headache; and we must avow to the glory of France, that this power is
one of the most recent which has been won by Parisian genius. As in
the case with all the most useful discoveries of art and science, no
one knows to whose intellect it is due. Only, it is certain that it
was towards the middle of the last century that "Vapors" made their
first appearance in France. Thus while Papin was applying the force of
vaporized water in mechanical problems, a French woman, whose name
unhappily is unknown, had the glory of endowing her sex with the
faculty of vaporizing their fluids. Very soon the prodigious influence
obtained by vapors was extended to the nerves; it was thus in passing
from fibre to fibre that the science of neurology was born. This
admirable science has since then led such men as Philips and other
clever physiologists to the discovery of the nervous fluid in its
circulation; they are now perhaps on the eve of identifying its
organs, and the secret of its origin and of its evaporation. And thus,
thanks to certain quackeries of this kind, we may be enabled some day
to penetrate the mysteries of that unknown power which we have already
called more than once in the present book, the _Will_. But do not let
us trespass on the territory of medical philosophy. Let us consider
the nerves and the vapors solely in their connection with marriage.
Victims of Neurosis (a pathological term under which are comprised all
affections of the nervous system) suffer in two ways, as far as
married women are concerned; for our physiology has the loftiest
disdain for medical classifications. Thus we recognize only:
1. CLASSIC NEUROSIS.
2. ROMANTIC NEUROSIS.
The classic affection has something bellicose and excitable on it.
Those who thus suffer are as violent in their antics as pythonesses,
as frantic as _monads_, as excited as _bacchantes_; it is a revival of
antiquity, pure and simple.
The romantic sufferers are mild and plaintive as the ballads sung amid
the mists of Scotland. They are pallid as young girls carried to their
bier by the dance or by love; they are eminently elegiac and they
breathe all the melancholy of the North.
That woman with black hair, with piercing eye, with high color, with
dry lips and a powerful hand, will become excited and convulsive; she
represents the genius of classic neurosis; while a young blonde woman,
with white skin, is the genius of romantic neurosis; to one belongs
the empire gained by nerves, to the other the empire gained by vapors.
Very frequently a husband, when he comes home, finds his wife in
tears.
"What is the matter, my darling?"
"It is nothing."
"But you are in tears!"
"I weep without knowing why. I am quite sad! I saw faces in the
clouds, and those faces never appear to me except on the eve of some
disaster--I think I must be going to die."
Then she talks to you in a low voice of her dead father, of her dead
uncle, of her dead grandfather, of her dead cousin. She invokes all
these mournful shades, she feels as if she had all their sicknesses,
she is attacked with all the pains they felt, she feels her heart
palpitate with excessive violence, she feels her spleen swelling. You
say to yourself, with a self-satisfied air:
"I know exactly what this is all about!"
And then you try to soothe her; but you find her a woman who yawns
like an open box, who complains of her chest, who begins to weep anew,
who implores you to leave her to her melancholy and her mournful
memories. She talks to you about her last wishes, follows her own
funeral, is buried, plants over her tomb the green canopy of a weeping
willow, and at the very time when you would like to raise a joyful
epithalamium, you find an epitaph to greet you all in black. Your wish
to console her melts away in the cloud of Ixion.
There are women of undoubted fidelity who in this way extort from
their feeling husbands cashmere shawls, diamonds, the payment of their
debts, or the rent of a box at the theatre; but almost always vapors
are employed as decisive weapons in Civil War.
On the plea of her spinal affection or of her weak chest, a woman
takes pains to seek out some distraction or other; you see her
dressing herself in soft fabrics like an invalid with all the symptoms
of spleen; she never goes out because an intimate friend, her mother
or her sister, has tried to tear her away from that divan which
monopolizes her and on which she spends her life in improvising
elegies. Madame is going to spend a fortnight in the country because
the doctor orders it. In short, she goes where she likes and does what
she likes. Is it possible that there can be a husband so brutal as to
oppose such desires, by hindering a wife from going to seek a cure for
her cruel sufferings? For it has been established after many long
discussions that in the nerves originate the most fearful torture.
