The Archduke Charles published a very fine treatise on military under
the title _Principles of Strategy in Relation to the Campaigns of 1796_.
These principles seem somewhat to resemble poetic canons prepared for
poems already published. In these days we are become very much more
energetic, we invent rules to suit works and works to suit rules. But
of what use were ancient principles of military art in presence of the
impetuous genius of Napoleon? If, to-day, however, we reduce to a
system the lessons taught by this great captain whose new tactics have
destroyed the ancient ones, what future guarantee do we possess that
another Napoleon will not yet be born? Books on military art meet, with
few exceptions, the fate of ancient works on Chemistry and Physics.
Everything is subject to change, either constant or periodic.
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 in
slumber, nothing has been easier than to weave the meshes with which we
have bound her; but the moment she wakes up and begins to struggle,
all is confusion and complication. If a husband would make an effort
to recall the principles of the system which we have just described in
order to involve his wife in the nets which our second part has set for
her, he would resemble Wurmser, Mack and Beaulieu arranging their halts
and their marches while Napoleon nimbly turns their flank, and makes 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 it
under the same lie, each setting the same trap for the other? And whose
will be the victory when each of you is caught in a similar snare?
“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, be
good, and go with your wife.”
You say to yourself:
“She would be nicely caught if I consented! She asks me only to be
refused.”
Then you reply to her:
“Just at the moment I have some business with Monsieur Blank, for he has
to give a report in a business matter which deeply concerns us both, and
I must absolutely see him. Then I must go to the Minister of Finance. So
your arrangement will suit us both.”
“Very well, dearest, go and dress yourself, while Celine finishes
dressing me; but don’t keep me waiting.”
“I am ready now, love,” you cry out, at the end of ten minutes, as you
stand shaved and dressed.
But all is changed. A letter has arrived; madame is not well; her dress
fits badly; the dressmaker has come; if it is not the dressmaker it is
your mother. Ninety-nine out of a hundred husbands will leave the 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 not distressed
by pecuniary anxiety, and who in order to give employment to a vacant
mind, examines night and day the changing tableaux of each day’s
experience, soon discovers the mistake she has made in falling into a
trap or allowing herself to be surprised by a catastrophe; she will then
endeavor to turn all these weapons against you.
There is a man in society, the sight of whom is strangely annoying to
your wife; she can tolerate neither his tone, his manners nor his way of
regarding things. Everything connected with him is revolting to her; she
is persecuted by him, he is odious to her; she hopes that no one will
tell him this. It seems almost as if she were attempting to oppose you;
for this man is one for whom you have the highest esteem. You like his
disposition because he flatters you; and thus your wife presumes that
your esteem for him results from flattered vanity. When you give a ball,
an evening party or a concert, there is almost a discussion on this
subject, and madame picks a quarrel with you, because you are compelling
her to see people who are not agreeable to her.
“At least, sir, I shall never have to reproach myself with omitting
to warn you. That man will yet cause you trouble. You should put some
confidence 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 a
predilection, is a very dangerous person, and you are doing very
wrong to bring him to your house. And this is the way you behave; you
absolutely force me to see one whom I cannot tolerate, and if I ask you
to invite Monsieur A-----, you refuse to do so, because you think that
I like to have him with me! I admit that he talks well, that he is kind
and amiable; but you are more to me than he can ever be.”
These rude outlines of feminine tactics, which are emphasized by
insincere gestures, by looks of feigned ingenuousness, by artful
intonations of the voice and even by the snare of cunning silence, are
characteristic to some degree of their whole conduct.
There are few husbands who in such circumstances as these do not form
the idea of setting a mouse-trap; they welcome as their guests both
Monsieur A----- and the imaginary baron who represents the person whom
their wives abhor, and they do so in the hope of discovering a lover in
the celibate who is apparently beloved.
Oh yes, I have often met in the world young men who were absolutely
starlings in love and complete dupes of a friendship which women
pretended to show them, women who felt themselves obliged to make a
diversion and to apply a blister to their husbands as their husbands had
previously done to them! These poor innocents pass their time in running
errands, in engaging boxes at the theatre, in riding in the Bois de
Boulogne by the carriages of their pretended mistresses; they are
publicly credited with possessing women whose hands they have not even
kissed. Vanity prevents them from contradicting these flattering rumors,
and like the young priests who celebrate masses without a Host, they
enjoy a mere show passion, and are veritable supernumeraries of love.
