May Heaven keep her for ever out of harm's way! How kind of her to wish
to avenge me! Her anger at my dishonour plainly teaches me how to act.
Nobody should bear such affronts as these tamely, unless indeed he be a
fool. Let us therefore hasten to hunt out this rascal who has insulted
me, and let me prove my courage by avenging my dishonour.
[Footnote: A similar adventure is told of the renowned fabulist
La Fontaine. One day some one informed him that Poignan, a retired
captain of dragoons and one of his friends, was by far too intimate
with Madame La Fontaine, and that to avenge his dishonour he ought to
fight a duel with him. La Fontaine calls upon Poignan at four o'clock
in the morning, tells him to dress, takes him out of town, and then
coolly says "that he has been advised to fight a duel with him in order
to avenge his wounded honour." Soon La Fontaine's sword flies out of his
hand, the friends go to breakfast, and the whole affair is at an end.]
I will teach you, you rogue, to laugh at my expense, and to cuckold
people without showing them any respect. (_After going three or four
steps he comes back again_.) But gently, if you please, this man looks
as if he were very hot-headed and passionate; he may, perhaps, heaping
one insult upon another, ornament my back as well as he has done my brow.
[Footnote: In the original there is a play on words which cannot be
rendered in English. _Il pourrait bien ... charger de bois mon dos
comme, il a fait mort front_. _Bois_ means "stick" and "stags'
antlers."]
I detest, from the bottom of my heart, these fiery tempers, and vastly
prefer peaceable people. I do not care to beat for fear of being beaten;
a gentle disposition was always my predominant virtue: But my honour
tells me that it is absolutely necessary I should avenge such an outrage
as this. Let honour say whatever it likes, the deuce take him who
listens. Suppose now I should play the hero, and receive for my pains an
ugly thrust with a piece of cold steel quite through my stomach; when
the news of my death spreads through the whole town, tell me then, my
honour, shall you be the better of it.
[Footnote: Compare in Shakespeare's _Part First of King Henry IV_.
v. I, Falstaff's speech about honour.]
The grave is too melancholy an abode, and too unwholesome for people who
are afraid of the colic; as for me, I find, all things considered, that
it is, after all, better to be a cuckold than to be dead. What harm is
there in it? Does it make a man's legs crooked? does it spoil his shape?
The plague take him who first invented being grieved about such a
delusion, linking the honour of the wisest man to anything a fickle
woman may do. Since every person is rightly held responsible for his own
crimes, how can our honour, in this case, be considered criminal? We are
blamed for the actions of other people. If our wives have an intrigue
with any man, without our knowledge, all the mischief must fall upon our
backs; they commit the crime and we are reckoned guilty. It is a
villainous abuse, and indeed Government should remedy such injustice.
Have we not enough of other accidents that happen to us whether we like
them or not? Do not quarrels, lawsuits, hunger, thirst, and sickness
sufficiently disturb the even tenour of our lives? and yet we must
stupidly get it into our heads to grieve about something which has no
foundation. Let us laugh at it, despise such idle fears, and be above
sighs and tears. If my wife has done amiss, let her cry as much as she
likes, but why should I weep when I have done no wrong? After all, I am
not the only one of my fraternity, and that should console me a little.
Many people of rank see their wives cajoled, and do not say a word about
it. Why should I then try to pick a quarrel for an affront, which is but
a mere trifle? They will call me a fool for not avenging myself, but I
should be a much greater fool to rush on my own destruction. (_Putting
his hand upon his stomach_). I feel, however, my bile is stirred up
here; it almost persuades me to do some manly action. Ay, anger gets the
better of me; it is rather too much of a good thing to be a coward too!
I am resolved to be revenged upon the thief of my honour. Full of the
passion which excites my ardour, and in order to make a beginning,
I shall go and tell everywhere that he lies with my wife.