But it is especially in bed that vapors play their part. There when a
woman has not a headache she has her vapors; and when she has neither
vapors nor headache, she is under the protection of the girdle of
Venus, which, as you know, is a myth.
Among the women who fight with you the battle of vapors, are some more
blonde, more delicate, more full of feeling than others, and who
possess the gift of tears. How admirably do they know how to weep!
They weep when they like, as they like and as much as they like. They
organize a system of offensive warfare which consists of manifesting
sublime resignation, and they gain victories which are all the more
brilliant, inasmuch as they remain all the time in excellent health.
Does a husband, irritated beyond all measure, at last express his
wishes to them? They regard him with an air of submission, bow their
heads and keep silence. This pantomime almost always puts a husband to
rout. In conjugal struggles of this kind, a man prefers a woman should
speak and defend herself, for then he may show elation or annoyance;
but as for these women, not a word. Their silence distresses you and
you experience a sort of remorse, like the murderer who, when he finds
his victim offers no resistance, trembles with redoubled fear. He
would prefer to slay him in self-defence. You return to the subject.
As you draw near, your wife wipes away her tears and hides her
handkerchief, so as to let you see that she has been weeping. You are
melted, you implore your little Caroline to speak, your sensibility
has been touched and you forget everything; then she sobs while she
speaks, and speaks while she sobs. This is a sort of machine
eloquence; she deafens you with her tears, with her words which come
jerked out in confusion; it is the clapper and torrent of a mill.
French women and especially Parisians possess in a marvelous degree
the secret by which such scenes are enacted, and to these scenes their
voices, their sex, their toilet, their manner give a wonderful charm.
How often do the tears upon the cheeks of these adorable actresses
give way to a piquant smile, when they see their husbands hasten to
break the silk lace, the weak fastening of their corsets, or to
restore the comb which holds together the tresses of their hair and
the bunch of golden ringlets always on the point of falling down?
But how all these tricks of modernity pale before the genius of
antiquity, before nervous attacks which are violent, before the
Pyrrhic dance of married life! Oh! how many hopes for a lover are
there in the vivacity of those convulsive movements, in the fire of
those glances, in the strength of those limbs, beautiful even in
contortion! It is then that a woman is carried away like an impetuous
wind, darts forth like the flames of a conflagration, exhibits a
movement like a billow which glides over the white pebbles. She is
overcome with excess of love, she sees the future, she is the seer who
prophesies, but above all, she sees the present moment and tramples on
her husband, and impresses him with a sort of terror.
The sight of his wife flinging off vigorous men as if they were so
many feathers, is often enough to deter a man from ever striving to
wrong her. He will be like the child who, having pulled the trigger of
some terrific engine, has ever afterwards an incredible respect for
the smallest spring. I have known a man, gentle and amiable in his
ways, whose eyes were fixed upon those of his wife, exactly as if he
had been put into a lion's cage, and some one had said to him that he
must not irritate the beast, if he would escape with his life.
Nervous attacks of this kind are very fatiguing and become every day
more rare. Romanticism, however, has maintained its ground.
Sometimes, we meet with phlegmatic husbands, those men whose love is
long enduring, because they store up their emotions, whose genius gets
the upper hand of these headaches and nervous attacks; but these
sublime creatures are rare. Faithful disciples of the blessed St.
Thomas, who wished to put his finger into the wound, they are endowed
with an incredulity worthy of an atheist. Imperturbable in the midst
of all these fraudulent headaches and all these traps set by neurosis,
they concentrate their attention on the comedy which is being played
before them, they examine the actress, they search for one of the
springs that sets her going; and when they have discovered the
mechanism of this display, they arm themselves by giving a slight
impulse to the puppet-valve, and thus easily assure themselves either
of the reality of the disease or the artifices of these conjugal
mummeries.
But if by study which is almost superhuman in its intensity a husband
escapes all the artifices which lawless and untamable love suggests to
women, he will beyond doubt be overcome by the employment of a
terrible weapon, the last which a woman would resort to, for she never
destroys with her own hands her empire over her husband without some
sort of repugnance. But this is a poisoned weapon as powerful as the
fatal knife of the executioner. This reflection brings us to the last
paragraph of the present Meditation.
