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!”