still less weight. 

To deny the existence of modesty, because it disappears during thosecrises in which almost all human sentiments are annihilated, is asunreasonable as to deny that life exists because death sooner or latercomes. 

Let us grant, then, that one sex has as much modesty as the other, andlet us inquire in what modesty consists. 

Rousseau makes modesty the outcome of all those coquetries whichfemales display before males. This opinion appears to us equallymistaken. 

The writers of the eighteenth century have doubtless rendered immenseservices to society; but their philosophy, based as it is uponsensualism, has never penetrated any deeper than the human epidermis. They have only considered the exterior universe; and so they haveretarded, for some time, the moral development of man and the progressof science which will always draw its first principles from theGospel, principles hereafter to be best understood by the ferventdisciples of the Son of Man. 

The study of thought's mysteries, the discovery of those organs whichbelong to the human soul, the geometry of its forces, the phenomena ofits active power, the appreciation of the faculty by which we seem tohave an independent power of bodily movement, so as to transportourselves whither we will and to see without the aid of bodily organs, --in a word the laws of thought's dynamic and those of its physicalinfluence, --these things will fall to the lot of the next century, astheir portion in the treasury of human sciences. And perhaps we, ofthe present time, are merely occupied in quarrying the enormous blockswhich later on some mighty genius will employ in the building of aglorious edifice. 

Thus the error of Rousseau is simply the error of his age. He explainsmodesty by the relations of different human beings to each otherinstead of explaining it by the moral relations of each one withhimself. Modesty is no more susceptible of analysis than conscience;and this perhaps is another way of saying that modesty is theconscience of the body; for while conscience directs our sentimentsand the least movement of our thoughts towards the good, modestypresides over external movements. The actions which clash with ourinterests and thus disobey the laws of conscience wound us more thanany other; and if they are repeated call forth our hatred. It is thesame with acts which violate modesty in their relations to love, whichis nothing but the expression of our whole sensibility. If extrememodesty is one of the conditions on which the reality of marriage isbased, as we have tried to prove [See _Conjugal Catechism, MeditationIV. _], it is evident that immodesty will destroy it. But thisposition, which would require long deductions for the acceptance ofthe physiologist, women generally apply, as it were, mechanically; forsociety, which exaggerates everything for the benefit of the exteriorman, develops this sentiment of women from childhood, and around itare grouped almost every other sentiment. Moreover, the moment thatthis boundless veil, which takes away the natural brutality from theleast gesture, is dragged down, woman disappears. Heart, mind, love, grace, all are in ruins. In a situation where the virginal innocenceof a daughter of Tahiti is most brilliant, the European becomesdetestable. In this lies the last weapon which a wife seizes, in orderto escape from the sentiment which her husband still fosters towardsher. She is powerful because she had made herself loathsome; and thiswoman, who would count it as the greatest misfortune that her lovershould be permitted to see the slightest mystery of her toilette, is delighted to exhibit herself to her husband in the mostdisadvantageous situation that can possibly be imagined. 

It is by means of this rigorous system that she will try to banish youfrom the conjugal bed. Mrs. Shandy may be taken to mean us harm inbidding the father of Tristram wind up the clock; so long as your wifeis not blamed for the pleasure she takes in interrupting you by themost imperative questions. Where there formerly was movement and lifeis now lethargy and death. An act of love becomes a transaction longdiscussed and almost, as it were, settled by notarial seal. But wehave in another place shown that we never refuse to seize upon thecomic element in a matrimonial crisis, although here we may bepermitted to disdain the diversion which the muse of Verville and ofMarshall have found in the treachery of feminine manoeuvres, theinsulting audacity of their talk, amid the cold-blooded cynicism whichthey exhibit in certain situations. It is too sad to laugh at, and toofunny to mourn over. When a woman resorts to such extreme measures, worlds at once separate her from her husband. Nevertheless, there aresome women to whom Heaven has given the gift of being charming underall circumstances, who know how to put a certain witty and comic graceinto these performances, and who have such smooth tongues, to use theexpression of Sully, that they obtain forgiveness for their capricesand their mockeries, and never estrange the hearts of their husbands. 

What soul is so robust, what man so violently in love as to persist inhis passion, after ten years of marriage, in presence of a wife wholoves him no longer, who gives him proofs of this every moment, whorepulses him, who deliberately shows herself bitter, caustic, sicklyand capricious, and who will abjure her vows of elegance andcleanliness, rather than not see her husband turn away from her; inpresence of a wife who will stake the success of her schemes upon thehorror caused by her indecency?

All this, my dear sir, is so much more horrible because--

 XCII. LOVERS IGNORE MODESTY. 

We have now arrived at the last infernal circle in the Divine Comedyof Marriage. We are at the very bottom of Hell. There is somethinginexpressibly terrible in the situation of a married woman at themoment when unlawful love turns her away from her duties as mother andwife. As Diderot has very well put it, "infidelity in a woman is likeunbelief in a priest, the last extreme of human failure; for her it isthe greatest of social crimes, since it implies in her every othercrime besides, and indeed either a wife profanes her lawless love bycontinuing to belong to her husband, or she breaks all the ties whichattach her to her family, by giving herself over altogether to herlover. She ought to choose between the two courses, for her solepossible excuse lies in the intensity of her love. "

She lives then between the claims of two obligations. It is a dilemma;she will work either the unhappiness of her lover, if he is sincere inhis passion, or that of her husband, if she is still beloved by him. 

It is to this frightful dilemma of feminine life that all the strangeinconsistencies of women's conduct is to be attributed. In this liesthe origin of all their lies, all their perfidies; here is the secretof all their mysteries. It is something to make one shudder. Moreover, even as simply based upon cold-blooded calculations, the conduct of awoman who accepts the unhappiness which attends virtue and scorns thebliss which is bought by crime, is a hundred times more reasonable. Nevertheless, almost all women will risk suffering in the future andages of anguish for the ecstasy of one half hour. If the human feelingof self-preservation, if the fear of death does not check them, howfruitless must be the laws which send them for two years to theMadelonnettes? O sublime infamy! And when one comes to think that hefor whom these sacrifices are to be made is one of our brethren, agentleman to whom we would not trust our fortune, if we had one, a manwho buttons his coat just as all of us do, it is enough to make oneburst into a roar of laughter so loud, that starting from theLuxembourg it would pass over the whole of Paris and startle an assbrowsing in the pasture at Montmartre. 

It will perhaps appear extraordinary that in speaking of marriage wehave touched upon so many subjects; but marriage is not only the wholeof human life, it is the whole of two human lives. Now just as theaddition of a figure to the drawing of a lottery multiplies thechances a hundredfold, so one single life united to another lifemultiplies by a startling progression the risks of human life, whichare in any case so manifold. 

 MEDITATION XXVII. 

 OF THE LAST SYMPTOMS. 

The author of this book has met in the world so many people possessedby a fanatic passion for a knowledge of the mean time, for watcheswith a second hand, and for exactness in the details of theirexistence, that he has considered this Meditation too necessary forthe tranquillity of a great number of husbands, to be omitted. Itwould have been cruel to leave men, who are possessed with the passionfor learning the hour of the day, without a compass whereby toestimate the last variations in the matrimonial zodiac, and tocalculate the precise moment when the sign of the Minotaur appears onthe horizon. The knowledge of conjugal time would require a whole bookfor its exposition, so fine and delicate are the observations requiredby the task. The master admits that his extreme youth has notpermitted him as yet to note and verify more than a few symptoms; buthe feels a just pride, on his arrival at the end of his difficultenterprise, from the consciousness that he is leaving to hissuccessors a new field of research; and that in a matter apparently sotrite, not only was there much to be said, but also very many pointsare found remaining which may yet be brought into the clear light ofobservation. He therefore presents here without order or connectionthe rough outlines which he has so far been able to execute, in thehope that later he may have leisure to co-ordinate them and to arrangethem in a complete system. If he has been so far kept back in theaccomplishment of a task of supreme national importance, he believes, he may say, without incurring the charge of vanity, that he has hereindicated the natural division of those symptoms. They are necessarilyof two kinds: the unicorns and the bicorns. The unicorn Minotaur isthe least mischievous. The two culprits confine themselves to aplatonic love, in which their passion, at least, leaves no visibletraces among posterity; while the bicorn Minotaur is unhappiness withall its fruits. 

We have marked with an asterisk the symptoms which seem to concern thelatter kind. 

 MINOTAURIC OBSERVATIONS. 

 I. 

*When, after remaining a long time aloof from her husband, a womanmakes overtures of a very marked character in order to attract hislove, she acts in accordance with the axiom of maritime law, whichsays: _The flag protects the cargo_. 

 II. 

A woman is at a ball, one of her friends comes up to her and says:

"Your husband has much wit. "

"You find it so?"

 III. 

Your wife discovers that it is time to send your boy to a boardingschool, with whom, a little time ago, she was never going to part. 

 IV. 

*In Lord Abergavenny's suit for divorce, the _valet de chambre_deposed that "the countess had such a detestation of all that belongedto my lord that he had very often seen her burning the scraps of paperwhich he had touched in her room. "

 V. 

If an indolent woman becomes energetic, if a woman who formerly hatedstudy learns a foreign language; in short, every appearance of acomplete change in character is a decisive symptom. 

 VI. 

The woman who is happy in her affections does not go much into theworld. 

 VII. 

The woman who has a lover becomes very indulgent in judging others. 

 VIII. 

*A husband gives to his wife a hundred crowns a month for dress; and, taking everything into account, she spends at least five hundredfrancs without being a sou in debt; the husband is robbed every nightwith a high hand by escalade, but without burglarious breaking in. 

 IX. 

*A married couple slept in the same bed; madame was always sick. Nowthey sleep apart, she has no more headache, and her health becomesmore brilliant than ever; an alarming symptom!

 X. 

A woman who was a sloven suddenly develops extreme nicety in herattire. There is a Minotaur at hand!

 XI. 

"Ah! my dear, I know no greater torment than not to be understood. "

"Yes, my dear, but when one is--"

"Oh, that scarcely ever happens. "

"I agree with you that it very seldom does. Ah! it is great happiness, but there are not two people in the world who are able to understandyou. "

 XII. 

*The day when a wife behaves nicely to her husband--all is over. 

 XIII. 

I asked her: "Where have you been, Jeanne?"

"I have been to your friend's to get your plate that you left there. "

"Ah, indeed! everything is still mine, " I said. The following year Irepeated the question under similar circumstances. 

"I have been to bring back our plate. "

"Well, well, part of the things are still mine, " I said. But afterthat, when I questioned her, she spoke very differently. 

"You wish to know everything, like great people, and you have onlythree shirts. I went to get my plate from my friend's house, where Ihad stopped. "

"I see, " I said, "nothing is left me. "

 XIV. 

Do not trust a woman who talks of her virtue. 

 XV. 

Some one said to the Duchess of Chaulnes, whose life was despaired of:

"The Duke of Chaulnes would like to see you once more. "

"Is he there?"

"Yes. "

"Let him wait; he shall come in with the sacraments. " This minotauricanecdote has been published by Chamfort, but we quote it here astypical. 

 XVI. 

*Some women try to persuade their husbands that they have duties toperform towards certain persons. 

"I am sure that you ought to pay a visit to such and such a man. . . . We cannot avoid asking such and such a man to dinner. "

 XVII. 

"Come, my son, hold yourself straight: try to acquire good manners!Watch such and such a man! See how he walks! Notice the way in whichhe dresses. "

 XVIII. 

When a woman utters the name of a man but twice a day, there isperhaps some uncertainty about her feelings toward him--but if thrice?--Oh! oh!

 XIX. 

When a woman goes home with a man who is neither a lawyer nor aminister, to the door of his apartment, she is very imprudent. 

 XX. 

It is a terrible day when a husband fails to explain to himself themotive of some action of his wife. 

 XXI. 

*The woman who allows herself to be found out deserves her fate. 

What should be the conduct of a husband, when he recognizes a lastsymptom which leaves no doubt as to the infidelity of his wife? Thereare only two courses open; that of resignation or that of vengeance;there is no third course. If vengeance is decided upon, it should becomplete. 

The husband who does not separate himself forever from his wife is averitable simpleton. If a wife and husband think themselves fit forthat union of friendship which exists between men, it is odious in thehusband to make his wife feel his superiority over her. 

Here are some anecdotes, most of them as yet unpublished, whichindicate pretty plainly, in my opinion, the different shades ofconduct to be observed by a husband in like case. 

M. De Roquemont slept once a month in the chamber of his wife, and heused to say, as he went away:

"I wash my hands of anything that may happen. "

There is something disgusting in that remark, and perhaps somethingprofound in its suggestion of conjugal policy. 

A diplomat, when he saw his wife's lover enter, left his study and, going to his wife's chamber, said to the two:

"I hope you will at least refrain from fighting. "

This was good humor. 

M. De Boufflers was asked what he would do if on returning after along absence he found his wife with child?

"I would order my night dress and slippers to be taken to her room. "

This was magnanimity. 

"Madame, if this man ill treats you when you are alone, it is your ownfault; but I will not permit him to behave ill towards you in mypresence, for this is to fail in politeness in me. "

This was nobility. 

The sublime is reached in this connection when the square cap of thejudge is placed by the magistrate at the foot of the bed wherein thetwo culprits are asleep. 

There are some fine ways of taking vengeance. Mirabeau has admirablydescribed in one of the books he wrote to make a living the mournfulresignation of that Italian lady who was condemned by her husband toperish with him in the Maremma. 

 LAST AXIOMS. 

 XCIII. It is no act of vengeance to surprise a wife and her lover and to kill them locked in each other's arms; it is a great favor to them both. 

 XCIV. A husband will be best avenged by his wife's lover. 

 MEDITATION XXVIII. 

 OF COMPENSATIONS. 

The marital catastrophe which a certain number of husbands cannotavoid, almost always forms the closing scene of the drama. At thatpoint all around you is tranquil. Your resignation, if you areresigned, has the power of awakening keen remorse in the soul of yourwife and of her lover; for their happiness teaches them the depth ofthe wound they have inflicted upon you. You are, you may be sure, athird element in all their pleasures. The principle of kindliness andgoodness which lies at the foundation of the human soul, is not soeasily repressed as people think; moreover the two people who arecausing you tortures are precisely those for whom you wish the mostgood. 

In the conversations so sweetly familiar which link together thepleasures of love, and form in some way to lovers the caresses ofthought, your wife often says to your rival:

"Well, I assure you, Auguste, that in any case I should like to see mypoor husband happy; for at bottom he is good; if he were not myhusband, but were only my brother, there are so many things I would doto please him! He loves me, and--his friendship is irksome to me. "

"Yes, he is a fine fellow!"

Then you become an object of respect to the celibate, who would yieldto you all the indemnity possible for the wrong he has done you; buthe is repelled by the disdainful pride which gives a tone to yourwhole conversation, and is stamped upon your face. 

So that actually, during the first moments of the Minotaur's arrival, a man is like an actor who feels awkward in a theatre where he is notaccustomed to appear. It is very difficult to bear the affront withdignity; but though generosity is rare, a model husband is sometimesfound to possess it. 

Eventually you are little by little won over by the charming way inwhich your wife makes herself agreeable to you. Madame assumes a toneof friendship which she never henceforth abandons. The pleasantatmosphere of your home is one of the chief compensations whichrenders the Minotaur less odious to a husband. But as it is natural toman to habituate himself to the hardest conditions, in spite of thesentiment of outraged nobility which nothing can change, you aregradually induced by a fascination whose power is constantly aroundyou, to accept the little amenities of your position. 

Suppose that conjugal misfortune has fallen upon an epicure. Henaturally demands the consolations which suit his taste. His sense ofpleasure takes refuge in other gratifications, and forms other habits. You shape your life in accordance with the enjoyment of othersensations. 

One day, returning from your government office, after lingering for along time before the rich and tasteful book shop of Chevet, hoveringin suspense between the hundred francs of expense, and the joys of aStrasbourg _pate de fois gras_, you are struck dumb on finding this_pate_ proudly installed on the sideboard of your dining-room. Is thisthe vision offered by some gastronomic mirage? In this doubting moodyou approach with firm step, for a _pate_ is a living creature, andseem to neigh as you scent afar off the truffles whose perfumes escapethrough the gilded enclosure. You stoop over it two distinct times;all the nerve centres of your palate have a soul; you taste thedelights of a genuine feast, etc. ; and during this ecstasy a feelingof remorse seizes upon you, and you go to your wife's room. 

"Really, my dear girl, we have not means which warrant our buying_pates_. "

"But it costs us nothing!"

"Oh! ho!"

"Yes, it is M. Achille's brother who sent it to him. "

You catch sight of M. Achille in a corner. The celibate greets you, heis radiant on seeing that you have accepted the _pate_. You look atyour wife, who blushes; you stroke your beard a few times; and, as youexpress no thanks, the two lovers divine your acceptance of thecompensation. 

A sudden change in the ministry takes place. A husband, who isCouncillor of State, trembles for fear of being wiped from the roll, when the night before he had been made director-general; all theministers are opposed to him and he has turned Constitutionalist. Foreseeing his disgrace he has betaken himself to Auteuil, in searchof consolation from an old friend who quotes Horace and Tibullus tohim. On returning home he sees the table laid as if to receive themost influential men of the assembly. 

"In truth, madame, " he says with acrimony as he enters his wife'sroom, where she is finishing her toilette, "you seem to have lost yourhabitual tact. This is a nice time to be giving dinner parties! Twentypersons will soon learn--"

"That you are director-general!" she cries, showing him a royaldespatch. 

He is thunderstruck. He takes the letter, he turns it now one way, nowanother; he opens it. He sits down and spreads it out. 

"I well know, " he says, "that justice would be rendered me underwhatever ministers I served. "

"Yes, my dear! But M. Villeplaine has answered for you with his life, and his eminence the Cardinal de ----- of whom he is the--"

"M. De Villeplaine?"

This is such a munificent recompense, that the husband adds with thesmile of a director-general:

"Why, deuce take it, my dear, this is your doing!"

"Ah! don't thank me for it; Adolphe did it from personal attachment toyou. "

On a certain evening a poor husband was kept at home by a pouringrain, or tired, perhaps, of going to spend his evening in play, at thecafe, or in the world, and sick of all this he felt himself carriedaway by an impulse to follow his wife to the conjugal chamber. Therehe sank into an arm-chair and like any sultan awaited his coffee, asif he would say:

"Well, after all, she is my wife!"

The fair siren herself prepares the favorite draught; she strains itwith special care, sweetens it, tastes it, and hands it to him; then, with a smile, she ventures like a submissive odalisque to make a joke, with a view to smoothing the wrinkles on the brow of her lord andmaster. Up to that moment he had thought his wife stupid; but onhearing a sally as witty as that which even you would cajole with, madame, he raises his head in the way peculiar to dogs who are huntingthe hare. 

"Where the devil did she get that--but it's a random shot!" he says tohimself. 

From the pinnacle of his own greatness he makes a piquant repartee. Madame retorts, the conversation becomes as lively as it isinteresting, and this husband, a very superior man, is quiteastonished to discover the wit of his wife, in other respects, anaccomplished woman; the right word occurs to her with wonderfulreadiness; her tact and keenness enable her to meet an innuendo withcharming originality. She is no longer the same woman. She notices theeffect she produces upon her husband, and both to avenge herself forhis neglect and to win his admiration for the lover from whom she hasreceived, so to speak, the treasures of her intellect, she exertsherself, and becomes actually dazzling. The husband, better able thanany one else to appreciate a species of compensation which may havesome influence on his future, is led to think that the passions ofwomen are really necessary to their mental culture. 

But how shall we treat those compensations which are most pleasing tohusbands?

Between the moment when the last symptoms appear, and the epoch ofconjugal peace, which we will not stop to discuss, almost a dozenyears have elapsed. During this interval and before the married couplesign the treaty which, by means of a sincere reconciliation of thefeminine subject with her lawful lord, consecrates their littlematrimonial restoration, in order to close in, as Louis XVIII said, the gulf of revolutions, it is seldom that the honest woman has butone lover. Anarchy has its inevitable phases. The stormy domination oftribunes is supplanted by that of the sword and the pen, for few lovesare met with whose constancy outlives ten years. Therefore, since ourcalculations prove that an honest woman has merely paid strictly herphysiological or diabolical dues by rendering but three men happy, itis probable that she has set foot in more than one region of love. Sometimes it may happen that in an interregnum of love too longprotracted, the wife, whether from whim, temptation or the desire ofnovelty, undertakes to seduce her own husband. 

Imagine charming Mme. De T-----, the heroine of our Meditation of_Strategy_, saying with a fascinating smile:

"I never before found you so agreeable!"

By flattery after flattery, she tempts, she rouses curiosity, shesoothes, she rouses in you the faintest spark of desire, she carriesyou away with her, and makes you proud of yourself. Then the right ofindemnifications for her husband comes. On this occasion the wifeconfounds the imagination of her husband. Like cosmopolitan travelersshe tells tales of all the countries which she had traversed. Sheintersperses her conversation with words borrowed from severallanguages. The passionate imagery of the Orient, the unique emphasisof Spanish phraseology, all meet and jostle one another. She opens outthe treasures of her notebook with all the mysteries of coquetry, sheis delightful, you never saw her thus before! With that remarkable artwhich women alone possess of making their own everything that has beentold them, she blends all shades and variations of character so as tocreate a manner peculiarly her own. You received from the hands ofHymen only one woman, awkward and innocent; the celibate returns you adozen of them. A joyful and rapturous husband sees his bed invaded bythe giddy and wanton courtesans, of whom we spoke in the Meditation on_The First Symptoms_. These goddesses come in groups, they smile andsport under the graceful muslin curtains of the nuptial bed. ThePhoenician girl flings to you her garlands, gently sways herself toand fro; the Chalcidian woman overcomes you by the witchery of herfine and snowy feet; the Unelmane comes and speaking the dialect offair Ionia reveals the treasures of happiness unknown before, and inthe study of which she makes you experience but a single sensation. 

Filled with regret at having disdained so many charms, and frequentlytired of finding too often as much perfidiousness in priestesses ofVenus as in honest women, the husband sometimes hurries on by hisgallantry the hour of reconciliation desired of worthy people. Theaftermath of bliss is gathered even with greater pleasure, perhaps, than the first crop. The Minotaur took your gold, he makes restorationin diamonds. And really now seems the time to state a fact of theutmost importance. A man may have a wife without possessing her. Likemost husbands you had hitherto received nothing from yours, and thepowerful intervention of the celibate was needed to make your unioncomplete. How shall we give a name to this miracle, perhaps the onlyone wrought upon a patient during his absence? Alas, my brothers, wedid not make Nature!

But how many other compensations, not less precious, are there, bywhich the noble and generous soul of the young celibate may many atime purchase his pardon! I recollect witnessing one of the mostmagnificent acts of reparation which a lover should perform toward thehusband he is minotaurizing. 

One warm evening in the summer of 1817, I saw entering one of therooms of Tortoni one of the two hundred young men whom we confidentlystyle our friends; he was in the full bloom of his modesty. A lovelywoman, dressed in perfect taste, and who had consented to enter one ofthe cool parlors devoted to people of fashion, had stepped from anelegant carriage which had stopped on the boulevard, and wasapproaching on foot along the sidewalk. My young friend, the celibate, then appeared and offered his arm to his queen, while the husbandfollowed holding by the hand two little boys, beautiful as cupids. Thetwo lovers, more nimble than the father of the family, reached inadvance of him one of the small rooms pointed out by the attendant. Incrossing the vestibule the husband knocked up against some dandy, whoclaimed that he had been jostled. Then arose a quarrel, whoseseriousness was betrayed by the sharp tones of the altercation. Themoment the dandy was about to make a gesture unworthy of aself-respecting man, the celibate intervened, seized the dandy by thearm, caught him off his guard, overcame and threw him to the ground;itwas magnificent. He had done the very thing the aggressor wasmeditating, as he exclaimed:

"Monsieur!"

This "Monsieur" was one of the finest things I have ever heard. It wasas if the young celibate had said: "This father of a family belongs tome; as I have carried off his honor, it is mine to defend him. I knowmy duty, I am his substitute and will fight for him. " The young womanbehaved superbly! Pale, and bewildered, she took the arm of herhusband, who continued his objurgations; without a word she led himaway to the carriage, together with her children. She was one of thosewomen of the aristocracy, who also know how to retain their dignityand self-control in the midst of violent emotions. 

"O Monsieur Adolphe!" cried the young lady as she saw her friend withan air of gayety take his seat in the carriage. 

"It is nothing, madame, he is one of my friends; we have shakenhands. "

Nevertheless, the next morning, the courageous celibate received asword thrust which nearly proved fatal, and confined him six months tohis bed. The attentions of the married couple were lavished upon him. What numerous compensations do we see here! Some years afterwards, anold uncle of the husband, whose opinions did not fit in with those ofthe young friend of the house, and who nursed a grudge against him onaccount of some political discussion, undertook to have him drivenfrom the house. The old fellow went so far as to tell his nephew tochoose between being his heir and sending away the presumptuouscelibate. It was then that the worthy stockbroker said to his uncle:

"Ah, you must never think, uncle, that you will succeed in making meungrateful! But if I tell him to do so this young man will let himselfbe killed for you. He has saved my credit, he would go through fireand water for me, he has relieved me of my wife, he has brought meclients, he has procured for me almost all the business in the Villeleloans--I owe my life to him, he is the father of my children; I cannever forget all this. "

In this case the compensations may be looked upon as complete; butunfortunately there are compensations of all kinds. There are thosewhich must be considered negative, deluding, and those which are bothin one. 

I knew a husband of advanced years who was possessed by the demon ofgambling. Almost every evening his wife's lover came and played withhim. The celibate gave him a liberal share of the pleasures which comefrom games of hazard, and knew how to lose to him a certain number offrancs every month; but madame used to give them to him, and thecompensation was a deluding one. 

You are a peer of France, and you have no offspring but daughters. Your wife is brought to bed of a boy! The compensation is negative. 

The child who is to save your name from oblivion is like his mother. The duchess persuades you that the child is yours. The negativecompensation becomes deluding. 

Here is one of the most charming compensations known. One morning thePrince de Ligne meets his wife's lover and rushes up to him, laughingwildly:

"My friend, " he says to him, "I cuckolded you, last night!"

If some husbands attain to conjugal peace by quiet methods, and carryso gracefully the imaginary ensigns of matrimonial pre-eminence, theirphilosophy is doubtless based on the _comfortabilisme_ of acceptingcertain compensations, a _comfortabilisme_ which indifferent mencannot imagine. As years roll by the married couple reach the laststage in that artificial existence to which their union has condemnedthem. 

 MEDITATION XXIX. 

 OF CONJUGAL PEACE. 

My imagination has followed marriage through all the phases of itsfantastic life in so fraternal a spirit, that I seem to have grown oldwith the house I made my home so early in life at the commencement ofthis work. 

After experiencing in thought the ardor of man's first passion; andoutlining, in however imperfect a way, the principal incidents ofmarried life; after struggling against so many wives that did notbelong to me, exhausting myself in conflict with so many personagescalled up from nothingness, and joining so many battles, I feel anintellectual lassitude, which makes me see everything in life hang, asit were, in mournful crape. I seem to have a catarrh, to look ateverything through green spectacles, I feel as if my hands trembled, as if I must needs employ the second half of my existence and of mybook in apologizing for the follies of the first half. 

I see myself surrounded by tall children of whom I am not the father, and seated beside a wife I never married. I think I can feel wrinklesfurrowing my brow. The fire before which I am placed crackles, as ifin derision, the room is ancient in its furniture; I shudder withsudden fright as I lay my hand upon my heart, and ask myself: "Isthat, too, withered?"

I am like an old attorney, unswayed by any sentiment whatever. I neveraccept any statement unless it be confirmed, according to the poeticmaxim of Lord Byron, by the testimony of at least two false witnesses. No face can delude me. I am melancholy and overcast with gloom. I knowthe world and it has no more illusions for me. My closest friends haveproved traitors. My wife and myself exchange glances of profoundmeaning and the slightest word either of us utters is a dagger whichpierces the heart of the other through and through. I stagnate in adreary calm. This then is the tranquillity of old age! The old manpossesses in himself the cemetery which shall soon possess him. He isgrowing accustomed to the chill of the tomb. Man, according tophilosophers, dies in detail; at the same time he may be said even tocheat death; for that which his withered hand has laid hold upon, canit be called life?

Oh, to die young and throbbing with life! 'Tis a destiny enviableindeed! For is not this, as a delightful poet has said, "to take awaywith one all one's illusions, to be buried like an Eastern king, withall one's jewels and treasures, with all that makes the fortune ofhumanity!"

How many thank-offerings ought we to make to the kind and beneficentspirit that breathes in all things here below! Indeed, the care whichnature takes to strip us piece by piece of our raiment, to unclothethe soul by enfeebling gradually our hearing, sight, and sense oftouch, in making slower the circulation of our blood, and congealingour humors so as to make us as insensible to the approach of death aswe were to the beginnings of life, this maternal care which shelavishes on our frail tabernacle of clay, she also exhibits in regardto the emotions of man, and to the double existence which is createdby conjugal love. She first sends us Confidence, which with extendedhand and open heart says to us: "Behold, I am thine forever!"Lukewarmness follows, walking with languid tread, turning aside herblonde face with a yawn, like a young widow obliged to listen to theminister of state who is ready to sign for her a pension warrant. ThenIndifference comes; she stretches herself on the divan, taking no careto draw down the skirts of her robe which Desire but now lifted sochastely and so eagerly. She casts a glance upon the nuptial bed, withmodesty and without shamelessness; and, if she longs for anything, itis for the green fruit that calls up again to life the dulled papillaewith which her blase palate is bestrewn. Finally the philosophicalExperience of Life presents herself, with careworn and disdainfulbrow, pointing with her finger to the results, and not the causes oflife's incidents; to the tranquil victory, not to the tempestuouscombat. She reckons up the arrearages, with farmers, and calculatesthe dowry of a child. She materializes everything. By a touch of herwand, life becomes solid and springless; of yore, all was fluid, nowit is crystallized into rock. Delight no longer exists for our hearts, it has received its sentence, 'twas but mere sensation, a passingparoxysm. What the soul desires to-day is a condition of fixity; andhappiness alone is permanent, and consists in absolute tranquillity, in the regularity with which eating and sleeping succeed each other, and the sluggish organs perform their functions. 

"This is horrible!" I cried; "I am young and full of life! Perish allthe books in the world rather than my illusions should perish!"

I left my laboratory and plunged into the whirl of Paris. As I saw thefairest faces glide by before me, I felt that I was not old. The firstyoung woman who appeared before me, lovely in face and form anddressed to perfection, with one glance of fire made all the sorcerywhose spells I had voluntarily submitted to vanish into thin air. Scarcely had I walked three steps in the Tuileries gardens, the placewhich I had chosen as my destination, before I saw the prototype ofthe matrimonial situation which has last been described in this book. Had I desired to characterize, to idealize, to personify marriage, asI conceived it to be, it would have been impossible for the Creatorhimself to have produced so complete a symbol of it as I then sawbefore me. 

Imagine a woman of fifty, dressed in a jacket of reddish brown merino, holding in her left hand a green cord, which was tied to the collar ofan English terrier, and with her right arm linked with that of a manin knee-breeches and silk stockings, whose hat had its brimwhimsically turned up, while snow-white tufts of hair like pigeonplumes rose at its sides. A slender queue, thin as a quill, tossedabout on the back of his sallow neck, which was thick, as far as itcould be seen above the turned down collar of a threadbare coat. Thiscouple assumed the stately tread of an ambassador; and the husband, who was at least seventy, stopped complaisantly every time the terrierbegan to gambol. I hastened to pass this living impersonation of myMeditation, and was surprised to the last degree to recognize theMarquis de T-----, friend of the Comte de Noce, who had owed me for along time the end of the interrupted story which I related in the_Theory of the Bed_. [See Meditation XVII. ]

"I have the honor to present to you the Marquise de T-----, " he saidto me. 

I made a low bow to a lady whose face was pale and wrinkled; herforehead was surmounted by a toupee, whose flattened ringlets, rangedaround it, deceived no one, but only emphasized, instead ofconcealing, the wrinkles by which it was deeply furrowed. The lady wasslightly roughed, and had the appearance of an old country actress. 

"I do not see, sir, what you can say against a marriage such as ours, "said the old man to me. 

"The laws of Rome forefend!" I cried, laughing. 

The marchioness gave me a look filled with inquietude as well asdisapprobation, which seemed to say, "Is it possible that at my age Ihave become but a concubine?"

We sat down upon a bench, in the gloomy clump of trees planted at thecorner of the high terrace which commands La Place Louis XV, on theside of the Garde-Meuble. Autumn had already begun to strip the treesof their foliage, and was scattering before our eyes the yellow leavesof his garland; but the sun nevertheless filled the air with gratefulwarmth. 

"Well, is your work finished?" asked the old man, in the unctuoustones peculiar to men of the ancient aristocracy. 

And with these words he gave a sardonic smile, as if for commentary. 

"Very nearly, sir, " I replied. "I have come to the philosophicsituation, which you appear to have reached, but I confess that I--"

"You are searching for ideas?" he added--finishing for me a sentence, which I confess I did not know how to end. 

"Well, " he continued, "you may boldly assume, that on arriving at thewinter of his life, a man--a man who thinks, I mean--ends by denyingthat love has any existence, in the wild form with which our illusionsinvested it!"

"What! would you deny the existence of love on the day after that ofmarriage?"

"In the first place, the day after would be the very reason; but mymarriage was a commercial speculation, " replied he, stooping to speakinto my ear. "I have thereby purchased the care, the attention, theservices which I need; and I am certain to obtain all theconsideration my age demands; for I have willed all my property to mynephew, and as my wife will be rich only during my life, you canimagine how--"

I turned on the old marquis a look so piercing that he wrung my handand said: "You seem to have a good heart, for nothing is certain inthis life--"

"Well, you may be sure that I have arranged a pleasant surprise forher in my will, " he replied, gayly. 

"Come here, Joseph, " cried the marchioness, approaching a servant whocarried an overcoat lined with silk. "The marquis is probably feelingthe cold. "

The old marquis put on his overcoat, buttoned it up, and taking myarm, led me to the sunny side of the terrace. 

"In your work, " he continued, "you have doubtless spoken of the loveof a young man. Well, if you wish to act up to the scope which yougive to your work--in the word ec--elec--"

"Eclectic, " I said, smiling, seeing he could not remember thisphilosophic term. 

"I know the word well!" he replied. "If then you wish to keep your vowof eclecticism, you should be willing to express certain virile ideason the subject of love which I will communicate to you, and I will notgrudge you the benefit of them, if benefit there be; I wish tobequeath my property to you, but this will be all that you will get ofit. "

"There is no money fortune which is worth as much as a fortune ofideas if they be valuable ideas! I shall, therefore, listen to youwith a grateful mind. "

"There is no such thing as love, " pursued the old man, fixing his gazeupon me. "It is not even a sentiment, it is an unhappy necessity, which is midway between the needs of the body and those of the soul. But siding for a moment with your youthful thoughts, let us try toreason upon this social malady. I suppose that you can only conceiveof love as either a need or a sentiment. "

I made a sign of assent. 

"Considered as a need, " said the old man, "love makes itself felt lastof all our needs, and is the first to cease. We are inclined to lovein our twentieth year, to speak in round numbers, and we cease to doso at fifty. During these thirty years, how often would the need befelt, if it were not for the provocation of city manners, and themodern custom of living in the presence of not one woman, but of womenin general? What is our debt to the perpetuation of the race? Itprobably consists in producing as many children as we have breasts--sothat if one dies the other may live. If these two children were alwaysfaithfully produced, what would become of nations? Thirty millions ofpeople would constitute a population too great for France, for thesoil is not sufficient to guarantee more than ten millions againstmisery and hunger. Remember that China is reduced to the expedient ofthrowing its children into the water, according to the accounts oftravelers. Now this production of two children is really the whole ofmarriage. The superfluous pleasures of marriage are not onlyprofligate, but involve an immense loss to the man, as I will nowdemonstrate. Compare then with this poverty of result, and shortnessof duration, the daily and perpetual urgency of other needs of ourexistence. Nature reminds us every hour of our real needs; and, on theother hand, refuses absolutely to grant the excess which ourimagination sometimes craves in love. It is, therefore, the last ofour needs, and the only one which may be forgotten without causing anydisturbance in the economy of the body. Love is a social luxury likelace and diamonds. But if we analyze it as a sentiment, we find twodistinct elements in it; namely, pleasure and passion. Now analyzepleasure. Human affections rest upon two foundations, attraction andrepulsion. Attraction is a universal feeling for those things whichflatter our instinct of self-preservation; repulsion is the exerciseof the same instinct when it tells us that something is near whichthreatens it with injury. Everything which profoundly moves ourorganization gives us a deeper sense of our existence; such a thing ispleasure. It is contracted of desire, of effort, and the joy ofpossessing something or other. Pleasure is a unique element in life, and our passions are nothing but modifications, more or less keen, ofpleasure; moreover, familiarity with one pleasure almost alwaysprecludes the enjoyment of all others. Now, love is the least keen andthe least durable of our pleasures. In what would you say the pleasureof love consists? Does it lie in the beauty of the beloved? In oneevening you may obtain for money the loveliest odalisques; but at theend of a month you will in this way have burnt out all your sentimentfor all time. Would you love a women because she is well dressed, elegant, rich, keeps a carriage, has commercial credit? Do not callthis love, for it is vanity, avarice, egotism. Do you love her becauseshe is intellectual? You are in that case merely obeying the dictatesof literary sentiment. "

"But, " I said, "love only reveals its pleasures to those who mingle inone their thoughts, their fortunes, their sentiments, their souls, their lives--"

"Oh dear, dear!" cried the old man, in a jeering tone. "Can you showme five men in any nation who have sacrificed anything for a woman? Ido not say their life, for that is a slight thing, --the price of ahuman life under Napoleon was never more than twenty thousand francs;and there are in France to-day two hundred and fifty thousand bravemen who would give theirs for two inches of red ribbon; while sevenmen have sacrificed for a woman ten millions on which they might haveslept in solitude for a whole night. Dubreuil and Phmeja are stillrarer than is the love of Dupris and Bolingbroke. These sentimentsproceed from an unknown cause. But you have brought me thus toconsider love as a passion. Yes, indeed, it is the last of them alland the most contemptible. It promises everything, and fulfilsnothing. It comes, like love, as a need, the last, and dies away thefirst. Ah, talk to me of revenge, hatred, avarice, of gaming, ofambition, of fanaticism. These passions have something virile in them;these sentiments are imperishable; they make sacrifices every day, such as love only makes by fits and starts. But, " he went on, "supposeyou abjure love. At first there will be no disquietudes, no anxieties, no worry, none of those little vexations that waste human life. A manlives happy and tranquil; in his social relations he becomesinfinitely more powerful and influential. This divorce from the thingcalled love is the primary secret of power in all men who controllarge bodies of men; but this is a mere trifle. Ah! if you knew withwhat magic influence a man is endowed, what wealth of intellectualforce, what longevity in physical strength he enjoys, when detachinghimself from every species of human passion he spends all his energyto the profit of his soul! If you could enjoy for two minutes theriches which God dispenses to the enlightened men who consider love asmerely a passing need which it is sufficient to satisfy for six monthsin their twentieth year; to the men who, scorning the luxurious andsurfeiting beefsteaks of Normandy, feed on the roots which God hasgiven in abundance, and take their repose on a bed of withered leaves, like the recluses of the Thebaid!--ah! you would not keep on threeseconds the wool of fifteen merinos which covers you; you would flingaway your childish switch, and go to live in the heaven of heavens!There you would find the love you sought in vain amid the swine ofearth; there you would hear a concert of somewhat different melodyfrom that of M. Rossini, voices more faultless than that of Malibran. But I am speaking as a blind man might, and repeating hearsays. If Ihad not visited Germany about the year 1791, I should know nothing ofall this. Yes!--man has a vocation for the infinite. There dwellswithin him an instinct that calls him to God. God is all, gives all, brings oblivion on all, and thought is the thread which he has givenus as a clue to communication with himself!"

He suddenly stopped, and fixed his eyes upon the heavens. 

"The poor fellow has lost his wits!" I thought to myself. 