3. OF MODESTY, IN ITS CONNECTION WITH MARRIAGE.
Before taking up the subject of modesty, it may perhaps be necessary
to inquire whether there is such a thing. Is it anything in a woman
but well understood coquetry? Is it anything but a sentiment that
claims the right, on a woman's part, to dispose of her own body as she
chooses, as one may well believe, when we consider that half the women
in the world go almost naked? Is it anything but a social chimera, as
Diderot supposed, reminding us that this sentiment always gives way
before sickness and before misery?
Justice may be done to all these questions.
An ingenious author has recently put forth the view that men are much
more modest than women. He supports this contention by a great mass of
surgical experiences; but, in order that his conclusions merit our
attention, it would be necessary that for a certain time men were
subjected to treatment by women surgeons.
The opinion of Diderot is of still less weight.
To deny the existence of modesty, because it disappears during those
crises in which almost all human sentiments are annihilated, is as
unreasonable as to deny that life exists because death sooner or later
comes.
Let us grant, then, that one sex has as much modesty as the other, and
let us inquire in what modesty consists.
Rousseau makes modesty the outcome of all those coquetries which
females display before males. This opinion appears to us equally
mistaken.
The writers of the eighteenth century have doubtless rendered immense
services to society; but their philosophy, based as it is upon
sensualism, has never penetrated any deeper than the human epidermis.
They have only considered the exterior universe; and so they have
retarded, for some time, the moral development of man and the progress
of science which will always draw its first principles from the
Gospel, principles hereafter to be best understood by the fervent
disciples of the Son of Man.
The study of thought's mysteries, the discovery of those organs which
belong to the human soul, the geometry of its forces, the phenomena of
its active power, the appreciation of the faculty by which we seem to
have an independent power of bodily movement, so as to transport
ourselves whither we will and to see without the aid of bodily organs,
--in a word the laws of thought's dynamic and those of its physical
influence,--these things will fall to the lot of the next century, as
their portion in the treasury of human sciences. And perhaps we, of
the present time, are merely occupied in quarrying the enormous blocks
which later on some mighty genius will employ in the building of a
glorious edifice.
Thus the error of Rousseau is simply the error of his age. He explains
modesty by the relations of different human beings to each other
instead of explaining it by the moral relations of each one with
himself. Modesty is no more susceptible of analysis than conscience;
and this perhaps is another way of saying that modesty is the
conscience of the body; for while conscience directs our sentiments
and the least movement of our thoughts towards the good, modesty
presides over external movements. The actions which clash with our
interests and thus disobey the laws of conscience wound us more than
any other; and if they are repeated call forth our hatred. It is the
same with acts which violate modesty in their relations to love, which
is nothing but the expression of our whole sensibility. If extreme
modesty is one of the conditions on which the reality of marriage is
based, as we have tried to prove [See _Conjugal Catechism, Meditation
IV._], it is evident that immodesty will destroy it. But this
position, which would require long deductions for the acceptance of
the physiologist, women generally apply, as it were, mechanically; for
society, which exaggerates everything for the benefit of the exterior
man, develops this sentiment of women from childhood, and around it
are grouped almost every other sentiment. Moreover, the moment that
this boundless veil, which takes away the natural brutality from the
least gesture, is dragged down, woman disappears. Heart, mind, love,
grace, all are in ruins. In a situation where the virginal innocence
of a daughter of Tahiti is most brilliant, the European becomes
detestable. In this lies the last weapon which a wife seizes, in order
to escape from the sentiment which her husband still fosters towards
her. She is powerful because she had made herself loathsome; and this
woman, who would count it as the greatest misfortune that her lover
should be permitted to see the slightest mystery of her toilette,
is delighted to exhibit herself to her husband in the most
disadvantageous situation that can possibly be imagined.