Under these circumstances sometimes a husband on returning home asks the
porter: “Has no one been here?”--“M. le Baron came past at two o’clock
to see monsieur; but as he found no one was in but madame he went 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 man
who holds you in high esteem; when he comes to your house your wife
listens furtively for his footsteps; at a ball she always dances with
him. If you forbid her to see him, she makes a great outcry and it is
not till many years afterwards [see Meditation on _Las Symptoms_] that
you see the innocence of Monsieur A----- and the culpability of the
baron.
We have observed and noted as one of the cleverest manoeuvres, that of
a young woman who, carried away by an irresistible passion, exhibited a
bitter hatred to the man she did not love, but lavished upon her
lover secret intimations of her love. The moment that her husband was
persuaded that she loved the _Cicisbeo_ and hated the _Patito_, she
arranged that she and the _Patito_ should be found in a situation whose
compromising character she had calculated in advance, and her husband
and the execrated celibate were thus induced to believe that her love
and her aversion were equally insincere. When she had brought her
husband into the condition of perplexity, she managed that a passionate
letter should fall into his hands. One evening in the midst of 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 own
counsel as you have done. I am in love! Is this a sentiment which is
easy for me to repress? But what I can do is to confess the fact to you;
to implore you to protect me from myself, to save me from my own folly.
Be my master and be a stern master to me; take me away from this place,
remove me from what has caused all this trouble, console me; 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 my cousin was a
snare set to deceive you. I love him with the love of friendship and no
more.--Oh! forgive me! I can love no one but”--her voice was choked in
passionate sobs--“Oh! let us go away, let us leave Paris!”
She began to weep; her hair was disheveled, her dress in disarray; it
was midnight, and her husband forgave her. From henceforth, the cousin
made his appearance without risk, and the Minotaur devoured one victim
more.
What instructions can we give for contending with such adversaries as
these? Their heads contain all the diplomacy of the congress of Vienna;
they have as much power when they are caught as when they escape. What
man has a mind supple enough to lay aside brute force and strength and
follow his wife through such mazes as these?
To make a false plea every moment, in order to elicit the truth, a true
plea in order to unmask falsehood; to charge the battery when least
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 plain
again five minutes later; to accompany the foe in windings as rapid, as
obscure as those of a plover on the breezes; to obey when obedience is
necessary, and to oppose when resistance is inertial; to traverse the
whole scale of hypotheses as a young artist with one stroke runs from
the lowest to the highest note of his piano; to divine at last the
secret purpose on which a woman is bent; to fear her caresses and to
seek rather to find out what are the thoughts that suggested them and
the pleasure which she derived from them--this is mere child’s pay for
the man of intellect and for those lucid and searching imaginations
which possess the gift of doing and thinking at the same time. But there
are a vast number of husbands who are terrified at the mere idea of
putting in practice these principles in their dealings with a woman.
Such men as these prefer passing their lives in making huge efforts
to become second-class chess-players, or to pocket adroitly a ball in
billiards.
Some of them will tell you that they are incapable of keeping their
minds on such a constant strain and breaking up the habits of their
life. In that case the woman triumphs. She recognizes that in mind and
energy she is her husband’s superior, although the superiority may be
but temporary; and yet there rises in her a feeling of contempt for the
head of the house.
If many man fail to be masters in their own house this is not from lack
of willingness, but of talent. As for those who are ready to undergo
the toils of this terrible duel, it is quite true that they must needs
possess great moral force.
And really, as soon as it is necessary to display all the resources of
this secret strategy, it is often useless to attempt setting any traps
for these satanic creatures. Once women arrive at a point when they
willfully deceive, their countenances become as inscrutable as vacancy.
Here is an example which came within my own experience.