"Sir, " I said to him, "it would be pushing my devotion to eclecticphilosophy too far to insert your ideas in my book; they would destroyit. Everything in it is based on love, platonic and sensual. Godforbid that I should end my book by such social blasphemies! I wouldrather try to return by some pantagruelian subtlety to my herd ofcelibates and honest women, with many an attempt to discover somesocial utility in their passions and follies. Oh! if conjugal peaceleads us to arguments so disillusionizing and so gloomy as these, Iknow a great many husbands who would prefer war to peace. "

"At any rate, young man, " the old marquis cried, "I shall never haveto reproach myself with refusing to give true directions to a travelerwho had lost his way. "

"Adieu, thou old carcase!" I said to myself; "adieu, thou walkingmarriage! Adieu, thou stick of a burnt-out fire-work! Adieu, thoumachine! Although I have given thee from time to time some glimpses ofpeople dear to me, old family portraits, --back with you to the picturedealer's shop, to Madame de T-----, and all the rest of them; takeyour place round the bier with undertaker's mutes, for all I care!"

 MEDITATION XXX. 

 CONCLUSION. 

A recluse, who was credited with the gift of second sight, havingcommanded the children of Israel to follow him to a mountain top inorder to hear the revelation of certain mysteries, saw that he wasaccompanied by a crowd which took up so much room on the road that, prophet as he was, his _amour-propre_ was vastly tickled. 

But as the mountain was a considerable distance off, it happened thatat the first halt, an artisan remembered that he had to deliver a newpair of slippers to a duke and peer, a publican fell to thinking howhe had some specie to negotiate, and off they went. 

A little further on two lovers lingered under the olive trees andforgot the discourse of the prophet; for they thought that thepromised land was the spot where they stood, and the divine word washeard when they talked to one another. 

The fat people, loaded with punches a la Sancho, had been wiping theirforeheads with their handkerchiefs, for the last quarter of an hour, and began to grow thirsty, and therefore halted beside a clear spring. 

Certain retired soldiers complained of the corns which tortured them, and spoke of Austerlitz, and of their tight boots. 

At the second halt, certain men of the world whispered together:

"But this prophet is a fool. "

"Have you ever heard him?"

"I? I came from sheer curiosity. "

"And I because I saw the fellow had a large following. " (The last manwho spoke was a fashionable. )

"He is a mere charlatan. "

The prophet kept marching on. But when he reached the plateau, fromwhich a wide horizon spread before him, he turned back, and saw no onebut a poor Israelite, to whom he might have said as the Prince deLigne to the wretched little bandy-legged drummer boy, whom he foundon the spot where he expected to see a whole garrison awaiting him:"Well, my readers, it seems that you have dwindled down to one. "

Thou man of God who has followed me so far--I hope that a shortrecapitulation will not terrify thee, and I have traveled on under theimpression that thou, like me, hast kept saying to thyself, "Where thedeuce are we going?"

Well, well, this is the place and the time to ask you, respectedreader, what your opinion is with regard to the renewal of the tobaccomonopoly, and what you think of the exorbitant taxes on wines, on theright to carry firearms, on gaming, on lotteries, on playing cards, onbrandy, on soap, cotton, silks, etc. 

"I think that since all these duties make up one-third of the publicrevenues, we should be seriously embarrassed if--"

So that, my excellent model husband, if no one got drunk, or gambled, or smoked, or hunted, in a word if we had neither vices, passions, normaladies in France, the State would be within an ace of bankruptcy;for it seems that the capital of our national income consists ofpopular corruptions, as our commerce is kept alive by national luxury. If you cared to look a little closer into the matter you would seethat all taxes are based upon some moral malady. As a matter of fact, if we continue this philosophical scrutiny it will appear that thegendarmes would want horses and leather breeches, if every one keptthe peace, and if there were neither foes nor idle people in theworld. Therefore impose virtue on mankind! Well, I consider that thereare more parallels than people think between my honest woman and thebudget, and I will undertake to prove this by a short essay onstatistics, if you will permit me to finish my book on the same linesas those on which I have begun it. Will you grant that a lover mustput on more clean shirts than are worn by either a husband, or acelibate unattached? This to me seems beyond doubt. The differencebetween a husband and a lover is seen even in the appearance of theirtoilette. The one is careless, he is unshaved, and the other neverappears excepting in full dress. Sterne has pleasantly remarked thatthe account book of the laundress was the most authentic record heknew, as to the life of Tristram Shandy; and that it was easy to guessfrom the number of shirts he wore what passages of his book had costhim most. Well, with regard to lovers the account book of theirlaundresses is the most faithful historic record as well as the mostimpartial account of their various amours. And really a prodigiousquantity of tippets, cravats, dresses, which are absolutely necessaryto coquetry, is consumed in the course of an amour. A wonderfulprestige is gained by white stockings, the lustre of a collar, or ashirt-waist, the artistically arranged folds of a man's shirt, or thetaste of his necktie or his collar. This will explain the passages inwhich I said of the honest woman [Meditation II], "She spends her lifein having her dresses starched. " I have sought information on thispoint from a lady in order to learn accurately at what sum was to beestimated the tax thus imposed by love, and after fixing it at onehundred francs per annum for a woman, I recollect what she said withgreat good humor: "It depends on the character of the man, for someare so much more particular than others. " Nevertheless, after a veryprofound discussion, in which I settled upon the sum for thecelibates, and she for her sex, it was agreed that, one thing withanother, since the two lovers belong to the social sphere which thiswork concerns, they ought to spend between them, in the matterreferred to, one hundred and fifty francs more than in time of peace. 

By a like treaty, friendly in character and long discussed, wearranged that there should be a collective difference of four hundredfrancs between the expenditure for all parts of the dress on a warfooting, and for that on a peace footing. This provision wasconsidered very paltry by all the powers, masculine or feminine, whomwe consulted. The light thrown upon these delicate matters by thecontributions of certain persons suggested to us the idea of gatheringtogether certain savants at a dinner party, and taking their wisecounsels for our guidance in these important investigations. Thegathering took place. It was with glass in hand and after listening tomany brilliant speeches that I received for the following chapters onthe budget of love, a sort of legislative sanction. The sum of onehundred francs was allowed for porters and carriages. Fifty crownsseemed very reasonable for the little patties that people eat on awalk, for bouquets of violets and theatre tickets. The sum of twohundred francs was considered necessary for the extra expense ofdainties and dinners at restaurants. It was during this discussionthat a young cavalryman, who had been made almost tipsy by thechampagne, was called to order for comparing lovers to distillingmachines. But the chapter that gave occasion for the most violentdiscussion, and the consideration of which was adjourned for severalweeks, when a report was made, was that concerning presents. At thelast session, the refined Madame de D----- was the first speaker; andin a graceful address, which testified to the nobility of hersentiments, she set out to demonstrate that most of the time the giftsof love had no intrinsic value. The author replied that all lovers hadtheir portraits taken. A lady objected that a portrait was investedcapital, and care should always be taken to recover it for a secondinvestment. But suddenly a gentleman of Provence rose to deliver aphilippic against women. He spoke of the greediness which most womenin love exhibited for furs, satins, silks, jewels and furniture; but alady interrupted him by asking if Madame d'O-----y, his intimatefriend, had not already paid his debts twice over. 

"You are mistaken, madame, " said the Provencal, "it was her husband. "

"The speaker is called to order, " cried the president, "and condemnedto dine the whole party, for having used the word _husband_. "

The Provencal was completely refuted by a lady who undertook to provethat women show much more self-sacrifice in love than men; that loverscost very dear, and that the honest woman may consider herself veryfortunate if she gets off with spending on them two thousand francsfor a single year. The discussion was in danger of degenerating intoan exchange of personalities, when a division was called for. Theconclusions of the committee were adopted by vote. The conclusionswere, in substance, that the amount for presents between lovers duringthe year should be reckoned at five hundred francs, but that in thiscomputation should be included: (1) the expense of expeditions intothe country; (2) the pharmaceutical expenses, occasioned by the coldscaught from walking in the damp pathways of parks, and in leaving thetheatre, which expenses are veritable presents; (3) the carrying ofletters, and law expenses; (4) journeys, and expenses whose items areforgotten, without counting the follies committed by the spenders;inasmuch as, according to the investigations of the committee, it hadbeen proved that most of a man's extravagant expenditure profited theopera girls, rather than the married women. The conclusion arrived atfrom this pecuniary calculation was that, in one way or another, apassion costs nearly fifteen hundred francs a year, which wererequired to meet the expense borne more unequally by lovers, but whichwould not have occurred, but for their attachment. There was also asort of unanimity in the opinion of the council that this was thelowest annual figure which would cover the cost of a passion. Now, mydear sir, since we have proved, by the statistics of our conjugalcalculations [See Meditations I, II, and III. ] and provedirrefragably, that there exists a floating total of at least fifteenhundred thousand unlawful passions, it follows:

That the criminal conversations of a third among the French populationcontribute a sum of nearly three thousand millions to that vastcirculation of money, the true blood of society, of which the budgetis the heart;

That the honest woman not only gives life to the children of thepeerage, but also to its financial funds;

That manufacturers owe their prosperity to this _systolic_ movement;

That the honest woman is a being essentially _budgetative_, and activeas a consumer;

That the least decline in public love would involve incalculablemiseries to the treasury, and to men of invested fortunes;

That a husband has at least a third of his fortune invested in theinconstancy of his wife, etc. 

I am well aware that you are going to open your mouth and talk to meabout manners, politics, good and evil. But, my dear victim of theMinotaur, is not happiness the object which all societies should setbefore them? Is it not this axiom that makes these wretched kings givethemselves so much trouble about their people? Well, the honest womanhas not, like them, thrones, gendarmes and tribunals; she has only abed to offer; but if our four hundred thousand women can, by thisingenious machine, make a million celibates happy, do not they attainin a mysterious manner, and without making any fuss, the end aimed atby a government, namely, the end of giving the largest possible amountof happiness to the mass of mankind?

"Yes, but the annoyances, the children, the troubles--"

Ah, you must permit me to proffer the consolatory thought with whichone of our wittiest caricaturists closes his satiric observations:"Man is not perfect!" It is sufficient, therefore, that ourinstitutions have no more disadvantages than advantages in order to bereckoned excellent; for the human race is not placed, sociallyspeaking, between the good and the bad, but between the bad and theworse. Now if the work, which we are at present on the point ofconcluding, has had for its object the diminution of the worse, as itis found in matrimonial institutions, in laying bare the errors andabsurdities due to our manners and our prejudices, we shall certainlyhave won one of the fairest titles that can be put forth by a man to aplace among the benefactors of humanity. Has not the author made ithis aim, by advising husbands, to make women more self-restrained andconsequently to impart more violence to passions, more money to thetreasury, more life to commerce and agriculture? Thanks to this lastMeditation he can flatter himself that he has strictly kept the vow ofeclecticism, which he made in projecting the work, and he hopes he hasmarshaled all details of the case, and yet like an attorney-generalrefrained from expressing his personal opinion. And really what do youwant with an axiom in the present matter? Do you wish that this bookshould be a mere development of the last opinion held by Tronchet, whoin his closing days thought that the law of marriage had been drawn upless in the interest of husbands than of children? I also wish it verymuch. Would you rather desire that this book should serve as proof tothe peroration of the Capuchin, who preached before Anne of Austria, and when he saw the queen and her ladies overwhelmed by his triumphantarguments against their frailty, said as he came down from the pulpitof truth, "Now you are all honorable women, and it is we whounfortunately are sons of Samaritan women"? I have no objection tothat either. You may draw what conclusion you please; for I think itis very difficult to put forth two contrary opinions, without both ofthem containing some grains of truth. But the book has not beenwritten either for or against marriage; all I have thought you neededwas an exact description of it. If an examination of the machine shalllead us to make one wheel of it more perfect; if by scouring away somerust we have given more elastic movement to its mechanism; then givehis wage to the workman. If the author has had the impertinence toutter truths too harsh for you, if he has too often spoken of rare andexceptional facts as universal, if he has omitted the commonplaceswhich have been employed from time immemorial to offer women theincense of flattery, oh, let him be crucified! But do not impute tohim any motive of hostility to the institution itself; he is concernedmerely for men and women. He knows that from the moment marriageceases to defeat the purpose of marriage, it is unassailable; and, after all, if there do arise serious complaints against thisinstitution, it is perhaps because man has no memory excepting for hisdisasters, that he accuses his wife, as he accuses his life, formarriage is but a life within a life. Yet people whose habit it is totake their opinions from newspapers would perhaps despise a book inwhich they see the mania of eclecticism pushed too far; for then theyabsolutely demand something in the shape of a peroration, it is nothard to find one for them. And since the words of Napoleon served tostart this book, why should it not end as it began? Before the wholeCouncil of State the First Consul pronounced the following startlingphrase, in which he at the same time eulogized and satirized marriage, and summed up the contents of this book:

"If a man never grew old, I would never wish him to have a wife!"

 POSTSCRIPT. 

"And so you are going to be married?" asked the duchess of the authorwho had read his manuscript to her. 

She was one of those ladies to whom the author has already paid hisrespects in the introduction of this work. 

"Certainly, madame, " I replied. "To meet a woman who has courageenough to become mine, would satisfy the wildest of my hopes. "

"Is this resignation or infatuation?"

"That is my affair. "

"Well, sir, as you are doctor of conjugal arts and sciences, allow meto tell you a little Oriental fable, that I read in a certain sheet, which is published annually in the form of an almanac. At thebeginning of the Empire ladies used to play at a game in which no oneaccepted a present from his or her partner in the game, without sayingthe word, _Diadeste_. A game lasted, as you may well suppose, during aweek, and the point was to catch some one receiving some trifle orother without pronouncing the sacramental word. "

"Even a kiss?"

"Oh, I have won the _Diadeste_ twenty times in that way, " shelaughingly replied. 

"It was, I believe, from the playing of this game, whose origin isArabian or Chinese, that my apologue takes its point. But if I tellyou, " she went on, putting her finger to her nose, with a charming airof coquetry, "let me contribute it as a finale to your work. "

"This would indeed enrich me. You have done me so many favors already, that I cannot repay--"

She smiled slyly, and replied as follows:

A philosopher had compiled a full account of all the tricks that womencould possibly play, and in order to verify it, he always carried itabout with him. One day he found himself in the course of his travelsnear an encampment of Arabs. A young woman, who had seated herselfunder the shade of a palm tree, rose on his approach. She kindly askedhim to rest himself in her tent, and he could not refuse. Her husbandwas then absent. Scarcely had the traveler seated himself on a softrug, when the graceful hostess offered him fresh dates, and a cup ofmilk; he could not help observing the rare beauty of her hands as shedid so. But, in order to distract his mind from the sensations rousedin him by the fair young Arabian girl, whose charms were mostformidable, the sage took his book, and began to read. 

The seductive creature piqued by this slight said to him in amelodious voice:

"That book must be very interesting since it seems to be the soleobject worthy of your attention. Would it be taking a liberty to askwhat science it treats of?"

The philosopher kept his eyes lowered as he replied:

"The subject of this book is beyond the comprehension of ladies. "

This rebuff excited more than ever the curiosity of the young Arabianwoman. She put out the prettiest little foot that had ever left itsfleeting imprint on the shifting sands of the desert. The philosopherwas perturbed, and his eyes were too powerfully tempted to resistwandering from these feet, which betokened so much, up to the bosom, which was still more ravishingly fair; and soon the flame of hisadmiring glance was mingled with the fire that sparkled in the pupilsof the young Asiatic. She asked again the name of the book in tones sosweet that the philosopher yielded to the fascination, and replied:

"I am the author of the book; but the substance of it is not mine: itcontains an account of all the ruses and stratagems of women. "

"What! Absolutely all?" said the daughter of the desert. 

"Yes, all! And it has been only by a constant study of womankind thatI have come to regard them without fear. "

"Ah!" said the young Arabian girl, lowering the long lashes of herwhite eyelids. 

Then, suddenly darting the keenest of her glances at the pretendedsage, she made him in one instant forget the book and all itscontents. And now our philosopher was changed to the most passionateof men. Thinking he saw in the bearing of the young woman a fainttrace of coquetry, the stranger was emboldened to make an avowal. Howcould he resist doing so? The sky was blue, the sand blazed in thedistance like a scimitar of gold, the wind of the desert breathedlove, and the woman of Arabia seemed to reflect all the fire withwhich she was surrounded; her piercing eyes were suffused with a mist;and by a slight nod of the head she seemed to make the luminousatmosphere undulate, as she consented to listen to the stranger'swords of love. The sage was intoxicated with delirious hopes, when theyoung woman, hearing in the distance the gallop of a horse whichseemed to fly, exclaimed:

"We are lost! My husband is sure to catch us. He is jealous as atiger, and more pitiless than one. In the name of the prophet, if youlove your life, conceal yourself in this chest!"

The author, frightened out of his wits, seeing no other way of gettingout of a terrible fix, jumped into the box, and crouched down there. The woman closed down the lid, locked it, and took the key. She ran tomeet her husband, and after some caresses which put him into a goodhumor, she said:

"I must relate to you a very singular adventure I have just had. "

"I am listening, my gazelle, " replied the Arab, who sat down on a rugand crossed his feet after the Oriental manner. 

"There arrived here to-day a kind of philosopher, " she began, "heprofesses to have compiled a book which describes all the wiles ofwhich my sex is capable; and then this sham sage made love to me. "

"Well, go on!" cried the Arab. 

"I listened to his avowal. He was young, ardent--and you came just intime to save my tottering virtue. "

The Arab leaped to his feet like a lion, and drew his scimitar with ashout of fury. The philosopher heard all from the depths of the chestand consigned to Hades his book, and all the men and women of ArabiaPetraea. 

"Fatima!" cried the husband, "if you would save your life, answer me--Where is the traitor?"

Terrified at the tempest which she had roused, Fatima threw herself ather husband's feet, and trembling beneath the point of his sword, shepointed out the chest with a prompt though timid glance of her eye. Then she rose to her feet, as if in shame, and taking the key from hergirdle presented it to the jealous Arab; but, just as he was about toopen the chest, the sly creature burst into a peal of laughter. Farounstopped with a puzzled expression, and looked at his wife inamazement. 

"So I shall have my fine chain of gold, after all!" she cried, dancingfor joy. "You have lost the _Diadeste_. Be more mindful next time. "

The husband, thunderstruck, let fall the key, and offered her thelonged-for chain on bended knee, and promised to bring to his darlingFatima all the jewels brought by the caravan in a year, if she wouldrefrain from winning the _Diadeste_ by such cruel stratagems. Then, ashe was an Arab, and did not like forfeiting a chain of gold, althoughhis wife had fairly won it, he mounted his horse again, and gallopedoff, to complain at his will, in the desert, for he loved Fatima toowell to let her see his annoyance. The young woman then drew forth thephilosopher from the chest, and gravely said to him, "Do not forget, Master Doctor, to put this feminine trick into your collection. "

"Madame, " said I to the duchess, "I understand! If I marry, I am boundto be unexpectedly outwitted by some infernal trick or other; but Ishall in that case, you may be quite sure, furnish a model householdfor the admiration of my contemporaries. "

PARIS, 1824-29. 

 PETTY TROUBLES OF MARRIED LIFE

 BY

 HONORE DE BALZAC

 PART FIRST

 PREFACE

 IN WHICH EVERY ONE WILL FIND HIS OWN IMPRESSIONS OF MARRIAGE. 

 A friend, in speaking to you of a young woman, says: "Good family, well bred, pretty, and three hundred thousand in her own right. " You have expressed a desire to meet this charming creature. 

 Usually, chance interviews are premeditated. And you speak with this object, who has now become very timid. 

 YOU. --"A delightful evening!"

 SHE. --"Oh! yes, sir. "

 You are allowed to become the suitor of this young person. 

 THE MOTHER-IN-LAW (to the intended groom). --"You can't imagine how susceptible the dear girl is of attachment. "

 Meanwhile there is a delicate pecuniary question to be discussed by the two families. 

 YOUR FATHER (to the mother-in-law). --"My property is valued at five hundred thousand francs, my dear madame!"

 YOUR FUTURE MOTHER-IN-LAW. --"And our house, my dear sir, is on a corner lot. "

 A contract follows, drawn up by two hideous notaries, a small one, and a big one. 

 Then the two families judge it necessary to convoy you to the civil magistrate's and to the church, before conducting the bride to her chamber. 

 Then what? . . . . . Why, then come a crowd of petty unforeseen troubles, like the following:

 PETTY TROUBLES OF MARRIED LIFE

 THE UNKINDEST CUT OF ALL. 

Is it a petty or a profound trouble? I knew not; it is profound foryour sons-in-law or daughters-in-law, but exceedingly petty for you. 

"Petty! You must be joking; why, a child costs terribly dear!"exclaims a ten-times-too-happy husband, at the baptism of hiseleventh, called the little last newcomer, --a phrase with which womenbeguile their families. 

"What trouble is this?" you ask me. Well! this is, like many pettytroubles of married life, a blessing for some one. 

You have, four months since, married off your daughter, whom we willcall by the sweet name of CAROLINE, and whom we will make the type ofall wives. Caroline is, like all other young ladies, very charming, and you have found for her a husband who is either a lawyer, acaptain, an engineer, a judge, or perhaps a young viscount. But he ismore likely to be what sensible families must seek, --the ideal oftheir desires--the only son of a rich landed proprietor. (See the_Preface_. )

This phoenix we will call ADOLPHE, whatever may be his position in theworld, his age, and the color of his hair. 

The lawyer, the captain, the engineer, the judge, in short, theson-in-law, Adolphe, and his family, have seen in Miss Caroline:

I. --Miss Caroline;

II. --The only daughter of your wife and you. 

Here, as in the Chamber of Deputies, we are compelled to call for adivision of the house:

1. --As to your wife. 

Your wife is to inherit the property of a maternal uncle, a gouty oldfellow whom she humors, nurses, caresses, and muffles up; to saynothing of her father's fortune. Caroline has always adored her uncle, --her uncle who trotted her on his knee, her uncle who--her unclewhom--her uncle, in short, --whose property is estimated at two hundredthousand. 

Further, your wife is well preserved, though her age has been thesubject of mature reflection on the part of your son-in-law'sgrandparents and other ancestors. After many skirmishes between themothers-in-law, they have at last confided to each other the littlesecrets peculiar to women of ripe years. 

"How is it with you, my dear madame?"

"I, thank heaven, have passed the period; and you?"

"I really hope I have, too!" says your wife. 

"You can marry Caroline, " says Adolphe's mother to your futureson-in-law; "Caroline will be the sole heiress of her mother, of heruncle, and her grandfather. "

2. --As to yourself. 

You are also the heir of your maternal grandfather, a good old manwhose possessions will surely fall to you, for he has grown imbecile, and is therefore incapable of making a will. 

You are an amiable man, but you have been very dissipated in youryouth. Besides, you are fifty-nine years old, and your head is bald, resembling a bare knee in the middle of a gray wig. 

III. --A dowry of three hundred thousand. 

IV. --Caroline's only sister, a little dunce of twelve, a sickly child, who bids fair to fill an early grave. 

V. --Your own fortune, father-in-law (in certain kinds of society theysay _papa father-in-law_) yielding an income of twenty thousand, andwhich will soon be increased by an inheritance. 

VI. --Your wife's fortune, which will be increased by two inheritances--from her uncle and her grandfather. In all, thus:

 Three inheritances and interest, 750, 000 Your fortune, 250, 000 Your wife's fortune, 250, 000 _________

 Total, 1, 250, 000

which surely cannot take wing!

Such is the autopsy of all those brilliant marriages that conducttheir processions of dancers and eaters, in white gloves, flowering atthe button-hole, with bouquets of orange flowers, furbelows, veils, coaches and coach-drivers, from the magistrate's to the church, fromthe church to the banquet, from the banquet to the dance, from thedance to the nuptial chamber, to the music of the orchestra and theaccompaniment of the immemorial pleasantries uttered by relics ofdandies, for are there not, here and there in society, relics ofdandies, as there are relics of English horses? To be sure, and suchis the osteology of the most amorous intent. 

The majority of the relatives have had a word to say about thismarriage. 

Those on the side of the bridegroom:

"Adolphe has made a good thing of it. "

Those on the side of the bride:

"Caroline has made a splendid match. Adolphe is an only son, and willhave an income of sixty thousand, _some day or other_!"

Some time afterwards, the happy judge, the happy engineer, the happycaptain, the happy lawyer, the happy only son of a rich landedproprietor, in short Adolphe, comes to dine with you, accompanied byhis family. 

Your daughter Caroline is exceedingly proud of the somewhat roundedform of her waist. All women display an innocent artfulness, the firsttime they find themselves facing motherhood. Like a soldier who makesa brilliant toilet for his first battle, they love to play the pale, the suffering; they rise in a certain manner, and walk with theprettiest affectation. While yet flowers, they bear a fruit; theyenjoy their maternity by anticipation. All those little ways areexceedingly charming--the first time. 

Your wife, now the mother-in-law of Adolphe, subjects herself to thepressure of tight corsets. When her daughter laughs, she weeps; whenCaroline wishes her happiness public, she tries to conceal hers. Afterdinner, the discerning eye of the co-mother-in-law divines the work ofdarkness. 

Your wife also is an expectant mother! The news spreads likelightning, and your oldest college friend says to you laughingly: "Ah!so you are trying to increase the population again!"

You have some hope in a consultation that is to take place to-morrow. You, kind-hearted man that you are, you turn red, you hope it ismerely the dropsy; but the doctors confirm the arrival of a _littlelast one_!

In such circumstances some timorous husbands go to the country or makea journey to Italy. In short, a strange confusion reigns in yourhousehold; both you and your wife are in a false position. 

"Why, you old rogue, you, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" says afriend to you on the Boulevard. 

"Well! do as much if you can, " is your angry retort. 

"It's as bad as being robbed on the highway!" says your son-in-law'sfamily. "Robbed on the highway" is a flattering expression for themother-in-law. 

The family hopes that the child which divides the expected fortune inthree parts, will be, like all old men's children, scrofulous, feeble, an abortion. Will it be likely to live? The family awaits the deliveryof your wife with an anxiety like that which agitated the house ofOrleans during the confinement of the Duchess de Berri: a second sonwould secure the throne to the younger branch without the onerousconditions of July; Henry V would easily seize the crown. From thatmoment the house of Orleans was obliged to play double or quits: theevent gave them the game. 

The mother and the daughter are put to bed nine days apart. 

Caroline's first child is a pale, cadaverous little girl that will notlive. 

Her mother's last child is a splendid boy, weighing twelve pounds, with two teeth and luxuriant hair. 

For sixteen years you have desired a son. This conjugal annoyance isthe only one that makes you beside yourself with joy. For yourrejuvenated wife has attained what must be called the _Indian Summer_of women; she nurses, she has a full breast of milk! Her complexion isfresh, her color is pure pink and white. In her forty-second year, sheaffects the young woman, buys little baby stockings, walks aboutfollowed by a nurse, embroiders caps and tries on the cunningestheaddresses. Alexandrine has resolved to instruct her daughter by herexample; she is delightful and happy. And yet this is a trouble, apetty one for you, a serious one for your son-in-law. This annoyanceis of the two sexes, it is common to you and your wife. In short, inthis instance, your paternity renders you all the more proud from thefact that it is incontestable, my dear sir!

 REVELATIONS. 

Generally speaking, a young woman does not exhibit her true charactertill she has been married two or three years. She hides her faults, without intending it, in the midst of her first joys, of her firstparties of pleasure. She goes into society to dance, she visits herrelatives to show you off, she journeys on with an escort of love'sfirst wiles; she is gradually transformed from girlhood to womanhood. Then she becomes mother and nurse, and in this situation, full ofcharming pangs, that leaves neither a word nor a moment forobservation, such are its multiplied cares, it is impossible to judgeof a woman. You require, then, three or four years of intimate lifebefore you discover an exceedingly melancholy fact, one that gives youcause for constant terror. 

Your wife, the young lady in whom the first pleasures of life and lovesupplied the place of grace and wit, so arch, so animated, sovivacious, whose least movements spoke with delicious eloquence, hascast off, slowly, one by one, her natural artifices. At last youperceive the truth! You try to disbelieve it, you think yourselfdeceived; but no: Caroline lacks intellect, she is dull, she canneither joke nor reason, sometimes she has little tact. You arefrightened. You find yourself forever obliged to lead this darlingthrough the thorny paths, where you must perforce leave yourself-esteem in tatters. 

You have already been annoyed several times by replies that, insociety, were politely received: people have held their tonguesinstead of smiling; but you were certain that after your departure thewomen looked at each other and said: "Did you hear Madame Adolphe?"

"Your little woman, she is--"

"A regular cabbage-head. "

"How could he, who is certainly a man of sense, choose--?"

"He should educate, teach his wife, or make her hold her tongue. "

 AXIOMS. 

Axiom. --In our system of civilization a man is entirely responsiblefor his wife. 

Axiom. --The husband does not mould the wife. 

Caroline has one day obstinately maintained, at the house of Madame deFischtaminel, a very distinguished lady, that her little last oneresembled neither its father nor its mother, but looked like a certainfriend of the family. She perhaps enlightens Monsieur de Fischtaminel, and overthrows the labors of three years, by tearing down thescaffolding of Madame de Fischtaminel's assertions, who, after thisvisit, will treat you will coolness, suspecting, as she does, that youhave been making indiscreet remarks to your wife. 

On another occasion, Caroline, after having conversed with a writerabout his works, counsels the poet, who is already a prolific author, to try to write something likely to live. Sometimes she complains ofthe slow attendance at the tables of people who have but one servantand have put themselves to great trouble to receive her. Sometimes shespeaks ill of widows who marry again, before Madame Deschars who hasmarried a third time, and on this occasion, an ex-notary, Nicolas-Jean-Jerome-Nepomucene-Ange-Marie-Victor-Joseph Deschars, afriend of your father's. 

In short, you are no longer yourself when you are in society with yourwife. Like a man who is riding a skittish horse and glares straightbetween the beast's two ears, you are absorbed by the attention withwhich you listen to your Caroline. 

In order to compensate herself for the silence to which young ladiesare condemned, Caroline talks; or rather babbles. She wants to make asensation, and she does make a sensation; nothing stops her. Sheaddresses the most eminent men, the most celebrated women. Sheintroduces herself, and puts you on the rack. Going into society isgoing to the stake. 

She begins to think you are cross-grained, moody. The fact is, you arewatching her, that's all! In short, you keep her within a small circleof friends, for she has already embroiled you with people on whom yourinterests depended. 

How many times have you recoiled from the necessity of a remonstrance, in the morning, on awakening, when you had put her in a good humor forlistening! A woman rarely listens. How many times have you recoiledfrom the burthen of your imperious obligations!

The conclusion of your ministerial communication can be no other than:"You have no sense. " You foresee the effect of your first lesson. Caroline will say to herself: "Ah I have no sense! Haven't I though?"

No woman ever takes this in good part. Both of you must draw the swordand throw away the scabbard. Six weeks after, Caroline may prove toyou that she has quite sense enough to _minotaurize_ you without yourperceiving it. 

Frightened at such a prospect, you make use of all the eloquentphrases to gild this pill. In short, you find the means of flatteringCaroline's various self-loves, for:

Axiom. --A married woman has several self-loves. 

You say that you are her best friend, the only one well situated toenlighten her; the more careful you are, the more watchful and puzzledshe is. At this moment she has plenty of sense. 

You ask your dear Caroline, whose waist you clasp, how she, who is sobrilliant when alone with you, who retorts so charmingly (you remindher of sallies that she has never made, which you put in her mouth, and, which she smilingly accepts), how she can say this, that, and theother, in society. She is, doubtless, like many ladies, timid incompany. 

"I know, " you say, "many very distinguished men who are just thesame. "

You cite the case of some who are admirable tea-party oracles, but whocannot utter half a dozen sentences in the tribune. Caroline shouldkeep watch over herself; you vaunt silence as the surest method ofbeing witty. In society, a good listener is highly prized. 

You have broken the ice, though you have not even scratched its glossysurface: you have placed your hand upon the croup of the mostferocious and savage, the most wakeful and clear-sighted, the mostrestless, the swiftest, the most jealous, the most ardent and violent, the simplest and most elegant, the most unreasonable, the mostwatchful chimera of the moral world--THE VANITY OF A WOMAN!

Caroline clasps you in her arms with a saintly embrace, thanks you foryour advice, and loves you the more for it; she wishes to be beholdento you for everything, even for her intellect; she may be a dunce, but, what is better than saying fine things, she knows how to do them!But she desires also to be your pride! It is not a question of tastein dress, of elegance and beauty; she wishes to make you proud of herintelligence. You are the luckiest of men in having successfullymanaged to escape from this first dangerous pass in conjugal life. 

"We are going this evening to Madame Deschars', where they never knowwhat to do to amuse themselves; they play all sorts of forfeit gameson account of a troop of young women and girls there; you shall see!"she says. 

You are so happy at this turn of affairs, that you hum airs andcarelessly chew bits of straw and thread, while still in your shirtand drawers. You are like a hare frisking on a flowering dew-perfumedmeadow. You leave off your morning gown till the last extremity, whenbreakfast is on the table. During the day, if you meet a friend and hehappens to speak of women, you defend them; you consider womencharming, delicious, there is something divine about them. 

How often are our opinions dictated to us by the unknown events of ourlife!

You take your wife to Madame Deschars'. Madame Deschars is a motherand is exceedingly devout. You never see any newspapers at her house:she keeps watch over her daughters by three different husbands, andkeeps them all the more closely from the fact that she herself has, itis said, some little things to reproach herself with during the careerof her two former lords. At her house, no one dares risk a jest. Everything there is white and pink and perfumed with sanctity, as atthe houses of widows who are approaching the confines of their thirdyouth. It seems as if every day were Sunday there. 

You, a young husband, join the juvenile society of young women andgirls, misses and young people, in the chamber of Madame Deschars. Theserious people, politicians, whist-players, and tea-drinkers, are inthe parlor. 

In Madame Deschars' room they are playing a game which consists inhitting upon words with several meanings, to fit the answers that eachplayer is to make to the following questions:

How do you like it?

What do you do with it?

Where do you put it?

Your turn comes to guess the word, you go into the parlor, take partin a discussion, and return at the call of a smiling young lady. Theyhave selected a word that may be applied to the most enigmaticalreplies. Everybody knows that, in order to puzzle the strongest heads, the best way is to choose a very ordinary word, and to invent phrasesthat will send the parlor Oedipus a thousand leagues from each of hisprevious thoughts. 

This game is a poor substitute for lansquenet or dice, but it is notvery expensive. 

The word MAL has been made the Sphinx of this particular occasion. Every one has determined to put you off the scent. The word, amongother acceptations, has that of _mal_ [evil], a substantive thatsignifies, in aesthetics, the opposite of good; of _mal_ [pain, disease, complaint], a substantive that enters into a thousandpathological expressions; then _malle_ [a mail-bag], and finally_malle_ [a trunk], that box of various forms, covered with all kindsof skin, made of every sort of leather, with handles, that journeysrapidly, for it serves to carry travelling effects in, as a man ofDelille's school would say. 

For you, a man of some sharpness, the Sphinx displays his wiles; hespreads his wings and folds them up again; he shows you his lion'spaws, his woman's neck, his horse's loins, and his intellectual head;he shakes his sacred fillets, he strikes an attitude and runs away, hecomes and goes, and sweeps the place with his terrible equine tail; heshows his shining claws, and draws them in; he smiles, frisks, andmurmurs. He puts on the looks of a joyous child and those of a matron;he is, above all, there to make fun of you. 

You ask the group collectively, "How do you like it?"

"I like it for love's sake, " says one. 

"I like it regular, " says another. 

"I like it with a long mane. "

"I like it with a spring lock. "

"I like it unmasked. "

"I like it on horseback. "

"I like it as coming from God, " says Madame Deschars. 

"How do you like it?" you say to your wife. 

"I like it legitimate. "

This response of your wife is not understood, and sends you a journeyinto the constellated fields of the infinite, where the mind, dazzledby the multitude of creations, finds it impossible to make a choice. 

"Where do you put it?"

"In a carriage. "

"In a garret. "

"In a steamboat. "

"In the closet. "

"On a cart. "

"In prison. "

"In the ears. "

"In a shop. "

Your wife says to you last of all: "In bed. "

You were on the point of guessing it, but you know no word that fitsthis answer, Madame Deschars not being likely to have allowed anythingimproper. 

"What do you do with it?"

"I make it my sole happiness, " says your wife, after the answers ofall the rest, who have sent you spinning through a whole world oflinguistic suppositions. 

This response strikes everybody, and you especially; so you persist inseeking the meaning of it. You think of the bottle of hot water thatyour wife has put to her feet when it is cold, --of the warming pan, above all! Now of her night-cap, --of her handkerchief, --of her curlingpaper, --of the hem of her chemise, --of her embroidery, --of her flanneljacket, --of your bandanna, --of the pillow. 

In short, as the greatest pleasure of the respondents is to see theirOedipus mystified, as each word guessed by you throws them into fitsof laughter, superior men, perceiving no word that will fit all theexplanations, will sooner give it up than make three unsuccessfulattempts. According to the law of this innocent game you are condemnedto return to the parlor after leaving a forfeit; but you are soexceedingly puzzled by your wife's answers, that you ask what the wordwas. 

"Mal, " exclaims a young miss. 

You comprehend everything but your wife's replies: she has not playedthe game. Neither Madame Deschars, nor any one of the young womenunderstand. She has cheated. You revolt, there is an insurrectionamong the girls and young women. They seek and are puzzled. You wantan explanation, and every one participates in your desire. 

"In what sense did you understand the word, my dear?" you say toCaroline. 

"Why, _male_!" [male. ]

Madame Deschars bites her lips and manifests the greatest displeasure;the young women blush and drop their eyes; the little girls opentheirs, nudge each other and prick up their ears. Your feet are gluedto the carpet, and you have so much salt in your throat that youbelieve in a repetition of the event which delivered Lot from hiswife. 

You see an infernal life before you; society is out of the question. 

To remain at home with this triumphant stupidity is equivalent tocondemnation to the state's prison. 

Axiom. --Moral tortures exceed physical sufferings by all thedifference which exists between the soul and the body. 

 THE ATTENTIONS OF A WIFE. 

Among the keenest pleasures of bachelor life, every man reckons theindependence of his getting up. The fancies of the morning compensatefor the glooms of evening. A bachelor turns over and over in his bed:he is free to gape loud enough to justify apprehensions of murder, andto scream at a pitch authorizing the suspicion of joys untold. He canforget his oaths of the day before, let the fire burn upon the hearthand the candle sink to its socket, --in short, go to sleep again inspite of pressing work. He can curse the expectant boots which standholding their black mouths open at him and pricking up their ears. Hecan pretend not to see the steel hooks which glitter in a sunbeamwhich has stolen through the curtains, can disregard the sonoroussummons of the obstinate clock, can bury himself in a soft place, saying: "Yes, I was in a hurry, yesterday, but am so no longer to-day. Yesterday was a dotard. To-day is a sage: between them stands thenight which brings wisdom, the night which gives light. I ought to go, I ought to do it, I promised I would--I am weak, I know. But how can Iresist the downy creases of my bed? My feet feel flaccid, I think Imust be sick, I am too happy just here. I long to see the etherealhorizon of my dreams again, those women without claws, those wingedbeings and their obliging ways. In short, I have found the grain ofsalt to put upon the tail of that bird that was always flying away:the coquette's feet are caught in the line. I have her now--"

Your servant, meantime, reads your newspaper, half-opens your letters, and leaves you to yourself. And you go to sleep again, lulled by therumbling of the morning wagons. Those terrible, vexatious, quiveringteams, laden with meat, those trucks with big tin teats bursting withmilk, though they make a clatter most infernal and even crush thepaving stones, seem to you to glide over cotton, and vaguely remindyou of the orchestra of Napoleon Musard. Though your house trembles inall its timbers and shakes upon its keel, you think yourself a sailorcradled by a zephyr. 

You alone have the right to bring these joys to an end by throwingaway your night-cap as you twist up your napkin after dinner, and bysitting up in bed. Then you take yourself to task with such reproachesas these: "Ah, mercy on me, I must get up!" "Early to bed and early torise, makes a man healthy--!" "Get up, lazy bones!"

All this time you remain perfectly tranquil. You look round yourchamber, you collect your wits together. Finally, you emerge from thebed, spontaneously! Courageously! of your own accord! You go to thefireplace, you consult the most obliging of timepieces, you utterhopeful sentences thus couched: "Whatshisname is a lazy creature, Iguess I shall find him in. I'll run. I'll catch him if he's gone. He'ssure to wait for me. There is a quarter of an hour's grace in allappointments, even between debtor and creditor. "

You put on your boots with fury, you dress yourself as if you wereafraid of being caught half-dressed, you have the delight of being ina hurry, you call your buttons into action, you finally go out like aconqueror, whistling, brandishing your cane, pricking up your ears andbreaking into a canter. 