It is by means of this rigorous system that she will try to banish you
from the conjugal bed. Mrs. Shandy may be taken to mean us harm in
bidding the father of Tristram wind up the clock; so long as your wife
is not blamed for the pleasure she takes in interrupting you by the
most imperative questions. Where there formerly was movement and life
is now lethargy and death. An act of love becomes a transaction long
discussed and almost, as it were, settled by notarial seal. But we
have in another place shown that we never refuse to seize upon the
comic element in a matrimonial crisis, although here we may be
permitted to disdain the diversion which the muse of Verville and of
Marshall have found in the treachery of feminine manoeuvres, the
insulting audacity of their talk, amid the cold-blooded cynicism which
they exhibit in certain situations. It is too sad to laugh at, and too
funny to mourn over. When a woman resorts to such extreme measures,
worlds at once separate her from her husband. Nevertheless, there are
some women to whom Heaven has given the gift of being charming under
all circumstances, who know how to put a certain witty and comic grace
into these performances, and who have such smooth tongues, to use the
expression of Sully, that they obtain forgiveness for their caprices
and their mockeries, and never estrange the hearts of their husbands.
What soul is so robust, what man so violently in love as to persist in
his passion, after ten years of marriage, in presence of a wife who
loves him no longer, who gives him proofs of this every moment, who
repulses him, who deliberately shows herself bitter, caustic, sickly
and capricious, and who will abjure her vows of elegance and
cleanliness, rather than not see her husband turn away from her; in
presence of a wife who will stake the success of her schemes upon the
horror caused by her indecency?
All this, my dear sir, is so much more horrible because--
XCII.
LOVERS IGNORE MODESTY.
We have now arrived at the last infernal circle in the Divine Comedy
of Marriage. We are at the very bottom of Hell. There is something
inexpressibly terrible in the situation of a married woman at the
moment when unlawful love turns her away from her duties as mother and
wife. As Diderot has very well put it, "infidelity in a woman is like
unbelief in a priest, the last extreme of human failure; for her it is
the greatest of social crimes, since it implies in her every other
crime besides, and indeed either a wife profanes her lawless love by
continuing to belong to her husband, or she breaks all the ties which
attach her to her family, by giving herself over altogether to her
lover. She ought to choose between the two courses, for her sole
possible excuse lies in the intensity of her love."
She lives then between the claims of two obligations. It is a dilemma;
she will work either the unhappiness of her lover, if he is sincere in
his passion, or that of her husband, if she is still beloved by him.
It is to this frightful dilemma of feminine life that all the strange
inconsistencies of women's conduct is to be attributed. In this lies
the origin of all their lies, all their perfidies; here is the secret
of all their mysteries. It is something to make one shudder. Moreover,
even as simply based upon cold-blooded calculations, the conduct of a
woman who accepts the unhappiness which attends virtue and scorns the
bliss which is bought by crime, is a hundred times more reasonable.
Nevertheless, almost all women will risk suffering in the future and
ages of anguish for the ecstasy of one half hour. If the human feeling
of self-preservation, if the fear of death does not check them, how
fruitless must be the laws which send them for two years to the
Madelonnettes? O sublime infamy! And when one comes to think that he
for whom these sacrifices are to be made is one of our brethren, a
gentleman to whom we would not trust our fortune, if we had one, a man
who buttons his coat just as all of us do, it is enough to make one
burst into a roar of laughter so loud, that starting from the
Luxembourg it would pass over the whole of Paris and startle an ass
browsing in the pasture at Montmartre.
It will perhaps appear extraordinary that in speaking of marriage we
have touched upon so many subjects; but marriage is not only the whole
of human life, it is the whole of two human lives. Now just as the
addition of a figure to the drawing of a lottery multiplies the
chances a hundredfold, so one single life united to another life
multiplies by a startling progression the risks of human life, which
are in any case so manifold.
MEDITATION XXVII.
OF THE LAST SYMPTOMS.
