To the glory of women, let it be said, they care for their husbands
even when their husbands care no more for them, not only because there
are more ties, socially speaking, between a married woman and a man,
than between the man and the wife; but also because woman has more
delicacy and honor than man, the chief conjugal question apart, as a
matter of course.
Axiom.—In a husband, there is only a man; in a married woman, there is
a man, a father, a mother and a woman.
A married woman has sensibility enough for four, or for five even, if
you look closely.
Now, it is not improper to observe in this place, that, in a woman’s
eyes, love is a general absolution: the man who is a good lover may
commit crimes, if he will, he is always as pure as snow in the eyes of
her who loves him, if he truly loves her. As to a married woman, loved
or not, she feels so deeply that the honor and consideration of her
husband are the fortune of her children, that she acts like the woman
in love,—so active is the sense of community of interest.
This profound sentiment engenders, for certain Carolines, petty
troubles which, unfortunately for this book, have their dismal side.
Adolphe is compromised. We will not enumerate all the methods of
compromising oneself, for we might become personal. Let us take, as an
example, the social error which our epoch excuses, permits, understands
and commits the most of any—the case of an honest robbery, of
skillfully concealed corruption in office, or of some misrepresentation
that becomes excusable when it has succeeded, as, for instance, having
an understanding with parties in power, for the sale of property at the
highest possible price to a city, or a country.
Thus, in a bankruptcy, Adolphe, in order to protect himself (this means
to recover his claims), has become mixed up in certain unlawful doings
which may bring a man to the necessity of testifying before the Court
of Assizes. In fact, it is not known that the daring creditor will not
be considered a party.
Take notice that in all cases of bankruptcy, protecting oneself is
regarded as the most sacred of duties, even by the most respectable
houses: the thing is to keep the bad side of the protection out of
sight, as they do in prudish England.
Adolphe does not know what to do, as his counsel has told him not to
appear in the matter: so he has recourse to Caroline. He gives her a
lesson, he coaches her, he teaches her the Code, he examines her dress,
he equips her as a brig sent on a voyage, and despatches her to the
office of some judge, or some syndic. The judge is apparently a man of
severe morality, but in reality a libertine: he retains his serious
expression on seeing a pretty woman enter, and makes sundry very
uncomplimentary remarks about Adolphe.
“I pity you, madame, you belong to a man who may involve you in
numerous unpleasant affairs: a few more matters like this, and he will
be quite disgraced. Have you any children? Excuse my asking; you are so
young, it is perfectly natural.” And the judge comes as near to
Caroline as possible.
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah, great heavens! what a prospect is yours! My first thought was for
the woman, but now I pity you doubly, I think of the mother. Ah, how
you 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 at
Caroline. “What you ask of me is a dereliction of duty, and I am a
magistrate before I am a man.”
“Oh, sir, only be a man—”
“Are you aware of the full bearing of that request, fair creature?” At
this point the magistrate tremblingly takes Caroline’s hand.
Caroline, who remembers that the honor of her husband and children is
at 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 to cause
so lovely a woman to shed tears; we’ll see about it. You shall come
to-morrow evening and tell me the whole affair. We must look at the
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 grant what
is due to justice and—” he puts on a shrewd look here—“to beauty.”
“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.” And he goes
to the door with Caroline, who is frightened to death at an appointment
thus proposed.
The syndic is a lively young man, and he receives Madame Adolphe with a
smile. He smiles at everything, and he smiles as he takes her round the
waist with an agility which leaves Caroline no time to resist,
especially as she says to herself, “Adolphe particularly recommended me
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 the
judge.
“Don’t be angry with me, you are irresistible, you are an angel, and
your husband is a monster: for what does he mean by sending a siren to
a young man whom he knows to be inflammable!”
“Sir, my husband could not come himself; he is in bed, very sick, and
you 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 profound
rascality.
“He supposed, sir, that you would have pity upon the mother of a
family, upon her children—”
“Ta, ta, ta,” returns the syndic. “You have come to influence my
independence, my conscience, you want me to give the creditors up to
you: well, I’ll do more, I give you up my heart, my fortune! Your
husband wants to save _his_ honor, _my_ honor is at your disposal!”
“Sir,” cries Caroline, as she tries to raise the syndic who has thrown
himself at her feet. “You alarm me!”
She plays the terrified female and thus reaches the door, getting out
of a delicate situation as women know how to do it, that is, without
compromising 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 himself seated
at the bar of the Court of Assizes: he is accessory to a fraudulent
bankruptcy, and we know several things about him that are not by any
means honorable. It is not his first departure from rectitude; he has
done a good many dirty things, he has been mixed up in disgraceful
intrigues, and you are singularly careful of the honor of 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 comes
back.
“What do you mean, sir?” she exclaims, furious at this outrageous
broadside.
“Why, this affair—”
“Chaumontel’s affair?”
“No, his speculations in houses that he had built by people that were
insolvent.”
Caroline remembers the enterprise undertaken by Adolphe to double his
income: (See _The Jesuitism of Women_) she trembles. Her curiosity is
in the syndic’s favor.
“Sit down here. There, at this distance, I will behave well, but I can
look at you.”
And he narrates, at length, the conception due to du Tillet the banker,
interrupting himself to say: “Oh, what a pretty, cunning, little foot;
no one but you could have such a foot as that—_Du Tillet, therefore,
compromised._ What an ear, too! You have been doubtless told that you
had a delicious ear—_And du Tillet was right, for judgment had already
been given_—I love small ears, but let me have a model of yours, and I
will do anything you like—_du Tillet profited by this to throw the
whole loss on your idiotic husband_: 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 man
of wit: she makes him a polite speech, and goes away without learning
much more of the enterprise which, not long before had swallowed up
three hundred thousand francs.
There are many huge variations of this petty trouble.
EXAMPLE. Adolphe is brave and susceptible: he is walking on the Champs
Elysees, where there is a crowd of people; in this crowd are several
ill-mannered young men who indulge in jokes of doubtful propriety:
Caroline puts up with them and pretends not to hear them, in order to
keep her husband out of a duel.
ANOTHER EXAMPLE. A child belonging to the genus Terrible, exclaims in
the 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 much
stronger than me.”
Madame Foullepointe laughs, and Adolphe, who intended to pay court to
her, is cruelly joked by her, after having had a first last quarrel
with Caroline.