After all, you say to yourself, you are responsible to no one, you areyour own master!

But you, poor married man, you were stupid enough to say to your wife, "To-morrow, my dear" (sometimes she knows it two days beforehand), "Ihave got to get up early. " Unfortunate Adolphe, you have especiallyproved the importance of this appointment: "It's to--and to--and aboveall to--in short to--"

Two hours before dawn, Caroline wakes you up gently and says to yousoftly: "Adolphy dear, Adolphy love!"

"What's the matter? Fire?"

"No, go to sleep again, I've made a mistake; but the hour hand was onit, any way! It's only four, you can sleep two hours more. "

Is not telling a man, "You've only got two hours to sleep, " the samething, on a small scale, as saying to a criminal, "It's five in themorning, the ceremony will be performed at half-past seven"? Suchsleep is troubled by an idea dressed in grey and furnished with wings, which comes and flaps, like a bat, upon the windows of your brain. 

A woman in a case like this is as exact as a devil coming to claim asoul he has purchased. When the clock strikes five, your wife's voice, too well known, alas! resounds in your ear; she accompanies thestroke, and says with an atrocious calmness, "Adolphe, it's fiveo'clock, get up, dear. "

"Ye-e-e-s, ah-h-h-h!"

"Adolphe, you'll be late for your business, you said so yourself. "

"Ah-h-h-h, ye-e-e-e-s. " You turn over in despair. 

"Come, come, love. I got everything ready last night; now you must, mydear; do you want to miss him? There, up, I say; it's broad daylight. "

Caroline throws off the blankets and gets up: she wants to show youthat _she_ can rise without making a fuss. She opens the blinds, shelets in the sun, the morning air, the noise of the street, and thencomes back. 

"Why, Adolphe, you _must_ get up! Who ever would have supposed you hadno energy! But it's just like you men! I am only a poor, weak woman, but when I say a thing, I do it. "

You get up grumbling, execrating the sacrament of marriage. There isnot the slightest merit in your heroism; it wasn't you, but your wife, that got up. Caroline gets you everything you want with provokingpromptitude; she foresees everything, she gives you a muffler inwinter, a blue-striped cambric shirt in summer, she treats you like achild; you are still asleep, she dresses you and has all the trouble. She finally thrusts you out of doors. Without her nothing would gostraight! She calls you back to give you a paper, a pocketbook, youhad forgotten. You don't think of anything, she thinks of everything!

You return five hours afterwards to breakfast, between eleven andnoon. The chambermaid is at the door, or on the stairs, or on thelanding, talking with somebody's valet: she runs in on hearing orseeing you. Your servant is laying the cloth in a most leisurelystyle, stopping to look out of the window or to lounge, and coming andgoing like a person who knows he has plenty of time. You ask for yourwife, supposing that she is up and dressed. 

"Madame is still in bed, " says the maid. 

You find your wife languid, lazy, tired and asleep. She had been awakeall night to wake you in the morning, so she went to bed again, and isquite hungry now. 

You are the cause of all these disarrangements. If breakfast is notready, she says it's because you went out. If she is not dressed, andif everything is in disorder, it's all your fault. For everythingwhich goes awry she has this answer: "Well, you would get up soearly!" "He would get up so early!" is the universal reason. She makesyou go to bed early, because you got up early. She can do nothing allday, because you would get up so unusually early. 

Eighteen months afterwards, she still maintains, "Without me, youwould never get up!" To her friends she says, "My husband get up! Ifit weren't for me, he never _would_ get up!"

To this a man whose hair is beginning to whiten, replies, "A gracefulcompliment to you, madame!" This slightly indelicate comment puts anend to her boasts. 

This petty trouble, repeated several times, teaches you to live alonein the bosom of your family, not to tell all you know, and to have noconfidant but yourself: and it often seems to you a question whetherthe inconveniences of the married state do not exceed its advantages. 

 SMALL VEXATIONS. 

You have made a transition from the frolicsome allegretto of thebachelor to the heavy andante of the father of a family. 

Instead of that fine English steed prancing and snorting between thepolished shafts of a tilbury as light as your own heart, and movinghis glistening croup under the quadruple network of the reins andribbons that you so skillfully manage with what grace and elegance theChamps Elysees can bear witness--you drive a good solid Norman horsewith a steady, family gait. 

You have learned what paternal patience is, and you let no opportunityslip of proving it. Your countenance, therefore, is serious. 

By your side is a domestic, evidently for two purposes like thecarriage. The vehicle is four-wheeled and hung upon English springs:it is corpulent and resembles a Rouen scow: it has glass windows, andan infinity of economical arrangements. It is a barouche in fineweather, and a brougham when it rains. It is apparently light, but, when six persons are in it, it is heavy and tires out your only horse. 

On the back seat, spread out like flowers, is your young wife in fullbloom, with her mother, a big marshmallow with a great many leaves. These two flowers of the female species twitteringly talk of you, though the noise of the wheels and your attention to the horse, joinedto your fatherly caution, prevent you from hearing what they say. 

On the front seat, there is a nice tidy nurse holding a little girl inher lap: by her side is a boy in a red plaited shirt, who iscontinually leaning out of the carriage and climbing upon thecushions, and who has a thousand times drawn down upon himself thosedeclarations of every mother, which he knows to be threats and nothingelse: "Be a good boy, Adolphe, or else--" "I declare I'll never bringyou again, so there!"

His mamma is secretly tired to death of this noisy little boy: he hasprovoked her twenty times, and twenty times the face of the littlegirl asleep has calmed her. 

"I am his mother, " she says to herself. And so she finally manages tokeep her little Adolphe quiet. 

You have put your triumphant idea of taking your family to ride intoexecution. You left your home in the morning, all the oppositeneighbors having come to their windows, envying you the privilegewhich your means give you of going to the country and coming backagain without undergoing the miseries of a public conveyance. So youhave dragged your unfortunate Norman horse through Paris to Vincennes, from Vincennes to Saint Maur, from Saint Maur to Charenton, fromCharenton opposite some island or other which struck your wife andmother-in-law as being prettier than all the landscapes through whichyou had driven them. 

"Let's go to Maison's!" somebody exclaims. 

So you go to Maison's, near Alfort. You come home by the left bank ofthe Seine, in the midst of a cloud of very black Olympian dust. Thehorse drags your family wearily along. But alas! your pride has fled, and you look without emotion upon his sunken flanks, and upon twobones which stick out on each side of his belly. His coat is roughenedby the sweat which has repeatedly come out and dried upon him, andwhich, no less than the dust, has made him gummy, sticky and shaggy. The horse looks like a wrathy porcupine: you are afraid he will befoundered, and you caress him with the whip-lash in a melancholy waythat he perfectly understands, for he moves his head about like anomnibus horse, tired of his deplorable existence. 

You think a good deal of this horse; your consider him an excellentone and he cost you twelve hundred francs. When a man has the honor ofbeing the father of a family, he thinks as much of twelve hundredfrancs as you think of this horse. You see at once the frightfulamount of your extra expenses, in case Coco should have to lie by. Fortwo days you will have to take hackney coaches to go to your business. You wife will pout if she can't go out: but she will go out, and takea carriage. The horse will cause the purchase of numerous extras, which you will find in your coachman's bill, --your only coachman, amodel coachman, whom you watch as you do a model anybody. 

To these thoughts you give expression in the gentle movement of thewhip as it falls upon the animal's ribs, up to his knees in the blackdust which lines the road in front of La Verrerie. 

At this moment, little Adolphe, who doesn't know what to do in thisrolling box, has sadly twisted himself up into a corner, and hisgrandmother anxiously asks him, "What is the matter?"

"I'm hungry, " says the child. 

"He's hungry, " says the mother to her daughter. 

"And why shouldn't he be hungry? It is half-past five, we are not atthe barrier, and we started at two!"

"Your husband might have treated us to dinner in the country. "

"He'd rather make his horse go a couple of leagues further, and getback to the house. "

"The cook might have had the day to herself. But Adolphe is right, after all: it's cheaper to dine at home, " adds the mother-in-law. 

"Adolphe, " exclaims your wife, stimulated by the word "cheaper, " "wego so slow that I shall be seasick, and you keep driving right in thisnasty dust. What are you thinking of? My gown and hat will be ruined!"

"Would you rather ruin the horse?" you ask, with the air of a man whocan't be answered. 

"Oh, no matter for your horse; just think of your son who is dying ofhunger: he hasn't tasted a thing for seven hours. Whip up your oldhorse! One would really think you cared more for your nag than foryour child!"

You dare not give your horse a single crack with the whip, for hemight still have vigor enough left to break into a gallop and runaway. 

"No, Adolphe tries to vex me, he's going slower, " says the young wifeto her mother. "My dear, go as slow as you like. But I know you'll sayI am extravagant when you see me buying another hat. "

Upon this you utter a series of remarks which are lost in the racketmade by the wheels. 

"What's the use of replying with reasons that haven't got an ounce ofcommon-sense?" cries Caroline. 

You talk, turning your face to the carriage and then turning back tothe horse, to avoid an accident. 

"That's right, run against somebody and tip us over, do, you'll be ridof us. Adolphe, your son is dying of hunger. See how pale he is!"

"But Caroline, " puts in the mother-in-law, "he's doing the best hecan. "

Nothing annoys you so much as to have your mother-in-law take yourpart. She is a hypocrite and is delighted to see you quarreling withher daughter. Gently and with infinite precaution she throws oil onthe fire. 

When you arrive at the barrier, your wife is mute. She says not aword, she sits with her arms crossed, and will not look at you. Youhave neither soul, heart, nor sentiment. No one but you could haveinvented such a party of pleasure. If you are unfortunate enough toremind Caroline that it was she who insisted on the excursion, thatmorning, for her children's sake, and in behalf of her milk--shenurses the baby--you will be overwhelmed by an avalanche of frigid andstinging reproaches. 

You bear it all so as "not to turn the milk of a nursing mother, forwhose sake you must overlook some little things, " so your atrociousmother-in-law whispers in your ear. 

All the furies of Orestes are rankling in your heart. 

In reply to the sacramental words pronounced by the officer of thecustoms, "Have you anything to declare?" your wife says, "I declare agreat deal of ill-humor and dust. "

She laughs, the officer laughs, and you feel a desire to tip yourfamily into the Seine. 

Unluckily for you, you suddenly remember the joyous and perverse youngwoman who wore a pink bonnet and who made merry in your tilbury sixyears before, as you passed this spot on your way to the chop-house onthe river's bank. What a reminiscence! Was Madame Schontz anxiousabout babies, about her bonnet, the lace of which was torn to piecesin the bushes? No, she had no care for anything whatever, not even forher dignity, for she shocked the rustic police of Vincennes by thesomewhat daring freedom of her style of dancing. 

You return home, you have frantically hurried your Norman horse, andhave neither prevented an indisposition of the animal, nor anindisposition of your wife. 

That evening, Caroline has very little milk. If the baby cries and ifyour head is split in consequence, it is all your fault, as youpreferred the health of your horse to that of your son who was dyingof hunger, and of your daughter whose supper has disappeared in adiscussion in which your wife was right, _as she always is_. 

"Well, well, " she says, "men are not mothers!"

As you leave the chamber, you hear your mother-in-law consoling herdaughter by these terrible words: "Come, be calm, Caroline: that's theway with them all: they are a selfish lot: your father was just likethat!"

 THE ULTIMATUM. 

It is eight o'clock; you make your appearance in the bedroom of yourwife. There is a brilliant light. The chambermaid and the cook hoverlightly about. The furniture is covered with dresses and flowers triedon and laid aside. 

The hair-dresser is there, an artist par excellence, a sovereignauthority, at once nobody and everything. You hear the other domesticsgoing and coming: orders are given and recalled, errands are well orill performed. The disorder is at its height. This chamber is a studiofrom whence to issue a parlor Venus. 

Your wife desires to be the fairest at the ball which you are toattend. Is it still for your sake, or only for herself, or is it forsomebody else? Serious questions these. 

The idea does not even occur to you. 

You are squeezed, hampered, harnessed in your ball accoutrement: youcount your steps as you walk, you look around, you observe, youcontemplate talking business on neutral ground with a stock-broker, anotary or a banker, to whom you would not like to give an advantageover you by calling at their house. 

A singular fact which all have probably observed, but the causes ofwhich can hardly be determined, is the peculiar repugnance which mendressed and ready to go to a party have for discussions or to answerquestions. At the moment of starting, there are few husbands who arenot taciturn and profoundly absorbed in reflections which vary withtheir characters. Those who reply give curt and peremptory answers. 

But women, at this time, are exceedingly aggravating. They consultyou, they ask your advice upon the best way of concealing the stem ofa rose, of giving a graceful fall to a bunch of briar, or a happy turnto a scarf. As a neat English expression has it, "they fish forcompliments, " and sometimes for better than compliments. 

A boy just out of school would discern the motive concealed behind thewillows of these pretexts: but your wife is so well known to you, andyou have so often playfully joked upon her moral and physicalperfections, that you are harsh enough to give your opinion brieflyand conscientiously: you thus force Caroline to put that decisivequestion, so cruel to women, even those who have been married twentyyears:

"So I don't suit you then?"

Drawn upon the true ground by this inquiry, you bestow upon her suchlittle compliments as you can spare and which are, as it were, thesmall change, the sous, the liards of your purse. 

"The best gown you ever wore!" "I never saw you so well dressed. ""Blue, pink, yellow, cherry [take your pick], becomes you charmingly. ""Your head-dress is quite original. " "As you go in, every one willadmire you. " "You will not only be the prettiest, but the bestdressed. " "They'll all be mad not to have your taste. " "Beauty is anatural gift: taste is like intelligence, a thing that we may be proudof. "

"Do you think so? Are you in earnest, Adolphe?"

Your wife is coquetting with you. She chooses this moment to forcefrom you your pretended opinion of one and another of her friends, andto insinuate the price of the articles of her dress you so muchadmire. Nothing is too dear to please you. She sends the cook out ofthe room. 

"Let's go, " you say. 

She sends the chambermaid out after having dismissed the hair-dresser, and begins to turn round and round before her glass, showing off toyou her most glorious beauties. 

"Let's go, " you say. 

"You are in a hurry, " she returns. 

And she goes on exhibiting herself with all her little airs, settingherself off like a fine peach magnificently exhibited in a fruiterer'swindow. But since you have dined rather heartily, you kiss her uponthe forehead merely, not feeling able to countersign your opinions. Caroline becomes serious. 

The carriage waits. All the household looks at Caroline as she goesout: she is the masterpiece to which all have contributed, andeverybody admires the common work. 

Your wife departs highly satisfied with herself, but a good dealdispleased with you. She proceeds loftily to the ball, just as apicture, caressed by the painter and minutely retouched in the studio, is sent to the annual exhibition in the vast bazaar of the Louvre. Your wife, alas! sees fifty women handsomer than herself: they haveinvented dresses of the most extravagant price, and more or lessoriginal: and that which happens at the Louvre to the masterpiece, happens to the object of feminine labor: your wife's dress seems paleby the side of another very much like it, but the livelier color ofwhich crushes it. Caroline is nobody, and is hardly noticed. Whenthere are sixty handsome women in a room, the sentiment of beauty islost, beauty is no longer appreciated. Your wife becomes a veryordinary affair. The petty stratagem of her smile, made perfect bypractice, has no meaning in the midst of countenances of nobleexpression, of self-possessed women of lofty presence. She iscompletely put down, and no one asks her to dance. She tries to forcean expression of pretended satisfaction, but, as she is not satisfied, she hears people say, "Madame Adolphe is looking very ill to-night. "Women hypocritically ask her if she is indisposed and "Why don't youdance?" They have a whole catalogue of malicious remarks veneered withsympathy and electroplated with charity, enough to damn a saint, tomake a monkey serious, and to give the devil the shudders. 

You, who are innocently playing cards or walking backwards andforwards, and so have not seen one of the thousand pin-pricks withwhich your wife's self-love has been tattooed, you come and ask her ina whisper, "What is the matter?"

"Order _my_ carriage!"

This _my_ is the consummation of marriage. For two years she has said"_my husband's_ carriage, " "_the_ carriage, " "_our_ carriage, " and nowshe says "_my_ carriage. "

You are in the midst of a game, you say, somebody wants his revenge, or you must get your money back. 

Here, Adolphe, we allow that you have sufficient strength of mind tosay yes, to disappear, and _not_ to order the carriage. 

You have a friend, you send him to dance with your wife, for you havecommenced a system of concessions which will ruin you. You alreadydimly perceive the advantage of a friend. 

Finally, you order the carriage. You wife gets in with concentratedrage, she hurls herself into a corner, covers her face with her hood, crosses her arms under her pelisse, and says not a word. 

O husbands! Learn this fact; you may, at this fatal moment, repair andredeem everything: and never does the impetuosity of lovers who havebeen caressing each other the whole evening with flaming gaze fail todo it! Yes, you can bring her home in triumph, she has now nobody butyou, you have one more chance, that of taking your wife by storm! Butno, idiot, stupid and indifferent that you are, you ask her, "What isthe matter?"

Axiom. --A husband should always know what is the matter with his wife, for she always knows what is not. 

"I'm cold, " she says. 

"The ball was splendid. "

"Pooh! nobody of distinction! People have the mania, nowadays, toinvite all Paris into a hole. There were women even on the stairs:their gowns were horribly smashed, and mine is ruined. "

"We had a good time. "

"Ah, you men, you play and that's the whole of it. Once married, youcare about as much for your wives as a lion does for the fine arts. "

"How changed you are; you were so gay, so happy, so charming when wearrived. "

"Oh, you never understand us women. I begged you to go home, and youleft me there, as if a woman ever did anything without a reason. Youare not without intelligence, but now and then you are so queer Idon't know what you are thinking about. "

Once upon this footing, the quarrel becomes more bitter. When you giveyour wife your hand to lift her from the carriage, you grasp a womanof wood: she gives you a "thank you" which puts you in the same rankas her servant. You understood your wife no better before than you doafter the ball: you find it difficult to follow her, for instead ofgoing up stairs, she flies up. The rupture is complete. 

The chambermaid is involved in your disgrace: she is received withblunt No's and Yes's, as dry as Brussells rusks, which she swallowswith a slanting glance at you. "Monsieur's always doing these things, "she mutters. 

You alone might have changed Madame's temper. She goes to bed; she hasher revenge to take: you did not comprehend her. Now she does notcomprehend you. She deposits herself on her side of the bed in themost hostile and offensive posture: she is wrapped up in her chemise, in her sack, in her night-cap, like a bale of clocks packed for theEast Indies. She says neither good-night, nor good-day, nor dear, norAdolphe: you don't exist, you are a bag of wheat. 

Your Caroline, so enticing five hours before in this very chamberwhere she frisked about like an eel, is now a junk of lead. Were youthe Tropical Zone in person, astride of the Equator, you could notmelt the ice of this little personified Switzerland that pretends tobe asleep, and who could freeze you from head to foot, if she liked. Ask her one hundred times what is the matter with her, Switzerlandreplies by an ultimatum, like the Diet or the Conference of London. 

Nothing is the matter with her: she is tired: she is going to sleep. 

The more you insist, the more she erects bastions of ignorance, themore she isolates herself by chevaux-de-frise. If you get impatient, Caroline begins to dream! You grumble, you are lost. 

Axiom. --Inasmuch as women are always willing and able to explain theirstrong points, they leave us to guess at their weak ones. 

Caroline will perhaps also condescend to assure you that she does notfeel well. But she laughs in her night-cap when you have fallenasleep, and hurls imprecations upon your slumbering body. 

 WOMEN'S LOGIC. 

You imagine you have married a creature endowed with reason: you arewoefully mistaken, my friend. 

Axiom. --Sensitive beings are not sensible beings. 

Sentiment is not argument, reason is not pleasure, and pleasure iscertainly not a reason. 

"Oh! sir!" she says. 

Reply "Ah! yes! Ah!" You must bring forth this "ah!" from the verydepths of your thoracic cavern, as you rush in a rage from the house, or return, confounded, to your study. 

Why? Now? Who has conquered, killed, overthrown you! Your wife'slogic, which is not the logic of Aristotle, nor that of Ramus, northat of Kant, nor that of Condillac, nor that of Robespierre, nor thatof Napoleon: but which partakes of the character of all these logics, and which we must call the universal logic of women, the logic ofEnglish women as it is that of Italian women, of the women of Normandyand Brittany (ah, these last are unsurpassed!), of the women of Paris, in short, that of the women in the moon, if there are women in thatnocturnal land, with which the women of the earth have an evidentunderstanding, angels that they are!

The discussion began after breakfast. Discussions can never take placein a household save at this hour. A man could hardly have a discussionwith his wife in bed, even if he wanted to: she has too manyadvantages over him, and can too easily reduce him to silence. Onleaving the nuptial chamber with a pretty woman in it, a man is apt tobe hungry, if he is young. Breakfast is usually a cheerful meal, andcheerfulness is not given to argument. In short, you do not open thebusiness till you have had your tea or your coffee. 

You have taken it into your head, for instance, to send your son toschool. All fathers are hypocrites and are never willing to confessthat their own flesh and blood is very troublesome when it walks abouton two legs, lays its dare-devil hands on everything, and iseverywhere at once like a frisky pollywog. Your son barks, mews, andsings; he breaks, smashes and soils the furniture, and furniture isdear; he makes toys of everything, he scatters your papers, and hecuts paper dolls out of the morning's newspaper before you have readit. 

His mother says to him, referring to anything of yours: "Take it!" butin reference to anything of hers she says: "Take care!"

She cunningly lets him have your things that she may be left in peace. Her bad faith as a good mother seeks shelter behind her child, yourson is her accomplice. Both are leagued against you like RobertMacaire and Bertrand against the subscribers to their joint stockcompany. The boy is an axe with which foraging excursions areperformed in your domains. He goes either boldly or slyly to maraud inyour wardrobe: he reappears caparisoned in the drawers you laid asidethat morning, and brings to the light of day many articles condemnedto solitary confinement. He brings the elegant Madame Fischtaminel, afriend whose good graces you cultivate, your girdle for checkingcorpulency, bits of cosmetic for dyeing your moustache, old waistcoatsdiscolored at the arm-holes, stockings slightly soiled at the heelsand somewhat yellow at the toes. It is quite impossible to remark thatthese stains are caused by the leather!

Your wife looks at your friend and laughs; you dare not be angry, soyou laugh too, but what a laugh! The unfortunate all know that laugh. 

Your son, moreover, gives you a cold sweat, if your razors happen tobe out of their place. If you are angry, the little rebel laughs andshows his two rows of pearls: if you scold him, he cries. His motherrushes in! And what a mother she is! A mother who will detest you ifyou don't give him the razor! With women there is no middle ground; aman is either a monster or a model. 

At certain times you perfectly understand Herod and his famous decreesrelative to the Massacre of the Innocents, which have only beensurpassed by those of the good Charles X!

Your wife has returned to her sofa, you walk up and down, and stop, and you boldly introduce the subject by this interjectional remark:

"Caroline, we must send Charles to boarding school. "

"Charles cannot go to boarding school, " she returns in a mild tone. 

"Charles is six years old, the age at which a boy's education begins. "

"In the first place, " she replies, "it begins at seven. The royalprinces are handed over to their governor by their governess when theyare seven. That's the law and the prophets. I don't see why youshouldn't apply to the children of private people the rule laid downfor the children of princes. Is your son more forward than theirs? Theking of Rome--"

"The king of Rome is not a case in point. "

"What! Is not the king of Rome the son of the Emperor? [Here shechanges the subject. ] Well, I declare, you accuse the Empress, do you?Why, Doctor Dubois himself was present, besides--"

"I said nothing of the kind. "

"How you do interrupt, Adolphe. "

"I say that the king of Rome [here you begin to raise your voice], theking of Rome, who was hardly four years old when he left France, is noexample for us. "

"That doesn't prevent the fact of the Duke de Bordeaux's having beenplaced in the hands of the Duke de Riviere, his tutor, at sevenyears. " [Logic. ]

"The case of the young Duke of Bordeaux is different. "

"Then you confess that a boy can't be sent to school before he isseven years old?" she says with emphasis. [More logic. ]

"No, my dear, I don't confess that at all. There is a great deal ofdifference between private and public education. "

"That's precisely why I don't want to send Charles to school yet. Heought to be much stronger than he is, to go there. "

"Charles is very strong for his age. "

"Charles? That's the way with men! Why, Charles has a very weakconstitution; he takes after you. [Here she changes from _tu_ to_vous_. ] But if you are determined to get rid of your son, why put himout to board, of course. I have noticed for some time that the dearchild annoys you. "

"Annoys me? The idea! But we are answerable for our children, are wenot? It is time Charles' education was began: he is getting very badhabits here, he obeys no one, he thinks himself perfectly free to doas he likes, he hits everybody and nobody dares to hit him back. Heought to be placed in the midst of his equals, or he will grow up withthe most detestable temper. "

"Thank you: so I am bringing Charles up badly!"

"I did not say that: but you will always have excellent reasons forkeeping him at home. "

Here the _vous_ becomes reciprocal and the discussion takes a bitterturn on both sides. Your wife is very willing to wound you by saying_vous_, but she feels cross when it becomes mutual. 

"The long and the short of it is that you want to get my child away, you find that he is between us, you are jealous of your son, you wantto tyrannize over me at your ease, and you sacrifice your boy! Oh, Iam smart enough to see through you!"

"You make me out like Abraham with his knife! One would think therewere no such things as schools! So the schools are empty; nobody sendstheir children to school!"

"You are trying to make me appear ridiculous, " she retorts. "I knowthat there are schools well enough, but people don't send boys of sixthere, and Charles shall not start now. "

"Don't get angry, my dear. "

"As if I ever get angry! I am a woman and know how to suffer insilence. "

"Come, let us reason together. "

"You have talked nonsense enough. "

"It is time that Charles should learn to read and write; later inlife, he will find difficulties sufficient to disgust him. "

Here, you talk for ten minutes without interruption, and you closewith an appealing "Well?" armed with an intonation which suggests aninterrogation point of the most crooked kind. 

"Well!" she replies, "it is not yet time for Charles to go to school. "

You have gained nothing at all. 

"But, my dear, Monsieur Deschars certainly sent his little Julius toschool at six years. Go and examine the schools and you will find lotsof little boys of six there. "

You talk for ten minutes more without the slightest interruption, andthen you ejaculate another "Well?"

"Little Julius Deschars came home with chilblains, " she says. 

"But Charles has chilblains here. "

"Never, " she replies, proudly. 

In a quarter of an hour, the main question is blocked by a sidediscussion on this point: "Has Charles had chilblains or not?"

You bandy contradictory allegations; you no longer believe each other;you must appeal to a third party. 

Axiom. --Every household has its Court of Appeals which takes no noticeof the merits, but judges matters of form only. 

The nurse is sent for. She comes, and decides in favor of your wife. It is fully decided that Charles has never had chilblains. 

Caroline glances triumphantly at you and utters these monstrous words:"There, you see Charles can't possibly go to school!"

You go out breathless with rage. There is no earthly means ofconvincing your wife that there is not the slightest reason for yourson's not going to school in the fact that he has never hadchilblains. 

That evening, after dinner, you hear this atrocious creature finishinga long conversation with a woman with these words: "He wanted to sendCharles to school, but I made him see that he would have to wait. "

Some husbands, at a conjuncture like this, burst out before everybody;their wives take their revenge six weeks later, but the husbands gainthis by it, that Charles is sent to school the very day he gets intoany mischief. Other husbands break the crockery, and keep their rageto themselves. The knowing ones say nothing and bide their time. 

A woman's logic is exhibited in this way upon the slightest occasion, about a promenade or the proper place to put a sofa. This logic isextremely simple, inasmuch as it consists in never expressing but oneidea, that which contains the expression of their will. Likeeverything pertaining to female nature, this system may be resolvedinto two algebraic terms--Yes: no. There are also certain littlemovements of the head which mean so much that they may take the placeof either. 

 THE JESUITISM OF WOMEN. 

The most jesuitical Jesuit of Jesuits is yet a thousand times lessjesuitical than the least jesuitical woman, --so you may judge whatJesuits women are! They are so jesuitical that the cunningest Jesuithimself could never guess to what extent of jesuitism a woman may go, for there are a thousand ways of being jesuitical, and a woman is suchan adroit Jesuit, that she has the knack of being a Jesuit withouthaving a jesuitical look. You can rarely, though you can sometimes, prove to a Jesuit that he is one: but try once to demonstrate to awoman that she acts or talks like a Jesuit. She would be cut to piecesrather than confess herself one. 

She, a Jesuit! The very soul of honor and loyalty! She a Jesuit! Whatdo you mean by "Jesuit?" She does not know what a Jesuit is: what is aJesuit? She has never seen or heard of a Jesuit! It's you who are aJesuit! And she proves with jesuitical demonstration that you are asubtle Jesuit. 

Here is one of the thousand examples of a woman's jesuitism, and thisexample constitutes the most terrible of the petty troubles of marriedlife; it is perhaps the most serious. 

Induced by a desire the thousandth time expressed by Caroline, whocomplained that she had to go on foot or that she could not buy a newhat, a new parasol, a new dress, or any other article of dress, oftenenough:

That she could not dress her baby as a sailor, as a lancer, as anartilleryman of the National Guard, as a Highlander with naked legsand a cap and feather, in a jacket, in a roundabout, in a velvet sack, in boots, in trousers: that she could not buy him toys enough, normechanical moving mice and Noah's Arks enough:

That she could not return Madame Deschars or Madame de Fischtamineltheir civilities, a ball, a party, a dinner: nor take a private box atthe theatre, thus avoiding the necessity of sitting cheek by jowl withmen who are either too polite or not enough so, and of calling a cabat the close of the performance; apropos of which she thus discourses:

"You think it cheaper, but you are mistaken: men are all the same! Isoil my shoes, I spoil my hat, my shawl gets wet and my silk stockingsget muddy. You economize twenty francs by not having a carriage, --nonot twenty, sixteen, for your pay four for the cab--and you lose fiftyfrancs' worth of dress, besides being wounded in your pride on seeinga faded bonnet on my head: you don't see why it's faded, but it'sthose horrid cabs. I say nothing of the annoyance of being tumbled andjostled by a crowd of men, for it seems you don't care for that!"

That she could not buy a piano instead of hiring one, nor keep up withthe fashions; (there are some women, she says, who have all the newstyles, but just think what they give in return! She would ratherthrow herself out of the window than imitate them! She loves you toomuch. Here she sheds tears. She does not understand such women). Thatshe could not ride in the Champs Elysees, stretched out in her owncarriage, like Madame de Fischtaminel. (There's a woman whounderstands life: and who has a well-taught, well-disciplined and verycontented husband: his wife would go through fire and water for him!)

Finally, beaten in a thousand conjugal scenes, beaten by the mostlogical arguments (the late logicians Tripier and Merlin were nothingto her, as the preceding chapter has sufficiently shown you), beatenby the most tender caresses, by tears, by your own words turnedagainst you, for under circumstances like these, a woman lies in waitin her house like a jaguar in the jungle; she does not appear tolisten to you, or to heed you; but if a single word, a wish, agesture, escapes you, she arms herself with it, she whets it to anedge, she brings it to bear upon you a hundred times over; beaten bysuch graceful tricks as "If you will do so and so, I will do this andthat;" for women, in these cases, become greater bargainers than theJews and Greeks (those, I mean, who sell perfumes and little girls), than the Arabs (those, I mean, who sell little boys and horses), greater higglers than the Swiss and the Genevese, than bankers, and, what is worse than all, than the Genoese!

Finally, beaten in a manner which may be called beaten, you determineto risk a certain portion of your capital in a business undertaking. One evening, at twilight, seated side by side, or some morning onawakening, while Caroline, half asleep, a pink bud in her white linen, her face smiling in her lace, is beside you, you say to her, "You wantthis, you say, or you want that: you told me this or you told methat:" in short, you hastily enumerate the numberless fancies by whichshe has over and over again broken your heart, for there is nothingmore dreadful than to be unable to satisfy the desires of a belovedwife, and you close with these words:

"Well, my dear, an opportunity offers of quintupling a hundredthousand francs, and I have decided to make the venture. "

She is wide awake now, she sits up in bed, and gives you a kiss, ah!this time, a real good one!

"You are a dear boy!" is her first word. 

We will not mention her last, for it is an enormous andunpronounceable onomatope. 

"Now, " she says, "tell me all about it. "

You try to explain the nature of the affair. But in the first place, women do not understand business, and in the next they do not wish toseem to understand it. Your dear, delighted Caroline says you werewrong to take her desires, her groans, her sighs for new dresses, inearnest. She is afraid of your venture, she is frightened at thedirectors, the shares, and above all at the running expenses, anddoesn't exactly see where the dividend comes in. 

Axiom. --Women are always afraid of things that have to be divided. 

In short, Caroline suspects a trap: but she is delighted to know thatshe can have her carriage, her box, the numerous styles of dress forher baby, and the rest. While dissuading you from engaging in thespeculation, she is visibly glad to see you investing your money init. 

FIRST PERIOD. --"Oh, I am the happiest woman on the face of the earth!Adolphe has just gone into the most splendid venture. I am going tohave a carriage, oh! ever so much handsomer than Madame deFischtaminel's; hers is out of fashion. Mine will have curtains withfringes. My horses will be mouse-colored, hers are bay, --they are ascommon as coppers. "

"What is this venture, madame?"

"Oh, it's splendid--the stock is going up; he explained it to mebefore he went into it, for Adolphe never does anything withoutconsulting me. "

"You are very fortunate. "

"Marriage would be intolerable without entire confidence, and Adolphetells me everything. "

Thus, Adolphe, you are the best husband in Paris, you are adorable, you are a man of genius, you are all heart, an angel. You are pettedto an uncomfortable degree. You bless the marriage tie. Carolineextols men, calling them "kings of creation, " women were made forthem, man is naturally generous, and matrimony is a delightfulinstitution. 

For three, sometimes six, months, Caroline executes the most brilliantconcertos and solos upon this delicious theme: "I shall be rich! Ishall have a thousand a month for my dress: I am going to keep mycarriage!"

If your son is alluded to, it is merely to ask about the school towhich he shall be sent. 

SECOND PERIOD. --"Well, dear, how is your business getting on?--Whathas become of it?--How about that speculation which was to give me acarriage, and other things?--It is high time that affair should cometo something. --It is a good while cooking. --When _will_ it begin topay? Is the stock going up?--There's nobody like you for hitting uponventures that never amount to anything. "

One day she says to you, "Is there really an affair?"

If you mention it eight or ten months after, she returns:

"Ah! Then there really _is_ an affair!"

This woman, whom you thought dull, begins to show signs ofextraordinary wit, when her object is to make fun of you. During thisperiod, Caroline maintains a compromising silence when people speak ofyou, or else she speaks disparagingly of men in general: "Men are notwhat they seem: to find them out you must try them. " "Marriage has itsgood and its bad points. " "Men never can finish anything. "

THIRD PERIOD. --_Catastrophe_. --This magnificent affair which was toyield five hundred per cent, in which the most cautious, the bestinformed persons took part--peers, deputies, bankers--all of themKnights of the Legion of Honor--this venture has been obliged toliquidate! The most sanguine expect to get ten per cent of theircapital back. You are discouraged. 

Caroline has often said to you, "Adolphe, what is the matter? Adolphe, there is something wrong. "

Finally, you acquaint Caroline with the fatal result: she begins byconsoling you. 

"One hundred thousand francs lost! We shall have to practice thestrictest economy, " you imprudently add. 

The jesuitism of woman bursts out at this word "economy. " It sets fireto the magazine. 

"Ah! that's what comes of speculating! How is it that _you, ordinarilyso prudent_, could go and risk a hundred thousand francs! _You know Iwas against it from the beginning!_ BUT YOU WOULD NOT LISTEN TO ME!"

Upon this, the discussion grows bitter. 

You are good for nothing--you have no business capacity; women alonetake clear views of things. You have risked your children's bread, though she tried to dissuade you from it. --You cannot say it was forher. Thank God, she has nothing to reproach herself with. A hundredtimes a month she alludes to your disaster: "If my husband had notthrown away his money in such and such a scheme, I could have had thisand that. " "The next time you want to go into an affair, perhapsyou'll consult me!" Adolphe is accused and convicted of havingfoolishly lost one hundred thousand francs, without an object in view, like a dolt, and without having consulted his wife. Caroline advisesher friends not to marry. She complains of the incapacity of men whosquander the fortunes of their wives. Caroline is vindictive, shemakes herself generally disagreeable. Pity Adolphe! Lament, yehusbands! O bachelors, rejoice and be exceeding glad!

 MEMORIES AND REGRETS. 

After several years of wedded life, your love has become so placid, that Caroline sometimes tries, in the evening, to wake you up byvarious little coquettish phrases. There is about you a certaincalmness and tranquillity which always exasperates a lawful wife. Women see in it a sort of insolence: they look upon the indifferenceof happiness as the fatuity of confidence, for of course they neverimagine their inestimable equalities can be regarded with disdain:their virtue is therefore enraged at being so cordially trusted in. 

In this situation, which is what every couple must come to, and whichboth husband and wife must expect, no husband dares confess that theconstant repetition of the same dish has become wearisome; but hisappetite certainly requires the condiments of dress, the ideas excitedby absence, the stimulus of an imaginary rivalry. 

In short, at this period, you walk very comfortably with your wife onyour arm, without pressing hers against your heart with the solicitousand watchful cohesion of a miser grasping his treasure. You gazecarelessly round upon the curiosities in the street, leading your wifein a loose and distracted way, as if you were towing a Norman scow. Come now, be frank! If, on passing your wife, an admirer were gentlyto press her, accidentally or purposely, would you have the slightestdesire to discover his motives? Besides, you say, no woman would seekto bring about a quarrel for such a trifle. Confess this, too, thatthe expression "such a trifle" is exceedingly flattering to both ofyou. 

You are in this position, but you have as yet proceeded no farther. Still, you have a horrible thought which you bury in the depths ofyour heart and conscience: Caroline has not come up to yourexpectations. Caroline has imperfections, which, during the high tidesof the honey-moon, were concealed under the water, but which the ebbof the gall-moon has laid bare. You have several times run againstthese breakers, your hopes have been often shipwrecked upon them, morethan once your desires--those of a young marrying man--(where, alas, is that time!) have seen their richly laden gondolas go to piecesthere: the flower of the cargo went to the bottom, the ballast of themarriage remained. In short, to make use of a colloquial expression, as you talk over your marriage with yourself you say, as you look atCaroline, "_She is not what I took her to be!_"

Some evening, at a ball, in society, at a friend's house, no matterwhere, you meet a sublime young woman, beautiful, intellectual andkind: with a soul, oh! a soul of celestial purity, and of miraculousbeauty! Yes, there is that unchangeable oval cut of face, thosefeatures which time will never impair, that graceful and thoughtfulbrow. The unknown is rich, well-educated, of noble birth: she willalways be what she should be, she knows when to shine, when to remainin the background: she appears in all her glory and power, the beingyou have dreamed of, your wife that should have been, she whom youfeel you could love forever. She would always have flattered yourlittle vanities, she would understand and admirably serve yourinterests. She is tender and gay, too, this young lady who reawakensall your better feelings, who rekindles your slumbering desires. 

You look at Caroline with gloomy despair, and here are thephantom-like thoughts which tap, with wings of a bat, the beak ofa vulture, the body of a death's-head moth, upon the walls of thepalace in which, enkindled by desire, glows your brain like a lampof gold:

FIRST STANZA. Ah, dear me, why did I get married? Fatal idea! Iallowed myself to be caught by a small amount of cash. And is itreally over? Cannot I have another wife? Ah, the Turks manage thingsbetter! It is plain enough that the author of the Koran lived in thedesert!

SECOND STANZA. My wife is sick, she sometimes coughs in the morning. If it is the design of Providence to remove her from the world, let itbe speedily done for her sake and for mine. The angel has lived longenough. 

THIRD STANZA. I am a monster! Caroline is the mother of my children!

You go home, that night, in a carriage with your wife: you think herperfectly horrible: she speaks to you, but you answer inmonosyllables. She says, "What is the matter?" and you answer, "Nothing. " She coughs, you advise her to see the doctor in themorning. Medicine has its hazards. 

FOURTH STANZA. I have been told that a physician, poorly paid by theheirs of his deceased patient, imprudently exclaimed, "What! they cutdown my bill, when they owe me forty thousand a year. " _I_ would nothaggle over fees!

