Frequent disputes and rare reconciliations--so that was to be our life
thenceforth. After Leberger’s ball, we passed a whole month without
speaking to each other. That month seemed very long to me; I sighed for
my bachelor days, but even more for the early months of our married
life.
We spoke at last, but not with the same effusion of sentiment as before.
On the slightest pretext my wife became excited and lost her temper.
When I argued with her, she had hysterical attacks and shrieked at the
top of her voice. When we were first married, if we had a little
discussion, she wept, but she never shrieked and she was never
hysterical.
My daughter was three years old and she had grown to be a lovely
creature; her features were as beautiful as her mother’s, but she never
sulked; she had already begun to talk and to argue with me. I was
passionately fond of my little Henriette; when I was at odds with her
mother, I would take my daughter in my arms, cover her with kisses, and
make up to myself with her for the caresses which I no longer bestowed
upon Eugénie.
“You will always love me, won’t you?” I would say to Henriette; and when
her sweet voice answered: “Yes, papa, always,” my heart experienced a
thrill of well-being which often made me forget my quarrels with my
wife.
When winter brought back the time of balls and parties, Leberger brought
Monsieur Dulac to our house; he was a tall, dark young fellow, very
good-looking, and with a somewhat conceited manner; but it is not safe
to trust to the manners that a person displays in society: to know
people well one must see them in private. However, Monsieur Dulac was
well-bred and very agreeable; he was said to be an excellent musician;
and he had an independent fortune; those recommendations were quite
sufficient to cause him to be popular in society.
Monsieur Dulac seemed to enjoy coming to our house. He was a constant
attendant at our receptions, and sometimes he came to see me in the
morning. He had a trifling difference about a farm which he owned in
common with a cousin of his; he requested me to adjust the affair, which
I readily undertook to do. The young man manifested much regard for me,
and although I knew that one should not rely upon society friends, I
have always allowed myself to be taken in by manifestations of
friendship for myself, for I have never pretended to like people whom I
did not like.
Thanks to Monsieur Dulac, we had music at our house more frequently. My
wife had almost abandoned her piano; I need not say that she had ceased
to give me lessons, for one must be on the best of terms with a person
to have patience enough to teach him to play on any instrument. We were
not always on good terms, and Eugénie was not patient; she had declared
that I did not listen, and I had made the same complaint with respect to
her painting; so that brush and piano were alike neglected.
But Monsieur Dulac, who played the violin very well, urged my wife to
take up music again; I myself was very glad that Eugénie should not
forget an accomplishment in which she was proficient. She consented,
because a stranger’s compliments are much more flattering than a
husband’s; the piano resounded anew under her fingers, and I listened
with pleasure; she used to play so often when I was paying court to her!
With the taste for music, Eugénie also contracted a taste for balls,
receptions, the theatre--in a word, for the world. We began to see a
great many people; almost every day we had invitations to dinners or
other festivities; and then we were bound to return the courtesies we
had received; so that we had not a day to ourselves. That was not the
placid existence which we had planned in the early days of our married
life. For my own part, I confess that that constant rush made me dizzy;
but it pleased my wife and it was one way of obtaining peace.
I earned enough money to meet the expenses of the life we led. Eugénie
now spent on her dress a large part of her income. She had become very
coquettish of late; however, she was not yet twenty-five, and she was as
pretty as ever.
What distressed me was that amid all this dissipation my wife paid
little attention to her daughter; our Henriette never lacked anything
and she was well taken care of, but it seemed to me that her mother did
not pet her enough. Eugénie loved her daughter dearly; I could not doubt
that; perhaps it was because I spoiled her a little that she was more
stern with her. I dared not reprove her; indeed at that moment I
carefully avoided everything that could excite her; once more she was
expecting to become a mother and I had received the news with the most
intense delight; I felt that I should be so happy to have a son! To be
sure I could not love him any more dearly than I loved my daughter, but
I should love him as much, and from the delight that one child afforded
me, I felt that with two my happiness would be twice as great. So I was
most assiduous in my attentions to my wife; but I did not see that she
was any more amiable to me.
I went very seldom to see Ernest, but I knew that they were happy. They
had two children now, whom they adored, and Marguerite liked better to
remain by their cradles than to go to balls or parties. I confessed to
myself that I would have been glad if Eugénie had had such quiet tastes.
Marguerite always was kind enough to inquire for my wife; as for Ernest,
he had never entered our house again, and I approved his course.
I had not met Bélan for a long while, when he entered my study one
morning, flushed, panting, and in a profuse perspiration. He sat down
beside me and did not give me time to question him.
