A recluse, who was credited with the gift of second sight, having
commanded the children of Israel to follow him to a mountain top in
order to hear the revelation of certain mysteries, saw that he was
accompanied 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 that
at the first halt, an artisan remembered that he had to deliver a new
pair of slippers to a duke and peer, a publican fell to thinking how he
had some specie to negotiate, and off they went.
A little further on two lovers lingered under the olive trees and
forgot the discourse of the prophet; for they thought that the promised
land was the spot where they stood, and the divine word was heard when
they talked to one another.
The fat people, loaded with punches a la Sancho, had been wiping their
foreheads 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 man
who spoke was a fashionable.)
“He is a mere charlatan.”
The prophet kept marching on. But when he reached the plateau, from
which a wide horizon spread before him, he turned back, and saw no one
but a poor Israelite, to whom he might have said as the Prince de Ligne
to the wretched little bandy-legged drummer boy, whom he found on 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 short
recapitulation will not terrify thee, and I have traveled on under the
impression that thou, like me, hast kept saying to thyself, “Where the
deuce are we going?”
Well, well, this is the place and the time to ask you, respected
reader, what your opinion is with regard to the renewal of the tobacco
monopoly, and what you think of the exorbitant taxes on wines, on the
right to carry firearms, on gaming, on lotteries, on playing cards, on
brandy, on soap, cotton, silks, etc.
“I think that since all these duties make up one-third of the public
revenues, 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, nor
maladies in France, the State would be within an ace of bankruptcy; for
it seems that the capital of our national income consists of popular
corruptions, as our commerce is kept alive by national luxury. If you
cared to look a little closer into the matter you would see that all
taxes are based upon some moral malady. As a matter of fact, if we
continue this philosophical scrutiny it will appear that the gendarmes
would want horses and leather breeches, if every one kept the peace,
and if there were neither foes nor idle people in the world. Therefore
impose virtue on mankind! Well, I consider that there are more
parallels than people think between my honest woman and the budget, and
I will undertake to prove this by a short essay on statistics, if you
will permit me to finish my book on the same lines as those on which I
have begun it. Will you grant that a lover must put on more clean
shirts than are worn by either a husband, or a celibate unattached?
This to me seems beyond doubt. The difference between a husband and a
lover is seen even in the appearance of their toilette. The one is
careless, he is unshaved, and the other never appears excepting in full
dress. Sterne has pleasantly remarked that the account book of the
laundress was the most authentic record he knew, as to the life of
Tristram Shandy; and that it was easy to guess from the number of
shirts he wore what passages of his book had cost him most. Well, with
regard to lovers the account book of their laundresses is the most
faithful historic record as well as the most impartial account of their
various amours. And really a prodigious quantity of tippets, cravats,
dresses, which are absolutely necessary to coquetry, is consumed in the
course of an amour. A wonderful prestige is gained by white stockings,
the lustre of a collar, or a shirt-waist, the artistically arranged
folds of a man’s shirt, or the taste of his necktie or his collar. This
will explain the passages in which I said of the honest woman
[Meditation II], “She spends her life in having her dresses starched.”
I have sought information on this point from a lady in order to learn
accurately at what sum was to be estimated the tax thus imposed by
love, and after fixing it at one hundred francs per annum for a woman,
I recollect what she said with great good humor: “It depends on the
character of the man, for some are so much more particular than
others.” Nevertheless, after a very profound discussion, in which I
settled upon the sum for the celibates, and she for her sex, it was
agreed that, one thing with another, since the two lovers belong to the
social sphere which this work concerns, they ought to spend between
them, in the matter referred to, one hundred and fifty francs more than
in time of peace.
By a like treaty, friendly in character and long discussed, we arranged
that there should be a collective difference of four hundred francs
between the expenditure for all parts of the dress on a war footing,
and for that on a peace footing. This provision was considered very
paltry by all the powers, masculine or feminine, whom we consulted. The
light thrown upon these delicate matters by the contributions of
certain persons suggested to us the idea of gathering together certain
savants at a dinner party, and taking their wise counsels for our
guidance in these important investigations. The gathering took place.
It was with glass in hand and after listening to many brilliant
speeches that I received for the following chapters on the budget of
love, a sort of legislative sanction. The sum of one hundred francs was
allowed for porters and carriages. Fifty crowns seemed very reasonable
for the little patties that people eat on a walk, for bouquets of
violets and theatre tickets. The sum of two hundred francs was
considered necessary for the extra expense of dainties and dinners at
restaurants. It was during this discussion that a young cavalryman, who
had been made almost tipsy by the champagne, was called to order for
comparing lovers to distilling machines. But the chapter that gave
occasion for the most violent discussion, and the consideration of
which was adjourned for several weeks, when a report was made, was that
concerning presents. At the last session, the refined Madame de D——-
was the first speaker; and in a graceful address, which testified to
the nobility of her sentiments, she set out to demonstrate that most of
the time the gifts of love had no intrinsic value. The author replied
that all lovers had their portraits taken. A lady objected that a
portrait was invested capital, and care should always be taken to
recover it for a second investment. But suddenly a gentleman of
Provence rose to deliver a philippic against women. He spoke of the
greediness which most women in love exhibited for furs, satins, silks,
jewels and furniture; but a lady interrupted him by asking if Madame
d’O——-y, his intimate friend, 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 condemned
to dine the whole party, for having used the word _husband_.”
