The exhilaration of success and the fever of life’s struggle take a man
away from his family, or cause him to live amid it as a stranger, and
soon he no longer finds any attractions in the things which charmed
him at the outset. But let ill luck come, let the cold wind blow rather
strongly, and he falls back upon himself, he seeks near him something to
support him in his weakness, a sentiment to replace his vanished dream,
and he bends toward his child, he takes his wife’s hand and presses it.
He seems to invite these two to share his burden. Seeing tears in the
eyes of those he loves, his own seem diminished to that extent. It would
seem that moral suffering has the same effect as physical pain. The
drowning wretch clutches at straws; in the same way, the man whose heart
is breaking clasps his wife and children to him. He asks in turn for
help, protection, and comfort, and it is a touching thing to see the
strong shelter himself in the arms of the weak and recover courage in
their kiss. Children have the instinct of all this; and the liveliest
emotion they are capable of feeling is that which they experience on
seeing their father weep.
Recall, dear reader, your most remote recollections, seek in that past
which seems to you all the clearer the farther you are removed from it.
Have you ever seen your father come home and sit down by the fire with
a tear in his eye? Then you dared not draw near him at first, so deeply
did you feel his grief. How unhappy he must be for his eyes to be
wet. Then you felt that a tie attached you to this poor man, that his
misfortune struck you too, that a part of it was yours, and that you
were smitten because your father was. And no one understands better
than the child this joint responsibility of the family to which he owes
everything. You have felt all this; your heart has swollen as you stood
silent in the corner, and sobs have broken forth as, without knowing
why, you have held out your arms toward him. He has turned, he has
understood all, he has not been able to restrain his grief any further,
and you have remained clasped in one another’s arms, father, mother,
and child, without saying anything, but gazing at and understanding one
another. Did you, however, know the cause of the poor man’s grief?
Not at all.
This is why filial love and paternal love have been poetized, why the
family is styled holy. It is because one finds therein the very source
of that need of loving, helping and sustaining one another, which from
time to time spreads over the whole of society, but in the shape of a
weakened echo. It is only from time to time in history that we see a
whole nation gather together, retire within itself and experience the
same thrill.
A frightful convulsion is needed to make a million men hold out their
hands to one another and understand one another at a glance; it needs
a superhuman effort for the family to become the nation, and for the
boundaries of the hearth to extend to the frontiers.
A complaint, a pang, a tear, is enough to make a man, a woman, and a
child, blend their hearts together and feel that they are but one.
Laugh at marriage; the task is easy. All human contracts are tainted
with error, and an error is always smiled at by those who are not the
victims of it. There are husbands, it is certain; and when we see a man
tumble down, even if he knocks his brains out, our first impulse it
to burst out laughing. Hence the great and eternal mirth that greets
Sganarelle.
But search to the bottom and behold that beneath all these trifles,
beneath all this dust of little exploded vanities, ridiculous mistakes
and comical passions, is hidden the very pivot of society. Verify that
in this all is for the best, since this family sentiment, which is the
basis of society, is also its consolation and joy.
The honor of our flag, the love of country, and all that urges a man to
devote himself to something or some one not himself, are derived from
this sentiment, and in it, you may assert, is to be found the source
whence flow the great streams at which the human heart quenches its
thirst.
Egotism for three, you say. What matter, if this egotism engenders
devotion?
Will you reproach the butterfly with having been a caterpillar?
Do not accuse me in all this of exaggeration, or of poetic exaltation.
Yes, family life is very often calm and commonplace, the stock-pot
that figures on its escutcheon has not been put there without reason, I
admit. To the husband who should come and say to me: “Sir, for two days
running I have fallen asleep by the fireside,” I should reply: “You are
too lazy, but after all I understand you.”
I also understand that Baby’s trumpet is noisy, that articles of
jewellery are horribly dear, that lace flounces and sable trimmings are
equally so, that balls are wearisome, that Madame has her vapors, her
follies, exigencies; I understand, in short, that a man whose career is
prosperous looks upon his wife and child as two stumbling blocks.
But I am waiting for the happy man, for the moment when his forehead
will wrinkle, when disappointment will descend upon his head like a
leaden skull-cap, and when picking up the two blocks he has cursed he
will make two crutches of them.
I admit that Alexander the Great, Napoleon the First, and all the
demi-gods of humanity, have only felt at rare intervals the charm of
being fathers and husbands; but we other poor little men, who are less
occupied, must be one or the other.
I do not believe in the happy old bachelor; I do not believe in
the happiness of all those who, from stupidity or calculation, have
withdrawn themselves from the best of social laws. A great deal has
been said on this subject, and I do not wish to add to the voluminous
documents in this lawsuit. Acknowledge frankly all you who have heard
the cry of your new-born child and felt your heart tingle like a glass
on the point of breaking, unless you are idiots, acknowledge that you
said to yourselves: “I am in the right. Here, and here alone, lies man’s
part. I am entering on a path, beaten and worn, but straight; I shall
cross the weary downs, but each step will bring me nearer the village
spire. I am not wandering through life, I am marching on, I stir with my
feet the dust in which my father has planted his. My child, on the same
road, will find the traces of my footsteps, and, perhaps, on seeing that
I have not faltered, will say: ‘Let me act like my old father and not
lose myself in the ploughed land.’”