A very young, very pretty, and very clever coquette of Paris had not
yet risen. Seated by her bed was one of her dearest friends. A letter
arrived from another, a very impetuous fellow, to whom she had allowed
the right of speaking to her like a master. The letter was in pencil and
ran as follows:
“I understand that Monsieur C----- is with you at this moment. I am
waiting 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 which
stood on the table, and he brought it to her.
“Thanks, my dear,” she said to him; “go on talking, I am listening to
you.”
C----- talked away and she replied, all the while writing the following
note:
“As soon as you become jealous of C----- you two can blow out
each other’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 this candle.
Good, you are charming. And now be kind enough to leave me and let me
get up, and give this letter to Monsieur d’H-----, who is waiting at the
door.”
All this was said with admirable coolness. The tones and intonations of
her voice, the expression of her face showed no emotion. Her audacity
was crowned with complete success. On receiving the answer from the hand
of Monsieur C-----, Monsieur d’H----- felt his wrath subside. He
was troubled with only one thing and that was how to disguise his
inclination to laugh.
The more torch-light one flings into the immense cavern which we are now
trying to illuminate, the more profound it appears. It is a bottomless
abyss. It appears to us that our task will be accomplished more
agreeably and more instructively if we show the principles of strategy
put into practice in the case of a woman, when she has reached a high
degree of vicious accomplishment. An example suggests more maxims and
reveals the existence of more methods than all possible theories.
One day at the end of a dinner given to certain intimate friends by
Prince Lebrun, the guests, heated by champagne, were discussing the
inexhaustible subject of feminine artifice. The recent adventure
which was credited to the Countess R. D. S. J. D. A-----, apropos of a
necklace, was the subject first broached. A highly esteemed artist, a
gifted friend of the emperor, was vigorously maintaining the opinion,
which seemed somewhat unmanly, that it was forbidden to a man to resist
successfully the webs woven by a woman.
“It is my happy experience,” he said, “that to them nothing is sacred.”
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 having formed
his conclusions as to the age of the ladies, smiled and said:
“Since we are all experienced in life, I consent to relate the
adventure.”
Dead silence followed, and the narrator read the following from a little
book which he had taken from his pocket:
I was head over ears in love with the Comtesse de -----. I was twenty
and 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 was twenty;
she forgave me. And as I was twenty, as I was always ingenuous, always
deceived, but never again thrown over by her, I believed myself to have
been the best beloved of lovers, consequently the happiest of men. The
countess had a friend, Madame de T-----, who seemed to have some designs
on me, but without compromising her dignity; for she was scrupulous and
respected the proprieties. One day while I was waiting for the countess
in her Opera box, I heard my name called from a contiguous box. It was
Madame de T-----.
“What,” she said, “already here? Is this fidelity or merely a want of
something to do? Won’t you come to me?”
Her voice and her manner had a meaning in them, but I was far from
inclined at that moment to indulge in a romance.
“Have you any plans for this evening?” she said to me. “Don’t make any!
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, I
obeyed.
“Go to this gentleman’s house,” she said to the lackey. “Say he will not
be home till to-morrow.”
She made a sign to him, he went to her, she whispered in his ear, and
he left us. The Opera began. I tried to venture on a few words, but
she silenced me; some one might be listening. The first act ended, the
lackey brought back a note, and told her that everything was ready. Then
she smiled, asked for my hand, took me off, put me in her carriage, and
I started on my journey quite ignorant of my destination. 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, that she had long loved the Marquis
de V-----, that she must have known I was aware of it, I should have
believed myself in good luck; but she knew the condition of my heart,
and the Comtesse de -----. I therefore rejected all presumptuous ideas
and bided my time. At the first stop, a change of horses was supplied
with the swiftness of lightning and we started afresh. The matter was
becoming serious. I asked with some insistency, 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, for you
will never guess. We are going to my husband’s house. Do you know him?”
“Not in the least.”
“So much the better, I thought you didn’t. But I hope you will like him.
We have lately become reconciled. Negotiations went on for six months;
and we have been writing to one another for a month. I think it 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 be
in this reconciliation?”
“Ah, that is my business. You are young, amiable, unconventional; you
suit 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 a
reconciliation to make us acquainted; the awkwardness of the first
interview, the figure all three of us will cut,--I don’t see anything
particularly pleasant in that.”