"Caroline, " you say to her aloud, "you must take care of yourself;cross your shawl, be prudent, my darling angel. "

Your wife is delighted with you since you seem to take such aninterest in her. While she is preparing to retire, you lie stretchedout upon the sofa. You contemplate the divine apparition which opensto you the ivory portals of your castles in the air. Deliciousecstasy! 'Tis the sublime young woman that you see before you! She isas white as the sail of the treasure-laden galleon as it enters theharbor of Cadiz. Your wife, happy in your admiration, now understandsyour former taciturnity. You still see, with closed eyes, the sublimeyoung woman; she is the burden of your thoughts, and you say aloud:

FIFTH AND LAST STANZA. Divine! Adorable! Can there be another womanlike her? Rose of Night! Column of ivory! Celestial maiden! Morningand Evening Star!

Everyone says his prayers; you have said four. 

The next morning, your wife is delightful, she coughs no more, she hasno need of a doctor; if she dies, it will be of good health; youlaunched four maledictions upon her, in the name of your sublime youngwoman, and four times she blessed you for it. Caroline does not knowthat in the depths of your heart there wriggles a little red fish likea crocodile, concealed beneath conjugal love like the other would behid in a basin. 

A few days before, your wife had spoken of you in rather equivocalterms to Madame de Fischtaminel: your fair friend comes to visit her, and Caroline compromises you by a long and humid gaze; she praises youand says she never was happier. 

You rush out in a rage, you are beside yourself, and are glad to meeta friend, that you may work off your bile. 

"Don't you ever marry, George; it's better to see your heirs carryingaway your furniture while the death-rattle is in your throat, betterto go through an agony of two hours without a drop to cool yourtongue, better to be assassinated by inquiries about your will by anurse like the one in Henry Monnier's terrible picture of a'Bachelor's Last Moments!' Never marry under any pretext!"

Fortunately you see the sublime young woman no more. You are savedfrom the tortures to which a criminal passion was leading you. Youfall back again into the purgatory of your married bliss; but youbegin to be attentive to Madame de Fischtaminel, with whom you weredreadfully in love, without being able to get near her, while you werea bachelor. 

 OBSERVATIONS. 

When you have arrived at this point in the latitude or longitude ofthe matrimonial ocean, there appears a slight chronic, intermittentaffection, not unlike the toothache. Here, I see, you stop me to ask, "How are we to find the longitude in this sea? When can a husband besure he has attained this nautical point? And can the danger beavoided?"

You may arrive at this point, look you, as easily after ten months asten years of wedlock; it depends upon the speed of the vessel, itsstyle of rigging, upon the trade winds, the force of the currents, andespecially upon the composition of the crew. You have this advantageover the mariner, that he has but one method of calculating hisposition, while husbands have at least a thousand of reckoning theirs. 

EXAMPLE: Caroline, your late darling, your late treasure, who is nowmerely your humdrum wife, leans much too heavily upon your arm whilewalking on the boulevard, or else says it is much more elegant not totake your arm at all;

Or else she notices men, older or younger as the case may be, dressedwith more or less taste, whereas she formerly saw no one whatever, though the sidewalk was black with hats and traveled by more bootsthan slippers;

Or, when you come home, she says, "It's no one but my husband:"instead of saying "Ah! 'tis Adolphe!" as she used to say with agesture, a look, an accent which caused her admirers to think, "Well, here's a happy woman at last!" This last exclamation of a woman issuitable for two eras, --first, while she is sincere; second, while sheis hypocritical, with her "Ah! 'tis Adolphe!" When she exclaims, "It'sonly my husband, " she no longer deigns to play a part. 

Or, if you come home somewhat late--at eleven, or at midnight--youfind her--snoring! Odious symptom!

Or else she puts on her stockings in your presence. Among Englishcouples, this never happens but once in a lady's married life; thenext day she leaves for the Continent with some captain or other, andno longer thinks of putting on her stockings at all. 

Or else--but let us stop here. 

This is intended for the use of mariners and husbands who areweatherwise. 

 THE MATRIMONIAL GADFLY. 

Very well! In this degree of longitude, not far from a tropical signupon the name of which good taste forbids us to make a jest at oncecoarse and unworthy of this thoughtful work, a horrible littleannoyance appears, ingeniously called the Matrimonial Gadfly, the mostprovoking of all gnats, mosquitoes, blood-suckers, fleas andscorpions, for no net was ever yet invented that could keep it off. The gadfly does not immediately sting you; it begins by buzzing inyour ears, and _you do not at first know what it is_. 

Thus, apropos of nothing, in the most natural way in the world, Caroline says: "Madame Deschars had a lovely dress on, yesterday. "

"She is a woman of taste, " returns Adolphe, though he is far fromthinking so. 

"Her husband gave it to her, " resumes Caroline, with a shrug of hershoulders. 

"Ah!"

"Yes, a four hundred franc dress! It's the very finest quality ofvelvet. "

"Four hundred francs!" cries Adolphe, striking the attitude of theapostle Thomas. 

"But then there are two extra breadths and enough for a high waist!"

"Monsieur Deschars does things on a grand scale, " replies Adolphe, taking refuge in a jest. 

"All men don't pay such attentions to their wives, " says Caroline, curtly. 

"What attentions?"

"Why, Adolphe, thinking of extra breadths and of a waist to make thedress good again, when it is no longer fit to be worn low in theneck. "

Adolphe says to himself, "Caroline wants a dress. "

Poor man!

Some time afterward, Monsieur Deschars furnishes his wife's chamberanew. Then he has his wife's diamonds set in the prevailing fashion. Monsieur Deschars never goes out without his wife, and never allowshis wife to go out without offering her his arm. 

If you bring Caroline anything, no matter what, it is never equal towhat Monsieur Deschars has done. If you allow yourself the slightestgesture or expression a little livelier than usual, if you speak alittle bit loud, you hear the hissing and viper-like remark:

"You wouldn't see Monsieur Deschars behaving like this! Why don't youtake Monsieur Deschars for a model?"

In short, this idiotic Monsieur Deschars is forever looming up in yourhousehold on every conceivable occasion. 

The expression--"Do you suppose Monsieur Deschars ever allows himself"--is a sword of Damocles, or what is worse, a Damocles pin: and yourself-love is the cushion into which your wife is constantly stickingit, pulling it out, and sticking it in again, under a variety ofunforeseen pretexts, at the same time employing the most winning termsof endearment, and with the most agreeable little ways. 

Adolphe, stung till he finds himself tattooed, finally does what isdone by police authorities, by officers of government, by militarytacticians. He casts his eye on Madame de Fischtaminel, who is stillyoung, elegant and a little bit coquettish, and places her (this hadbeen the rascal's intention for some time) like a blister uponCaroline's extremely ticklish skin. 

O you, who often exclaim, "I don't know what is the matter with mywife!" you will kiss this page of transcendent philosophy, for youwill find in it _the key to every woman's character_! But as toknowing women as well as I know them, it will not be knowing themmuch; they don't know themselves! In fact, as you well know, God wasHimself mistaken in the only one that He attempted to manage and towhose manufacture He had given personal attention. 

Caroline is very willing to sting Adolphe at all hours, but thisprivilege of letting a wasp off now and then upon one's consort (thelegal term), is exclusively reserved to the wife. Adolphe is a monsterif he starts off a single fly at Caroline. On her part, it is adelicious joke, a new jest to enliven their married life, and onedictated by the purest intentions; while on Adolphe's part, it is apiece of cruelty worthy a Carib, a disregard of his wife's heart, anda deliberate plan to give her pain. But that is nothing. 

"So you are really in love with Madame de Fischtaminel?" Carolineasks. "What is there so seductive in the mind or the manners of thespider?"

"Why, Caroline--"

"Oh, don't undertake to deny your eccentric taste, " she returns, checking a negation on Adolphe's lips. "I have long seen that youprefer that Maypole [Madame de Fischtaminel is thin] to me. Very well!go on; you will soon see the difference. "

Do you understand? You cannot suspect Caroline of the slightestinclination for Monsieur Deschars, a low, fat, red-faced man, formerlya notary, while you are in love with Madame de Fischtaminel! ThenCaroline, the Caroline whose simplicity caused you such agony, Caroline who has become familiar with society, Caroline becomes acuteand witty: you have two gadflies instead of one. 

The next day she asks you, with a charming air of interest, "How areyou coming on with Madame de Fischtaminel?"

When you go out, she says: "Go and drink something calming, my dear. "For, in their anger with a rival, all women, duchesses even, will useinvectives, and even venture into the domain of Billingsgate; theymake an offensive weapon of anything and everything. 

To try to convince Caroline that she is mistaken and that you areindifferent to Madame de Fischtaminel, would cost you dear. This is ablunder that no sensible man commits; he would lose his power andspike his own guns. 

Oh! Adolphe, you have arrived unfortunately at that season soingeniously called the _Indian Summer of Marriage_. 

You must now--pleasing task!--win your wife, your Caroline, overagain, seize her by the waist again, and become the best of husbandsby trying to guess at things to please her, so as to act according toher whims instead of according to your will. This is the wholequestion henceforth. 

 HARD LABOR. 

Let us admit this, which, in our opinion, is a truism made as good asnew:

Axiom. --Most men have some of the wit required by a difficultposition, when they have not the whole of it. 

As for those husbands who are not up to their situation, it isimpossible to consider their case here: without any struggle whateverthey simply enter the numerous class of the _Resigned_. 

Adolphe says to himself: "Women are children: offer them a lump ofsugar, and you will easily get them to dance all the dances thatgreedy children dance; but you must always have a sugar plum in hand, hold it up pretty high, and--take care that their fancy for sweetmeatsdoes not leave them. Parisian women--and Caroline is one--are veryvain, and as for their voracity--don't speak of it. Now you cannotgovern men and make friends of them, unless you work upon them throughtheir vices, and flatter their passions: my wife is mine!"

Some days afterward, during which Adolphe has been unusually attentiveto his wife, he discourses to her as follows:

"Caroline, dear, suppose we have a bit of fun: you'll put on your newgown--the one like Madame Deschars!--and we'll go to see a farce atthe Varieties. "

This kind of proposition always puts a wife in the best possiblehumor. So away you go! Adolphe has ordered a dainty little dinner fortwo, at Borrel's _Rocher de Cancale_. 

"As we are going to the Varieties, suppose we dine at the tavern, "exclaims Adolphe, on the boulevard, with the air of a man suddenlystruck by a generous idea. 

Caroline, delighted with this appearance of good fortune, enters alittle parlor where she finds the cloth laid and that neat littleservice set, which Borrel places at the disposal of those who are richenough to pay for the quarters intended for the great ones of theearth, who make themselves small for an hour. 

Women eat little at a formal dinner: their concealed harness hampersthem, they are laced tightly, and they are in the presence of womenwhose eyes and whose tongues are equally to be dreaded. They preferfancy eating to good eating, then: they will suck a lobster's claw, swallow a quail or two, punish a woodcock's wing, beginning with a bitof fresh fish, flavored by one of those sauces which are the glory ofFrench cooking. France is everywhere sovereign in matters of taste: inpainting, fashions, and the like. Gravy is the triumph of taste, incookery. So that grisettes, shopkeepers' wives and duchesses aredelighted with a tasty little dinner washed down with the choicestwines, of which, however, they drink but little, the whole concludedby fruit such as can only be had at Paris; and especially delightedwhen they go to the theatre to digest the little dinner, and listen, in a comfortable box, to the nonsense uttered upon the stage, and tothat whispered in their ears to explain it. But then the bill of therestaurant is one hundred francs, the box costs thirty, the carriage, dress, gloves, bouquet, as much more. This gallantry amounts to thesum of one hundred and sixty francs, which is hard upon four thousandfrancs a month, if you go often to the Comic, the Italian, or theGrand, Opera. Four thousand francs a month is the interest of acapital of two millions. But then the honor of being a husband isfully worth the price!

Caroline tells her friends things which she thinks exceedinglyflattering, but which cause a sagacious husband to make a wry face. 

"Adolphe has been delightful for some time past. I don't know what Ihave done to deserve so much attention, but he overpowers me. He givesvalue to everything by those delicate ways which have such an effectupon us women. After taking me Monday to the _Rocher de Cancale_ todine, he declared that Very was as good a cook as Borrel, and he gaveme the little party of pleasure that I told you of all over again, presenting me at dessert with a ticket for the opera. They sang'William Tell, ' which, you know, is my craze. "

"You are lucky indeed, " returns Madame Deschars with evident jealousy. 

"Still, a wife who discharges all her duties, deserves such luck, itseems to me. "

When this terrible sentiment falls from the lips of a married woman, it is clear that she _does her duty_, after the manner of school-boys, for the reward she expects. At school, a prize is the object: inmarriage, a shawl or a piece of jewelry. No more love, then!

"As for me, "--Madame Deschars is piqued--"I am reasonable. Descharscommitted such follies once, but I put a stop to it. You see, my dear, we have two children, and I confess that one or two hundred francs arequite a consideration for me, as the mother of a family. "

"Dear me, madame, " says Madame de Fischtaminel, "it's better that ourhusbands should have cosy little times with us than with--"

"Deschars!--" suddenly puts in Madame Deschars, as she gets up andsays good-bye. 

The individual known as Deschars (a man nullified by his wife) doesnot hear the end of the sentence, by which he might have learned thata man may spend his money with other women. 

Caroline, flattered in every one of her vanities, abandons herself tothe pleasures of pride and high living, two delicious capital sins. Adolphe is gaining ground again, but alas! (this reflection is worth awhole sermon in Lent) sin, like all pleasure, contains a spur. Vice islike an Autocrat, and let a single harsh fold in a rose-leaf irritateit, it forgets a thousand charming bygone flatteries. With Vice aman's course must always be crescendo!--and forever. 

Axiom. --Vice, Courtiers, Misfortune and Love, care only for thePRESENT. 

At the end of a period of time difficult to determine, Caroline looksin the glass, at dessert, and notices two or three pimples bloomingupon her cheeks, and upon the sides, lately so pure, of her nose. Sheis out of humor at the theatre, and you do not know why, you, soproudly striking an attitude in your cravat, you, displaying yourfigure to the best advantage, as a complacent man should. 

A few days after, the dressmaker arrives. She tries on a gown, sheexerts all her strength, but cannot make the hooks and eyes meet. Thewaiting maid is called. After a two horse-power pull, a regularthirteenth labor of Hercules, a hiatus of two inches manifests itself. The inexorable dressmaker cannot conceal from Caroline the fact thather form is altered. Caroline, the aerial Caroline, threatens tobecome like Madame Deschars. In vulgar language, she is getting stout. The maid leaves her in a state of consternation. 

"What! am I to have, like that fat Madame Deschars, cascades of flesha la Rubens! That Adolphe is an awful scoundrel. Oh, I see, he wantsto make me an old mother Gigogne, and destroy my powers offascination!"

Thenceforward Caroline is willing to go to the opera, she accepts twoseats in a box, but she considers it very distingue to eat sparingly, and declines the dainty dinners of her husband. 

"My dear, " she says, "a well-bred woman should not go often to theseplaces; you may go once for a joke; but as for making a habitual thingof it--fie, for shame!"

Borrel and Very, those masters of the art, lose a thousand francs aday by not having a private entrance for carriages. If a coach couldglide under an archway, and go out by another door, after leaving itsfair occupants on the threshold of an elegant staircase, how many ofthem would bring the landlord fine, rich, solid old fellows forcustomers!

Axiom. --Vanity is the death of good living. 

Caroline very soon gets tired of the theatre, and the devil alone cantell the cause of her disgust. Pray excuse Adolphe! A husband is notthe devil. 

Fully one-third of the women of Paris are bored by the theatre. Manyof them are tired to death of music, and go to the opera for thesingers merely, or rather to notice the difference between them inpoint of execution. What supports the theatre is this: the women are aspectacle before and after the play. Vanity alone will pay theexorbitant price of forty francs for three hours of questionablepleasure, in a bad atmosphere and at great expense, without countingthe colds caught in going out. But to exhibit themselves, to see andbe seen, to be the observed of five hundred observers! What a gloriousmouthful! as Rabelais would say. 

To obtain this precious harvest, garnered by self-love, a woman mustbe looked at. Now a woman with her husband is very little looked at. Caroline is chagrined to see the audience entirely taken up with womenwho are _not_ with their husbands, with eccentric women, in short. Now, as the very slight return she gets from her efforts, her dresses, and her attitudes, does not compensate, in her eyes, for her fatigue, her display and her weariness, it is very soon the same with thetheatre as it was with the good cheer; high living made her fat, thetheatre is making her yellow. 

Here Adolphe--or any other man in Adolphe's place--resembles a certainLanguedocian peasant who suffered agonies from an agacin, or, inFrench, corn, --but the term in Lanquedoc is so much prettier, don'tyou think so? This peasant drove his foot at each step two inches intothe sharpest stones along the roadside, saying to the agacin, "Deviltake you! Make me suffer again, will you?"

"Upon my word, " says Adolphe, profoundly disappointed, the day when hereceives from his wife a refusal, "I should like very much to knowwhat would please you!"

Caroline looks loftily down upon her husband, and says, after a pauseworthy of an actress, "I am neither a Strasburg goose nor a giraffe!"

"'Tis true, I might lay out four thousand francs a month to bettereffect, " returns Adolphe. 

"What do you mean?"

"With the quarter of that sum, presented to estimable burglars, youthful jail-birds and honorable criminals, I might become somebody, a Man in the Blue Cloak on a small scale; and then a young woman isproud of her husband, " Adolphe replies. 

This answer is the grave of love, and Caroline takes it in very badpart. An explanation follows. This must be classed among the thousandpleasantries of the following chapter, the title of which ought tomake lovers smile as well as husbands. If there are yellow rays oflight, why should there not be whole days of this extremelymatrimonial color?

 FORCED SMILES. 

On your arrival in this latitude, you enjoy numerous little scenes, which, in the grand opera of marriage, represent the intermezzos, andof which the following is a type:

You are one evening alone after dinner, and you have been so oftenalone already that you feel a desire to say sharp little things toeach other, like this, for instance:

"Take care, Caroline, " says Adolphe, who has not forgotten his manyvain efforts to please her. "I think your nose has the impertinence toredden at home quite well as at the restaurant. "

"This is not one of your amiable days!"

General Rule. --No man has ever yet discovered the way to give friendlyadvice to any woman, not even to his own wife. 

"Perhaps it's because you are laced too tight. Women make themselvessick that way. "

The moment a man utters these words to a woman, no matter whom, thatwoman, --who knows that stays will bend, --seizes her corset by thelower end, and bends it out, saying, with Caroline:

"Look, you can get your hand in! I never lace tight. "

"Then it must be your stomach. "

"What has the stomach got to do with the nose?"

"The stomach is a centre which communicates with all the organs. "

"So the nose is an organ, is it?"

"Yes. "

"Your organ is doing you a poor service at this moment. " She raisesher eyes and shrugs her shoulders. "Come, Adolphe, what have I done?"

"Nothing. I'm only joking, and I am unfortunate enough not to pleaseyou, " returns Adolphe, smiling. 

"My misfortune is being your wife! Oh, why am I not somebody else's!"

"That's what _I_ say!"

"If I were, and if I had the innocence to say to you, like a coquettewho wishes to know how far she has got with a man, 'the redness of mynose really gives me anxiety, ' you would look at me in the glass withall the affectations of an ape, and would reply, 'O madame, you doyourself an injustice; in the first place, nobody sees it: besides, itharmonizes with your complexion; then again we are all so afterdinner!' and from this you would go on to flatter me. Do I ever tellyou that you are growing fat, that you are getting the color of astone-cutter, and that I prefer thin and pale men?"

They say in London, "Don't touch the axe!" In France we ought to say, "Don't touch a woman's nose. "

"And all this about a little extra natural vermilion!" exclaimsAdolphe. "Complain about it to Providence, whose office it is to put alittle more color in one place than another, not to me, who loves you, who desires you to be perfect, and who merely says to you, take care!"

"You love me too much, then, for you've been trying, for some timepast, to find disagreeable things to say to me. You want to run medown under the pretext of making me perfect--people said I _was_perfect, five years ago. "

"I think you are better than perfect, you are stunning!"

"With too much vermilion?"

Adolphe, who sees the atmosphere of the north pole upon his wife'sface, sits down upon a chair by her side. Caroline, unable decently togo away, gives her gown a sort of flip on one side, as if to produce aseparation. This motion is performed by some women with a provokingimpertinence: but it has two significations; it is, as whist playerswould say, either a signal _for trumps_ or a _renounce_. At this time, Caroline renounces. 

"What is the matter?" says Adolphe. 

"Will you have a glass of sugar and water?" asks Caroline, busyingherself about your health, and assuming the part of a servant. 

"What for?"

"You are not amiable while digesting, you must be in pain. Perhaps youwould like a drop of brandy in your sugar and water? The doctor spokeof it as an excellent remedy. "

"How anxious you are about my stomach!"

"It's a centre, it communicates with the other organs, it will actupon your heart, and through that perhaps upon your tongue. "

Adolphe gets up and walks about without saying a word, but he reflectsupon the acuteness which his wife is acquiring: he sees her dailygaining in strength and in acrimony: she is getting to display an artin vexation and a military capacity for disputation which reminds himof Charles XII and the Russians. Caroline, during this time, is busywith an alarming piece of mimicry: she looks as if she were going tofaint. 

"Are you sick?" asks Adolphe, attacked in his generosity, the placewhere women always have us. 

"It makes me sick at my stomach, after dinner, to see a man going backand forth so, like the pendulum of a clock. But it's just like you:you are always in a fuss about something. You are a queer set: all menare more or less cracked. "

Adolphe sits down by the fire opposite to his wife, and remains therepensive: marriage appears to him like an immense dreary plain, withits crop of nettles and mullen stalks. 

"What, are you pouting?" asks Caroline, after a quarter of an hour'sobservation of her husband's countenance. 

"No, I am meditating, " replied Adolphe. 

"Oh, what an infernal temper you've got!" she returns, with a shrug ofthe shoulders. "Is it for what I said about your stomach, your shapeand your digestion? Don't you see that I was only paying you back foryour vermilion? You'll make me think that men are as vain as women. [Adolphe remains frigid. ] It is really quite kind in you to take ourqualities. [Profound silence. ] I made a joke and you got angry [shelooks at Adolphe], for you are angry. I am not like you: I cannot bearthe idea of having given you pain! Nevertheless, it's an idea that aman never would have had, that of attributing your impertinence tosomething wrong in your digestion. It's not my Dolph, it's his stomachthat was bold enough to speak. I did not know you were aventriloquist, that's all. "

Caroline looks at Adolphe and smiles: Adolphe is as stiff as if hewere glued. 

"No, he won't laugh! And, in your jargon, you call this havingcharacter. Oh, how much better we are!"

She goes and sits down in Adolphe's lap, and Adolphe cannot helpsmiling. This smile, extracted as if by a steam engine, Caroline hasbeen on the watch for, in order to make a weapon of it. 

"Come, old fellow, confess that you are wrong, " she says. "Why pout?Dear me, I like you just as you are: in my eyes you are as slender aswhen I married you, and slenderer perhaps. "

"Caroline, when people get to deceive themselves in these littlematters, where one makes concessions and the other does not get angry, do you know what it means?"

"What does it mean?" asks Caroline, alarmed at Adolphe's dramaticattitude. 

"That they love each other less. "

"Oh! you monster, I understand you: you were angry so as to make mebelieve you loved me!"

Alas! let us confess it, Adolphe tells the truth in the only way hecan--by a laugh. 

"Why give me pain?" she says. "If I am wrong in anything, isn't itbetter to tell me of it kindly, than brutally to say [here she raisesher voice], 'Your nose is getting red!' No, that is not right! Toplease you, I will use an expression of the fair Fischtaminel, 'It'snot the act of a gentleman!'"

Adolphe laughs and pays the expenses of the reconciliation; butinstead of discovering therein what will please Caroline and what willattach her to him, he finds out what attaches him to her. 

 NOSOGRAPHY OF THE VILLA. 

Is it advantageous for a man not to know what will please his wifeafter their marriage? Some women (this still occurs in the country)are innocent enough to tell promptly what they want and what theylike. But in Paris, nearly every woman feels a kind of enjoyment inseeing a man wistfully obedient to her heart, her desires, hercaprices--three expressions for the same thing!--and anxiously goinground and round, half crazy and desperate, like a dog that has losthis master. 

They call this _being loved_, poor things! And a good many of them sayto themselves, as did Caroline, "How will he manage?"

Adolphe has come to this. In this situation of things, the worthy andexcellent Deschars, that model of the citizen husband, invites thecouple known as Adolphe and Caroline to help him and his wifeinaugurate a delightful country house. It is an opportunity that theDeschars have seized upon, the folly of a man of letters, a charmingvilla upon which he lavished one hundred thousand francs and which hasbeen sold at auction for eleven thousand. Caroline has a new dress toair, or a hat with a weeping willow plume--things which a tilbury willset off to a charm. Little Charles is left with his grandmother. Theservants have a holiday. The youthful pair start beneath the smile ofa blue sky, flecked with milk-while clouds merely to heighten theeffect. They breathe the pure air, through which trots the heavyNorman horse, animated by the influence of spring. They soon reachMarnes, beyond Ville d'Avray, where the Deschars are spreadingthemselves in a villa copied from one at Florence, and surrounded bySwiss meadows, though without all the objectionable features of theAlps. 

"Dear me! what a delightful thing a country house like this must be!"exclaims Caroline, as she walks in the admirable wood that skirtsMarnes and Ville d'Avray. "It makes your eyes as happy as if they hada heart in them. "

Caroline, having no one to take but Adolphe, takes Adolphe, whobecomes her Adolphe again. And then you should see her run about likea fawn, and act once more the sweet, pretty, innocent, adorableschool-girl that she was! Her braids come down! She takes off herbonnet, and holds it by the strings! She is young, pink and whiteagain. Her eyes smile, her mouth is a pomegranate endowed withsensibility, with a sensibility which seems quite fresh. 

"So a country house would please you very much, would it, darling?"says Adolphe, clasping Caroline round the waist, and noticing that sheleans upon him as if to show the flexibility of her form. 

"What, will you be such a love as to buy me one? But remember, noextravagance! Seize an opportunity like the Deschars. "

"To please you and to find out what is likely to give you pleasure, such is the constant study of your own Dolph. "

They are alone, at liberty to call each other their little names ofendearment, and run over the whole list of their secret caresses. 

"Does he really want to please his little girly?" says Caroline, resting her head on the shoulder of Adolphe, who kisses her forehead, saying to himself, "Gad! I've got her now!"

Axiom. --When a husband and a wife have got each other, the devil onlyknows which has got the other. 

The young couple are captivating, whereupon the stout Madame Descharsgives utterance to a remark somewhat equivocal for her, usually sostern, prudish and devout. 

"Country air has one excellent property: it makes husbands veryamiable. "

M. Deschars points out an opportunity for Adolphe to seize. A house isto be sold at Ville d'Avray, for a song, of course. Now, the countryhouse is a weakness peculiar to the inhabitant of Paris. Thisweakness, or disease, has its course and its cure. Adolphe is ahusband, but not a doctor. He buys the house and takes possession withCaroline, who has become once more his Caroline, his Carola, his fawn, his treasure, his girly girl. 

The following alarming symptoms now succeed each other with frightfulrapidity: a cup of milk, baptized, costs five sous; when it isanhydrous, as the chemists say, ten sous. Meat costs more at Sevresthan at Paris, if you carefully examine the qualities. Fruit cannot behad at any price. A fine pear costs more in the country than in the(anhydrous!) garden that blooms in Chevet's window. 

Before being able to raise fruit for oneself, from a Swiss meadowmeasuring two square yards, surrounded by a few green trees which lookas if they were borrowed from the scenic illusions of a theatre, themost rural authorities, being consulted on the point, declare that youmust spend a great deal of money, and--wait five years! Vegetablesdash out of the husbandman's garden to reappear at the city market. Madame Deschars, who possesses a gate-keeper that is at the same timea gardener, confesses that the vegetables raised on her land, beneathher glass frames, by dint of compost and top-soil, cost her twice asmuch as those she used to buy at Paris, of a woman who had rent andtaxes to pay, and whose husband was an elector. Despite the effortsand pledges of the gate-keeper-gardener, early peas and things atParis are a month in advance of those in the country. 

From eight in the evening to eleven our couple don't know what to do, on account of the insipidity of the neighbors, their small ideas, andthe questions of self-love which arise out of the merest trifles. 

Monsieur Deschars remarks, with that profound knowledge of figureswhich distinguishes the ex-notary, that the cost of going to Paris andback, added to the interest of the cost of his villa, to the taxes, wages of the gate-keeper and his wife, are equal to a rent of threethousand francs a year. He does not see how he, an ex-notary, allowedhimself to be so caught! For he has often drawn up leases of chateauxwith parks and out-houses, for three thousand a year. 

It is agreed by everybody in the parlor of Madame Deschars, that acountry house, so far from being a pleasure, is an unmitigatednuisance. 

"I don't see how they sell a cabbage for one sou at market, which hasto be watered every day from its birth to the time you eat it, " saysCaroline. 

"The way to get along in the country, " replies a little retiredgrocer, "is to stay there, to live there, to become country-folks, andthen everything changes. "

On going home, Caroline says to her poor Adolphe, "What an idea thatwas of yours, to buy a country house! The best way to do about thecountry is to go there on visits to other people. "

Adolphe remembers an English proverb, which says, "Don't have anewspaper or a country seat of your own: there are plenty of idiotswho will have them for you. "

"Bah!" returns Adolph, who was enlightened once for all upon women'slogic by the Matrimonial Gadfly, "you are right: but then you know thebaby is in splendid health, here. "

Though Adolphe has become prudent, this reply awakens Caroline'ssusceptibilities. A mother is very willing to think exclusively of herchild, but she does not want him to be preferred to herself. She issilent; the next day, she is tired to death of the country. Adolphebeing absent on business, she waits for him from five o'clock toseven, and goes alone with little Charles to the coach office. Shetalks for three-quarters of an hour of her anxieties. She was afraidto go from the house to the office. Is it proper for a young woman tobe left alone, so? She cannot support such an existence. 

The country house now creates a very peculiar phase; one whichdeserves a chapter to itself. 

 TROUBLE WITHIN TROUBLE. 

Axiom. --There are parentheses in worry. 

EXAMPLE--A great deal of evil has been said of the stitch in the side;but it is nothing to the stitch to which we now refer, which thepleasures of the matrimonial second crop are everlastingly reviving, like the hammer of a note in the piano. This constitutes an irritant, which never flourishes except at the period when the young wife'stimidity gives place to that fatal equality of rights which is at oncedevastating France and the conjugal relation. Every season has itspeculiar vexation. 

Caroline, after a week spent in taking note of her husband's absences, perceives that he passes seven hours a day away from her. At last, Adolphe, who comes home as gay as an actor who has been applauded, observes a slight coating of hoar frost upon Caroline's visage. Aftermaking sure that the coldness of her manner has been observed, Caroline puts on a counterfeit air of interest, --the well-knownexpression of which possesses the gift of making a man inwardlyswear, --and says: "You must have had a good deal of business to-day, dear?"

"Oh, lots!"

"Did you take many cabs?"

"I took seven francs' worth. "

"Did you find everybody in?"

"Yes, those with whom I had appointments. "

"When did you make appointments with them? The ink in your inkstand isdried up; it's like glue; I wanted to write, and spent a whole hour inmoistening it, and even then only produced a thick mud fit to markbundles with for the East Indies. "

Here any and every husband looks suspiciously at his better half. 

"It is probable that I wrote them at Paris--"

"What business was it, Adolphe?"

"Why, I thought you knew. Shall I run over the list? First, there'sChaumontel's affair--"

"I thought Monsieur Chaumontel was in Switzerland--"

"Yes, but he has representatives, a lawyer--"

"Didn't you do anything else but business?" asks Caroline, interrupting Adolphe. 

Here she gives him a direct, piercing look, by which she plunges intoher husband's eyes when he least expects it: a sword in a heart. 

"What could I have done? Made a little counterfeit money, run intodebt, or embroidered a sampler?"

"Oh, dear, I don't know. And I can't even guess. I am too dull, you'vetold me so a hundred times. "

"There you go, and take an expression of endearment in bad part. Howlike a woman that is!"

"Have you concluded anything?" she asks, pretending to take aninterest in business. 

"No, nothing, "

"How many persons have you seen?"

"Eleven, without counting those who were walking in the streets. "

"How you answer me!"

"Yes, and how you question me! As if you'd been following the trade ofan examining judge for the last ten years!"

"Come, tell me all you've done to-day, it will amuse me. You ought totry to please me while you are here! I'm dull enough when you leave mealone all day long. "

"You want me to amuse you by telling you about business?"

"Formerly, you told me everything--"

This friendly little reproach disguises the certitude that Carolinewishes to enjoy respecting the serious matters which Adolphe wishes toconceal. Adolphe then undertakes to narrate how he has spent the day. Caroline affects a sort of distraction sufficiently well played toinduce the belief that she is not listening. 

"But you said just now, " she exclaims, at the moment when Adolphe isgetting into a snarl, "that you had paid seven francs for cabs, andyou now talk of a hack! You took it by the hour, I suppose? Did you doyour business in a hack?" she asks, railingly. 

"Why should hacks be interdicted?" inquires Adolphe, resuming hisnarrative. 

"Haven't you been to Madame de Fischtaminel's?" she asks in the middleof an exceedingly involved explanation, insolently taking the wordsout of your mouth. 

"Why should I have been there?"

"It would have given me pleasure: I wanted to know whether her parloris done. "

"It is. "

"Ah! then you _have_ been there?"

"No, her upholsterer told me. "

"Do you know her upholsterer?"

"Yes. "

"Who is it?"

"Braschon. "

"So you met the upholsterer?"

"Yes. "

"You said you only went in carriages. "

"Yes, my dear, but to get carriages, you have to go and--"

"Pooh! I dare say Braschon was in the carriage, or the parlor was--oneor the other is equally probable. "

"You won't listen, " exclaims Adolphe, who thinks that a long storywill lull Caroline's suspicions. 

"I've listened too much already. You've been lying for the last hour, worse than a drummer. "

"Well, I'll say nothing more. "

"I know enough. I know all I wanted to know. You say you've seenlawyers, notaries, bankers: now you haven't seen one of them! SupposeI were to go to-morrow to see Madame de Fischtaminel, do you know whatshe would say?"

Here, Caroline watches Adolphe closely: but Adolphe affects a delusivecalmness, in the middle of which Caroline throws out her line to fishup a clue. 

"Why, she would say that she had had the pleasure of seeing you! Howwretched we poor creatures are! We never know what you are doing: herewe are stuck, chained at home, while you are off at your business!Fine business, truly! If I were in your place, I would invent businessa little bit better put together than yours! Ah, you set us a worthyexample! They say women are perverse. Who perverted them?"

Here Adolphe tries, by looking fixedly at Caroline, to arrest thetorrent of words. Caroline, like a horse who has just been touched upby the lash, starts off anew, and with the animation of one ofRossini's codas:

"Yes, it's a very neat idea, to put your wife out in the country sothat you may spend the day as you like at Paris. So this is the causeof your passion for a country house! Snipe that I was, to be caught inthe trap! You are right, sir, a villa is very convenient: it servestwo objects. But the wife can get along with it as well as thehusband. You may take Paris and its hacks! I'll take the woods andtheir shady groves! Yes, Adolphe, I am really satisfied, so let's sayno more about it. "

Adolphe listens to sarcasm for an hour by the clock. 

"Have you done, dear?" he asks, profiting by an instant in which shetosses her head after a pointed interrogation. 

Then Caroline concludes thus: "I've had enough of the villa, and I'llnever set foot in it again. But I know what will happen: you'll keepit, probably, and leave me in Paris. Well, at Paris, I can at leastamuse myself, while you go with Madame de Fischtaminel to the woods. What is a _Villa Adolphini_ where you get nauseated if you go sixtimes round the lawn? where they've planted chair-legs andbroom-sticks on the pretext of producing shade? It's like a furnace:the walls are six inches thick! and my gentleman is absent seven hoursa day! That's what a country seat means!"

"Listen to me, Caroline. "

"I wouldn't so much mind, if you would only confess what you didto-day. You don't know me yet: come, tell me, I won't scold you. Ipardon you beforehand for all that you've done. "

Adolphe, who knows the consequences of a confession too well to makeone to his wife, replies--"Well, I'll tell you. "

"That's a good fellow--I shall love you better. "

"I was three hours--"

"I was sure of it--at Madame de Fischtaminel's!"

"No, at our notary's, as he had got me a purchaser; but we could notcome to terms: he wanted our villa furnished. When I left there, Iwent to Braschon's, to see how much we owed him--"

"You made up this romance while I was talking to you! Look me in theface! I'll go to see Braschon to-morrow. "

Adolphe cannot restrain a nervous shudder. 

"You can't help laughing, you monster!"

"I laugh at your obstinacy. "

"I'll go to-morrow to Madame de Fischtaminel's. "

"Oh, go wherever you like!"

"What brutality!" says Caroline, rising and going away with herhandkerchief at her eyes. 

The country house, so ardently longed for by Caroline, has now becomea diabolical invention of Adolphe's, a trap into which the fawn hasfallen. 

Since Adolphe's discovery that it is impossible to reason withCaroline, he lets her say whatever she pleases. 

Two months after, he sells the villa which cost him twenty-twothousand francs for seven thousand! But he gains this by theadventure--he finds out that the country is not the thing thatCaroline wants. 

The question is becoming serious. Nature, with its woods, its forests, its valleys, the Switzerland of the environs of Paris, the artificialrivers, have amused Caroline for barely six months. Adolphe is temptedto abdicate and take Caroline's part himself. 

 A HOUSEHOLD REVOLUTION. 

One morning, Adolphe is seized by the triumphant idea of lettingCaroline find out for herself what she wants. He gives up to her thecontrol of the house, saying, "Do as you like. " He substitutes theconstitutional system for the autocratic system, a responsibleministry for an absolute conjugal monarchy. This proof of confidence--the object of much secret envy--is, to women, a field-marshal'sbaton. Women are then, so to speak, mistresses at home. 

After this, nothing, not even the memory of the honey-moon, can becompared to Adolphe's happiness for several days. A woman, under suchcircumstances, is all sugar. She is too sweet: she would invent theart of petting and cosseting and of coining tender little names, ifthis matrimonial sugar-plummery had not existed ever since theTerrestrial Paradise. At the end of the month, Adolphe's condition islike that of children towards the close of New Year's week. SoCaroline is beginning to say, not in words, but in acts, in manner, inmimetic expressions: "It's difficult to tell _what_ to do to please aman!"

Giving up the helm of the boat to one's wife, is an exceedinglyordinary idea, and would hardly deserve the qualification of"triumphant, " which we have given it at the commencement of thischapter, if it were not accompanied by that of taking it back again. Adolphe was seduced by a wish, which invariably seizes persons who arethe prey of misfortune, to know how far an evil will go!--to try howmuch damage fire will do when left to itself, the individualpossessing, or thinking he possesses, the power to arrest it. Thiscuriosity pursues us from the cradle to the grave. Then, after hisplethora of conjugal felicity, Adolphe, who is treating himself to afarce in his own house, goes through the following phases:

FIRST EPOCH. Things go on altogether too well. Caroline buys littleaccount books to keep a list of her expenses in, she buys a nicelittle piece of furniture to store her money in, she feeds Adolphesuperbly, she is happy in his approbation, she discovers that verymany articles are needed in the house. It is her ambition to be anincomparable housekeeper. Adolphe, who arrogates to himself the rightof censorship, no longer finds the slightest suggestion to make. 

When he dresses himself, everything is ready to his hands. Not even inArmide's garden was more ingenious tenderness displayed than that ofCaroline. For her phoenix husband, she renews the wax upon his razorstrap, she substitutes new suspenders for old ones. None of hisbutton-holes are ever widowed. His linen is as well cared for as thatof the confessor of the devotee, all whose sins are venial. Hisstockings are free from holes. At table, his tastes, his capriceseven, are studied, consulted: he is getting fat! There is ink in hisinkstand, and the sponge is always moist. He never has occasion tosay, like Louis XIV, "I came near having to wait!" In short, he hearshimself continually called _a love of a man_. He is obliged toreproach Caroline for neglecting herself: she does not pay sufficientattention to her own needs. Of this gentle reproach Caroline takesnote. 