“I am, my friend, I certainly am! I am sure of it now. It is a most
frightful, most abominable thing!”
“What is it that you are, then?” I asked, watching Bélan mop his
forehead.
“Parbleu! do you need to ask? I am a cuckold!”
Bélan said this in such an absurd tone that I could not resist the
desire to laugh. While I indulged it, Bélan sprang to his feet and
muttered in a feeling tone:
“I did not think that an old friend, a married man, would laugh like
this at my misfortune.”
“I beg pardon, my dear Bélan,” I said, forcing him to resume his seat;
“I beg pardon. You certainly cannot suppose that I intended to hurt you.
But the fact is that you said that so suddenly that I thought it was a
joke.”
“No, I swear to you that there is no joke about it. Mon Dieu! that
wicked Armide! Such a well-bred woman, and nobly born! A woman who
wouldn’t let me take off my shirt in her presence! I cannot stand it any
longer, and I have come to consult you as to what I had best do. You are
a lawyer and you will advise me.--Shameless creature!”
“Come, come! First of all, calm yourself, Bélan, and then, if you desire
my advice, tell me what makes you think that your wife is deceiving
you.”
“I have told you, my friend, of a certain marquis who used to pay court
to my wife, and who afterward came in the kindest way to visit us. Oh!
as to that, I must admit that he overwhelmed me with attentions. He came
often----”
“It was you yourself who urged him to, so you told me.”
“Yes, that is true, because the Girauds had presumed to make remarks.
Besides, could I ever have imagined? Perfidious Armide!--A woman who
pinched and bit and scratched me on our wedding night, when I--you
understand?”
“Well, my dear Bélan?”
“Well, the marquis finally almost lived at our house. He escorted my
wife to the theatre, brought her home from parties and sang duets with
her; he has a very fine voice, I admit. All that was agreeable to me, it
was all right. Moreover, I said to myself: ‘My mother-in-law is with
them.’ But, the day before yesterday, having returned home when I was
not expected, I thought I would go to my wife’s room; she was locked
into her boudoir with the marquis. What for? There is no piano in her
boudoir. My friend, I remembered my bachelor adventures, all the
husbands I have wronged; it was as if someone had struck me with a
hammer. I ran to the boudoir and knocked like a deaf man; my wife
admitted me and made a scene. The marquis seemed offended by my air of
suspicion, and I concluded that I was mistaken. But it seems that when
those infernal ideas once get into your head, they don’t leave it again
very soon. I dreamed all night of Molière’s _George Dandin_, and _Le
Cocu Imaginaire_. Ah! my dear Blémont, jealousy is a terrible thing! You
know nothing about it and you are very lucky! And to think that it
struck me like a pistol shot!”
“My wife has taught me all the suffering that jealousy can cause, my
dear Bélan, but go on.”
“Well, yesterday I was to dine out, and my wife was to dine with one of
her aunts. I left the house. On the way I remembered my adventure with
Madame Montdidier--you remember, before we were married?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“She also had said that she was going to dine with one of her aunts, and
I was the aunt. Ah! my friend, I believe that it brings bad luck to have
injured others so much. In short, it occurred to me to go home and watch
my wife. I hurried back and went into a passageway opposite our door.
That also reminded me of my bachelor days. After five minutes I saw
Armide come out and get into a cab in a very alluring négligé. My
mother-in-law was not with her, although she had told me that they were
going together. I followed the cab, at the risk of breaking a
blood-vessel. It took my wife to the new boulevards, which were in the
opposite direction from her aunt’s house. It stopped before a restaurant
celebrated for its fried fish and gudgeons. Armide went in; a few
seconds later I did the same; I put five francs in the waiter’s hand and
ordered him to tell me with whom that lady was dining. He drew the
portrait so accurately of the gentleman who was waiting for her that I
could not help recognizing the marquis. He pointed out to me the room
where they were, at the end of the corridor, and I ran there like a
madman. I found the key on the outside, I rushed in like a lunatic, and
I found myself in the presence of an artilleryman, who was toying with a
grisette from the twelfth arrondissement.
“The artilleryman was enraged at being disturbed; I could not find
excuses enough; he blackguarded me, and while the damsel was readjusting
her neckerchief, he rushed at me, seized me by the shoulder and pushed
me out of the room, saying that he would see me again after dessert. You
will understand that I had no desire to wait for the artilleryman.