“I have taken possession of you for my own amusement!” she said with an
imperious air, “so please don’t preach.”
I saw she was decided, so surrendered myself to circumstances. I began
to laugh at my predicament and we became exceedingly merry. We again
changed horses. The mysterious torch of night lit up a sky of extreme
clearness and shed around a delightful twilight. We were approaching the
spot where our tete-a-tete must end. She pointed out to me at intervals
the beauty of the landscape, the tranquillity of the night, the
all-pervading silence of nature. In order to admire these things in
company as it was natural we should, we turned to the same window and
our faces touched for a moment. In a sudden shock she seized my hand,
and by a chance which seemed to me extraordinary, for the stone over
which our carriage had bounded could not have been very large, I found
Madame de T----- in my arms. I do not know what we were trying to see;
what I am sure of is that the objects before our eyes began in spite
of the full moon to grow misty, when suddenly I was released from her
weight, and she sank into the back cushions of the carriage.
“Your object,” she said, rousing herself from a deep reverie, “is
possibly 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 sudden surprise
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 had
entered the court of the chateau. The whole place was brightly lit up.
Everything wore a festal air, excepting the face of its master, who
at the sight of me seemed anything but delighted. He came forward and
expressed in somewhat hesitating terms the tenderness proper to
the occasion of a reconciliation. I understood later on that this
reconciliation was absolutely necessary from family reasons. I was
presented to him and was coldly greeted. He extended his hand to his
wife, and I followed the two, thinking of my part in the past, in the
present and in the future. I passed through apartments decorated with
exquisite taste. The master in this respect had gone beyond all the
ordinary refinement of luxury, in the hope of reanimating, by the
influence of voluptuous imagery, a physical nature that was dead. Not
knowing what to say, I took refuge in expressions of admiration. The
goddess of the temple, who was quite ready to do the honors, accepted my
compliments.
“You have not seen anything,” she said. “I must take you to the
apartments 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, on which
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 to
find ourselves gathered together? The husband looked at me with a
supercilious air, and I paid him back with a look of audacity.
Madame de T----- smiled at me and was charming to me; Monsieur de T-----
accepted me as a necessary evil. Never in all my life have I taken part
in a dinner which was so odd as that. The dinner ended, I thought that
we would go to bed early--that is, I thought that Monsieur de T-----
would. As we entered the drawing-room:
“I appreciate, madame,” said he, “your precaution in bringing this
gentleman with you. You judged rightly that I should be but poor company
for the evening, and you have done well, for I am going to retire.”
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 twelvemonth were
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, in order to
break through the awkwardness, she proposed that we should take a turn
on the terrace while we waited, as she said, until the servants had
supped.
It was a superb night. It was scarcely possible to discern surrounding
objects, they seemed to be covered with a veil, that imagination might
be permitted to take a loftier flight. The gardens, terraced on the side
of a mountain, sloped down, platform after platform, to the banks of the
Seine, and the eye took in the many windings of the stream covered with
islets green and picturesque. These variations in the landscape made
up a thousand pictures which gave to the spot, naturally charming, a
thousand novel features. We walked along the most extensive of these
terraces, which was covered with a thick umbrage of trees. She had
recovered from the effects of her husband’s persiflage, and as we walked
along she gave me her confidence. Confidence begets confidence, and as
I told her mine, all she said to me became more intimate and more
interesting. Madame de T----- at first gave me her arm; but soon this
arm became interlaced in mine, I know not how, but in some way almost
lifted her up and prevented her from touching the ground. The position
was agreeable, but became at last fatiguing. We had been walking for
a long time and we still had much to say to each other. A bank of turf
appeared and she sat down without withdrawing her arm. And in this
position we began to sound the praises of mutual confidence, its charms
and its delights.
“Ah!” she said to me, “who can enjoy it more than we and with less cause
of fear? I know well the tie that binds you to another, and therefore
have nothing to fear.”
Perhaps she wished to be contradicted. But I answered not a word. We
were then mutually persuaded that it was possible for us to be friends
without fear of going further.
“But I was afraid, however,” I said, “that that sudden jolt in the
carriage 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 to
think that I fear you.”