SECOND EPOCH. The scene changes, at table. Everything is exceedinglydear. Vegetables are beyond one's means. Wood sells as if it came fromCampeche. Fruit? Oh! as to fruit, princes, bankers and great lordsalone can eat it. Dessert is a cause of ruin. Adolphe often hearsCaroline say to Madame Deschars: "How do you manage?" Conferences areheld in your presence upon the proper way to keep cooks under thethumb. 

A cook who entered your service without effects, without clothes, andwithout talent, has come to get her wages in a blue merino gown, setoff by an embroidered neckerchief, her ears embellished with a pair ofear-rings enriched with small pearls, her feet clothed in comfortableshoes which give you a glimpse of neat cotton stockings. She has twotrunks full of property, and keeps an account at the savings bank. 

Upon this Caroline complains of the bad morals of the lower classes:she complains of the education and the knowledge of figures whichdistinguish domestics. From time to time she utters little axioms likethe following: There are some mistakes you _must_ make!--It's onlythose who do nothing who do everything well. --She has the anxietiesthat belong to power. --Ah! men are fortunate in not having a house tokeep. --Women bear the burden of the innumerable details. 

THIRD EPOCH. Caroline, absorbed in the idea that you should eat merelyto live, treats Adolphe to the delights of a cenobitic table. 

Adolphe's stockings are either full of holes or else rough with thelichen of hasty mendings, for the day is not long enough for all thathis wife has to do. He wears suspenders blackened by use. His linen isold and gapes like a door-keeper, or like the door itself. At a timewhen Adolphe is in haste to conclude a matter of business, it takeshim an hour to dress: he has to pick out his garments one by one, opening many an article before finding one fit to wear. But Carolineis charmingly dressed. She has pretty bonnets, velvet boots, mantillas. She has made up her mind, she conducts her administrationin virtue of this principle: Charity well understood begins at home. When Adolphe complains of the contrast between his poverty-strickenwardrobe and Caroline's splendor, she says, "Why, you reproached mewith buying nothing for myself!"

The husband and the wife here begin to bandy jests more or lessacrimonious. One evening Caroline makes herself very agreeable, inorder to insinuate an avowal of a rather large deficit, just as theministry begins to eulogize the tax-payers, and boast of the wealth ofthe country, when it is preparing to bring forth a bill for anadditional appropriation. There is this further similitude that bothare done in the chamber, whether in administration or in housekeeping. From this springs the profound truth that the constitutional system isinfinitely dearer than the monarchical system. For a nation as for ahousehold, it is the government of the happy balance, of mediocrity, of chicanery. 

Adolphe, enlightened by his past annoyances, waits for an opportunityto explode, and Caroline slumbers in a delusive security. 

What starts the quarrel? Do we ever know what electric currentprecipitates the avalanche or decides a revolution? It may result fromanything or nothing. But finally, Adolphe, after a period to bedetermined in each case by the circumstances of the couple, uttersthis fatal phrase, in the midst of a discussion: "Ah! when I was abachelor!"

Her husband's bachelor life is to a woman what the phrase, "My deardeceased, " is to a widow's second husband. These two stings producewounds which are never completely healed. 

Then Adolphe goes on like General Bonaparte haranguing the FiveHundred: "We are on a volcano!--The house no longer has a head, thetime to come to an understanding has arrived. --You talk of happiness, Caroline, but you have compromised, imperiled it by your exactions, you have violated the civil code: you have mixed yourself up in thediscussions of business, and you have invaded the conjugal authority. --We must reform our internal affairs. "

Caroline does not shout, like the Five Hundred, "Down with thedictator!" For people never shout a man down, when they feel that theycan put him down. 

"When I was a bachelor I had none but new stockings! I had a cleannapkin every day on my plate. The restaurateur only fleeced me of adeterminate sum. I have given up to you my beloved liberty! What haveyou done with it?"

"Am I then so very wrong, Adolphe, to have sought to spare younumerous cares?" says Caroline, taking an attitude before her husband. "Take the key of the money-box back, --but do you know what willhappen? I am ashamed, but you will compel me to go on to the stage toget the merest necessaries of life. Is this what you want? Degradeyour wife, or bring in conflict two contrary, hostile interests--"

Such, for three quarters of the French people is an exact definitionof marriage. 

"Be perfectly easy, dear, " resumes Caroline, seating herself in herchair like Marius on the ruins of Carthage, "I will never ask you foranything. I am not a beggar! I know what I'll do--you don't know meyet. "

"Well, what will you do?" asks Adolphe; "it seems impossible to jokeor have an explanation with you women. What will you do?"

"It doesn't concern you at all. "

"Excuse me, madame, quite the contrary. Dignity, honor--"

"Oh, have no fear of that, sir. For your sake more than for my own, Iwill keep it a dead secret. "

"Come, Caroline, my own Carola, what do you mean to do?"

Caroline darts a viper-like glance at Adolphe, who recoils andproceeds to walk up and down the room. 

"There now, tell me, what will you do?" he repeats after much tooprolonged a silence. 

"I shall go to work, sir!"

At this sublime declaration, Adolphe executes a movement in retreat, detecting a bitter exasperation, and feeling the sharpness of a northwind which had never before blown in the matrimonial chamber. 

 THE ART OF BEING A VICTIM. 

On and after the Revolution, our vanquished Caroline adopts aninfernal system, the effect of which is to make you regret yourvictory every hour. She becomes the opposition! Should Adolphe haveone more such triumph, he would appear before the Court of Assizes, accused of having smothered his wife between two mattresses, likeShakespeare's Othello. Caroline puts on the air of a martyr; hersubmission is positively killing. On every occasion she assassinatesAdolphe with a "Just as you like!" uttered in tones whose sweetness issomething fearful. No elegiac poet could compete with Caroline, whoutters elegy upon elegy: elegy in action, elegy in speech: her smileis elegiac, her silence is elegiac, her gestures are elegiac. Here area few examples, wherein every household will find some of itsimpressions recorded:

AFTER BREAKFAST. "Caroline, we go to-night to the Deschars' grand ballyou know. "

"Yes, love. "

AFTER DINNER. "What, not dressed yet, Caroline?" exclaims Adolphe, whohas just made his appearance, magnificently equipped. 

He finds Caroline arrayed in a gown fit for an elderly lady of strongconversational powers, a black moire with an old-fashioned fan-waist. Flowers, too badly imitated to deserve the name of artificial, give agloomy aspect to a head of hair which the chambermaid has carelesslyarranged. Caroline's gloves have already seen wear and tear. 

"I am ready, my dear. "

"What, in that dress?"

"I have no other. A new dress would have cost three hundred francs. "

"Why did you not tell me?"

"I, ask you for anything, after what has happened!"

"I'll go alone, " says Adolphe, unwilling to be humiliated in his wife. 

"I dare say you are very glad to, " returns Caroline, in a captioustone, "it's plain enough from the way you are got up. "

Eleven persons are in the parlor, all invited to dinner by Adolphe. Caroline is there, looking as if her husband had invited her too. Sheis waiting for dinner to be served. 

"Sir, " says the parlor servant in a whisper to his master, "the cookdoesn't know what on earth to do!"

"What's the matter?"

"You said nothing to her, sir: and she has only two side-dishes, thebeef, a chicken, a salad and vegetables. "

"Caroline, didn't you give the necessary orders?"

"How did I know that you had company, and besides I can't take it uponmyself to give orders here! You delivered me from all care on thatpoint, and I thank heaven for it every day of my life. "

Madame de Fischtaminel has called to pay Madame Caroline a visit. Shefinds her coughing feebly and nearly bent double over her embroidery. 

"Ah, so you are working those slippers for your dear Adolphe?"

Adolphe is standing before the fire-place as complacently as may be. 

"No, madame, it's for a tradesman who pays me for them: like theconvicts, my labor enables me to treat myself to some littlecomforts. "

Adolphe reddens; he can't very well beat his wife, and Madame deFischtaminel looks at him as much as to say, "What does this mean?"

"You cough a good deal, my darling, " says Madame de Fischtaminel. 

"Oh!" returns Caroline, "what is life to me?"

Caroline is seated, conversing with a lady of your acquaintance, whosegood opinion you are exceedingly anxious to retain. From the depths ofthe embrasure where you are talking with some friends, you gather, from the mere motion of her lips, these words: "My husband would haveit so!" uttered with the air of a young Roman matron going to thecircus to be devoured. You are profoundly wounded in your severalvanities, and wish to attend to this conversation while listening toyour guests: you thus make replies which bring you back such inquiriesas: "Why, what are you thinking of?" For you have lost the thread ofthe discourse, and you fidget nervously with your feet, thinking toyourself, "What is she telling her about me?"

Adolphe is dining with the Deschars: twelve persons are at table, andCaroline is seated next to a nice young man named Ferdinand, Adolphe'scousin. Between the first and second course, conjugal happiness is thesubject of conversation. 

"There is nothing easier than for a woman to be happy, " says Carolinein reply to a woman who complains of her husband. 

"Tell us your secret, madame, " says M. De Fischtaminel agreeably. 

"A woman has nothing to do but to meddle with nothing to considerherself as the first servant in the house or as a slave that themaster takes care of, to have no will of her own, and never to make anobservation: thus all goes well. "

This, delivered in a bitter tone and with tears in her voice, alarmsAdolphe, who looks fixedly at his wife. 

"You forget, madame, the happiness of telling about one's happiness, "he returns, darting at her a glance worthy of the tyrant in amelodrama. 

Quite satisfied with having shown herself assassinated or on the pointof being so, Caroline turns her head aside, furtively wipes away atear, and says:

"Happiness cannot be described!"

This incident, as they say at the Chamber, leads to nothing, butFerdinand looks upon his cousin as an angel about to be offered up. 

Some one alludes to the frightful prevalence of inflammation of thestomach, or to the nameless diseases of which young women die. 

"Ah, too happy they!" exclaims Caroline, as if she were foretellingthe manner of her death. 

Adolphe's mother-in-law comes to see her daughter. Caroline says, "Myhusband's parlor:" "Your master's chamber. " Everything in the housebelongs to "My husband. "

"Why, what's the matter, children?" asks the mother-in-law; "you seemto be at swords' points. "

"Oh, dear me, " says Adolphe, "nothing but that Caroline has had themanagement of the house and didn't manage it right, that's all. "

"She got into debt, I suppose?"

"Yes, dearest mamma. "

"Look here, Adolphe, " says the mother-in-law, after having waited tobe left alone with her son, "would you prefer to have my daughtermagnificently dressed, to have everything go on smoothly, _without itscosting you anything_?"

Imagine, if you can, the expression of Adolphe's physiognomy, as hehears _this declaration of woman's rights_!

Caroline abandons her shabby dress and appears in a splendid one. Sheis at the Deschars': every one compliments her upon her taste, uponthe richness of her materials, upon her lace, her jewels. 

"Ah! you have a charming husband!" says Madame Deschars. Adolphetosses his head proudly, and looks at Caroline. 

"My husband, madame! I cost that gentleman nothing, thank heaven! AllI have was given me by my mother. "

Adolphe turns suddenly about and goes to talk with Madame deFischtaminel. 

After a year of absolute monarchy, Caroline says very mildly onemorning:

"How much have you spent this year, dear?"

"I don't know. "

"Examine your accounts. "

Adolphe discovers that he has spent a third more than duringCaroline's worst year. 

"And I've cost you nothing for my dress, " she adds. 

Caroline is playing Schubert's melodies. Adolphe takes great pleasurein hearing these compositions well-executed: he gets up andcompliments Caroline. She bursts into tears. 

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I'm nervous. "

"I didn't know you were subject to that. "

"O Adolphe, you won't see anything! Look, my rings come off myfingers: you don't love me any more--I'm a burden to you--"

She weeps, she won't listen, she weeps afresh at every word Adolpheutters. 

"Suppose you take the management of the house back again?"

"Ah!" she exclaims, rising sharply to her feet, like a spring figurein a box, "now that you've had enough of your experience! Thank you!Do you suppose it's money that I want? Singular method, yours, ofpouring balm upon a wounded heart. No, go away. "

"Very well, just as you like, Caroline. "

This "just as you like" is the first expression of indifferencetowards a wife: and Caroline sees before her an abyss towards whichshe had been walking of her own free will. 

 THE FRENCH CAMPAIGN. 

The disasters of 1814 afflict every species of existence. Afterbrilliant days of conquest, after the period during which obstacleschange to triumphs, and the slightest check becomes a piece of goodfortune, there comes a time when the happiest ideas turn out blunders, when courage leads to destruction, and when your very fortificationsare a stumbling-block. Conjugal love, which, according to authors, isa peculiar phase of love, has, more than anything else, its FrenchCampaign, its fatal 1814. The devil especially loves to dangle histail in the affairs of poor desolate women, and to this Caroline hascome. 

Caroline is trying to think of some means of bringing her husbandback. She spends many solitary hours at home, and during this time herimagination works. She goes and comes, she gets up, and often standspensively at the window, looking at the street and seeing nothing, herface glued to the panes, and feeling as if in a desert, in the midstof her friends, in the bosom of her luxuriously furnished apartments. 

Now, in Paris, unless a person occupy a house of his own, enclosedbetween a court and a garden, all life is double. At every story, afamily sees another family in the opposite house. Everybody plungeshis gaze at will into his neighbor's domains. There is a necessity formutual observation, a common right of search from which none canescape. At a given time, in the morning, you get up early, the servantopposite is dusting the parlor, she has left the windows open and hasput the rugs on the railing; you divine a multitude of things, andvice-versa. Thus, in a given time, you are acquainted with the habitsof the pretty, the old, the young, the coquettish, the virtuous womanopposite, or the caprices of the coxcomb, the inventions of the oldbachelor, the color of the furniture, and the cat of the two pairfront. Everything furnishes a hint, and becomes matter for divination. At the fourth story, a grisette, taken by surprise, finds herself--toolate, like the chaste Susanne, --the prey of the delighted lorgnette ofan aged clerk, who earns eighteen hundred francs a year, and whobecomes criminal gratis. On the other hand, a handsome younggentleman, who, for the present, works without wages, and is onlynineteen years old, appears before the sight of a pious old lady, inthe simple apparel of a man engaged in shaving. The watch thus kept upis never relaxed, while prudence, on the contrary, has its moments offorgetfulness. Curtains are not always let down in time. A woman, justbefore dark, approaches the window to thread her needle, and themarried man opposite may then admire a head that Raphael might havepainted, and one that he considers worthy of himself--a National Guardtruly imposing when under arms. Oh, sacred private life, where artthou! Paris is a city ever ready to exhibit itself half naked, a cityessentially libertine and devoid of modesty. For a person's life to bedecorous in it, the said person should have a hundred thousand a year. Virtues are dearer than vices in Paris. 

Caroline, whose gaze sometimes steals between the protecting muslinswhich hide her domestic life from the five stories opposite, at lastdiscovers a young couple plunged in the delights of the honey-moon, and newly established in the first story directly in view of herwindow. She spends her time in the most exciting observations. Theblinds are closed early, and opened late. One day, Caroline, who hasarisen at eight o'clock notices, by accident, of course, the maidpreparing a bath or a morning dress, a delicious deshabille. Carolinesighs. She lies in ambush like a hunter at the cover; she surprisesthe young woman, her face actually illuminated with happiness. Finally, by dint of watching the charming couple, she sees thegentleman and lady open the window, and lean gently one against theother, as, supported by the railing, they breathe the evening air. Caroline gives herself a nervous headache, by endeavoring to interpretthe phantasmagorias, some of them having an explanation and othersnot, made by the shadows of these two young people on the curtains, one night when they have forgotten to close the shutters. The youngwoman is often seated, melancholy and pensive, waiting for her absenthusband; she hears the tread of a horse, or the rumble of a cab at thestreet corner; she starts from the sofa, and from her movements, it iseasy for Caroline to see that she exclaims: "'Tis he!"

"How they love each other!" says Caroline to herself. 

By dint of nervous headache, Caroline conceives an exceedinglyingenious plan: this plan consists in using the conjugal bliss of theopposite neighbors as a tonic to stimulate Adolphe. The idea is notwithout depravity, but then Caroline's intention sanctifies the means!

"Adolphe, " she says, "we have a neighbor opposite, the loveliestwoman, a brunette--"

"Oh, yes, " returns Adolphe, "I know her. She is a friend of Madame deFischtaminel's: Madame Foullepointe, the wife of a broker, a charmingman and a good fellow, very fond of his wife: he's crazy about her. His office and rooms are here, in the court, while those on the streetare madame's. I know of no happier household. Foullepointe talks abouthis happiness everywhere, even at the Exchange; he's really quitetiresome. "

"Well, then, be good enough to present Monsieur and MadameFoullepointe to me. I should be delighted to learn how she manages tomake her husband love her so much: have they been married long?"

"Five years, just like us. "

"O Adolphe, dear, I am dying to know her: make us intimatelyacquainted. Am I as pretty as she?"

"Well, if I were to meet you at an opera ball, and if you weren't mywife, I declare, I shouldn't know which--"

"You are real sweet to-day. Don't forget to invite them to dinnerSaturday. "

"I'll do it to-night. Foullepointe and I often meet on 'Change. "

"Now, " says Caroline, "this young woman will doubtless tell me whather method of action is. "

Caroline resumes her post of observation. At about three she looksthrough the flowers which form as it were a bower at the window, andexclaims, "Two perfect doves!"

For the Saturday in question, Caroline invites Monsieur and MadameDeschars, the worthy Monsieur Fischtaminel, in short, the mostvirtuous couples of her society. She has brought out all herresources: she has ordered the most sumptuous dinner, she has takenthe silver out of the chest: she means to do all honor to the model ofwives. 

"My dear, you will see to-night, " she says to Madame Deschars, at themoment when all the women are looking at each other in silence, "themost admirable young couple in the world, our opposite neighbors: ayoung man of fair complexion, so graceful and with _such_ manners! Hishead is like Lord Byron's, and he's a real Don Juan, only faithful:he's discovered the secret of making love eternal: I shall perhapsobtain a second crop of it from her example. Adolphe, when he seesthem, will blush at his conduct, and--"

The servant announces: "Monsieur and Madame Foullepointe. "

Madame Foullepointe, a pretty brunette, a genuine Parisian, slight anderect in form, the brilliant light of her eye quenched by her longlashes, charmingly dressed, sits down upon the sofa. Caroline bows toa fat gentleman with thin gray hair, who follows this ParisAndalusian, and who exhibits a face and paunch fit for Silenus, abutter-colored pate, a deceitful, libertine smile upon his big, heavylips, --in short, a philosopher! Caroline looks upon this individualwith astonishment. 

"Monsieur Foullepointe, my dear, " says Adolphe, presenting the worthyquinquagenarian. 

"I am delighted, madame, " says Caroline, good-naturedly, "that youhave brought your father-in-law [profound sensation], but we shallsoon see your husband, I trust--"

"Madame--!"

Everybody listens and looks. Adolphe becomes the object of every one'sattention; he is literally dumb with amazement: if he could, he wouldwhisk Caroline off through a trap, as at the theatre. 

"This is Monsieur Foullepointe, my husband, " says Madame Foullepointe. 

Caroline turns scarlet as she sees her ridiculous blunder, and Adolphescathes her with a look of thirty-six candlepower. 

"You said he was young and fair, " whispers Madame Deschars. MadameFoullepointe, --knowing lady that she is, --boldly stares at theceiling. 

A month after, Madame Foullepointe and Caroline become intimate. Adolphe, who is taken up with Madame de Fischtaminel, pays noattention to this dangerous friendship, a friendship which will bearits fruits, for--pray learn this--

Axiom. --Women have corrupted more women than men have ever loved. 

 A SOLO ON THE HEARSE. 

After a period, the length of which depends on the strength ofCaroline's principles, she appears to be languishing; and whenAdolphe, anxious for decorum's sake, as he sees her stretched out uponthe sofa like a snake in the sun, asks her, "What is the matter, love?What do you want?"

"I wish I was dead!" she replies. 

"Quite a merry and agreeable wish!"

"It isn't death that frightens me, it's suffering. "

"I suppose that means that I don't make you happy! That's the way withwomen!"

Adolphe strides about the room, talking incoherently: but he isbrought to a dead halt by seeing Caroline dry her tears, which arereally flowing artistically, in an embroidered handkerchief. 

"Do you feel sick?"

"I don't feel well. [Silence. ] I only hope that I shall live longenough to see my daughter married, for I know the meaning, now, of theexpression so little understood by the young--_the choice of ahusband_! Go to your amusements, Adolphe: a woman who thinks of thefuture, a woman who suffers, is not at all diverting: come, go andhave a good time. "

"Where do you feel bad?"

"I don't feel bad, dear: I never was better. I don't feel anything. No, really, I am better. There, leave me to myself. "

This time, being the first, Adolphe goes away almost sad. 

A week passes, during which Caroline orders all the servants toconceal from her husband her deplorable situation: she languishes, sherings when she feels she is going off, she uses a great deal of ether. The domestics finally acquaint their master with madame's conjugalheroism, and Adolphe remains at home one evening after dinner, andsees his wife passionately kissing her little Marie. 

"Poor child! I regret the future only for your sake! What is life, Ishould like to know?"

"Come, my dear, " says Adolphe, "don't take on so. "

"I'm not taking on. Death doesn't frighten me--I saw a funeral thismorning, and I thought how happy the body was! How comes it that Ithink of nothing but death? Is it a disease? I have an idea that Ishall die by my own hand. "

The more Adolphe tries to divert Caroline, the more closely she wrapsherself up in the crape of her hopeless melancholy. This second time, Adolphe stays at home and is wearied to death. At the third attack offorced tears, he goes out without the slightest compunction. Hefinally gets accustomed to these everlasting murmurs, to these dyingpostures, these crocodile tears. So he says:

"If you are sick, Caroline, you'd better have a doctor. "

"Just as you like! It will end quicker, so. But bring a famous one, ifyou bring any. "

At the end of a month, Adolphe, worn out by hearing the funereal airthat Caroline plays him on every possible key, brings home a famousdoctor. At Paris, doctors are all men of discernment, and areadmirably versed in conjugal nosography. 

"Well, madame, " says the great physician, "how happens it that sopretty a woman allows herself to be sick?"

"Ah! sir, like the nose of old father Aubry, I aspire to the tomb--"

Caroline, out of consideration for Adolphe, makes a feeble effort tosmile. 

"Tut, tut! But your eyes are clear: they don't seem to need ourinfernal drugs. "

"Look again, doctor, I am eaten up with fever, a slow, imperceptiblefever--"

And she fastens her most roguish glance upon the illustrious doctor, who says to himself, "What eyes!"

"Now, let me see your tongue. "

Caroline puts out her taper tongue between two rows of teeth as whiteas those of a dog. 

"It is a little bit furred at the root: but you have breakfasted--"observes the great physician, turning toward Adolphe. 

"Oh, a mere nothing, " returns Caroline; "two cups of tea--"

Adolphe and the illustrious leech look at each other, for the doctorwonders whether it is the husband or the wife that is trifling withhim. 

"What do you feel?" gravely inquires the physician. 

"I don't sleep. "

"Good!"

"I have no appetite. "

"Well!"

"I have a pain, here. "

The doctor examines the part indicated. 

"Very good, we'll look at that by and by. "

"Now and then a shudder passes over me--"

"Very good!"

"I have melancholy fits, I am always thinking of death, I feelpromptings of suicide--"

"Dear me! Really!"

"I have rushes of heat to the face: look, there's a constant tremblingin my eyelid. "

"Capital! We call that a trismus. "

The doctor goes into an explanation, which lasts a quarter of an hour, of the trismus, employing the most scientific terms. From this itappears that the trismus is the trismus: but he observes with thegreatest modesty that if science knows that the trismus is thetrismus, it is entirely ignorant of the cause of this nervousaffection, which comes and goes, appears and disappears--"and, " headds, "we have decided that it is altogether nervous. "

"Is it very dangerous?" asks Caroline, anxiously. 

"Not at all. How do you lie at night?"

"Doubled up in a heap. "

"Good. On which side?"

"The left. "

"Very well. How many mattresses are there on your bed?"

"Three. "

"Good. Is there a spring bed?"

"Yes. "

"What is the spring bed stuffed with?"

"Horse hair. "

"Capital. Let me see you walk. No, no, naturally, and as if we weren'tlooking at you. "

Caroline walks like Fanny Elssler, communicating the most Andalusianlittle motions to her tournure. 

"Do you feel a sensation of heaviness in your knees?"

"Well, no--" she returns to her place. "Ah, no that I think of it, itseems to me that I do. "

"Good. Have you been in the house a good deal lately?"

"Oh, yes, sir, a great deal too much--and alone. "

"Good. I thought so. What do you wear on your head at night?"

"An embroidered night-cap, and sometimes a handkerchief over it. "

"Don't you feel a heat there, a slight perspiration?"

"How can I, when I'm asleep?"

"Don't you find your night-cap moist on your forehead, when you wakeup?"

"Sometimes. "

"Capital. Give me your hand. "

The doctor takes out his watch. 

"Did I tell you that I have a vertigo?" asks Caroline. 

"Hush!" says the doctor, counting the pulse. "In the evening?"

"No, in the morning. "

"Ah, bless me, a vertigo in the morning, " says the doctor, looking atAdolphe. 

"The Duke of G. Has not gone to London, " says the great physician, while examining Caroline's skin, "and there's a good deal to be saidabout it in the Faubourg St. Germain. "

"Have you patients there?" asks Caroline. 

"Nearly all my patients are there. Dear me, yes; I've got seven to seethis morning; some of them are in danger. "

"What do you think of me, sir?" says Caroline. 

"Madame, you need attention, a great deal of attention, you must takequieting liquors, plenty of syrup of gum, a mild diet, white meat, anda good deal of exercise. "

"There go twenty francs, " says Adolphe to himself with a smile. 

The great physician takes Adolphe by the arm, and draws him out withhim, as he takes his leave: Caroline follows them on tiptoe. 

"My dear sir, " says the great physician, "I have just prescribed veryinsufficiently for your wife. I did not wish to frighten her: thisaffair concerns you more nearly than you imagine. Don't neglect her;she has a powerful temperament, and enjoys violent health; all thisreacts upon her. Nature has its laws, which, when disregarded, compelobedience. She may get into a morbid state, which would cause youbitterly to repent having neglected her. If you love her, why, loveher: but if you don't love her, and nevertheless desire to preservethe mother of your children, the resolution to come to is a matter ofhygiene, but it can only proceed from you!"

"How well he understand me!" says Caroline to herself. She opens thedoor and says: "Doctor, you did not write down the doses!"

The great physician smiles, bows and slips the twenty franc piece intohis pocket; he then leaves Adolphe to his wife, who takes him andsays:

"What is the fact about my condition? Must I prepare for death?"

"Bah! He says you're too healthy!" cries Adolphe, impatiently. 

Caroline retires to her sofa to weep. 

"What is it, now?"

"So I am to live a long time--I am in the way--you don't love me anymore--I won't consult that doctor again--I don't know why MadameFoullepointe advised me to see him, he told me nothing but trash--Iknow better than he what I need!"

"What do you need?"

"Can you ask, ungrateful man?" and Caroline leans her head onAdolphe's shoulder. 

Adolphe, very much alarmed, says to himself: "The doctor's right, shemay get to be morbidly exacting, and then what will become of me? HereI am compelled to choose between Caroline's physical extravagance, orsome young cousin or other. "

Meanwhile Caroline sits down and sings one of Schubert's melodies withall the agitation of a hypochondriac. 

 PART SECOND

 PREFACE

 If, reader, you have grasped the intent of this book, --and infinite honor is done you by the supposition: the profoundest author does not always comprehend, I may say never comprehends, the different meanings of his book, nor its bearing, nor the good nor the harm it may do--if, then, you have bestowed some attention upon these little scenes of married life, you have perhaps noticed their color--

 "What color?" some grocer will doubtless ask; "books are bound in yellow, blue, green, pearl-gray, white--"

 Alas! books possess another color, they are dyed by the author, and certain writers borrow their dye. Some books let their color come off on to others. More than this. Books are dark or fair, light brown or red. They have a sex, too! I know of male books, and female books, of books which, sad to say, have no sex, which we hope is not the case with this one, supposing that you do this collection of nosographic sketches the honor of calling it a book. 

 Thus far, the troubles we have described have been exclusively inflicted by the wife upon the husband. You have therefore seen only the masculine side of the book. And if the author really has the sense of hearing for which we give him credit, he has already caught more than one indignant exclamation or remonstrance:

 "He tells us of nothing but vexations suffered by our husbands, as if we didn't have our petty troubles, too!"

 Oh, women! You have been heard, for if you do not always make yourselves understood, you are always sure to make yourselves heard. 

 It would therefore be signally unjust to lay upon you alone the reproaches that every being brought under the yoke (_conjugium_) has the right to heap upon that necessary, sacred, useful, eminently conservative institution, --one, however, that is often somewhat of an encumbrance, and tight about the joints, though sometimes it is also too loose there. 

 I will go further! Such partiality would be a piece of idiocy. 

 A man, --not a writer, for in a writer there are many men, --an author, rather, should resemble Janus, see behind and before, become a spy, examine an idea in all its phases, delve alternately into the soul of Alceste and into that of Philaenete, know everything though he does not tell it, never be tiresome, and--

 We will not conclude this programme, for we should tell the whole, and that would be frightful for those who reflect upon the present condition of literature. 

 Furthermore, an author who speaks for himself in the middle of his book, resembles the old fellow in "The Speaking Picture, " when he puts his face in the hole cut in the painting. The author does not forget that in the Chamber, no one can take the floor _between two votes_. Enough, therefore!

 Here follows the female portion of the book: for, to resemble marriage perfectly, it ought to be more or less hermaphroditic. 

 PETTY TROUBLES OF MARRIED LIFE

 HUSBANDS DURING THE SECOND MONTH. 

Two young married women, Caroline and Stephanie, who had been earlyfriends at M'lle Machefer's boarding school, one of the mostcelebrated educational institutions in the Faubourg St. Honore, met ata ball given by Madame de Fischtaminel, and the following conversationtook place in a window-seat in the boudoir. 

It was so hot that a man had acted upon the idea of going to breathethe fresh night air, some time before the two young women. He hadplaced himself in the angle of the balcony, and, as there were manyflowers before the window, the two friends thought themselves alone. This man was the author's best friend. 

One of the two ladies, standing at the corner of the embrasure, keptwatch by looking at the boudoir and the parlors. The other had soplaced herself as not to be in the draft, which was neverthelesstempered by the muslin and silk curtains. 

The boudoir was empty, the ball was just beginning, the gaming-tableswere open, offering their green cloths and their packs of cards stillcompressed in the frail case placed upon them by the customs office. The second quadrille was in progress. 

All who go to balls will remember that phase of large parties when theguests are not yet all arrived, but when the rooms are already filled--a moment which gives the mistress of the house a transitory pang ofterror. This moment is, other points of comparison apart, like thatwhich decides a victory or the loss of a battle. 

You will understand, therefore, how what was meant to be a secret nowobtains the honors of publicity. 

"Well, Caroline?"

"Well, Stephanie?"

"Well?"

"Well?"

A double sigh. 

"Have you forgotten our agreement?"

"No. "

"Why haven't you been to see me, then?"

"I am never left alone. Even here we shall hardly have time to talk. "

"Ah! if Adolphe were to get into such habits as that!" exclaimedCaroline. 

"You saw us, Armand and me, when he paid me what is called, I don'tknow why, his court. "

"Yes, I admired him, I thought you very happy, you had found yourideal, a fine, good-sized man, always well dressed, with yellowgloves, his beard well shaven, patent leather boots, a clean shirt, exquisitely neat, and so attentive--"

"Yes, yes, go on. "

"In short, quite an elegant man: his voice was femininely sweet, andthen such gentleness! And his promises of happiness and liberty! Hissentences were veneered with rosewood. He stocked his conversationwith shawls and laces. In his smallest expression you heard therumbling of a coach and four. Your wedding presents were magnificent. Armand seemed to me like a husband of velvet, of a robe of birds'feathers in which you were to be wrapped. "

"Caroline, my husband uses tobacco. "

"So does mine; that is, he smokes. "

"But mine, dear, uses it as they say Napoleon did: in short, he chews, and I hold tobacco in horror. The monster found it out, and wentwithout out it for seven months. "

"All men have their habits. They absolutely must use something. "

"You have no idea of the tortures I endure. At night I am awakenedwith a start by one of my own sneezes. As I go to sleep my motionsbring the grains of snuff scattered over the pillow under my nose, Iinhale, and explode like a mine. It seems that Armand, the wretch, isused to these _surprises_, and doesn't wake up. I find tobaccoeverywhere, and I certainly didn't marry the customs office. "

"But, my dear child, what does this trifling inconvenience amount to, if your husband is kind and possesses a good disposition?"

"He is as cold as marble, as particular as an old bachelor, ascommunicative as a sentinel; and he's one of those men who say yes toeverything, but who never do anything but what they want to. "

"Deny him, once. "

"I've tried it. "

"What came of it?"

"He threatened to reduce my allowance, and to keep back a sum bigenough for him to get along without me. "

"Poor Stephanie! He's not a man, he's a monster. "

"A calm and methodical monster, who wears a scratch, and who, everynight--"

"Well, every night--"

"Wait a minute!--who takes a tumbler every night, and puts seven falseteeth in it. "

"What a trap your marriage was! At any rate, Armand is rich. "

"Who knows?"

"Good heavens! Why, you seem to me on the point of becoming veryunhappy--or very happy. "

"Well, dear, how is it with you?"

"Oh, as for me, I have nothing as yet but a pin that pricks me: but itis intolerable. "

"Poor creature! You don't know your own happiness: come, what is it?"

Here the young woman whispered in the other's ear, so that it wasimpossible to catch a single word. The conversation recommenced, orrather finished by a sort of inference. 

"So, your Adolphe is jealous?"

"Jealous of whom? We never leave each other, and that, in itself, isan annoyance. I can't stand it. I don't dare to gape. I am expected tobe forever enacting the woman in love. It's fatiguing. "

"Caroline?"

"Well?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Resign myself. What are you?

"Fight the customs office. "

This little trouble tends to prove that in the matter of personaldeception, the two sexes can well cry quits. 

 DISAPPOINTED AMBITION. 

 I. CHODOREILLE THE GREAT. 

A young man has forsaken his natal city in the depths of one of thedepartments, rather clearly marked by M. Charles Dupin. He felt thatglory of some sort awaited him: suppose that of a painter, a novelist, a journalist, a poet, a great statesman. 

Young Adolphe de Chodoreille--that we may be perfectly understood--wished to be talked about, to become celebrated, to be somebody. This, therefore, is addressed to the mass of aspiring individualsbrought to Paris by all sorts of vehicles, whether moral or material, and who rush upon the city one fine morning with the hydrophobicpurpose of overturning everybody's reputation, and of buildingthemselves a pedestal with the ruins they are to make, --untildisenchantment follows. As our intention is to specify thispeculiarity so characteristic of our epoch, let us take from amongthe various personages the one whom the author has elsewhere called_A Distinguished Provencal_. 

Adolphe has discovered that the most admirable trade is that whichconsists in buying a bottle of ink, a bunch of quills, and a ream ofpaper, at a stationer's for twelve francs and a half, and in sellingthe two thousand sheets in the ream over again, for something likefifty thousand francs, after having, of course, written upon each leaffifty lines replete with style and imagination. 

This problem, --twelve francs and a half metamorphosed into fiftythousand francs, at the rate of five sous a line--urges numerousfamilies who might advantageously employ their members in theretirement of the provinces, to thrust them into the vortex of Paris. 

The young man who is the object of this exportation, invariably passesin his natal town for a man of as much imagination as the most famousauthor. He has always studied well, he writes very nice poetry, he isconsidered a fellow of parts: he is besides often guilty of a charmingtale published in the local paper, which obtains the admiration of thedepartment. 

His poor parents will never know what their son has come to Paris tolearn at great cost, namely: That it is difficult to be a writer andto understand the French language short of a dozen years of heculeanlabor: That a man must have explored every sphere of social life, tobecome a genuine novelist, inasmuch as the novel is the privatehistory of nations: That the great story-tellers, Aesop, Lucian, Boccaccio, Rabelais, Cervantes, Swift, La Fontaine, Lesage, Sterne, Voltaire, Walter Scott, the unknown Arabians of the _Thousand and OneNights_, were all men of genius as well as giants of erudition. 

Their Adolphe serves his literary apprenticeship in two or threecoffee-houses, becomes a member of the Society of Men of Letters, attacks, with or without reason, men of talent who don't read hisarticles, assumes a milder tone on seeing the powerlessness of hiscriticisms, offers novelettes to the papers which toss them from oneto the other as if they were shuttlecocks: and, after five or sixyears of exercises more or less fatiguing, of dreadful privationswhich seriously tax his parents, he attains a certain position. 

This position may be described as follows: Thanks to a sort ofreciprocal support extended to each other, and which an ingeniouswriter has called "Mutual Admiration, " Adolphe often sees his namecited among the names of celebrities, either in the prospectuses ofthe book-trade, or in the lists of newspapers about to appear. Publishers print the title of one of his works under the deceitfulheading "IN PRESS, " which might be called the typographical menagerieof bears. [*] Chodoreille is sometimes mentioned among the promisingyoung men of the literary world. 

[*] A bear (_ours_) is a play which has been refused by a multitude of theatres, but which is finally represented at a time when some manager or other feels the need of one. The word has necessarily passed from the language of the stage into the jargon of journalism, and is applied to novels which wander the streets in search of a publisher. 

For eleven years Adolphe Chodoreille remains in the ranks of thepromising young men: he finally obtains a free entrance to thetheatres, thanks to some dirty work or certain articles of dramaticcriticism: he tries to pass for a good fellow; and as he loses hisillusions respecting glory and the world of Paris, he gets into debtand his years begin to tell upon him. 

A paper which finds itself in a tight place asks him for one of hisbears revised by his friends. This has been retouched and revampedevery five years, so that it smells of the pomatum of each prevailingand then forgotten fashion. To Adolphe it becomes what the famous cap, which he was constantly staking, was to Corporal Trim, for during fiveyears "Anything for a Woman" (the title decided upon) "will be one ofthe most entertaining productions of our epoch. "

After eleven years, Chodoreille is regarded as having written somerespectable things, five or six tales published in the dismalmagazines, in ladies' newspapers, or in works intended for children oftender age. 

As he is a bachelor, and possesses a coat and a pair of blackcassimere trousers, and when he pleases may thus assume the appearanceof an elegant diplomat, and as he is not without a certain intelligentair, he is admitted to several more or less literary salons: he bowsto the five or six academicians who possess genius, influence ortalent, he visits two or three of our great poets, he allows himself, in coffee-rooms, to call the two or three justly celebrated women ofour epoch by their Christian names; he is on the best of terms withthe blue stockings of the second grade, --who ought to be called_socks_, --and he shakes hands and takes glasses of absinthe with thestars of the smaller newspapers. 

Such is the history of every species of ordinary men--men who havebeen denied what they call good luck. This good luck is nothing lessthan unyielding will, incessant labor, contempt for an easily woncelebrity, immense learning, and that patience which, according toBuffon, is the whole of genius, but which certainly is the half of it. 

You do not yet see any indication of a petty trouble for Caroline. Youimagine that this history of five hundred young men engaged at thismoment in wearing smooth the paving stones of Paris, was written as asort of warning to the families of the eighty-six departments ofFrance: but read these two letters which lately passed between twogirls differently married, and you will see that it was as necessaryas the narrative by which every true melodrama was until latelyexpected to open. You will divine the skillful manoeuvres of theParisian peacock spreading his tail in the recesses of his nativevillage, and polishing up, for matrimonial purposes, the rays of hisglory, which, like those of the sun, are only warm and brilliant at adistance. 

From Madame Claire de la Roulandiere, nee Jugault, to Madame Adolphede Chodoreille, nee Heurtaut. 

"VIVIERS. 

"You have not yet written to me, and it's real unkind in you. Don'tyou remember that the happier was to write first and to console herwho remained in the country?

"Since your departure for Paris, I have married Monsieur de laRoulandiere, the president of the tribunal. You know him, and you canjudge whether I am happy or not, with my heart _saturated_, as it is, with our ideas. I was not ignorant what my lot would be: I live withthe ex-president, my husband's uncle, and with my mother-in-law, whohas preserved nothing of the ancient parliamentary society of Aix butits pride and its severity of manners. I am seldom alone, I never goout unless accompanied by my mother-in-law or my husband. We receivethe heavy people of the city in the evening. They play whist at twosous a point, and I listen to conversations of this nature:

"'Monsieur Vitremont is dead, and leaves two hundred and eightythousand francs, ' says the associate judge, a young man offorty-seven, who is as entertaining as a northwest wind. 