Finding myself in the corridor, where there were no other keys on the
outside, I began to shout in a stentorian voice: ‘Armide, open the
door!’ No one opened the door, and the waiter informed me that, during
my controversy with the soldier, the lady had hastily left with her
escort. But where had she gone? That was what no one could tell me. I
returned home; I found no one there but my mother-in-law, who called me
a visionary; and that night, at the first words that I said to my wife,
she locked herself into her room and refused to admit me. That is my
situation, my friend; I dreamed again of George Dandin, and I hurried
here this morning to tell you about it.”
Bélan ceased to speak. I was still tempted to laugh, but I restrained
myself.
“In all this that you have told me,” I said to him, “there are
presumptions, but no proofs.”
“Ah! for us fellows, my dear Blémont, who have had so many adventures,
who know all about such things, they are quite as good as proofs.”
“The waiter may have been mistaken; perhaps it wasn’t the marquis; you
didn’t see him, did you?”
“No, for they had gone, and I had no desire to wait for the
artilleryman.”
“You did not act shrewdly.”
“That is true, I was a perfect donkey; I lost my head.”
“You must distrust appearances, my poor Bélan; I am better able than
anybody to tell you that.”
“The deuce! do you mean that you have had suspicions about madame?”
“I? Oh no! never! but she had suspicions about me, and very ill-founded
ones too, I promise you.”
“The deuce! suppose I was wrong! What do you advise me to do?”
“Wait, keep your eyes open, and watch, but with prudence; or else
frankly ask your wife to explain her conduct yesterday; perhaps it was
all very simple and innocent.”
“In fact, that is quite possible. The one thing that is certain is that
I acted like a child. Dear Blémont, you calm my passions. After all,
just because a young man comes often to one’s house, and is attentive to
one’s wife, that doesn’t prove--for you yourself are not jealous of
Monsieur Dulac, who is always at your house, and who often acts as
escort to your wife. My mother-in-law was talking about it only the
other day to my wife.”
“Indeed! those ladies were talking about me, eh?”
“No, they were simply talking about Monsieur Dulac. Armide thinks that
he is a very handsome man, but for my part, I see nothing extraordinary
about him. Then they cited you as an example; they said: ‘There’s a
husband who is not jealous; look at him! Monsieur Dulac is his wife’s
regular escort, and he doesn’t seem to notice it; he is a husband who
knows how to live.’ And then they laughed, because, you know, when the
women begin to pass us in review, there’s no end to it.--Well, well!
What are you thinking about, my dear fellow? You are not listening to
me.”
“I beg your pardon; I was thinking that the world notices things, which
we, who are most interested in them, often do not notice at all.”
“You advise me to wait, to watch, and to be prudent; I will do it. If I
should acquire proofs--Oh! then I shall explode, I shall be terrible,
inflexible. Adieu, my dear fellow, I will leave you, for I see that you
are preoccupied. Au revoir.”
Bélan took his leave, and I bade him adieu with no desire to laugh. It
was strange what an effect had been produced upon me by what he had told
me of the comments of his wife and her mother. They noticed that
Monsieur Dulac was an assiduous guest at my house and very attentive to
my wife; and I myself had not noticed it. That was because I saw no harm
in it, whereas the world is so evil-minded! And calumny is such a
delicious weapon. Figaro was quite right: “Calumny, always calumny!”
Although I knew that it was mere malicious gossip, I involuntarily
passed in review Monsieur Dulac’s conduct. I recalled his earnest
desire to be received at my house after the ball from which he had
escorted my wife home.
I became sad and pensive; I was conscious of a discomfort, a feeling of
disquietude which I had never known before. I wondered if that was the
way in which jealousy made itself felt. But what nonsense! What was I
thinking about? It was that Bélan, who had upset me with his own
conjugal misfortunes. That his wife deceived him was possible, yes,
probable; she had never loved him; but my Eugénie, who used to love me
so much, and who loved me still, I hoped--although jealousy had soured
her disposition to some extent! But that very jealousy was a proof of
love. And she had ceased to be jealous. Why? Ah! Bélan need not have
reported those remarks to me! He did it from malice.
To banish such thoughts, I left my study. I heard the piano; my wife was
in the salon, and the sight of her would cause me to forget all the
nonsense that had been passing through my mind. I entered abruptly.
Monsieur Dulac was there, seated near my wife,--in fact, very near, as
it seemed to me. At that moment, I admit that his presence caused me a
very unpleasant sensation.
Dulac rose hastily and came toward me.
“Good-afternoon, Monsieur Blémont. I have brought madame a lovely
fantasia on a favorite air of Rossini’s. Madame plays it at sight with
such assurance and such taste!”
“Oh! you always flatter me, Monsieur Dulac.”
“No, madame; on my honor, you are a remarkable musician.”