The author of this book has met in the world so many people possessed
by a fanatic passion for a knowledge of the mean time, for watches
with a second hand, and for exactness in the details of their
existence, that he has considered this Meditation too necessary for
the tranquillity of a great number of husbands, to be omitted. It
would have been cruel to leave men, who are possessed with the passion
for learning the hour of the day, without a compass whereby to
estimate the last variations in the matrimonial zodiac, and to
calculate the precise moment when the sign of the Minotaur appears on
the horizon. The knowledge of conjugal time would require a whole book
for its exposition, so fine and delicate are the observations required
by the task. The master admits that his extreme youth has not
permitted him as yet to note and verify more than a few symptoms; but
he feels a just pride, on his arrival at the end of his difficult
enterprise, from the consciousness that he is leaving to his
successors a new field of research; and that in a matter apparently so
trite, not only was there much to be said, but also very many points
are found remaining which may yet be brought into the clear light of
observation. He therefore presents here without order or connection
the rough outlines which he has so far been able to execute, in the
hope that later he may have leisure to co-ordinate them and to arrange
them in a complete system. If he has been so far kept back in the
accomplishment of a task of supreme national importance, he believes,
he may say, without incurring the charge of vanity, that he has here
indicated the natural division of those symptoms. They are necessarily
of two kinds: the unicorns and the bicorns. The unicorn Minotaur is
the least mischievous. The two culprits confine themselves to a
platonic love, in which their passion, at least, leaves no visible
traces among posterity; while the bicorn Minotaur is unhappiness with
all its fruits.
We have marked with an asterisk the symptoms which seem to concern the
latter kind.
MINOTAURIC OBSERVATIONS.
I.
*When, after remaining a long time aloof from her husband, a woman
makes overtures of a very marked character in order to attract his
love, she acts in accordance with the axiom of maritime law, which
says: _The flag protects the cargo_.
II.
A woman is at a ball, one of her friends comes up to her and says:
"Your husband has much wit."
"You find it so?"
III.
Your wife discovers that it is time to send your boy to a boarding
school, with whom, a little time ago, she was never going to part.
IV.
*In Lord Abergavenny's suit for divorce, the _valet de chambre_
deposed that "the countess had such a detestation of all that belonged
to my lord that he had very often seen her burning the scraps of paper
which he had touched in her room."
V.
If an indolent woman becomes energetic, if a woman who formerly hated
study learns a foreign language; in short, every appearance of a
complete change in character is a decisive symptom.
VI.
The woman who is happy in her affections does not go much into the
world.
VII.
The woman who has a lover becomes very indulgent in judging others.
VIII.
*A husband gives to his wife a hundred crowns a month for dress; and,
taking everything into account, she spends at least five hundred
francs without being a sou in debt; the husband is robbed every night
with a high hand by escalade, but without burglarious breaking in.
IX.
*A married couple slept in the same bed; madame was always sick. Now
they sleep apart, she has no more headache, and her health becomes
more brilliant than ever; an alarming symptom!
X.
A woman who was a sloven suddenly develops extreme nicety in her
attire. There is a Minotaur at hand!
XI.
"Ah! my dear, I know no greater torment than not to be understood."
"Yes, my dear, but when one is--"
"Oh, that scarcely ever happens."
"I agree with you that it very seldom does. Ah! it is great happiness,
but there are not two people in the world who are able to understand
you."
XII.
*The day when a wife behaves nicely to her husband--all is over.
XIII.
I asked her: "Where have you been, Jeanne?"
"I have been to your friend's to get your plate that you left there."
"Ah, indeed! everything is still mine," I said. The following year I
repeated the question under similar circumstances.
"I have been to bring back our plate."
"Well, well, part of the things are still mine," I said. But after
that, when I questioned her, she spoke very differently.
"You wish to know everything, like great people, and you have only
three shirts. I went to get my plate from my friend's house, where I
had stopped."
"I see," I said, "nothing is left me."
XIV.
Do not trust a woman who talks of her virtue.
XV.
Some one said to the Duchess of Chaulnes, whose life was despaired of:
"The Duke of Chaulnes would like to see you once more."
"Is he there?"
"Yes."
"Let him wait; he shall come in with the sacraments." This minotauric
anecdote has been published by Chamfort, but we quote it here as
typical.
XVI.
*Some women try to persuade their husbands that they have duties to
perform towards certain persons.
"I am sure that you ought to pay a visit to such and such a man. . . .
We cannot avoid asking such and such a man to dinner."
XVII.
"Come, my son, hold yourself straight: try to acquire good manners!
Watch such and such a man! See how he walks! Notice the way in which
he dresses."
XVIII.