"'Are you quite sure of that?'

"The _that_ refers to the two hundred and eighty thousand francs. Alittle judge then holds forth, he runs over the investments, theothers discuss their value, and it is definitely settled that if hehas not left two hundred and eighty thousand, he left something nearit. 

"Then comes a universal concert of eulogy heaped upon the dead man'sbody, for having kept his bread under lock and key, for havingshrewdly invested his little savings accumulated sou by sou, in order, probably, that the whole city and those who expect legacies mayapplaud and exclaim in admiration, 'He leaves two hundred and eightythousand francs!' Now everybody has rich relations of whom they say'Will he leave anything like it?' and thus they discuss the quick asthey have discussed the dead. 

"They talk of nothing but the prospects of fortune, the prospects of avacancy in office, the prospects of the harvest. 

"When we were children, and used to look at those pretty little whitemice, in the cobbler's window in the rue St. Maclou, that turned andturned the circular cage in which they were imprisoned, how far I wasfrom thinking that they would one day be a faithful image of my life!

"Think of it, my being in this condition!--I who fluttered my wings somuch more than you, I whose imagination was so vagabond! My sins havebeen greater than yours, and I am the more severely punished. I havebidden farewell to my dreams: I am _Madame la Presidente_ in all myglory, and I resign myself to giving my arm for forty years to my bigawkward Roulandiere, to living meanly in every way, and to havingforever before me two heavy brows and two wall-eyes pierced in ayellow face, which is destined never to know what it is to smile. 

"But you, Caroline dear, you who, between ourselves, were admittedamong the big girls while I still gamboled among the little ones, youwhose only sin was pride, you, --at the age of twenty-seven, and with adowry of two hundred thousand francs, --capture and captivate a trulygreat man, one of the wittiest men in Paris, one of the two talentedmen that our village has produced. --What luck!

"You now circulate in the most brilliant society of Paris. Thanks tothe sublime privileges of genius. You may appear in all the salons ofthe Faubourg St. Germain, and be cordially received. You have theexquisite enjoyment of the company of the two or three celebratedwomen of our age, where so many good things are said, where the happyspeeches which arrive out here like Congreve rockets, are first firedoff. You go to the Baron Schinner's of whom Adolphe so often spoke tous, whom all the great artists and foreigners of celebrity visit. Inshort, before long, you will be one of the queens of Paris, if youwish. You can receive, too, and have at your house the lions ofliterature, fashion and finance, whether male or female, for Adolphespoke in such terms about his illustrious friendships and his intimacywith the favorites of the hour, that I imagine you giving andreceiving honors. 

"With your ten thousand francs a year, and the legacy from your AuntCarabas, added to the twenty thousand francs that your husband earns, you must keep a carriage; and since you go to all the theatres withoutpaying, since journalists are the heroes of all the inaugurations soruinous for those who keep up with the movement of Paris, and sincethey are constantly invited to dinner, you live as if you had anincome of sixty thousand francs a year! Happy Caroline! I don't wonderyou forget me!

"I can understand how it is that you have not a moment to yourself. Your bliss is the cause of your silence, so I pardon you. Still, if, fatigued with so many pleasures, you one day, upon the summit of yourgrandeur, think of your poor Claire, write to me, tell me what amarriage with a great man is, describe those great Parisian ladies, especially those who write. Oh! I should _so_ much like to know whatthey are made of! Finally don't forget anything, unless you forgetthat you are loved, as ever, by your poor

"CLAIRE JUGAULT. "

From Madame Adolphe de Chodoreille to Madame la Presidente de laRoulandiere, at Viviers. 

"PARIS. 

"Ah! my poor Claire, could you have known how many wretched littlegriefs your innocent letter would awaken, you never would have writtenit. Certainly no friend, and not even an enemy, on seeing a woman witha thousand mosquito-bites and a plaster over them, would amuse herselfby tearing it off and counting the stings. 

"I will begin by telling you that for a woman of twenty-seven, with aface still passable, but with a form a little too much like that ofthe Emperor Nicholas for the humble part I play, I am happy! Let metell you why: Adolphe, rejoicing in the deceptions which have fallenupon me like a hail-storm, smoothes over the wounds in my self-love byso much affection, so many attentions, and such charming things, that, in good truth, women--so far as they are simply women--would be gladto find in the man they marry defects so advantageous. But all men ofletters (Adolphe, alas! is barely a man of letters), who are beingsnot a bit less irritable, nervous, fickle and eccentric than women, are far from possessing such solid qualities as those of Adolphe, andI hope they have not all been as unfortunate as he. 

"Ah! Claire, we love each other well enough for me to tell you thesimple truth. I have saved my husband, dear, from profound butskillfully concealed poverty. Far from receiving twenty thousandfrancs a year, he has not earned that sum in the entire fifteen yearsthat he has been at Paris. We occupy a third story in the rue Joubert, and pay twelve hundred francs for it; we have some eighty-five hundredfrancs left, with which I endeavor to keep house honorably. 

"I have brought Adolphe luck; for since our marriage, he has obtainedthe control of a feuilleton which is worth four hundred francs a monthto him, though it takes but a small portion of his time. He owes thissituation to an investment. We employed the seventy thousand francsleft me by my Aunt Carabas in giving security for a newspaper; on thiswe get nine per cent, and we have stock besides. Since thistransaction, which was concluded some ten months ago, our income hasdoubled, and we now possess a competence, I can complain of mymarriage in a pecuniary point of view no more than as regards myaffections. My vanity alone has suffered, and my ambition has beenswamped. You will understand the various petty troubles which haveassailed me, by a single specimen. 

"Adolphe, you remember, appeared to us on intimate terms with thefamous Baroness Schinner, so renowned for her wit, her influence, herwealth and her connection with celebrated men. I supposed that he waswelcomed at her house as a friend: my husband presented me, and I wascoldly received. I saw that her rooms were furnished with extravagantluxury; and instead of Madame Schinner's returning my call, I receiveda card, twenty days afterward, and at an insolently improper hour. 

"On arriving at Paris, I went to walk upon the boulevard, proud of myanonymous great man. He nudged me with his elbow, and said, pointingout a fat little ill-dressed man, 'There's so and so!' He mentionedone of the seven or eight illustrious men in France. I got ready mylook of admiration, and I saw Adolphe rapturously doffing his hat tothe truly great man, who replied by the curt little nod that youvouchsafe a person with whom you have doubtless exchanged hardly fourwords in ten years. Adolphe had begged a look for my sake. 'Doesn't heknow you?' I said to my husband. 'Oh, yes, but he probably took me forsomebody else, ' replied he. 

"And so of poets, so of celebrated musicians, so of statesmen. But, asa compensation, we stop and talk for ten minutes in front of somearcade or other, with Messieurs Armand du Cantal, George Beaunoir, Felix Verdoret, of whom you have never heard. Mesdames ConstantineRamachard, Anais Crottat, and Lucienne Vouillon threaten me with their_blue_ friendship. We dine editors totally unknown in our province. Finally I have had the painful happiness of seeing Adolphe decline aninvitation to an evening party to which I was not bidden. 

"Oh! Claire dear, talent is still the rare flower of spontaneousgrowth, that no greenhouse culture can produce. I do not deceivemyself: Adolphe is an ordinary man, known, estimated as such: he hasno other chance, as he himself says, than to take his place among the_utilities_ of literature. He was not without wit at Viviers: but tobe a man of wit at Paris, you must possess every kind of wit informidable doses. 

"I esteem Adolphe: for, after some few fibs, he frankly confessed hisposition, and, without humiliating himself too deeply, he promisedthat I should be happy. He hopes, like numerous other ordinary men, toobtain some place, that of an assistant librarian, for instance, orthe pecuniary management of a newspaper. Who knows but we may get himelected deputy for Viviers, in the course of time?

"We live in obscurity; we have five or six friends of either sex whomwe like, and such is the brilliant style of life which your lettergilded with all the social splendors. 

"From time to time I am caught in a squall, or am the butt of somemalicious tongue. Thus, yesterday, at the opera, I heard one of ourmost ill-natured wits, Leon de Lora, say to one of our most famouscritics, 'It takes Chodoreille to discover the Caroline poplar on thebanks of the Rhone!' They had heard my husband call me by my Christianname. At Viviers I was considered handsome. I am tall, well made, andfat enough to satisfy Adolphe! In this way I learn that the beauty ofwomen from the country is, at Paris, precisely like the wit of countrygentleman. 

"In short, I am absolutely nobody, if that is what you wish to know:but if you desire to learn how far my philosophy goes, understand thatI am really happy in having found an ordinary man in my pretendedgreat one. 

"Farewell, dear Claire! It is still I, you see, who, in spite of mydelusions and the petty troubles of my life, am the most favorablysituated: for Adolphe is young, and a charming fellow. 

"CAROLINE HEURTAUT. "

Claire's reply contained, among other passages, the following: "I hopethat the indescribable happiness which you enjoy, will continue, thanks to your philosophy. " Claire, as any intimate female friendwould have done, consoled herself for her president by insinuationsrespecting Adolphe's prospects and future conduct. 

 II. ANOTHER GLANCE AT CHODOREILLE. 

(Letter discovered one day in a casket, while she was making me wait along time and trying to get rid of a hanger-on who could not be madeto understand hidden meanings. I caught cold--but I got hold of thisletter. )

This fatuous note was found on a paper which the notary's clerks hadthought of no importance in the inventory of the estate of M. Ferdinand de Bourgarel, who was mourned of late by politics, arts andamours, and in whom is ended the great Provencal house of Borgarelli;for as is generally known the name Bourgarel is a corruption ofBorgarelli just as the French Girardin is the Florentine Gherardini. 

An intelligent reader will find little difficulty in placing thisletter in its proper epoch in the lives of Adolphe and Caroline. 

"My dear Friend:

"I thought myself lucky indeed to marry an artist as superior in histalent as in his personal attributes, equally great in soul and mind, worldly-wise, and likely to rise by following the public road withoutbeing obliged to wander along crooked, doubtful by-paths. However, youknew Adolphe; you appreciated his worth. I am loved, he is a father, Iidolize our children. Adolphe is kindness itself to me; I admire andlove him. But, my dear, in this complete happiness lurks a thorn. Theroses upon which I recline have more than one fold. In the heart of awoman, folds speedily turn to wounds. These wounds soon bleed, theevil spreads, we suffer, the suffering awakens thoughts, the thoughtsswell and change the course of sentiment. 

"Ah, my dear, you shall know all about it, though it is a cruel thingto say--but we live as much by vanity as by love. To live by lovealone, one must dwell somewhere else than in Paris. What differencewould it make to us whether we had only one white percale gown, if theman we love did not see other women dressed differently, moreelegantly than we--women who inspire ideas by their ways, by amultitude of little things which really go to make up great passions?Vanity, my dear, is cousin-german to jealousy, to that beautiful andnoble jealousy which consists in not allowing one's empire to beinvaded, in reigning undisturbed in a soul, and passing one's lifehappily in a heart. 

"Ah, well, my woman's vanity is on the rack. Though some troubles mayseem petty indeed, I have learned, unfortunately, that in the homethere are no petty troubles. For everything there is magnified byincessant contact with sensations, with desires, with ideas. Such thenis the secret of that sadness which you have surprised in me and whichI did not care to explain. It is one of those things in which words gotoo far, and where writing holds at least the thought within bounds byestablishing it. The effects of a moral perspective differ soradically between what is said and what is written! All is so solemn, so serious on paper! One cannot commit any more imprudences. Is it notthis fact which makes a treasure out of a letter where one gives one'sself over to one's thoughts?

"You doubtless thought me wretched, but I am only wounded. Youdiscovered me sitting alone by the fire, and no Adolphe. I had justfinished putting the children to bed; they were asleep. Adolphe forthe tenth time had been invited out to a house where I do not go, where they want Adolphe without his wife. There are drawing-roomswhere he goes without me, just at there are many pleasures in which healone is the guest. If he were M. De Navarreins and I a d'Espard, society would never think of separating us; it would want us alwaystogether. His habits are formed; he does not suspect the humiliationwhich weighs upon my heart. Indeed, if he had the slightest inkling ofthis small sorrow which I am ashamed to own, he would drop society, hewould become more of a prig than the people who come between us. Buthe would hamper his progress, he would make enemies, he would raise upobstacles by imposing me upon the salons where I would be subject to athousand slights. That is why I prefer my sufferings to what wouldhappen were they discovered. 

"Adolphe will succeed! He carries my revenge in his beautiful head, does this man of genius. One day the world shall pay for all theseslights. But when? Perhaps I shall be forty-five. My beautiful youthwill have passed in my chimney-corner, and with this thought: Adolphesmiles, he is enjoying the society of fair women, he is playing thedevoted to them, while none of these attentions come my way. 

"It may be that these will finally take him from me!

"No one undergoes slight without feeling it, and I feel that I amslighted, though young, beautiful and virtuous. Now, can I keep fromthinking this way? Can I control my anger at the thought that Adolpheis dining in the city without me? I take no part in his triumphs; I donot hear the witty or profound remarks made to others! I could nolonger be content with bourgeois receptions whence he rescued me, uponfinding me _distinguee_, wealthy, young, beautiful and witty. Therelies the evil, and it is irremediable. 

"In a word, for some cause, it is only since I cannot go to a certainsalon that I want to go there. Nothing is more natural of the ways ofa human heart. The ancients were wise in having their _gyneceums_. Thecollisions between the pride of the women, caused by these gatherings, though it dates back only four centuries, has cost our own day muchdisaffection and numerous bitter debates. 

"Be that as it may, my dear, Adolphe is always warmly welcomed when hecomes back home. Still, no nature is strong enough to await alwayswith the same ardor. What a morrow that will be, following the eveningwhen his welcome is less warm!

"Now do you see the depth of the fold which I mentioned? A fold in theheart is an abyss, like a crevasse in the Alps--a profundity whosedepth and extent we have never been able to calculate. Thus it isbetween two beings, no matter how near they may be drawn to eachother. One never realizes the weight of suffering which oppresses hisfriend. This seems such a little thing, yet one's life is affected byit in all its length, in all its breadth. I have thus argued withmyself; but the more I have argued, the more thoroughly have Irealized the extent of this hidden sorrow. And I can only let thecurrent carry me whither it will. 

"Two voices struggle for supremacy when--by a rarely fortunate chance--I am alone in my armchair waiting for Adolphe. One, I would wager, comes from Eugene Delacroix's _Faust_ which I have on my table. Mephistopheles speaks, that terrible aide who guides the swords sodexterously. He leaves the engraving, and places himself diabolicallybefore me, grinning through the hole which the great artist has placedunder his nose, and gazing at me with that eye whence fall rubies, diamonds, carriages, jewels, laces, silks, and a thousand luxuries tofeed the burning desire within me. 

"'Are you not fit for society?' he asks. 'You are the equal of thefairest duchesses. Your voice is like a siren's, your hands commandrespect and love. Ah! that arm!--place bracelets upon it, and howpleasingly it would rest upon the velvet of a robe! Your locks arechains which would fetter all men. And you could lay all your triumphsat Adolphe's feet, show him your power and never use it. Then he wouldfear, where now he lives in insolent certainty. Come! To action!Inhale a few mouthfuls of disdain and you will exhale clouds ofincense. Dare to reign! Are you not next to nothing here in yourchimney-corner? Sooner or later the pretty spouse, the beloved wifewill die, if you continue like this, in a dressing-gown. Come, and youshall perpetuate your sway through the arts of coquetry! Show yourselfin salons, and your pretty foot shall trample down the love of yourrivals. '

"The other voice comes from my white marble mantel, which rustles likea garment. I think I see a veritable goddess crowned with white roses, and bearing a palm-branch in her hand. Two blue eyes smile down on me. This simple image of virtue says to me:

"'Be content! Remain good always, and make this man happy. That is thewhole of your mission. The sweetness of angels triumphs over all pain. Faith in themselves has enabled the martyrs to obtain solace even onthe brasiers of their tormentors. Suffer a moment; you shall be happyin the end. '

"Sometimes Adolphe enters at that moment and I am content. But, mydear, I have less patience than love. I almost wish to tear in piecesthe woman who can go everywhere, and whose society is sought out bymen and women alike. What profound thought lies in the line ofMoliere:

 "'The world, dear Agnes, is a curious thing!'

"You know nothing of this petty trouble, you fortunate Mathilde! Youare well born. You can do a great deal for me. Just think! I can writeyou things that I dared not speak about. Your visits mean so much;come often to see your poor

 "Caroline. "

"Well, " said I to the notary's clerk, "do you know what was the natureof this letter to the late Bourgarel?"

"No. "

"A note of exchange. "

Neither clerk nor notary understood my meaning. Do you?

 THE PANGS OF INNOCENCE. 

"Yes, dear, in the married state, many things will happen to you whichyou are far from expecting: but then others will happen which youexpect still less. For instance--"

The author (may we say the ingenious author?) _qui castigat ridendomores_, and who has undertaken the _Petty Troubles of Married Life_, hardly needs to remark, that, for prudence' sake, he here allows alady of high distinction to speak, and that he does not assume theresponsibility of her language, though he professes the most sincereadmiration for the charming person to whom he owes his acquaintancewith this petty trouble. 

"For instance--" she says. 

He nevertheless thinks proper to avow that this person is neitherMadame Foullepointe, nor Madame de Fischtaminel, nor Madame Deschars. 

Madame Deschars is too prudish, Madame Foullepointe too absolute inher household, and she knows it; indeed, what doesn't she know? She isgood-natured, she sees good society, she wishes to have the best:people overlook the vivacity of her witticisms, as, under louis XIV, they overlooked the remarks of Madame Cornuel. They overlook a goodmany things in her; there are some women who are the spoiled childrenof public opinion. 

As to Madame de Fischtaminel, who is, in fact, connected with theaffair, as you shall see, she, being unable to recriminate, abstainsfrom words and recriminates in acts. 

We give permission to all to think that the speaker is Carolineherself, not the silly little Caroline of tender years. But Carolinewhen she has become a woman of thirty. 

"For instance, " she remarks to a young woman whom she is edifying, "you will have children, God willing. "

"Madame, " I say, "don't let us mix the deity up in this, unless it isan allusion--"

"You are impertinent, " she replies, "you shouldn't interrupt awoman--"

"When she is busy with children, I know: but, madame, you ought not totrifle with the innocence of young ladies. Mademoiselle is going to bemarried, and if she were led to count upon the intervention of theSupreme Being in this affair, she would fall into serious errors. Weshould not deceive the young. Mademoiselle is beyond the age whengirls are informed that their little brother was found under acabbage. "

"You evidently want to get me confused, " she replies, smiling andshowing the loveliest teeth in the world. "I am not strong enough toargue with you, so I beg you to let me go on with Josephine. What wasI saying?"

"That if I get married, I shall have children, " returns the younglady. 

"Very well. I will not represent things to you worse than they are, but it is extremely probable that each child will cost you a tooth. With every baby I have lost a tooth. "

"Happily, " I remark at this, "this trouble was with you less thanpetty, it was positively nothing. "--They were side teeth. --"But takenotice, miss, that this vexation has no absolute, unvarying characteras such. The annoyance depends upon the condition of the tooth. If thebaby causes the loss of a decayed tooth, you are fortunate to have ababy the more and a bad tooth the less. Don't let us confoundblessings with bothers. Ah! if you were to lose one of yourmagnificent front teeth, that would be another thing! And yet there ismany a woman that would give the best tooth in her head for a fine, healthy boy!"

"Well, " resumes Caroline, with animation, "at the risk of destroyingyour illusions, poor child, I'll just show you a petty trouble thatcounts! Ah, it's atrocious! And I won't leave the subject of dresswhich this gentleman considers the only subject we women are equalto. "

I protest by a gesture. 

"I had been married about two years, " continues Caroline, "and I lovedmy husband. I have got over it since and acted differently for hishappiness and mine. I can boast of having one of the happiest homes inParis. In short, my dear, I loved the monster, and, even when out insociety, saw no one but him. My husband had already said to me severaltimes, 'My dear, young women never dress well; your mother liked tohave you look like a stick, --she had her reasons for it. If you carefor my advice, take Madame de Fischtaminel for a model: she is a ladyof taste. ' I, unsuspecting creature that I was, saw no perfidy in therecommendation. 

"One evening as we returned from a party, he said, 'Did you notice howMadame de Fischtaminel was dressed!' 'Yes, very neatly. ' And I said tomyself, 'He's always talking about Madame de Fischtaminel; I mustreally dress just like her. ' I had noticed the stuff and the make ofthe dress, and the style of the trimmings. I was as happy as could be, as I went trotting about town, doing everything I could to obtain thesame articles. I sent for the very same dressmaker. 

"'You work for Madame de Fischtaminel, ' I said. 

"'Yes, madame. '

"'Well, I will employ you as my dressmaker, but on one condition: yousee I have procured the stuff of which her gown is made, and I wantyou to make me one exactly like it. '

"I confess that I did not at first pay any attention to a rathershrewd smile of the dressmaker, though I saw it and afterwardsaccounted for it. 'So like it, ' I added, 'that you can't tell themapart. '

"Oh, " says Caroline, interrupting herself and looking at me, "you menteach us to live like spiders in the depths of their webs, to seeeverything without seeming to look at it, to investigate the meaningand spirit of words, movements, looks. You say, 'How cunning womenare!' But you should say, 'How deceitful men are!'

"I can't tell you how much care, how many days, how many manoeuvres, it cost me to become Madame de Fischtaminel's duplicate! But these areour battles, child, " she adds, returning to Josephine. "I could notfind a certain little embroidered neckerchief, a very marvel! Ifinally learned that it was made to order. I unearthed theembroideress, and ordered a kerchief like Madame de Fischtaminel's. The price was a mere trifle, one hundred and fifty francs! It had beenordered by a gentleman who had made a present of it to Madame deFischtaminel. All my savings were absorbed by it. Now we women ofParis are all of us very much restricted in the article of dress. There is not a man worth a hundred thousand francs a year, that losesten thousand a winter at whist, who does not consider his wifeextravagant, and is not alarmed at her bills for what he calls 'rags'!'Let my savings go, ' I said. And they went. I had the modest pride ofa woman in love: I would not speak a word to Adolphe of my dress; Iwanted it to be a surprise, goose that I was! Oh, how brutally you mentake away our blessed ignorance!"

This remark is meant for me, for me who had taken nothing from thelady, neither tooth, nor anything whatever of the things with a nameand without a name that may be taken from a woman. 

"I must tell you that my husband took me to Madame de Fischtaminel's, where I dined quite often. I heard her say to him, 'Why, your wifelooks very well!' She had a patronizing way with me that I put upwith: Adolphe wished that I could have her wit and preponderance insociety. In short, this phoenix of women was my model. I studied andcopied her, I took immense pains not to be myself--oh!--it was a poemthat no one but us women can understand! Finally, the day of mytriumph dawned. My heart beat for joy, as if I were a child, as if Iwere what we all are at twenty-two. My husband was going to call forme for a walk in the Tuileries: he came in, I looked at him radiantwith joy, but he took no notice. Well, I can confess it now, it wasone of those frightful disasters--but I will say nothing about it--this gentleman here would make fun of me. "

I protest by another movement. 

"It was, " she goes on, for a woman never stops till she has told thewhole of a thing, "as if I had seen an edifice built by a fairycrumble into ruins. Adolphe manifested not the slightest surprise. Wegot into the carriage. Adolphe noticed my sadness, and asked me whatthe matter was: I replied as we always do when our hearts are wrung bythese petty vexations, 'Oh, nothing!' Then he took his eye-glass, andstared at the promenaders on the Champs Elysees, for we were to go therounds of the Champs Elysees, before taking our walk at the Tuileries. Finally, a fit of impatience seized me. I felt a slight attack offever, and when I got home, I composed myself to smile. 'You haven'tsaid a word about my dress!' I muttered. 'Ah, yes, your gown issomewhat like Madame de Fischtaminel's. ' He turned on his heel andwent away. 

"The next day I pouted a little, as you may readily imagine. Just aswe were finishing breakfast by the fire in my room--I shall neverforget it--the embroideress called to get her money for theneckerchief. I paid her. She bowed to my husband as if she knew him. Iran after her on pretext of getting her to receipt the bill, and said:'You didn't ask _him_ so much for Madame de Fischtaminel's kerchief!''I assure you, madame, it's the same price, the gentleman did not beatme down a mite. ' I returned to my room where I found my husbandlooking as foolish as--"

She hesitates and then resumes: "As a miller just made a bishop. 'Iunderstand, love, now, that I shall never be anything more than_somewhat like_ Madame de Fischtaminel. ' 'You refer to herneckerchief, I suppose: well, I _did_ give it to her, --it was for herbirthday. You see, we were formerly--' 'Ah, you were formerly moreintimate than you are now!' Without replying to this, he added, '_Butit's altogether moral. _'

"He took his hat and went out, leaving me with this fine declarationof the Rights of Man. He did not return and came home late at night. Iremained in my chamber and wept like a Magdalen, in thechimney-corner. You may laugh at me, if you will, " she adds, lookingat me, "but I shed tears over my youthful illusions, and I wept, too, for spite, at having been taken for a dupe. I remembered thedressmaker's smile! Ah, that smile reminded me of the smiles of anumber of women, who laughed at seeing me so innocent and unsuspectingat Madame de Fischtaminel's! I wept sincerely. Until now I had a rightto give my husband credit for many things which he did not possess, butin the existence of which young married women pertinaciously believe. 

"How many great troubles are included in this petty one! You men are avulgar set. There is not a woman who does not carry her delicacy sofar as to embroider her past life with the most delightful fibs, whileyou--but I have had my revenge. "

"Madame, " I say, "you are giving this young lady too muchinformation. "

"True, " she returns, "I will tell you the sequel some other time. "

"Thus, you see, mademoiselle, " I say, "you imagine you are buying aneckerchief and you find a _petty trouble_ round your neck: if you getit given to you--"

"It's a _great_ trouble, " retorts the woman of distinction. "Let usstop here. "

The moral of this fable is that you must wear your neckerchief withoutthinking too much about it. The ancient prophets called this world, even in their time, a valley of woe. Now, at that period, theOrientals had, with the permission of the constituted authorities, aswarm of comely slaves, besides their wives! What shall we call thevalley of the Seine between Calvary and Charenton, where the lawallows but one lawful wife. 

 THE UNIVERSAL AMADIS. 

You will understand at once that I began to gnaw the head of my cane, to consult the ceiling, to gaze at the fire, to examine Caroline'sfoot, and I thus held out till the marriageable young lady was gone. 

"You must excuse me, " I said, "if I have remained behind, perhaps inspite of you: but your vengeance would lose by being recounted by andby, and if it constituted a petty trouble for your husband, I have thegreatest interest in hearing it, and you shall know why. "

"Ah, " she returned, "that expression, '_it's altogether moral, _' whichhe gave as an excuse, shocked me to the last degree. It was a greatconsolation, truly, to me, to know that I held the place, in hishousehold, of a piece of furniture, a block; that my kingdom lay amongthe kitchen utensils, the accessories of my toilet, and thephysicians' prescriptions; that our conjugal love had been assimilatedto dinner pills, to veal soup and white mustard; that Madame deFischtaminel possessed my husband's soul, his admiration, and that shecharmed and satisfied his intellect, while I was a kind of purelyphysical necessity! What do you think of a woman's being degraded tothe situation of a soup or a plate of boiled beef, and withoutparsley, at that! Oh, I composed a catilinic, that evening--"

"Philippic is better. "

"Well, either. I'll say anything you like, for I was perfectlyfurious, and I don't remember what I screamed in the desert of mybedroom. Do you suppose that this opinion that husbands have of theirwives, the parts they give them, is not a singular vexation for us?Our petty troubles are always pregnant with greater ones. My Adolpheneeded a lesson. You know the Vicomte de Lustrac, a desperate amateurof women and music, an epicure, one of those ex-beaux of the Empire, who live upon their earlier successes, and who cultivate themselveswith excessive care, in order to secure a second crop?"

"Yes, " I said, "one of those laced, braced, corseted old fellows ofsixty, who work such wonders by the grace of their forms, and whomight give a lesson to the youngest dandies among us. "

"Monsieur de Lustrac is as selfish as a king, but gallant andpretentious, spite of his jet black wig. "

"As to his whiskers, he dyes them. "

"He goes to ten parties in an evening: he's a butterfly. "

"He gives capital dinners and concerts, and patronizes inexperiencedsongstresses. "

"He takes bustle for pleasure. "

"Yes, but he makes off with incredible celerity whenever a misfortuneoccurs. Are you in mourning, he avoids you. Are you confined, heawaits your churching before he visits you. He possesses a mundanefrankness and a social intrepidity which challenge admiration. "

"But does it not require courage to appear to be what one really is?"I asked. 

"Well, " she resumed, after we had exchanged our observations on thispoint, "this young old man, this universal Amadis, whom we call amongourselves Chevalier _Petit-Bon-Homme-vil-encore_, became the object ofmy admiration. I made him a few of those advances which nevercompromise a woman; I spoke of the good taste exhibited in his latestwaistcoats and in his canes, and he thought me a lady of extremeamiability. I thought him a chevalier of extreme youth; he called uponme; I put on a number of little airs, and pretended to be unhappy athome, and to have deep sorrows. You know what a woman means when shetalks of her sorrows, and complains that she is not understood. Theold ape replied much better than a young man would, and I had thegreatest difficulty in keeping a straight face while I listened tohim. 

"'Ah, that's the way with husbands, they pursue the very worst polity, they respect their wives, and, sooner or later, every woman is enragedat finding herself respected, and divines the secret education towhich she is entitled. Once married, you ought not to live like alittle school-girl, etc. '

"As he spoke, he leaned over me, he squirmed, he was horrible to see. He looked like a wooden Nuremberg doll, he stuck out his chin, hestuck out his chair, he stuck out his hand--in short, after a varietyof marches and countermarches, of declarations that were perfectlyangelic--"

"No!"

"Yes. _Petit-Bon-Homme-vil-encore_ had abandoned the classicism of hisyouth for the romanticism now in fashion: he spoke of the soul, ofangels, of adoration, of submission, he became ethereal, and of thedarkest blue. He took me to the opera, and handed me to my carriage. This old young man went when I went, his waistcoats multiplied, hecompressed his waist, he excited his horse to a gallop in order tocatch and accompany my carriage to the promenade: he compromised mewith the grace of a young collegian, and was considered madly in lovewith me. I was steadfastly cruel, but accepted his arm and hisbouquets. We were talked about. I was delighted, and managed beforelong to be surprised by my husband, with the viscount on the sofa inmy boudoir, holding my hands in his, while I listened in a sort ofexternal ecstasy. It is incredible how much a desire for vengeancewill induce us to put up with! I appeared vexed at the entrance of myhusband, who made a scene on the viscount's departure: 'I assure you, sir, ' said I, after having listened to his reproaches, 'that _it'saltogether moral_. ' My husband saw the point and went no more toMadame de Fischtaminel's. I received Monsieur de Lustrac no more, either. "

"But, " I interrupted, "this Lustrac that you, like many others, takefor a bachelor, is a widower, and childless. "

"Really!"

"No man ever buried his wife deeper than he buried his: she willhardly be found at the day of judgment. He married before theRevolution, and your _altogether moral_ reminds me of a speech of histhat I shall have to repeat for your benefit. Napoleon appointedLustrac to an important office, in a conquered province. Madame deLustrac, abandoned for governmental duties, took a private secretaryfor her private affairs, though it was altogether moral: but she waswrong in selecting him without informing her husband. Lustrac met thissecretary in a state of some excitement, in consequence of a livelydiscussion in his wife's chamber, and at an exceedingly early hour inthe morning. The city desired nothing better than to laugh at itsgovernor, and this adventure made such a sensation that Lustrachimself begged the Emperor to recall him. Napoleon desired hisrepresentatives to be men of morality, and he held that such disastersas this must inevitably take from a man's consideration. You know thatamong the Emperor's unhappy passions, was that of reforming his courtand his government. Lustrac's request was granted, therefore, butwithout compensation. When he returned to Paris, he reappeared at hismansion, with his wife; he took her into society--a step which iscertainly conformable to the most refined habits of the aristocracy--but then there are always people who want to find out about it. They inquired the reason of this chivalrous championship. 'So you arereconciled, you and Madame de Lustrac, ' some one said to him in thelobby of the Emperor's theatre, 'you have pardoned her, have you? Somuch the better. ' 'Oh, ' replied he, with a satisfied air, 'I becameconvinced--' 'Ah, that she was innocent, very good. ' 'No, I becameconvinced that it was altogether physical. '"

Caroline smiled. 

"The opinion of your admirer reduced this weighty trouble to what is, in this case as in yours, a very petty one. "

"A petty trouble!" she exclaimed, "and pray for what do you take thefatigue of coquetting with a de Lustrac, of whom I have made an enemy!Ah, women often pay dearly enough for the bouquets they receive andthe attentions they accept. Monsieur de Lustrac said of me to Monsieurde Bourgarel, 'I would not advise you to pay court to that woman; sheis too dear. '"

 WITHOUT AN OCCUPATION. 

"PARIS, 183-

"You ask me, dear mother, whether I am happy with my husband. Certainly Monsieur de Fischtaminel was not the ideal of my dreams. Isubmitted to your will, as you know. His fortune, that supremeconsideration, spoke, indeed, sufficiently loud. With these arguments, --a marriage, without stooping, with the Count de Fischtaminel, hishaving thirty thousand a year, and a home at Paris--you were stronglyarmed against your poor daughter. Besides, Monsieur de Fischtaminel isgood looking for a man of thirty-six years; he received the cross ofthe Legion of Honor from Napoleon upon the field of battle, he is anex-colonel, and had it not been for the Restoration, which put himupon half-pay, he would be a general. These are certainly extenuatingcircumstances. 

"Many women consider that I have made a good match, and I am bound toconfess that there is every appearance of happiness, --for the public, that is. But you will acknowledge that if you had known of the returnof my Uncle Cyrus and of his intention to leave me his money, youwould have given me the privilege of choosing for myself. 

"I have nothing to say against Monsieur de Fischtaminel: he does notgamble, he is indifferent to women, he doesn't like wine, and he hasno expensive fancies: he possesses, as you said, all the negativequalities which make husbands passable. Then, what is the matter withhim? Well, mother, he has nothing to do. We are together the wholeblessed day! Would you believe that it is during the night, when weare the most closely united, that I am the most alone? His sleep is myasylum, my liberty begins when he slumbers. This state of siege willyet make me sick: I am never alone. If Monsieur de Fischtaminel werejealous, I should have a resource. There would then be a struggle, acomedy: but how could the aconite of jealousy have taken root in hissoul? He has never left me since our marriage. He feels no shame instretching himself out upon a sofa and remaining there for hourstogether. 

"Two felons pinioned to the same chain do not find time hang heavy:for they have their escape to think of. But we have no subject ofconversation; we have long since talked ourselves out. A little whileago he was so far reduced as to talk politics. But even politics areexhausted, Napoleon, unfortunately for me, having died at St. Helena, as is well known. 

"Monsieur de Fischtaminel abhors reading. If he sees me with a book, he comes and says a dozen times an hour--'Nina, dear, haven't youfinished yet?'

"I endeavored to persuade this innocent persecutor to ride out everyday on horseback, and I alleged a consideration usually conclusivewith men of forty years, --his health! But he said that after havingbeen twelve years on horseback, he felt the need of repose. 

"My husband, dear mother, is a man who absorbs you, he uses up thevital fluid of his neighbor, his ennui is gluttonous: he likes to beamused by those who call upon us, and, after five years of wedlock, noone ever comes: none visit us but those whose intentions are evidentlydishonorable for him, and who endeavor, unsuccessfully, to amuse him, in order to earn the right to weary his wife. 

"Monsieur de Fischtaminel, mother, opens the door of my chamber, or ofthe room to which I have flown for refuge, five or six times an hour, and comes up to me in an excited way, and says, 'Well, what are youdoing, my belle?' (the expression in fashion during the Empire)without perceiving that he is constantly repeating the same phrase, which is to me like the one pint too much that the executionerformerly poured into the torture by water. 

"Then there's another bore! We can't go to walk any more. A promenadewithout conversation, without interest, is impossible. My husbandwalks with me for the walk, as if he were alone. I have the fatiguewithout the pleasure. 

"The interval between getting up and breakfast is employed in mytoilet, in my household duties; and I manage to get through with thispart of the day. But between breakfast and dinner, there is a wholedesert to plough, a waste to traverse. My husband's want of occupationdoes not leave me a moment of repose, he overpowers me by hisuselessness; his idle life positively wears me out. His two eyesalways open and gazing at mine compel me to keep them lowered. Thenhis monotonous remarks:

"'What o'clock is it, love? What are you doing now? What are youthinking of? What do you mean to do? Where shall we go this evening?Anything new? What weather! I don't feel well, etc. , etc. '

"All these variations upon the same theme--the interrogation point--which compose Fischtaminel's repertory, will drive me mad. Add tothese leaden arrows everlastingly shot off at me, one last trait whichwill complete the description of my happiness, and you will understandmy life. 

"Monsieur de Fischtaminel, who went away in 1809, with the rank ofsub-lieutenant, at the age of eighteen, has had no other educationthan that due to discipline, to the natural sense of honor of a nobleand a soldier: but though he possesses tact, the sentiment of probity, and a proper subordination, his ignorance is gross, he knowsabsolutely nothing, and he has a horror of learning anything. Oh, dearmother, what an accomplished door-keeper this colonel would have made, had he been born in indigence! I don't think a bit the better of himfor his bravery, for he did not fight against the Russians, theAustrians, or the Prussians: he fought against ennui. When he rushedupon the enemy, Captain Fischtaminel's purpose was to get away fromhimself. He married because he had nothing else to do. 

"We have another slight difficulty to content with: my husbandharasses the servants to such a degree that we change them every sixmonths. 

"I so ardently desire, dear mother, to remain a virtuous woman, that Iam going to try the effect of traveling for half the year. During thewinter, I shall go every evening to the Italian or the French opera, or to parties: but I don't know whether our fortune will permit suchan expenditure. Uncle Cyrus ought to come to Paris--I would take careof him as I would of an inheritance. 

"If you discover a cure for my woes, let your daughter know of it--your daughter who loves you as much as she deplores her misfortunes, and who would have been glad to call herself by some other name thanthat of

 "NINA FISCHTAMINEL. "

Besides the necessity of describing this petty trouble, which couldonly be described by the pen of a woman, --and what a woman she was!--it was necessary to make you acquainted with a character whom yousaw only in profile in the first half of this book, the queen of theparticular set in which Caroline lived, --a woman both envied andadroit, who succeeded in conciliating, at an early date, what she owedto the world with the requirements of the heart. This letter is herabsolution. 

 INDISCRETIONS. 

Women are either chaste--or vain--or simply proud. They are thereforeall subject to the following petty trouble:

Certain husbands are so delighted to have, in the form of a wife, awoman to themselves, --a possession exclusively due to the legalceremony, --that they dread the public's making a mistake, and theyhasten to brand their consort, as lumber-dealers brand their logswhile floating down stream, or as the Berry stock-raisers brand theirsheep. They bestow names of endearment, right before people, upontheir wives: names taken, after the Roman fashion (columbella), fromthe animal kingdom, as: my chick, my duck, my dove, my lamb; or, choosing from the vegetable kingdom, they call them: my cabbage, myfig (this only in Provence), my plum (this only in Alsatia). Never:--My flower! Pray note this discretion. 

Or else, which is more serious, they call their wives:--Bobonne, --mother, --daughter, --good woman, --old lady: this last when she isvery young. 

Some venture upon names of doubtful propriety, such as: Mon bichon, maniniche, Tronquette!

We once heard one of our politicians, a man extremely remarkable forhis ugliness, call his wife, _Moumoutte_!

"I would rather he would strike me, " said this unfortunate to herneighbor. 

"Poor little woman, she is really unhappy, " resumed the neighbor, looking at me when Moumoutte had gone: "when she is in company withher husband she is upon pins and needles, and keeps out of his way. One evening, he actually seized her by the neck and said: 'Come fatty, let's go home!'"

It has been alleged that the cause of a very famous husband-poisoningwith arsenic, was nothing less than a series of constant indiscretionslike these that the wife had to bear in society. This husband used togive the woman he had won at the point of the Code, public little tapson her shoulder, he would startle her by a resounding kiss, hedishonored her by a conspicuous tenderness, seasoned by thoseimpertinent attentions the secret of which belongs to the Frenchsavages who dwell in the depths of the provinces, and whose mannersare very little known, despite the efforts of the realists in fiction. It was, it is said, this shocking situation, --one perfectlyappreciated by a discerning jury, --which won the prisoner a verdictsoftened by the extenuating circumstances. 