The Provencal was completely refuted by a lady who undertook to prove
that women show much more self-sacrifice in love than men; that lovers
cost very dear, and that the honest woman may consider herself very
fortunate if she gets off with spending on them two thousand francs for
a single year. The discussion was in danger of degenerating into an
exchange of personalities, when a division was called for. The
conclusions of the committee were adopted by vote. The conclusions
were, in substance, that the amount for presents between lovers during
the year should be reckoned at five hundred francs, but that in this
computation should be included: (1) the expense of expeditions into the
country; (2) the pharmaceutical expenses, occasioned by the colds
caught from walking in the damp pathways of parks, and in leaving the
theatre, which expenses are veritable presents; (3) the carrying of
letters, and law expenses; (4) journeys, and expenses whose items are
forgotten, without counting the follies committed by the spenders;
inasmuch as, according to the investigations of the committee, it had
been proved that most of a man’s extravagant expenditure profited the
opera girls, rather than the married women. The conclusion arrived at
from this pecuniary calculation was that, in one way or another, a
passion costs nearly fifteen hundred francs a year, which were required
to meet the expense borne more unequally by lovers, but which would not
have occurred, but for their attachment. There was also a sort of
unanimity in the opinion of the council that this was the lowest annual
figure which would cover the cost of a passion. Now, my dear sir, since
we have proved, by the statistics of our conjugal calculations [See
Meditations I, II, and III.] and proved irrefragably, that there exists
a floating total of at least fifteen hundred thousand unlawful
passions, it follows:
That the criminal conversations of a third among the French population
contribute a sum of nearly three thousand millions to that vast
circulation of money, the true blood of society, of which the budget is
the heart;
That the honest woman not only gives life to the children of the
peerage, 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 active
as a consumer;
That the least decline in public love would involve incalculable
miseries to the treasury, and to men of invested fortunes;
That a husband has at least a third of his fortune invested in the
inconstancy of his wife, etc.
I am well aware that you are going to open your mouth and talk to me
about manners, politics, good and evil. But, my dear victim of the
Minotaur, is not happiness the object which all societies should set
before them? Is it not this axiom that makes these wretched kings give
themselves so much trouble about their people? Well, the honest woman
has not, like them, thrones, gendarmes and tribunals; she has only a
bed to offer; but if our four hundred thousand women can, by this
ingenious machine, make a million celibates happy, do not they attain
in a mysterious manner, and without making any fuss, the end aimed at
by a government, namely, the end of giving the largest possible amount
of 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 which
one of our wittiest caricaturists closes his satiric observations: “Man
is not perfect!” It is sufficient, therefore, that our institutions
have no more disadvantages than advantages in order to be reckoned
excellent; for the human race is not placed, socially speaking, between
the good and the bad, but between the bad and the worse. Now if the
work, which we are at present on the point of concluding, has had for
its object the diminution of the worse, as it is found in matrimonial
institutions, in laying bare the errors and absurdities due to our
manners and our prejudices, we shall certainly have won one of the
fairest titles that can be put forth by a man to a place among the
benefactors of humanity. Has not the author made it his aim, by
advising husbands, to make women more self-restrained and consequently
to impart more violence to passions, more money to the treasury, more
life to commerce and agriculture? Thanks to this last Meditation he can
flatter himself that he has strictly kept the vow of eclecticism, which
he made in projecting the work, and he hopes he has marshaled all
details of the case, and yet like an attorney-general refrained from
expressing his personal opinion. And really what do you want with an
axiom in the present matter? Do you wish that this book should be a
mere development of the last opinion held by Tronchet, who in his
closing days thought that the law of marriage had been drawn up less in
the interest of husbands than of children? I also wish it very much.
Would you rather desire that this book should serve as proof to the
peroration of the Capuchin, who preached before Anne of Austria, and
when he saw the queen and her ladies overwhelmed by his triumphant
arguments against their frailty, said as he came down from the pulpit
of truth, “Now you are all honorable women, and it is we who
unfortunately are sons of Samaritan women”? I have no objection to that
either. You may draw what conclusion you please; for I think it is very
difficult to put forth two contrary opinions, without both of them
containing some grains of truth. But the book has not been written
either for or against marriage; all I have thought you needed was an
exact description of it. If an examination of the machine shall lead us
to make one wheel of it more perfect; if by scouring away some rust we
have given more elastic movement to its mechanism; then give his wage
to the workman. If the author has had the impertinence to utter truths
too harsh for you, if he has too often spoken of rare and exceptional
facts as universal, if he has omitted the commonplaces which have been
employed from time immemorial to offer women the incense of flattery,
oh, let him be crucified! But do not impute to him any motive of
hostility to the institution itself; he is concerned merely for men and
women. He knows that from the moment marriage ceases to defeat the
purpose of marriage, it is unassailable; and, after all, if there do
arise serious complaints against this institution, it is perhaps
because man has no memory excepting for his disasters, that he accuses
his wife, as he accuses his life, for marriage is but a life within a
life. Yet people whose habit it is to take their opinions from
newspapers would perhaps despise a book in which they see the mania of
eclecticism pushed too far; for then they absolutely demand something
in the shape of a peroration, it is not hard to find one for them. And
since the words of Napoleon served to start this book, why should it
not end as it began? Before the whole Council of State the First Consul
pronounced the following startling phrase, 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!”