If the word holy has still a meaning, despite the uses it has been put
to, I do not see that a better use can be made of it than by placing it
beside the word family.
They speak of progress, justice, general well-being, infallible
policies, patriotism, devotion. I am for all these good things, but this
bright horizon is summed up in these three words: “Love your neighbor,”
and this is precisely, in my opinion, the thing they forget to teach.
To love your neighbor is as simple as possible, but the mischief is that
you do not meet with this very natural feeling. There are people who
will show you the seed in the hollow of their hand, but even those who
deal in this precious grain are the last to show you it in leaf.
Well, my dear reader, this little plant which should spring up like
the poppies in the wheat, this plant which has never been seen growing
higher than watercress, but which should overtop the oaks, this
undiscoverable plant, I know where it grows.
It grows beside the domestic hearth, between the shovel and tongs; it is
there that it perpetuates itself, and if it still exists, it is to the
family that we owe it. I love pretty nearly all the philanthropists and
saviours of mankind; but I only believe in those who have learned to
love others by embracing their own children.
Mankind can not be remodelled to satisfy the wants of humanitarian
theories; man is egotistical, and he loves, above all, those who are
about him. This is the natural human sentiment, and it is this which
must be enlarged, extended and cultivated. In a word, it is in family
love that is comprised love of country and consequently of humanity. It
is from fathers that citizens are made.
Man has not twenty prime movers, but only one in his heart; do not argue
but profit by it.
Affection is catching. Love between three--father, mother, and
child--when it is strong, soon requires space; it pushes back the walls
of the house, and by degrees invites the neighbors. The important thing,
then, is to give birth to this love between three; for it is madness,
I am afraid, to thrust the whole human species all at once on a man’s
heart. Such large mouthfuls are not to be swallowed at a gulp, nor
without preparation.
This is why I have always thought that with the numerous sous given for
the redemption of the little Chinese, we might in France cause the fire
to sparkle on hearths where it sparkles no longer, make many eyes grow
brighter round a tureen of smoking soup, warm chilled mothers, bring
smiles to the pinched faces of children, and give pleasure and happiness
to poor discouraged ones on their return home.
What a number of hearty kisses you might have brought about with all
these sous, and, in consequence, what a sprinkling with the watering-pot
for the little plant you wot of.
“But then what is to become of the redemption of the little Chinese?”
We will think of this later; we must first know how to love our own
before we are able to love those of others.
No doubt, this is brutal and egotistical, but you can not alter it; it
is out of small faults that you build up great virtues. And, after all,
do not grumble, this very vanity is the foundation stone of that great
monument--at present still propped up by scaffolding--which is called
Society.
ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS:
A ripe husband, ready to fall from the tree
Affection is catching
All babies are round, yielding, weak, timid, and soft
And I shall say ‘damn it,’ for I shall then be grown up
Answer “No,” but with a little kiss which means “Yes”
As regards love, intention and deed are the same
But she thinks she is affording you pleasure
Clumsily, blew his nose, to the great relief of his two arms
Do not seek too much
Emotion when one does not share it
First impression is based upon a number of trifles
He Would Have Been Forty Now
Hearty laughter which men affect to assist digestion
How many things have not people been proud of
How rich we find ourselves when we rummage in old drawers
Husband who loves you and eats off the same plate is better
I would give two summers for a single autumn
I do not accept the hypothesis of a world made for us
I came here for that express purpose
I am not wandering through life, I am marching on
Ignorant of everything, undesirous of learning anything
In his future arrange laurels for a little crown for your own
It (science) dreams, too; it supposes
It is silly to blush under certain circumstances
Learned to love others by embracing their own children
Life is not so sweet for us to risk ourselves in it singlehanded
Love in marriage is, as a rule, too much at his ease
Man is but one of the links of an immense chain
Rather do not give--make yourself sought after
Reckon yourself happy if in your husband you find a lover
Recollection of past dangers to increase the present joy
Respect him so that he may respect you
Shelter himself in the arms of the weak and recover courage
Sometimes like to deck the future in the garments of the past
The heart requires gradual changes
The future that is rent away
The recollection of that moment lasts for a lifetime
The future promises, it is the present that pays
Their love requires a return
There are pious falsehoods which the Church excuses
Ties that unite children to parents are unloosed
Ties which unite parents to children are broken
To be able to smoke a cigar without being sick
To love is a great deal--To know how to love is everything
We are simple to this degree, that we do not think we are
When time has softened your grief
Why mankind has chosen to call marriage a man-trap