The jurymen said to themselves:

"For a wife to murder her husband for these conjugal offences, iscertainly going rather far; but then a woman is very excusable, whenshe is so harassed!"

We deeply regret, in the interest of elegant manners, that thesearguments are not more generally known. Heaven grant, therefore, thatour book may have an immense success, as women will obtain thisadvantage from it, that they will be treated as they deserve, that is, as queens. 

In this respect, love is much superior to marriage, it is proud ofindiscreet sayings and doings. There are some women that seek them, fish for them, and woe to the man who does not now and then commitone!

What passion lies in an accidental _thou_!

Out in the country I heard a husband call his wife: "Ma berline!" Shewas delighted with it, and saw nothing ridiculous in it: she calledher husband, "Mon fiston!" This delicious couple were ignorant of theexistence of such things as petty troubles. 

It was in observing this happy pair that the author discovered thisaxiom:

Axiom:--In order to be happy in wedlock, you must either be a man ofgenius married to an affectionate and intellectual woman, or, by achance which is not as common as might be supposed, you must both ofyou be exceedingly stupid. 

The too celebrated history of the cure of a wounded self-love byarsenic, proves that, properly speaking, there are no petty troublesfor women in married life. 

Axiom. --Woman exists by sentiment where man exists by action. 

Now, sentiment can at any moment render a petty trouble either a greatmisfortune, or a wasted life, or an eternal misery. Should Carolinebegin, in her ignorance of life and the world, by inflicting upon herhusband the vexations of her stupidity (re-read REVELATIONS), Adolphe, like any other man, may find a compensation in social excitement: hegoes out, comes back, goes here and there, has business. But forCaroline, the question everywhere is, To love or not to love, to be ornot to be loved. 

Indiscretions are in harmony with the character of the individuals, with times and places. Two examples will suffice. 

Here is the first. A man is by nature dirty and ugly: he is ill-madeand repulsive. There are men, and often rich ones, too, who, by a sortof unobserved constitution, soil a new suit of clothes in twenty-fourhours. They were born disgusting. It is so disgraceful for a women tobe anything more than just simply a wife to this sort of Adolphe, thata certain Caroline had long ago insisted upon the suppression of themodern _thee_ and _thou_ and all other insignia of the wifely dignity. Society had been for five or six years accustomed to this sort ofthing, and supposed Madame and Monsieur completely separated, and allthe more so as it had noticed the accession of a Ferdinand II. 

One evening, in the presence of a dozen persons, this man said to hiswife: "Caroline, hand me the tongs, there's a love. " It is nothing, and yet everything. It was a domestic revelation. 

Monsieur de Lustrac, the Universal Amadis, hurried to Madame deFischtaminel's, narrated this little scene with all the spirit at hiscommand, and Madame de Fischtaminel put on an air something likeCelimene's and said: "Poor creature, what an extremity she must bein!"

I say nothing of Caroline's confusion, --you have already divined it. 

Here is the second. Think of the frightful situation in which a ladyof great refinement was lately placed: she was conversing agreeably ather country seat near Paris, when her husband's servant came andwhispered in her ear, "Monsieur has come, madame. "

"Very well, Benoit. "

Everybody had heard the rumblings of the vehicle. It was known thatthe husband had been at Paris since Monday, and this took place onSaturday, at four in the afternoon. 

"He's got something important to say to you, madame. "

Though this dialogue was held in a whisper, it was perfectlyunderstood, and all the more so from the fact that the lady of thehouse turned from the pale hue of the Bengal rose to the brilliantcrimson of the wheatfield poppy. She nodded and went on with theconversation, and managed to leave her company on the pretext oflearning whether her husband had succeeded in an important undertakingor not: but she seemed plainly vexed at Adolphe's want ofconsideration for the company who were visiting her. 

During their youth, women want to be treated as divinities, they lovethe ideal; they cannot bear the idea of being what nature intendedthem to be. 

Some husbands, on retiring to the country, after a week in town, areworse than this: they bow to the company, put their arm round theirwife's waist, take a little walk with her, appear to be talkingconfidentially, disappear in a clump of trees, get lost, and reappearhalf an hour afterward. 

This, ladies, is a genuine petty trouble for a young woman, but for awoman beyond forty, this sort of indiscretion is so delightful, thatthe greatest prudes are flattered by it, for, be it known:

That women of a certain age, women on the shady side, want to betreated as mortals, they love the actual; they cannot bear the idea ofno longer being what nature intended them to be. 

Axiom. --Modesty is a relative virtue; there is the modesty of thewoman of twenty, the woman of thirty, the woman of forty-five. 

Thus the author said to a lady who told him to guess at her age:"Madame, yours is the age of indiscretion. "

This charming woman of thirty-nine was making a Ferdinand much tooconspicuous, while her daughter was trying to conceal her Ferdinand I. 

 BRUTAL DISCLOSURES. 

FIRST STYLE. Caroline adores Adolphe, she thinks him handsome, shethinks him superb, especially in his National Guard uniform. Shestarts when a sentinel presents arms to him, she considers him mouldedlike a model, she regards him as a man of wit, everything he does isright, nobody has better taste than he, in short, she is crazy aboutAdolphe. 

It's the old story of Cupid's bandage. This is washed every ten years, and newly embroidered by the altered manners of the period, but it hasbeen the same old bandage since the days of Greece. 

Caroline is at a ball with one of her young friends. A man well knownfor his bluntness, whose acquaintance she is to make later in life, but whom she now sees for the first time, Monsieur Foullepointe, hascommenced a conversation with Caroline's friend. According to thecustom of society, Caroline listens to this conversation withoutmingling in it. 

"Pray tell me, madame, " says Monsieur Foullepointe, "who is that queerman who has been talking about the Court of Assizes before a gentlemanwhose acquittal lately created such a sensation: he is all the whileblundering, like an ox in a bog, against everybody's sore spot. A ladyburst into tears at hearing him tell of the death of a child, as shelost her own two months ago. "

"Who do you mean?"

"Why, that fat man, dressed like a waiter in a cafe, frizzled like abarber's apprentice, there, he's trying now to make himself agreeableto Madame de Fischtaminel. "

"Hush, " whispers the lady quite alarmed, "it's the husband of thelittle woman next to me!"

"Ah, it's your husband?" says Monsieur Foullepointe. "I am delighted, madame, he's a charming man, so vivacious, gay and witty. I am goingto make his acquaintance immediately. "

And Foullepointe executes his retreat, leaving a bitter suspicion inCaroline's soul, as to the question whether her husband is really ashandsome as she thinks him. 

SECOND STYLE. Caroline, annoyed by the reputation of Madame Schinner, who is credited with the possession of epistolary talents, and styledthe "Sevigne of the note", tired of hearing about Madame deFischtaminel, who has ventured to write a little 32mo book on theeducation of the young, in which she has boldly reprinted Fenelon, without the style:--Caroline has been working for six months upon atale tenfold poorer than those of Berquin, nauseatingly moral, andflamboyant in style. 

After numerous intrigues such as women are skillful in managing in theinterest of their vanity, and the tenacity and perfection of whichwould lead you to believe that they have a third sex in their head, this tale, entitled "The Lotus, " appears in three installments in aleading daily paper. It is signed Samuel Crux. 

When Adolphe takes up the paper at breakfast, Caroline's heart beatsup in her very throat: she blushes, turns pale, looks away and staresat the ceiling. When Adolphe's eyes settle upon the feuilleton, shecan bear it no longer: she gets up, goes out, comes back, havingreplenished her stock of audacity, no one knows where. 

"Is there a feuilleton this morning?" she asks with an air that shethinks indifferent, but which would disturb a husband still jealous ofhis wife. 

"Yes, one by a beginner, Samuel Crux. The name is a disguise, clearly:the tale is insignificant enough to drive an insect to despair, if hecould read: and vulgar, too: the style is muddy, but then it's--"

Caroline breathes again. "It's--" she suggests. 

"It's incomprehensible, " resumes Adolphe. "Somebody must have paidChodoreille five or six hundred francs to insert it; or else it's theproduction of a blue-stocking in high society who has promised toinvite Madame Chodoreille to her house; or perhaps it's the work of awoman in whom the editor is personally interested. Such a piece ofstupidity cannot be explained any other way. Imagine, Caroline, thatit's all about a little flower picked on the edge of a wood in asentimental walk, which a gentleman of the Werther school has sworn tokeep, which he has had framed, and which the lady claims again elevenyears after (the poor man has had time to change his lodgings threetimes). It's quite new, about as old as Sterne or Gessner. What makesme think it's a woman, is that the first literary idea of the wholesex is to take vengeance on some one. "

Adolphe might go on pulling "The Lotus" to pieces; Caroline's ears arefull of the tinkling of bells. She is like the woman who threw herselfover the Pont des Arts, and tried to find her way ten feet below thelevel of the Seine. 

ANOTHER STYLE. Caroline, in her paroxysms of jealousy, has discovereda hiding place used by Adolphe, who, as he can't trust his wife, andas he knows she opens his letters and rummages in his drawers, hasendeavored to save his correspondence with Hector from the hookedfingers of the conjugal police. 

Hector is an old schoolmate, who has married in the Loire Inferieure. 

Adolphe lifts up the cloth of his writing desk, a cloth the border ofwhich has been embroidered by Caroline, the ground being blue, blackor red velvet, --the color, as you see, is perfectly immaterial, --andhe slips his unfinished letters to Madame de Fischtaminel, to hisfriend Hector, between the table and the cloth. 

The thickness of a sheet of paper is almost nothing, velvet is adowny, discreet material, but, no matter, these precautions are invain. The male devil is fairly matched by the female devil: Tophetwill furnish them of all genders. Caroline has Mephistopheles on herside, the demon who causes tables to spurt forth fire, and who, withhis ironic finger points out the hiding place of keys--the secret ofsecrets. 

Caroline has noticed the thickness of a letter sheet between thisvelvet and this table: she hits upon a letter to Hector instead ofhitting upon one to Madame de Fischtaminel, who has gone to PlombieresSprings, and reads the following:

"My dear Hector:

"I pity you, but you have acted wisely in entrusting me with aknowledge of the difficulties in which you have voluntarily involvedyourself. You never would see the difference between the country womanand the woman of Paris. In the country, my dear boy, you are alwaysface to face with your wife, and, owing to the ennui which impels you, you rush headforemost into the enjoyment of your bliss. This is agreat error: happiness is an abyss, and when you have once reached thebottom, you never get back again, in wedlock. 

"I will show you why. Let me take, for your wife's sake, the shortestpath--the parable. 

"I remember having made a journey from Paris to Ville-Parisis, in thatvehicle called a 'bus: distance, twenty miles: 'bus, lumbering: horse, lame. Nothing amuses me more than to draw from people, by the aid ofthat gimlet called the interrogation, and to obtain, by means of anattentive air, the sum of information, anecdotes and learning thateverybody is anxious to part with: and all men have such a sum, thepeasant as well as the banker, the corporal as well as the marshal ofFrance. 

"I have often noticed how ready these casks, overflowing with wit, areto open their sluices while being transported by diligence or 'bus, orby any vehicle drawn by horses, for nobody talks in a railway car. 

"At the rate of our exit from Paris, the journey would take full sevenhours: so I got an old corporal to talk, for my diversion. He couldneither read nor write: he was entirely illiterate. Yet the journeyseemed short. The corporal had been through all the campaigns, he toldme of things perfectly unheard of, that historians never troublethemselves about. 

"Ah! Hector, how superior is practice to theory! Among other things, and in reply to a question relative to the infantry, whose courage ismuch more tried by marching than by fighting, he said this, which Igive you free from circumlocution:

"'Sir, when Parisians were brought to our 45th, which Napoleon calledThe Terrible (I am speaking of the early days of the Empire, when theinfantry had legs of steel, and when they needed them), I had a way oftelling beforehand which of them would remain in the 45th. Theymarched without hurrying, they did their little six leagues a day, neither more nor less, and they pitched camp in condition to beginagain on the morrow. The plucky fellows who did ten leagues and wantedto run to the victory, stopped half way at the hospital. '

"The worthy corporal was talking of marriage while he thought he wastalking of war, and you have stopped half way, Hector, at thehospital. 

"Remember the sympathetic condolence of Madame de Sevigne counting outthree hundred thousand francs to Monsieur de Grignan, to induce him tomarry one of the prettiest girls in France! 'Why, ' said she toherself, 'he will have to marry her every day, as long as she lives!Decidedly, I don't think three hundred francs too much. ' Is it notenough to make the bravest tremble?

"My dear fellow, conjugal happiness is founded, like that of nations, upon ignorance. It is a felicity full of negative conditions. 

"If I am happy with my little Caroline, it is due to the strictestobservance of that salutary principle so strongly insisted upon in the_Physiology of Marriage_. I have resolved to lead my wife throughpaths beaten in the snow, until the happy day when infidelity will bedifficult. 

"In the situation in which you have placed yourself, and whichresembles that of Duprez, who, on his first appearance at Paris, wentto singing with all the voice his lungs would yield, instead ofimitating Nourrit, who gave the audience just enough to enchant them, the following, I think, is your proper course to--"

The letter broke off here: Caroline returned it to its place, at thesame time wondering how she would make her dear Adolphe expiate hisobedience to the execrable precepts of the _Physiology of Marriage_. 

 A TRUCE. 

This trouble doubtless occurs sufficiently often and in different waysenough in the existence of married women, for this personal incidentto become the type of the genus. 

The Caroline in question here is very pious, she loves her husbandvery much, her husband asserts that she loves him too much, even: butthis is a piece of marital conceit, if, indeed, it is not aprovocation, as he only complains to his wife's young lady friends. 

When a person's conscience is involved, the least thing becomesexceedingly serious. Madame de ----- has told her young friend, Madamede Fischtaminel, that she had been compelled to make an extraordinaryconfession to her spiritual director, and to perform penance, thedirector having decided that she was in a state of mortal sin. Thislady, who goes to mass every morning, is a woman of thirty-six years, thin and slightly pimpled. She has large soft black eyes, her upperlip is strongly shaded: still her voice is sweet, her manners gentle, her gait noble--she is a woman of quality. 

Madame de Fischtaminel, whom Madame de ----- has made her friend(nearly all pious women patronize a woman who is considered worldly, on the pretext of converting her), --Madame de Fischtaminel assertsthat these qualities, in this Caroline of the Pious Sort, are avictory of religion over a rather violent natural temper. 

These details are necessary to describe the trouble in all its horror. 

This lady's Adolphe had been compelled to leave his wife for twomonths, in April, immediately after the forty days' fast that Carolinescrupulously observes. Early in June, therefore, madame expected herhusband, she expected him day by day. From one hope to another, "Conceived every morn and deferred every eve. "

She got along as far as Sunday, the day when her presentiments, whichhad now reached a state of paroxysm, told her that the longed-forhusband would arrive at an early hour. 

When a pious woman expects her husband, and that husband has beenabsent from home nearly four months, she takes much more pains withher toilet than a young girl does, though waiting for her firstbetrothed. 

This virtuous Caroline was so completely absorbed in exclusivelypersonal preparations, that she forgot to go to eight o'clock mass. She proposed to hear a low mass, but she was afraid of losing thedelight of her dear Adolphe's first glance, in case he arrived atearly dawn. Her chambermaid--who respectfully left her mistress alonein the dressing-room where pious and pimpled ladies let no one enter, not even their husbands, especially if they are thin--her chambermaidheard her exclaim several times, "If it's your master, let me know!"

The rumbling of a vehicle having made the furniture rattle, Carolineassumed a mild tone to conceal the violence of her legitimateemotions. 

"Oh! 'tis he! Run, Justine: tell him I am waiting for him here. "Caroline trembled so that she dropped into an arm-chair. 

The vehicle was a butcher's wagon. 

It was in anxieties like this that the eight o'clock mass slipped by, like an eel in his slime. Madame's toilet operations were resumed, forshe was engaged in dressing. The chambermaid's nose had already beenthe recipient of a superb muslin chemise, with a simple hem, whichCaroline had thrown at her from the dressing-room, though she hadgiven her the same kind for the last three months. 

"What are you thinking of, Justine? I told you to choose from thechemises that are not numbered. "

The unnumbered chemises were only seven or eight, in the mostmagnificent trousseau. They are chemises gotten up and embroideredwith the greatest care: a woman must be a queen, a young queen, tohave a dozen. Each one of Caroline's was trimmed with valenciennesround the bottom, and still more coquettishly garnished about theneck. This feature of our manners will perhaps serve to suggest asuspicion, in the masculine world, of the domestic drama revealed bythis exceptional chemise. 

Caroline had put on a pair of Scotch thread stockings, little prunellabuskins, and her most deceptive corsets. She had her hair dressed inthe fashion that most became her, and embellished it with a cap of themost elegant form. It is unnecessary to speak of her morning gown. Apious lady who lives at Paris and who loves her husband, knows as wellas a coquette how to choose those pretty little striped patterns, havethem cut with an open waist, and fastened by loops to buttons in a waywhich compels her to refasten them two or three times in an hour, withlittle airs more or less charming, as the case may be. 

The nine o'clock mass, the ten o'clock mass, every mass, went by inthese preparations, which, for women in love, are one of their twelvelabors of Hercules. 

Pious women rarely go to church in a carriage, and they are right. Except in the case of a pouring shower, or intolerably bad weather, aperson ought not to appear haughty in the place where it is becomingto be humble. Caroline was afraid to compromise the freshness of herdress and the purity of her thread stockings. Alas! these pretextsconcealed a reason. 

"If I am at church when Adolphe comes, I shall lose the pleasure ofhis first glance: and he will think I prefer high mass to him. "

She made this sacrifice to her husband in a desire to please him--afearfully worldly consideration. Prefer the creature to the Creator! Ahusband to heaven! Go and hear a sermon and you will learn what suchan offence will cost you. 

"After all, " says Caroline, quoting her confessor, "society is foundedupon marriage, which the Church has included among its sacraments. "

And this is the way in which religious instruction may be put aside infavor of a blind though legitimate love. Madame refused breakfast, andordered the meal to be kept hot, just as she kept herself ready, at amoment's notice, to welcome the precious absentee. 

Now these little things may easily excite a laugh: but in the firstplace they are continually occurring with couples who love each other, or where one of them loves the other: besides, in a woman sostrait-laced, so reserved, so worthy, as this lady, theseacknowledgments of affection went beyond the limits imposed upon herfeelings by the lofty self-respect which true piety induces. WhenMadame de Fischtaminel narrated this little scene in a devotee's life, dressing it up with choice by-play, acted out as ladies of the worldknow how to act out their anecdotes, I took the liberty of saying thatit was the Canticle of canticles in action. 

"If her husband doesn't come, " said Justine to the cook, "what willbecome of us? She has already thrown her chemise in my face. "

At last, Caroline heard the crack of a postilion's whip, thewell-known rumbling of a traveling carriage, the racket made by thehoofs of post-horses, and the jingling of their bells! Oh, she coulddoubt no longer, the bells made her burst forth, as thus:

"The door! Open the door! 'Tis he, my husband! Will you never go tothe door!" And the pious woman stamped her foot and broke thebell-rope. 

"Why, madame, " said Justine, with the vivacity of a servant doing herduty, "it's some people going away. "

"Upon my word, " replied Caroline, half ashamed, to herself, "I willnever let Adolphe go traveling again without me. "

A Marseilles poet--it is not known whether it was Mery or Barthelemy--acknowledged that if his best fried did not arrive punctually at thedinner hour, he waited patiently five minutes: at the tenth minute, hefelt a desire to throw the napkin in his face: at the twelfth he hopedsome great calamity would befall him: at the fifteenth, he would notbe able to restrain himself from stabbing him several times with adirk. 

All women, when expecting somebody, are Marseilles poets, if, indeed, we may compare the vulgar throes of hunger to the sublime Canticle ofcanticles of a pious wife, who is hoping for the joys of a husband'sfirst glance after a three months' absence. Let all those who love andwho have met again after an absence ten thousand times accursed, begood enough to recall their first glance: it says so many things thatthe lovers, if in the presence of a third party, are fain to lowertheir eyes! This poem, in which every man is as great as Homer, inwhich he seems a god to the woman who loves him, is, for a pious, thinand pimpled lady, all the more immense, from the fact that she hasnot, like Madame de Fischtaminel, the resource of having severalcopies of it. In her case, her husband is all she's got!

So you will not be surprised to learn that Caroline missed every massand had no breakfast. This hunger and thirst for Adolphe gave her aviolent cramp in the stomach. She did not think of religion onceduring the hours of mass, nor during those of vespers. She was notcomfortable when she sat, and she was very uncomfortable when shestood: Justine advised her to go to bed. Caroline, quite overcome, retired at about half past five in the evening, after having taken alight soup: but she ordered a dainty supper at ten. 

"I shall doubtless sup with my husband, " she said. 

This speech was the conclusion of dreadful catalinics, internallyfulminated. She had reached the Marseilles poet's several stabs with adirk. So she spoke in a tone that was really terrible. At three in themorning Caroline was in a profound sleep: Adolphe arrived without herhearing either carriage, or horse, or bell, or opening door!

Adolphe, who would not permit her to be disturbed, went to bed in thespare room. When Caroline heard of his return in the morning, twotears issued from her eyes; she rushed to the spare room without theslightest preparatory toilet; a hideous attendant, posted on thethreshold, informed her that her husband, having traveled two hundredleagues and been two nights without sleep, requested that he might notbe awakened: he was exceedingly tired. 

Caroline--pious woman that she was--opened the door violently withoutbeing able to wake the only husband that heaven had given her, andthen hastened to church to listen to a thanksgiving mass. 

As she was visibly snappish for three whole days, Justine remarked, inreply to an unjust reproach, and with a chambermaid's finesse:

"Why, madame, your husband's got back!"

"He has only got back to Paris, " returned the pious Caroline. 

 USELESS CARE. 

Put yourself in the place of a poor woman of doubtful beauty, who owesher husband to the weight of her dowry, who gives herself infinitepains, and spends a great deal of money to appear to advantage andfollow the fashions, who does her best to keep house sumptuously andyet economically--a house, too, not easy to manage--who, from moralityand dire necessity, perhaps, loves no one but her husband, who has noother study but the happiness of this precious husband, who, toexpress all in one word, joins the maternal sentiment _to thesentiment of her duties_. This underlined circumlocution is theparaphrase of the word love in the language of prudes. 

Have you put yourself in her place? Well, this too-much-loved husbandby chance remarked at his friend Monsieur de Fischtaminel's, that hewas very fond of mushrooms _a l'Italienne_. 

If you have paid some attention to the female nature, in its good, great, and grand manifestations, you know that for a loving wife thereis no greater pleasure than that of seeing the beloved one absorbinghis favorite viands. This springs from the fundamental idea upon whichthe affection of women is based: that of being the source of all hispleasures, big and little. Love animates everything in life, andconjugal love has a peculiar right to descend to the most trivialdetails. 

Caroline spends two or three days in inquiries before she learns howthe Italians dress mushrooms. She discovers a Corsican abbe who tellsher that at Biffi's, in the rue de Richelieu, she will not only learnhow the Italians dress mushrooms, but that she will be able to obtainsome Milanese mushrooms. Our pious Caroline thanks the Abbe Serpolini, and resolves to send him a breviary in acknowledgment. 

Caroline's cook goes to Biffi's, comes back from Biffi's, and exhibitsto the countess a quantity of mushrooms as big as the coachman's ears. 

"Very good, " she says, "did he explain to you how to cook them?"

"Oh, for us cooks, them's a mere nothing, " replies the cook. 

As a general rule, cooks know everything, in the cooking way, excepthow a cook may feather his nest. 

At evening, during the second course, all Caroline's fibres quiverwith pleasure at observing the servant bringing to the table a certainsuggestive dish. She has positively waited for this dinner as she hadwaited for her husband. 

But between waiting with certainty and expecting a positive pleasure, there is, to the souls of the elect--and everybody will include awoman who adores her husband among the elect--there is, between thesetwo worlds of expectation, the difference that exists between a finenight and a fine day. 

The dish is presented to the beloved Adolphe, he carelessly plungeshis spoon in and helps himself, without perceiving Caroline's extremeemotion, to several of those soft, fat, round things, that travelerswho visit Milan do not for a long time recognize; they take them forsome kind of shell-fish. 

"Well, Adolphe?"

"Well, dear. "

"Don't you recognize them?"

"Recognize what?"

"Your mushrooms _a l'Italienne_?"

"These mushrooms! I thought they were--well, yes, they _are_mushrooms!"

"Yes, and _a l'Italienne_, too. "

"Pooh, they are old preserved mushrooms, _a la milanaise_. I abominatethem!"

"What kind is it you like, then?"

"_Fungi trifolati_. "

Let us observe--to the disgrace of an epoch which numbers and labelseverything, which puts the whole creation in bottles, which is at thismoment classifying one hundred and fifty thousand species of insects, giving them all the termination _us_, so that a _Silbermanus_ is thesame individual in all countries for the learned men who dissect abutterfly's legs with pincers--that we still want a nomenclature forthe chemistry of the kitchen, to enable all the cooks in the world toproduce precisely similar dishes. It would be diplomatically agreedthat French should be the language of the kitchen, as Latin has beenadopted by the scientific for botany and entomology, unless it weredesired to imitate them in that, too, and thus really have kitchenLatin. 

"My dear, " resumes Adolphe, on seeing the clouded and lengthened faceof his chaste Caroline, "in France the dish in question is calledMushrooms _a l'Italienne, a la provencale, a la bordelaise_. Themushrooms are minced, fried in oil with a few ingredients whose namesI have forgotten. You add a taste of garlic, I believe--"

Talk about calamities, of petty troubles! This, do you see, is, to awoman's heart, what the pain of an extracted tooth is to a child ofeight. _Ab uno disce omnes_: which means, "There's one of them: findthe rest in your memory. " For we have taken this culinary descriptionas a prototype of the vexations which afflict loving but indifferentlyloved women. 

 SMOKE WITHOUT FIRE. 

A woman full of faith in the man she loves is a romancer's fancy. Thisfeminine personage no more exists than does a rich dowry. A woman'sconfidence glows perhaps for a few moments, at the dawn of love, anddisappears in a trice like a shooting star. 

With women who are neither Dutch, nor English, nor Belgian, nor fromany marshy country, love is a pretext for suffering, an employment forthe superabundant powers of their imaginations and their nerves. 

Thus the second idea that takes possession of a happy woman, one whois really loved, is the fear of losing her happiness, for we must doher the justice to say that her first idea is to enjoy it. All whopossess treasures are in dread of thieves, but they do not, likewomen, lend wings and feet to their golden stores. 

The little blue flower of perfect felicity is not so common, that theheaven-blessed man who possesses it, should be simpleton enough toabandon it. 

Axiom. --A woman is never deserted without a reason. 

This axiom is written in the heart of hearts of every woman. Hence therage of a woman deserted. 

Let us not infringe upon the petty troubles of love: we live in acalculating epoch when women are seldom abandoned, do what they may:for, of all wives or women, nowadays, the legitimate is the leastexpensive. Now, every woman who is loved, has gone through the pettyannoyance of suspicion. This suspicion, whether just or unjust, engenders a multitude of domestic troubles, and here is the biggest ofall. 

Caroline is one day led to notice that her cherished Adolphe leavesher rather too often upon a matter of business, that eternalChaumontel's affair, which never comes to an end. 

Axiom. --Every household has its Chaumontel's affair. (See TROUBLEWITHIN TROUBLE. )

In the first place, a woman no more believes in matters of businessthan publishers and managers do in the illness of actresses andauthors. The moment a beloved creature absents himself, though she hasrendered him even too happy, every woman straightway imagines that hehas hurried away to some easy conquest. In this respect, women endowmen with superhuman faculties. Fear magnifies everything, it dilatesthe eyes and the heart: it makes a woman mad. 

"Where is my husband going? What is my husband doing? Why has he leftme? Why did he not take me with him?"

These four questions are the four cardinal points of the compass ofsuspicion, and govern the stormy sea of soliloquies. From thesefrightful tempests which ravage a woman's heart springs an ignoble, unworthy resolution, one which every woman, the duchess as well as theshopkeeper's wife, the baroness as well as the stockbroker's lady, theangel as well as the shrew, the indifferent as well as the passionate, at once puts into execution. They imitate the government, every one ofthem; they resort to espionage. What the State has invented in thepublic interest, they consider legal, legitimate and permissible, inthe interest of their love. This fatal woman's curiosity reduces themto the necessity of having agents, and the agent of any woman who, inthis situation, has not lost her self-respect, --a situation in whichher jealousy will not permit her to respect anything: neither yourlittle boxes, nor your clothes, nor the drawers of your treasury, ofyour desk, of your table, of your bureau, nor your pocketbook withprivate compartments, nor your papers, nor your travelingdressing-case, nor your toilet articles (a woman discovers in this waythat her husband dyed his moustache when he was a bachelor), nor yourindia-rubber girdles--her agent, I say, the only one in whom a womantrusts, is her maid, for her maid understands her, excuses her, andapproves her. 

In the paroxysm of excited curiosity, passion and jealousy, a womanmakes no calculations, takes no observations. She simply wishes toknow the whole truth. 

And Justine is delighted: she sees her mistress compromising herselfwith her, and she espouses her passion, her dread, her fears and hersuspicions, with terrible friendship. Justine and Caroline holdcouncils and have secret interviews. All espionage involves suchrelationships. In this pass, a maid becomes the arbitress of the fateof the married couple. Example: Lord Byron. 

"Madame, " Justine one day observes, "monsieur really _does_ go out tosee a woman. "

Caroline turns pale. 

"But don't be alarmed, madame, it's an old woman. "

"Ah, Justine, to some men no women are old: men are inexplicable. "

"But, madame, it isn't a lady, it's a woman, quite a common woman. "

"Ah, Justine, Lord Byron loved a fish-wife at Venice, Madame deFischtaminel told me so. "

And Caroline bursts into tears. 

"I've been pumping Benoit. "

"What is Benoit's opinion?"

"Benoit thinks that the woman is a go-between, for monsieur keeps hissecret from everybody, even from Benoit. "

For a week Caroline lives the life of the damned; all her savings goto pay spies and to purchase reports. 

Finally, Justine goes to see the woman, whose name is Madame Mahuchet;she bribes her and learns at last that her master has preserved awitness of his youthful follies, a nice little boy that looks verymuch like him, and that this woman is his nurse, the second-handmother who has charge of little Frederick, who pays his quarterlyschool-bills, and through whose hands pass the twelve hundred or twothousand francs which Adolphe is supposed annually to lose at cards. 

"What of the mother?" exclaims Caroline. 

To end the matter, Justine, Caroline's good genius, proves to her thatM'lle Suzanne Beauminet, formerly a grisette and somewhat later MadameSainte-Suzanne, died at the hospital, or else that she has made herfortune, or else, again, that her place in society is so low there isno danger of madame's ever meeting her. 

Caroline breathes again: the dirk has been drawn from her heart, sheis quite happy; but she had no children but daughters, and would likea boy. This little drama of unjust suspicions, this comedy of theconjectures to which Mother Mahuchet gives rise, these phases of acauseless jealousy, are laid down here as the type of a situation, thevarieties of which are as innumerable as characters, grades and sorts. 

This source of petty troubles is pointed out here, in order that womenseated upon the river's bank may contemplate in it the course of theirown married life, following its ascent or descent, recalling their ownadventures to mind, their untold disasters, the foibles which causedtheir errors, and the peculiar fatalities to which were due an instantof frenzy, a moment of unnecessary despair, or sufferings which theymight have spared themselves, happy in their self-delusions. 

This vexation has a corollary in the following, one which is much moreserious and often without remedy, especially when its root lies amongvices of another kind, and which do not concern us, for, in this work, women are invariably esteemed honest--until the end. 

 THE DOMESTIC TYRANT. 

"My dear Caroline, " says Adolphe one day to his wife, "are yousatisfied with Justine?"

"Yes, dear, quite so. "

"Don't you think she speaks to you rather impertinently?"

"Do you suppose I would notice a maid? But it seems _you_ notice her!"

"What do you say?" asks Adolphe in an indignant way that is alwaysdelightful to women. 

Justine is a genuine maid for an actress, a woman of thirty stamped bythe small-pox with innumerable dimples, in which the loves are farfrom sporting: she is as brown as opium, has a good deal of leg andnot much body, gummy eyes, and a tournure to match. She would like tohave Benoit marry her, but at this unexpected suggestion, Benoit askedfor his discharge. Such is the portrait of the domestic tyrantenthroned by Caroline's jealousy. 

Justine takes her coffee in the morning, in bed, and manages to haveit as good as, not to say better than, that of her mistress. Justinesometimes goes out without asking leave, dressed like the wife of asecond-class banker. She sports a pink hat, one of her mistress' oldgowns made over, an elegant shawl, shoes of bronze kid, and jewelry ofdoubtful character. 

Justine is sometimes in a bad humor, and makes her mistress feel thatshe too is a woman like herself, though she is not married. She hasher whims, her fits of melancholy, her caprices. She even dares tohave her nerves! She replies curtly, she makes herself insupportableto the other servants, and, to conclude, her wages have beenconsiderably increased. 

"My dear, this girl is getting more intolerable every day, " saysAdolphe one morning to his wife, on noticing Justine listening at thekey-hole, "and if you don't send her away, I will!"

Caroline, greatly alarmed, is obliged to give Justine a talking to, while her husband is out. 

"Justine, you take advantage of my kindness to you: you have highwages, here, you have perquisites, presents: try to keep your place, for my husband wants to send you away. "

The maid humbles herself to the earth, she sheds tears: she is soattached to madame! Ah! she would rush into the fire for her: shewould let herself be chopped into mince-meat: she is ready foranything. 

"If you had anything to conceal, madame, I would take it on myself andsay it was me!"

"Very well, Justine, very good, my girl, " says Caroline, terrified:"but that's not the point: just try to keep in your place. "

"Ah, ha!" says Justine to herself, "monsieur wants to send me away, does he? Wait and see the deuce of a life I'll lead you, you oldcurmudgeon!"

A week after, Justine, who is dressing her mistress' hair, looks inthe glass to make sure that Caroline can see all the grimaces of hercountenance: and Caroline very soon inquires, "Why, what's the matter, Justine?"

"I would tell you, readily, madame, but then, madame, you are so weakwith monsieur!"

"Come, go on, what is it?"

"I know now, madame, why master wanted to show me the door: he hasconfidence in nobody but Benoit, and Benoit is playing the mum withme. "

"Well, what does that prove? Has anything been discovered?"

"I'm sure that between the two they are plotting something against youmadame, " returns the maid with authority. 

Caroline, whom Justine watches in the glass, turns pale: all thetortures of the previous petty trouble return, and Justine sees thatshe has become as indispensable to her mistress as spies are to thegovernment when a conspiracy is discovered. Still, Caroline's friendsdo not understand why she keeps so disagreeable a servant girl, onewho wears a hat, whose manners are impertinent, and who gives herselfthe airs of a lady. 

This stupid domination is talked of at Madame Deschars', at Madame deFischtaminel's, and the company consider it funny. A few ladies thinkthey can see certain monstrous reasons for it, reasons whichcompromise Caroline's honor. 

Axiom. --In society, people can put cloaks on every kind of truth, eventhe prettiest. 

In short the _aria della calumnia_ is executed precisely as ifBartholo were singing it. 

It is averred that Caroline cannot discharge her maid. 

Society devotes itself desperately to discovering the secret of thisenigma. Madame de Fischtaminel makes fun of Adolphe who goes home in arage, has a scene with Caroline and discharges Justine. 

This produces such an effect upon Justine, that she falls sick, andtakes to her bed. Caroline observes to her husband, that it would beawkward to turn a girl in Justine's condition into the street, a girlwho is so much attached to them, too, and who has been with them sinetheir marriage. 

"Let her go then as soon as she is well!" says Adolphe. 

Caroline, reassured in regard to Adolphe, and indecently swindled byJustine, at last comes to desire to get rid of her: she applies aviolent remedy to the disease, and makes up her mind to go under theCaudine Forks of another petty trouble, as follows:

 THE AVOWAL. 

One morning, Adolphe is petted in a very unusual manner. The too happyhusband wonders what may be the cause of this development ofaffection, and he hears Caroline, in her most winning tones, utter theword: "Adolphe?"

"Well?" he replies, in alarm at the internal agitation betrayed byCaroline's voice. 

"Promise not to be angry. "

"Well. "

"Not to be vexed with me. "

"Never. Go on. "

"To forgive me and never say anything about it. "

"But tell me what it is!"

"Besides, you are the one that's in the wrong--"

"Speak, or I'll go away. "

"There's no one but you that can get me out of the scrape--and it wasyou that got me into it. "

"Come, come. "

"It's about--"

"About--"

"About Justine!"

"Don't speak of her, she's discharged. I won't see her again, herstyle of conduct exposes your reputation--"

"What can people say--what have they said?"

The scene changes, the result of which is a secondary explanationwhich makes Caroline blush, as she sees the bearing of thesuppositions of her best friends. 

"Well, now, Adolphe, it's to you I owe all this. Why didn't you tellme about Frederick?"

"Frederick the Great? The King of Prussia?"

"What creatures men are! Hypocrite, do you want to make me believethat you have forgotten your son so soon, M'lle Suzanne Beauminet'sson?"

"Then you know--?"

"The whole thing! And old other Mahuchet, and your absences from hometo give him a good dinner on holidays. "

"How like moles you pious women can be if you try!" exclaims Adolphe, in his terror. 

"It was Justine that found it out. "

"Ah! Now I understand the reason of her insolence. "

"Oh, your Caroline has been very wretched, dear, and this spyingsystem, which was produced by my love for you, for I do love you, andmadly too, --if you deceived me, I would fly to the extremity ofcreation, --well, as I was going to say, this unfounded jealousy hasput me in Justine's power, so, my precious, get me out of it the bestway you can!"

"Let this teach you, my angel, never to make use of your servants, ifyou want them to be of use to you. It is the lowest of tyrannies, thisbeing at the mercy of one's people. "

Adolphe takes advantage of this circumstance to alarm Caroline, hethinks of future Chaumontel's affairs, and would be glad to have nomore espionage. 

Justine is sent for, Adolphe peremptorily dismisses her withoutwaiting to hear her explanation. Caroline imagines her vexations at anend. She gets another maid. 

Justine, whose twelve or fifteen thousand francs have attracted thenotice of a water carrier, becomes Madame Chavagnac, and goes into theapple business. Ten months after, in Adolphe's absence, Carolinereceives a letter written upon school-boy paper, in strides whichwould require orthopedic treatment for three months, and thusconceived:

"Madam!

"Yu ar shaimphoolly diseeved bi yure huzban fur mame Deuxfischtaminelle, hee goze their evry eavning, yu ar az blynde az aBatt. Your gott wott yu dizzurv, and I am Glad ovit, and I have theehonur ov prezenting yu the assurunz ov Mi moaste ds Sting guischtrespecks. "

Caroline starts like a lion who has been stung by a bumble-bee; sheplaces herself once more, and of her own accord, upon the griddle ofsuspicion, and begins her struggle with the unknown all over again. 

When she has discovered the injustice of her suspicions, there comesanother letter with an offer to furnish her with details relative to aChaumontel's affair which Justine has unearthed. 

The petty trouble of avowals, ladies, is often more serious than this, as you perhaps have occasion to remember. 

 HUMILIATIONS. 

To the glory of women, let it be said, they care for their husbandseven when their husbands care no more for them, not only because thereare more ties, socially speaking, between a married woman and a man, than between the man and the wife; but also because woman has moredelicacy and honor than man, the chief conjugal question apart, as amatter of course. 

Axiom. --In a husband, there is only a man; in a married woman, thereis a man, a father, a mother and a woman. 

A married woman has sensibility enough for four, or for five even, ifyou look closely. 

Now, it is not improper to observe in this place, that, in a woman'seyes, love is a general absolution: the man who is a good lover maycommit crimes, if he will, he is always as pure as snow in the eyes ofher who loves him, if he truly loves her. As to a married woman, lovedor not, she feels so deeply that the honor and consideration of herhusband are the fortune of her children, that she acts like the womanin love, --so active is the sense of community of interest. 

This profound sentiment engenders, for certain Carolines, pettytroubles which, unfortunately for this book, have their dismal side. 

Adolphe is compromised. We will not enumerate all the methods ofcompromising oneself, for we might become personal. Let us take, as anexample, the social error which our epoch excuses, permits, understands and commits the most of any--the case of an honestrobbery, of skillfully concealed corruption in office, or of somemisrepresentation that becomes excusable when it has succeeded, as, for instance, having an understanding with parties in power, for thesale of property at the highest possible price to a city, or acountry. 

Thus, in a bankruptcy, Adolphe, in order to protect himself (thismeans to recover his claims), has become mixed up in certain unlawfuldoings which may bring a man to the necessity of testifying before theCourt of Assizes. In fact, it is not known that the daring creditorwill not be considered a party. 

Take notice that in all cases of bankruptcy, protecting oneself isregarded as the most sacred of duties, even by the most respectablehouses: the thing is to keep the bad side of the protection out ofsight, as they do in prudish England. 

Adolphe does not know what to do, as his counsel has told him not toappear in the matter: so he has recourse to Caroline. He gives her alesson, he coaches her, he teaches her the Code, he examines herdress, he equips her as a brig sent on a voyage, and despatches her tothe office of some judge, or some syndic. The judge is apparently aman of severe morality, but in reality a libertine: he retains hisserious expression on seeing a pretty woman enter, and makes sundryvery uncomplimentary remarks about Adolphe. 

"I pity you, madame, you belong to a man who may involve you innumerous unpleasant affairs: a few more matters like this, and he willbe quite disgraced. Have you any children? Excuse my asking; you areso young, it is perfectly natural. " And the judge comes as near toCaroline as possible. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Ah, great heavens! what a prospect is yours! My first thought was forthe woman, but now I pity you doubly, I think of the mother. Ah, howyou must have suffered in coming here! Poor, poor woman!"

"Ah, sir, you take an interest in me, do you not?"

"Alas, what can I do?" says the judge, darting a glance sidewise atCaroline. "What you ask of me is a dereliction of duty, and I am amagistrate before I am a man. "

"Oh, sir, only be a man--"

"Are you aware of the full bearing of that request, fair creature?" Atthis point the magistrate tremblingly takes Caroline's hand. 

Caroline, who remembers that the honor of her husband and children isat stake, says to herself that this is not the time to play the prude. She abandons her hand, making just resistance enough for the old man(happily he is an old man) to consider it a favor. 

"Come, come, my beauty, " resumes the judge, "I should be loath tocause so lovely a woman to shed tears; we'll see about it. You shallcome to-morrow evening and tell me the whole affair. We must look atthe papers, we will examine them together--"

"Sir--"

"It's indispensable. "

"But, sir--"

"Don't be alarmed, my dear, a judge is likely to know how to grantwhat is due to justice and--" he puts on a shrewd look here--"tobeauty. "

"But, sir--"

"Be quite at your ease, " he adds, holding her hand closely in his, "and we'll try to reduce this great crime down to a peccadillo. " Andhe goes to the door with Caroline, who is frightened to death at anappointment thus proposed. 

The syndic is a lively young man, and he receives Madame Adolphe witha smile. He smiles at everything, and he smiles as he takes her roundthe waist with an agility which leaves Caroline no time to resist, especially as she says to herself, "Adolphe particularly recommendedme not to vex the syndic. "

Nevertheless Caroline escapes, in the interest of the syndic himself, and again pronounces the "Sir!" which she had said three times to thejudge. 

"Don't be angry with me, you are irresistible, you are an angel, andyour husband is a monster: for what does he mean by sending a siren toa young man whom he knows to be inflammable!"

"Sir, my husband could not come himself; he is in bed, very sick, andyou threatened him so terribly that the urgency of the matter--"

"Hasn't he got a lawyer, an attorney?"

Caroline is terrified by this remark which reveals Adolphe's profoundrascality. 

"He supposed, sir, that you would have pity upon the mother of afamily, upon her children--"

"Ta, ta, ta, " returns the syndic. "You have come to influence myindependence, my conscience, you want me to give the creditors up toyou: well, I'll do more, I give you up my heart, my fortune! Yourhusband wants to save _his_ honor, _my_ honor is at your disposal!"

"Sir, " cries Caroline, as she tries to raise the syndic who has thrownhimself at her feet. "You alarm me!"

She plays the terrified female and thus reaches the door, getting outof a delicate situation as women know how to do it, that is, withoutcompromising anything or anybody. 

"I will come again, " she says smiling, "when you behave better. "

"You leave me thus! Take care! Your husband may yet find himselfseated at the bar of the Court of Assizes: he is accessory to afraudulent bankruptcy, and we know several things about him that arenot by any means honorable. It is not his first departure fromrectitude; he has done a good many dirty things, he has been mixed upin disgraceful intrigues, and you are singularly careful of the honorof a man who cares as little for his own honor as he does for yours. "

Caroline, alarmed by these words, lets go the door, shuts it and comesback. 

"What do you mean, sir?" she exclaims, furious at this outrageousbroadside. 

"Why, this affair--"

"Chaumontel's affair?"

"No, his speculations in houses that he had built by people that wereinsolvent. "

Caroline remembers the enterprise undertaken by Adolphe to double hisincome: (See _The Jesuitism of Women_) she trembles. Her curiosity isin the syndic's favor. 

"Sit down here. There, at this distance, I will behave well, but I canlook at you. "

And he narrates, at length, the conception due to du Tillet thebanker, interrupting himself to say: "Oh, what a pretty, cunning, little foot; no one but you could have such a foot as that--_DuTillet, therefore, compromised. _ What an ear, too! You have beendoubtless told that you had a delicious ear--_And du Tillet wasright, for judgment had already been given_--I love small ears, butlet me have a model of yours, and I will do anything you like--_duTillet profited by this to throw the whole loss on your idiotichusband_: oh, what a charming silk, you are divinely dressed!"

"Where were we, sir?"

"How can I remember while admiring your Raphaelistic head?"

At the twenty-seventh compliment, Caroline considers the syndic a manof wit: she makes him a polite speech, and goes away without learningmuch more of the enterprise which, not long before had swallowed upthree hundred thousand francs. 

There are many huge variations of this petty trouble. 

EXAMPLE. Adolphe is brave and susceptible: he is walking on the ChampsElysees, where there is a crowd of people; in this crowd are severalill-mannered young men who indulge in jokes of doubtful propriety:Caroline puts up with them and pretends not to hear them, in order tokeep her husband out of a duel. 

ANOTHER EXAMPLE. A child belonging to the genus Terrible, exclaims inthe presence of everybody:

"Mamma, would you let Justine hit me?"

"Certainly not. "

"Why do you ask, my little man?" inquires Madame Foullepointe. 

"Because she just gave father a big slap, and he's ever so muchstronger than me. "

Madame Foullepointe laughs, and Adolphe, who intended to pay court toher, is cruelly joked by her, after having had a first last quarrelwith Caroline. 

 THE LAST QUARREL. 

In every household, husbands and wives must one day hear the strikingof a fatal hour. It is a knell, the death and end of jealousy, agreat, noble and charming passion, the only true symptom of love, ifit is not even its double. When a woman is no longer jealous of herhusband, all is over, she loves him no more. So, conjugal love expiresin the last quarrel that a woman gives herself the trouble to raise. 

Axiom. --When a woman ceases to quarrel with her husband, the Minotaurhas seated himself in a corner arm-chair, tapping his boots with hiscane. 

Every woman must remember her last quarrel, that supreme petty troublewhich often explodes about nothing, but more often still on someoccasion of a brutal fact or of a decisive proof. This cruel farewellto faith, to the childishness of love, to virtue even, is in a degreeas capricious as life itself. Like life it varies in every house. 

Here, the author ought perhaps to search out all the varieties ofquarrels, if he desires to be precise. 

Thus, Caroline may have discovered that the judicial robe of thesyndic in Chaumontel's affair, hides a robe of infinitely softerstuff, of an agreeable, silky color: that Chaumontel's hair, in short, is fair, and that his eyes are blue. 

Or else Caroline, who arose before Adolphe, may have seen hisgreatcoat thrown wrong side out across a chair; the edge of a littleperfumed paper, just peeping out of the side-pocket, may haveattracted her by its whiteness, like a ray of the sun entering a darkroom through a crack in the window: or else, while taking Adolphe inher arms and feeling his pocket, she may have caused the note tocrackle: or else she may have been informed of the state of things bya foreign odor that she has long noticed upon him, and may have readthese lines:

"Ungraitfull wun, wot du yu supoz I no About Hipolite. Kum, and yushal se whether I Love yu. "

Or this:

"Yesterday, love, you made me wait for you: what will it beto-morrow?"

Or this:

"The women who love you, my dear sir, are very unhappy in hating youso, when you are not with them: take care, for the hatred which existsduring your absence, may possibly encroach upon the hours you spend intheir company. "

Or this:

"You traitorous Chodoreille, what were you doing yesterday on theboulevard with a woman hanging on your arm? If it was your wife, accept my compliments of condolence upon her absent charms: she hasdoubtless deposited them at the pawnbroker's, and the ticket to redeemthem with is lost. "

Four notes emanating from the grisette, the lady, the pretentiouswoman in middle life, and the actress, among whom Adolphe has chosenhis _belle_ (according to the Fischtaminellian vocabulary). 

Or else Caroline, taken veiled by Ferdinand to Ranelagh Garden, seeswith her own eyes Adolphe abandoning himself furiously to the polka, holding one of the ladies of honor to Queen Pomare in his arms; orelse, again, Adolphe has for the seventh time, made a mistake in thename, and called his wife Juliette, Charlotte or Lisa: or, a grocer orrestaurateur sends to the house, during Adolphe's absence, certaindamning bills which fall into Caroline's hands. 

PAPERS RELATING TO CHAUMONTEL'S AFFAIR. 

(Private Tables Served. )

M. Adolphe to Perrault, To 1 Pate de Foie Gras delivered at Madame Schontz's, the 6th of January, fr. 22. 50Six bottle of assorted wines, 70. 00To one special breakfast delivered at Congress Hotel, the 11th of February, at No. 21---- Stipulated price, 100. 00 ______

 Total, Francs, 192. 50

Caroline examines the dates and remembers them as appointments madefor business connected with Chaumontel's affair. Adolphe haddesignated the sixth of January as the day fixed for a meeting atwhich the creditors in Chaumontel's affair were to receive the sumsdue them. On the eleventh of February he had an appointment with thenotary, in order to sign a receipt relative to Chaumontel's affair. 

Or else--but an attempt to mention all the chances of discovery wouldbe the undertaking of a madman. 

Every woman will remember to herself how the bandage with which hereyes were bound fell off: how, after many doubts, and agonies ofheart, she made up her mind to have a final quarrel for the simplepurpose of finishing the romance, putting the seal to the book, stipulating for her independence, or beginning life over again. 

Some women are fortunate enough to have anticipated their husbands, and they then have the quarrel as a sort of justification. 

Nervous women give way to a burst of passion and commit acts ofviolence. 

Women of mild temper assume a decided tone which appalls the mostintrepid husbands. Those who have no vengeance ready shed a great manytears. 

Those who love you forgive you. Ah, they conceive so readily, like thewoman called "Ma berline, " that their Adolphe must be loved by thewomen of France, that they are rejoiced to possess, legally, a manabout whom everybody goes crazy. 

Certain women with lips tight shut like a vise, with a muddycomplexion and thin arms, treat themselves to the malicious pleasureof promenading their Adolphe through the quagmire of falsehood andcontradiction: they question him (see _Troubles within Troubles_), like a magistrate examining a criminal, reserving the spitefulenjoyment of crushing his denials by positive proof at a decisivemoment. Generally, in this supreme scene of conjugal life, the fairsex is the executioner, while, in the contrary case, man is theassassin. 

This is the way of it: This last quarrel (you shall know why theauthor has called it the _last_), is always terminated by a solemn, sacred promise, made by scrupulous, noble, or simply intelligent women(that is to say, by all women), and which we give here in its grandestform. 

"Enough, Adolphe! We love each other no more; you have deceived me, and I shall never forget it. I may forgive it, but I can never forgetit. "

Women represent themselves as implacable only to render theirforgiveness charming: they have anticipated God. 

"We have now to live in common like two friends, " continues Caroline. "Well, let us live like two comrades, two brothers, I do not wish tomake your life intolerable, and I never again will speak to you ofwhat has happened--"

Adolphe gives Caroline his hand: she takes it, and shakes it in theEnglish style. Adolphe thanks Caroline, and catches a glimpse ofbliss: he has converted his wife into a sister, and hopes to be abachelor again. 

The next day Caroline indulges in a very witty allusion (Adolphecannot help laughing at it) to Chaumontel's affair. In society shemakes general remarks which, to Adolphe, are very particular remarks, about their last quarrel. 

At the end of a fortnight a day never passes without Caroline'srecalling their last quarrel by saying: "It was the day when I foundChaumontel's bill in your pocket:" or "it happened since our lastquarrel:" or, "it was the day when, for the first time, I had a clearidea of life, " etc. She assassinates Adolphe, she martyrizes him! Insociety she gives utterance to terrible things. 

"We are happy, my dear [to a lady], when we love each other no longer:it's then that we learn how to make ourselves beloved, " and she looksat Ferdinand. 

In short, the last quarrel never comes to an end, and from this factflows the following axiom:

Axiom. --Putting yourself in the wrong with your lawful wife, issolving the problem of Perpetual Motion. 

 A SIGNAL FAILURE. 

Women, and especially married women, stick ideas into their brain-panprecisely as they stick pins into a pincushion, and the devil himself, --do you mind?--could not get them out: they reserve to themselves theexclusive right of sticking them in, pulling them out, and stickingthem in again. 

Caroline is riding home one evening from Madame Foullepointe's in aviolent state of jealousy and ambition. 

Madame Foullepointe, the lioness--but this word requires anexplanation. It is a fashionable neologism, and gives expression tocertain rather meagre ideas relative to our present society: you mustuse it, if you want to describe a woman who is all the rage. Thislioness rides on horseback every day, and Caroline has taken it intoher head to learn to ride also. 

Observe that in this conjugal phase, Adolphe and Caroline are in theseason which we have denominated _A Household Revolution_, and thatthey have had two or three _Last Quarrels_. 

"Adolphe, " she says, "do you want to do me a favor?"

"Of course. "

"Won't you refuse?"

"If your request is reasonable, I am willing--"

"Ah, already--that's a true husband's word--if--"

"Come, what is it?"

"I want to learn to ride on horseback. "

"Now, is it a possible thing, Caroline?"

Caroline looks out of the window, and tries to wipe away a dry tear. 

"Listen, " resumes Adolphe; "I cannot let you go alone to theriding-school; and I cannot go with you while business gives me theannoyance it does now. What's the matter? I think I have given youunanswerable reasons. "

Adolphe foresees the hiring of a stable, the purchase of a pony, theintroduction of a groom and of a servant's horse into theestablishment--in short, all the nuisance of female lionization. 

When a man gives a woman reasons instead of giving her what she wants--well, few men have ventured to descend into that small abyss calledthe heart, to test the power of the tempest that suddenly bursts forththere. 

"Reasons! If you want reasons, here they are!" exclaims Caroline. "Iam your wife: you don't seem to care to please me any more. And as tothe expenses, you greatly overrate them, my dear. "

Women have as many inflections of voice to pronounce these words, _Mydear_, as the Italians have to say _Amico_. I have counted twenty-ninewhich express only various degrees of hatred. 

"Well, you'll see, " resumes Caroline, "I shall be sick, and you willpay the apothecary and the doctor as much as the price of a horse. Ishall be walled up here at home, and that's all you want. I asked thefavor of you, though I was sure of a refusal: I only wanted to knowhow you would go to work to give it. "

"But, Caroline--"

"Leave me alone at the riding-school!" she continues withoutlistening. "Is that a reason? Can't I go with Madame de Fischtaminel?Madame de Fischtaminel is learning to ride on horseback, and I don'timagine that Monsieur de Fischtaminel goes with her. "

"But, Caroline--"

"I am delighted with your solicitude. You think a great deal of me, really. Monsieur de Fischtaminel has more confidence in his wife, thanyou have in yours. He does not go with her, not he! Perhaps it's onaccount of this confidence that you don't want me at the school, whereI might see your goings on with the fair Fischtaminel. "

Adolphe tries to hide his vexation at this torrent of words, whichbegins when they are still half way from home, and has no sea to emptyinto. When Caroline is in her room, she goes on in the same way. 

"You see that if reasons could restore my health or prevent me fromdesiring a kind of exercise pointed out by nature herself, I shouldnot be in want of reasons, and that I know all the reasons that thereare, and that I went over with the reasons before I spoke to you. "

This, ladies, may with the more truth be called the prologue to theconjugal drama, from the fact that it is vigorously delivered, embellished with a commentary of gestures, ornamented with glances andall the other vignettes with which you usually illustrate suchmasterpieces. 

Caroline, when she has once planted in Adolphe's heart theapprehension of a scene of constantly reiterated demands, feels herhatred for his control largely increase. Madame pouts, and she poutsso fiercely, that Adolphe is forced to notice it, on pain of verydisagreeable consequences, for all is over, be sure of that, betweentwo beings married by the mayor, or even at Gretna Green, when one ofthem no longer notices the sulkings of the other. 

Axiom. --A sulk that has struck in is a deadly poison. 

It was to prevent this suicide of love that our ingenious Franceinvented boudoirs. Women could not well have Virgil's willows in theeconomy of our modern dwellings. On the downfall of oratories, theselittle cubbies become boudoirs. 

This conjugal drama has three acts. The act of the prologue is alreadyplayed. Then comes the act of false coquetry: one of those in whichFrench women have the most success. 

Adolphe is walking about the room, divesting himself of his apparel, and the man thus engaged, divests himself of his strength as well asof his clothing. To every man of forty, this axiom will appearprofoundly just:

Axiom. --The ideas of a man who has taken his boots and his suspendersoff, are no longer those of a man who is still sporting these twotyrants of the mind. 

Take notice that this is only an axiom in wedded life. In morals, itis what we call a relative theorem. 

Caroline watches, like a jockey on the race course, the moment whenshe can distance her adversary. She makes her preparations to beirresistibly fascinating to Adolphe. 

Women possess a power of mimicking pudicity, a knowledge of secretswhich might be those of a frightened dove, a particular register forsinging, like Isabella, in the fourth act of _Robert le Diable: "Gracepour toi! Grace pour moi!"_ which leave jockeys and horse trainerswhole miles behind. As usual, the _Diable_ succumbs. It is the eternalhistory, the grand Christian mystery of the bruised serpent, of thedelivered woman becoming the great social force, as the Fourieristssay. It is especially in this that the difference between the Orientalslave and the Occidental wife appears. 

Upon the conjugal pillow, the second act ends by a number ofonomatopes, all of them favorable to peace. Adolphe, precisely likechildren in the presence of a slice of bread and molasses, promiseseverything that Caroline wants. 

THIRD ACT. As the curtain rises, the stage represents a chamber in astate of extreme disorder. Adolphe, in his dressing gown, tries to goout furtively and without waking Caroline, who is sleeping profoundly, and finally does go out. 

Caroline, exceedingly happy, gets up, consults her mirror, and makesinquiries about breakfast. An hour afterward, when she is ready shelearns that breakfast is served. 

"Tell monsieur. "

"Madame, he is in the little parlor. "

"What a nice man he is, " she says, going up to Adolphe, and talkingthe babyish, caressing language of the honey-moon. 

"What for, pray?"

"Why, to let his little Liline ride the horsey. "

OBSERVATION. During the honey-moon, some few married couples, --veryyoung ones, --make use of languages, which, in ancient days, Aristotleclassified and defined. (See his Pedagogy. ) Thus they are perpetuallyusing such terminations as _lala_, _nana_, _coachy-poachy_, just asmothers and nurses use them to babies. This is one of the secretreasons, discussed and recognized in big quartos by the Germans, whichdetermined the Cabires, the creators of the Greek mythology, torepresent Love as a child. There are other reasons very well known towomen, the principal of which is, that, in their opinion, love in menis always _small_. 

"Where did you get that idea, my sweet? You must have dreamed it!"

"What!"

Caroline stands stark still: she opens wide her eyes which are alreadyconsiderably widened by amazement. Being inwardly epileptic, she saysnot a word: she merely gazes at Adolphe. Under the satanic fires oftheir gaze, Adolphe turns half way round toward the dining-room; buthe asks himself whether it would not be well to let Caroline take onelesson, and to tip the wink to the riding-master, to disgust her withequestrianism by the harshness of his style of instruction. 

There is nothing so terrible as an actress who reckons upon a success, and who _fait four_. 

In the language of the stage, to _faire four_ is to play to awretchedly thin house, or to obtain not the slightest applause. It istaking great pains for nothing, in short a _signal failure_. 

This petty trouble--it is very petty--is reproduced in a thousand waysin married life, when the honey-moon is over, and when the wife has nopersonal fortune. 

In spite of the author's repugnance to inserting anecdotes in anexclusively aphoristic work, the tissue of which will bear nothing butthe most delicate and subtle observations, --from the nature of thesubject at least, --it seems to him necessary to illustrate this pageby an incident narrated by one of our first physicians. Thisrepetition of the subject involves a rule of conduct very much in usewith the doctors of Paris. 

A certain husband was in our Adolphe's situation. His Caroline, havingonce made a signal failure, was determined to conquer, for Carolineoften does conquer! (See _The Physiology of Marriage_, MeditationXXVI, Paragraph _Nerves_. ) She had been lying about on the sofas fortwo months, getting up at noon, taking no part in the amusements ofthe city. She would not go to the theatre, --oh, the disgustingatmosphere!--the lights, above all, the lights! Then the bustle, coming out, going in, the music, --it might be fatal, it's so terriblyexciting!

She would not go on excursions to the country, oh, certainly it washer desire to do so!--but she would like (desiderata) a carriage ofher own, horses of her own--her husband would not give her anequipage. And as to going in hacks, in hired conveyances, the barethought gave her a rising at the stomach!

She would not have any cooking--the smell of the meats produced asudden nausea. She drank innumerable drugs that her maid never saw hertake. 

In short, she expended large amounts of time and money in attitudes, privations, effects, pearl-white to give her the pallor of a corpse, machinery, and the like, precisely as when the manager of a theatrespreads rumors about a piece gotten up in a style of Orientalmagnificence, without regard to expense!

This couple had got so far as to believe that even a journey to thesprings, to Ems, to Hombourg, to Carlsbad, would hardly cure theinvalid: but madame would not budge, unless she could go in her owncarriage. Always that carriage!

Adolphe held out, and would not yield. 

Caroline, who was a woman of great sagacity, admitted that her husbandwas right. 

"Adolphe is right, " she said to her friends, "it is I who amunreasonable: he can not, he ought not, have a carriage yet: men knowbetter than we do the situation of their business. "

At times Adolphe was perfectly furious! Women have ways about themthat demand the justice of Tophet itself. Finally, during the thirdmonth, he met one of his school friends, a lieutenant in the corps ofphysicians, modest as all young doctors are: he had had his epaulettesone day only, and could give the order to fire!

"For a young woman, a young doctor, " said our Adolphe to himself. 

And he proposed to the future Bianchon to visit his wife and tell himthe truth about her condition. 

"My dear, it is time that you should have a physician, " said Adolphethat evening to his wife, "and here is the best for a pretty woman. "

The novice makes a conscientious examination, questions madame, feelsher pulse discreetly, inquires into the slightest symptoms, and, atthe end, while conversing, allows a smile, an expression, which, ifnot ironical, are extremely incredulous, to play involuntarily uponhis lips, and his lips are quite in sympathy with his eyes. Heprescribes some insignificant remedy, and insists upon its importance, promising to call again to observe its effect. In the ante-chamber, thinking himself alone with his school-mate, he indulges in aninexpressible shrug of the shoulders. 

"There's nothing the matter with your wife, my boy, " he says: "she istrifling with both you and me. "

"Well, I thought so. "

"But if she continues the joke, she will make herself sick in earnest:I am too sincerely your friend to enter into such a speculation, for Iam determined that there shall be an honest man beneath the physician, in me--"

"My wife wants a carriage. "

As in the _Solo on the Hearse_, this Caroline listened at the door. 

Even at the present day, the young doctor is obliged to clear his pathof the calumnies which this charming woman is continually throwinginto it: and for the sake of a quiet life, he has been obliged toconfess his little error--a young man's error--and to mention hisenemy by name, in order to close her lips. 

 THE CHESTNUTS IN THE FIRE. 

No one can tell how many shades and gradations there are inmisfortune, for everything depends upon the character of theindividual, upon the force of the imagination, upon the strength ofthe nerves. If it is impossible to catch these so variable shades, wemay at least point out the most striking colors, and the principalattendant incidents. The author has therefore reserved this pettytrouble for the last, for it is the only one that is at once comic anddisastrous. 

The author flatters himself that he has mentioned the principalexamples. Thus, women who have arrived safely at the haven, the happyage of forty, the period when they are delivered from scandal, calumny, suspicion, when their liberty begins: these women willcertainly do him the justice to state that all the critical situationsof a family are pointed out or represented in this book. 

Caroline has her Chaumontel's affair. She has learned how to induceAdolphe to go out unexpectedly, and has an understanding with Madamede Fischtaminel. 

In every household, within a given time, ladies like Madame deFischtaminel become Caroline's main resource. 

Caroline pets Madame de Fischtaminel with all the tenderness that theAfrican army is now bestowing upon Abd-el-Kader: she is as solicitousin her behalf as a physician is anxious to avoid curing a richhypochondriac. Between the two, Caroline and Madame de Fischtaminelinvent occupations for dear Adolphe, when neither of them desire thepresence of that demigod among their penates. Madame de Fischtamineland Caroline, who have become, through the efforts of MadameFoullepointe, the best friends in the world, have even gone so far asto learn and employ that feminine free-masonry, the rites of whichcannot be made familiar by any possible initiation. 

If Caroline writes the following little note to Madame deFischtaminel:

"Dearest Angel:

"You will probably see Adolphe to-morrow, but do not keep him toolong, for I want to go to ride with him at five: but if you aredesirous of taking him to ride yourself, do so and I will take him up. You ought to teach me your secret for entertaining used-up people asyou do. "

Madame de Fischtaminel says to herself: "Gracious! So I shall havethat fellow on my hands to-morrow from twelve o'clock to five. "

Axiom. --Men do not always know a woman's positive request when theysee it; but another woman never mistakes it: she does the contrary. 

Those sweet little beings called women, and especially Parisian women, are the prettiest jewels that social industry has invented. Those whodo not adore them, those who do not feel a constant jubilation atseeing them laying their plots while braiding their hair, creatingspecial idioms for themselves and constructing with their slenderfingers machines strong enough to destroy the most powerful fortunes, must be wanting in a positive sense. 

On one occasion Caroline takes the most minute precautions. She writesthe day before to Madame Foullepointe to go to St. Maur with Adolphe, to look at a piece of property for sale there. Adolphe would go tobreakfast with her. She aids Adolphe in dressing. She twits him withthe care he bestows upon his toilet, and asks absurd questions aboutMadame Foullepointe. 

"She's real nice, and I think she is quite tired of Charles: you'llinscribe her yet upon your catalogue, you old Don Juan: but you won'thave any further need of Chaumontel's affair; I'm no longer jealous, you've got a passport. Do you like that better than being adored?Monster, observe how considerate I am. "

So soon as her husband has gone, Caroline, who had not omitted, theprevious evening, to write to Ferdinand to come to breakfast with her, equips herself in a costume which, in that charming eighteenth centuryso calumniated by republicans, humanitarians and idiots, women ofquality called their fighting-dress. 

Caroline has taken care of everything. Love is the first house servantin the world, so the table is set with positively diabolic coquetry. There is the white damask cloth, the little blue service, the silvergilt urn, the chiseled milk pitcher, and flowers all round!

If it is winter, she has got some grapes, and has rummaged the cellarfor the very best old wine. The rolls are from the most famousbaker's. The succulent dishes, the _pate de foie gras_, the whole ofthis elegant entertainment, would have made the author of theGlutton's Almanac neigh with impatience: it would make a note-shaversmile, and tell a professor of the old University what the matter inhand is. 

Everything is prepared. Caroline has been ready since the nightbefore: she contemplates her work. Justine sighs and arranges thefurniture. Caroline picks off the yellow leaves of the plants in thewindows. A woman, in these cases, disguises what we may call theprancings of the heart, by those meaningless occupations in which thefingers have all the grip of pincers, when the pink nails burn, andwhen this unspoken exclamation rasps the throat: "He hasn't come yet!"

What a blow is this announcement by Justine: "Madame, here's aletter!"

A letter in place of Ferdinand! How does she ever open it? What agesof life slip by as she unfolds it! Women know this by experience! Asto men, when they are in such maddening passes, they murder theirshirt-frills. 

"Justine, Monsieur Ferdinand is ill!" exclaims Caroline. "Send for acarriage. "

As Justine goes down stairs, Adolphe comes up. 

"My poor mistress!" observes Justine. "I guess she won't want thecarriage now. "

"Oh my! Where have you come from?" cries Caroline, on seeing Adolphestanding in ecstasy before her voluptuous breakfast. 

Adolphe, whose wife long since gave up treating _him_ to such charmingbanquets, does not answer. But he guesses what it all means, as hesees the cloth inscribed with the delightful ideas which Madame deFischtaminel or the syndic of Chaumontel's affair have often inscribedfor him upon tables quite as elegant. 

"Whom are you expecting?" he asks in his turn. 

"Who could it be, except Ferdinand?" replies Caroline. 

"And is he keeping you waiting?"

"He is sick, poor fellow. "

A quizzical idea enters Adolphe's head, and he replies, winking withone eye only: "I have just seen him. "

"Where?"

"In front of the Cafe de Paris, with some friends. "

"But why have you come back?" says Caroline, trying to conceal hermurderous fury. 

"Madame Foullepointe, who was tired of Charles, you said, has beenwith him at Ville d'Avray since yesterday. "

Adolphe sits down, saying: "This has happened very appropriately, forI'm as hungry as two bears. "

Caroline sits down, too, and looks at Adolphe stealthily: she weepsinternally: but she very soon asks, in a tone of voice that shemanages to render indifferent, "Who was Ferdinand with?"

"With some fellows who lead him into bad company. The young man isgetting spoiled: he goes to Madame Schontz's. You ought to write toyour uncle. It was probably some breakfast or other, the result of abet made at M'lle Malaga's. " He looks slyly at Caroline, who drops hereyes to conceal her tears. "How beautiful you have made yourself thismorning, " Adolphe resumes. "Ah, you are a fair match for yourbreakfast. I don't think Ferdinand will make as good a meal as Ishall, " etc. , etc. 

Adolphe manages the joke so cleverly that he inspires his wife withthe idea of punishing Ferdinand. Adolphe, who claims to be as hungryas two bears, causes Caroline to forget that a carriage waits for herat the door. 

The female that tends the gate at the house Ferdinand lives in, arrives at about two o'clock, while Adolphe is asleep on a sofa. ThatIris of bachelors comes to say to Caroline that Monsieur Ferdinand isvery much in need of some one. 

"He's drunk, I suppose, " says Caroline in a rage. 

"He fought a duel this morning, madame. "

Caroline swoons, gets up and rushes to Ferdinand, wishing Adolphe atthe bottom of the sea. 

When women are the victims of these little inventions, which are quiteas adroit as their own, they are sure to exclaim, "What abominablemonsters men are!"

 ULTIMA RATIO. 

We have come to our last observation. Doubtless this work is beginningto tire you quite as much as its subject does, if you are married. 

This work, which, according to the author, is to the _Physiology ofMarriage_ what Fact is to Theory, or History to Philosophy, has itslogic, as life, viewed as a whole, has its logic, also. 

This logic--fatal, terrible--is as follows. At the close of the firstpart of the book--a book filled with serious pleasantry--Adolphe hasreached, as you must have noticed, a point of complete indifference inmatrimonial matters. 

He has read novels in which the writers advise troublesome husbands toembark for the other world, or to live in peace with the fathers oftheir children, to pet and adore them: for if literature is thereflection of manners, we must admit that our manners recognize thedefects pointed out by the _Physiology of Marriage_ in thisfundamental institution. More than one great genius has dealt thissocial basis terrible blows, without shaking it. 

Adolphe has especially read his wife too closely, and disguises hisindifference by this profound word: indulgence. He is indulgent withCaroline, he sees in her nothing but the mother of his children, agood companion, a sure friend, a brother. 

When the petty troubles of the wife cease, Caroline, who is moreclever than her husband, has come to profit by this advantageousindulgence: but she does not give her dear Adolphe up. It is woman'snature never to yield any of her rights. DIEU ET MON DROIT--CONJUGAL!is, as is well known, the motto of England, and is especially soto-day. 

Women have such a love of domination that we will relate an anecdote, not ten years old, in point. It is a very young anecdote. 

One of the grand dignitaries of the Chamber of Peers had a Caroline, as lax as Carolines usually are. The name is an auspicious one forwomen. This dignitary, extremely old at the time, was on one side ofthe fireplace, and Caroline on the other. Caroline was hard upon thelustrum when women no longer tell their age. A friend came in toinform them of the marriage of a general who had lately been intimatein their house. 

Caroline at once had a fit of despair, with genuine tears; shescreamed and made the grand dignitary's head ache to such a degree, that he tried to console her. In the midst of his condolences, thecount forgot himself so far as to say--"What can you expect, my dear, he really could not marry you!"

And this was one of the highest functionaries of the state, but afriend of Louis XVIII, and necessarily a little bit Pompadour. 

The whole difference, then, between the situation of Adolphe and thatof Caroline, consists in this: though he no longer cares about her, she retains the right to care about him. 

Now, let us listen to "What _they_ say, " the theme of the concludingchapter of this work. 

 COMMENTARY. 

 IN WHICH IS EXPLAINED LA FELICITA OF FINALES. 

Who has not heard an Italian opera in the course of his life? You mustthen have noticed the musical abuse of the word _felicita_, solavishly used by the librettist and the chorus at the moment wheneverybody is deserting his box or leaving the house. 

Frightful image of life. We quit it just when we hear _la felicita_. 

Have you reflected upon the profound truth conveyed by this finale, atthe instant when the composer delivers his last note and the authorhis last line, when the orchestra gives the last pull at thefiddle-bow and the last puff at the bassoon, when the principalsingerssay "Let's go to supper!" and the chorus people exclaim "How lucky, itdoesn't rain!" Well, in every condition in life, as in an Italianopera, there comes a time when the joke is over, when the trick isdone, when people must make up their minds to one thing or the other, when everybody is singing his own _felicita_ for himself. After havinggone through with all the duos, the solos, the stretti, the codas, theconcerted pieces, the duettos, the nocturnes, the phases which thesefew scenes, chosen from the ocean of married life, exhibit you, andwhich are themes whose variations have doubtless been divined bypersons with brains as well as by the shallow--for so far as sufferingis concerned, we are all equal--the greater part of Parisianhouseholds reach, without a given time, the following final chorus:

THE WIFE, _to a young woman in the conjugal Indian Summer_. My dear, Iam the happiest woman in the world. Adolphe is the model of husbands, kind, obliging, not a bit of a tease. Isn't he, Ferdinand?

Caroline addresses Adolphe's cousin, a young man with a nice cravat, glistening hair and patent leather boots: his coat is cut in the mostelegant fashion: he has a crush hat, kid gloves, something very choicein the way of a waistcoat, the very best style of moustaches, whiskers, and a goatee a la Mazarin; he is also endowed with aprofound, mute, attentive admiration of Caroline. 

FERDINAND. Adolphe is happy to have a wife like you! What does hewant? Nothing. 

THE WIFE. In the beginning, we were always vexing each other: but nowwe get along marvelously. Adolphe no longer does anything but what helikes, he never puts himself out: I never ask him where he is goingnor what he has seen. Indulgence, my dear, is the great secret ofhappiness. You, doubtless, are still in the period of petty troubles, causeless jealousies, cross-purposes, and all sorts of littlebotherations. What is the good of all this? We women have but a shortlife, at the best. How much? Ten good years! Why should we fill themwith vexation? I was like you. But, one fine morning, I made theacquaintance of Madame de Fischtaminel, a charming woman, who taughtme how to make a husband happy. Since then, Adolphe has changedradically; he has become perfectly delightful. He is the first to sayto me, with anxiety, with alarm, even, when I am going to the theatre, and he and I are still alone at seven o'clock: "Ferdinand is comingfor you, isn't he?" Doesn't he, Ferdinand?

FERDINAND. We are the best cousins in the world. 

THE INDIAN SUMMER WIFE, _very much affected_. Shall I ever come tothat?

THE HUSBAND, _on the Italian Boulevard_. My dear boy [he hasbutton-holed Monsieur de Fischtaminel], you still believe thatmarriageis based upon passion. Let me tell you that the best way, in conjugallife, is to have a plenary indulgence, one for the other, on conditionthat appearances be preserved. I am the happiest husband in the world. Caroline is a devoted friend, she would sacrifice everything for me, even my cousin Ferdinand, if it were necessary: oh, you may laugh, butshe is ready to do anything. You entangle yourself in your laughableideas of dignity, honor, virtue, social order. We can't have our lifeover again, so we must cram it full of pleasure. Not the smallestbitter word has been exchanged between Caroline and me for two yearspast. I have, in Caroline, a friend to whom I can tell everything, andwho would be amply able to console me in a great emergency. There isnot the slightest deceit between us, and we know perfectly well whatthe state of things is. We have thus changed our duties intopleasures. We are often happier, thus, than in that insipid seasoncalled the honey-moon. She says to me, sometimes, "I'm out of humor, go away. " The storm then falls upon my cousin. Caroline never puts onher airs of a victim, now, but speaks in the kindest manner of me tothe whole world. In short, she is happy in my pleasures. And as she isa scrupulously honest woman, she is conscientious to the last degreein her use of our fortune. My house is well kept. My wife leaves methe right to dispose of my reserve without the slightest control onher part. That's the way of it. We have oiled our wheels and cogs, while you, my dear Fischtaminel, have put gravel in yours. 

CHORUS, _in a parlor during a ball_. Madame Caroline is a charmingwoman. 

A WOMAN IN A TURBAN. Yes, she is very proper, very dignified. 

A WOMAN WHO HAS SEVEN CHILDREN. Ah! she learned early how to manageher husband. 

ONE OF FERDINAND'S FRIENDS. But she loves her husband exceedingly. Besides, Adolphe is a man of great distinction and experience. 

ONE OF MADAME DE FISCHTAMINEL'S FRIENDS. He adores his wife. There'sno fuss at their house, everybody is at home there. 

MONSIEUR FOULLEPOINTE. Yes, it's a very agreeable house. 

A WOMAN ABOUT WHOM THERE IS A GOOD DEAL OF SCANDAL. Caroline is kindand obliging, and never talks scandal of anybody. 

A YOUNG LADY, _returning to her place after a dance_. Don't youremember how tiresome she was when she visited the Deschars?

MADAME DE FISCHTAMINEL. Oh! She and her husband were two bundles ofbriars--continually quarreling. [She goes away. ]

AN ARTIST. I hear that the individual known as Deschars is gettingdissipated: he goes round town--

A WOMAN, _alarmed at the turn the conversation is taking, as herdaughter can hear_. Madame de Fischtaminel is charming, this evening. 

A WOMAN OF FORTY, _without employment_. Monsieur Adolphe appears to beas happy as his wife. 

A YOUNG LADY. Oh! what a sweet man Monsieur Ferdinand is! [Her motherreproves her by a sharp nudge with her foot. ] What's the matter, mamma?

HER MOTHER, _looking at her fixedly_. A young woman should not speakso, my dear, of any one but her betrothed, and Monsieur Ferdinand isnot a marrying man. 

A LADY DRESSED RATHER LOW IN THE NECK, _to another lady dressedequally low, in a whisper_. The fact is, my dear, the moral of allthis is that there are no happy couples but couples of four. 

A FRIEND, _whom the author was so imprudent as to consult_. Those lastwords are false. 

THE AUTHOR. Do you think so?

THE FRIEND, _who has just been married_. You all of you use your inkin depreciating social life, on the pretext of enlightening us! Why, there are couples a hundred, a thousand times happier than yourboasted couples of four. 

THE AUTHOR. Well, shall I deceive the marrying class of thepopulation, and scratch the passage out?

THE FRIEND. No, it will be taken merely as the point of a song in avaudeville. 

THE AUTHOR. Yes, a method of passing truths off upon society. 

THE FRIEND, _who sticks to his opinion_. Such truths as are destinedto be passed off upon it. 

THE AUTHOR, _who wants to have the last word_. Who and what is therethat does not pass off, or become passe? When your wife is twentyyears older, we will resume this conversation. 

THE FRIEND. You revenge yourself cruelly for your inability to writethe history of happy homes. 

 THE END