CHAPTER XXXV

DOMESTIC TYRANTS AND THEIR POOR WIVES

The domestic tyrant has redeeming features. As a rule he does not beat

his wife.

He feeds her well, clothes her decently, and is faithful to her. When

she is ill he sends for the doctor, and does not grumble unless her

convalescence should last too long. He does not want her to die, because

she consents to be his housekeeper without wages and allows him to get

out of her all the work that can possibly be extracted from one being

who does not claim the protection of the 'eight-hour' law.

He has enough self-control to resist the temptation of insulting her. He

treats her coolly, patronizingly, and keeps her at a respectful

distance, lest she should take liberties with him.

He is dull, solemn, conceited and selfish. When he joins the family

circle, wife and children have to be busy and silent, the only noise

allowed being the rustling of the newspaper he reads. He takes the lamp,

the only one on the table, and places it just behind his shoulder, so as

to light his paper well. His wife--poor cat! who has to see in the

dark--goes on with her sewing as best she can. The children remain

motionless and speechless until it is time to go to bed. Then they

smile, say good-night, and run away like culprits.

When he goes out the children speak above a whisper, and the women of

the family breathe and express an opinion among themselves, an act of

audacity which they would never think of indulging in in his presence;

and life goes merrily until someone, with a face a yard long, rushes in

and announces 'Father is coming!' The domestic tyrant is invariably

called 'Father' by the wife as well as by the children, and the word is

spelt with a capital 'F,' and the 'a' is sounded as if there were a

dozen French circumflex accents on the top of it.

The domestic tyrant is neither a lazy man nor a drunkard, nor anything

that is bad. On the contrary, he is a moral man. As a rule he does not

even smoke, and that is what makes him so powerful against reproach.

What can you say to a man who is steady, sober, intelligent,

hard-working, stingy perhaps, but asks forgiveness for that on the plea

that he has a large family to secure the future of? Outside of his house

he has a very good reputation; he is invariably called a good husband

and a good father. He invariably speaks well of his wife. Before

strangers, before friends and relatives, in her very presence, he will

sing her praises and extol her virtues, and will constantly repeat that

for industry he does not know a woman who could compete with her. That

is the way he encourages her in the path of duty. The domestic tyrant

is particularly great on duty, and when he and his wife are alone, and

there is nobody else to hear him, he tells her that he fulfils his

duties, and that surely he can expect 'females' to perform theirs. For

him, women are 'females.' His wife alone can tell you what he really is,

and on the subject this is the information you will receive from her:

'I have to be his slave for twenty-four hours a day, work for him,

humour him, and, most especially, I must never complain of being ill,

or even mention that I am tired. I have never had from him a word of

pity, of condolence, or even of sympathy. I have never received

encouragements. I have never heard a word of praise from his lips.

'On the other hand, it takes very little to discourage him and make him

lose his high spirits. If anything has gone wrong with his business

during the day, he comes home frowning, snarling, quarrelsome, looking

for more trouble and grievances. He does not use me as a consoling

companion in the hour of misfortune or as a comforter in moments of

annoyance. No; he looks upon me as a target at which he can aim all his

bitterness.'

And she will tell you much more than that. She will probably tell you

that the larger the family gets, the more he is pleased, because it

gives her less and less chance of finding time to leave her home.

He goes out when he likes, where he likes, and would never think of

asking her, 'Won't you come along?' You never see them out together.

Poor thing! life would be tolerable to her if they were never in

together.

It would never enter the domestic tyrant's mind to ask his wife if she

is able to do her work alone, whether he can help her in this or that,

or simply inquire, in a sympathetic manner, whether she doesn't feel

tired after her day's work.

If he should hear complaints from her he has a beautiful phrase ready

for an answer: 'What did my mother do? What did your mother do? I am

sure you are not worse off than they were.'

This moral man, the domestic tyrant, is not uncommonly dyspeptic, and

bad digestion has been the cause of more unhappy marriages than all the

immorality of the world put together.

PART II

RAMBLES IN MATRIMONY

CHAPTER I

ADVICE TO YOUNG MARRIED PEOPLE

The great art, the great science of happiness, in matrimony especially,

is never to expect of life more than it can give. Therefore, prepare

your nest in such a way that the provisions will not be exhausted in a

few weeks. From the very beginning, put on the brake, or the car will go

too fast, and will get smashed.

* * * * *

Economize your caresses, rule your passions so as never to make more

promises than you can keep. You cannot always work unless now and then

you take a rest, a holiday; neither can you always love unless you

proceed quietly and occasionally take a holiday. Be sure that a holiday

is as necessary to make you enjoy blissful times as it is to make you

endure hard ones.

* * * * *

Do not for a moment believe that happiness in matrimony can go on for

ever and ever without calculation, without a great display of diplomacy

on the part of both husband and wife. Avoid being too constantly the

lover of your wife, because the lover-husband is such a revelation to a

woman that when the day arrives--the fatal day!--on which the husband

remains alone and the lover has ceased to exist, your wife will forget

everything you may have done for her: your constant attentions, your

assiduity to your profession or business, your forethought for her

future and that for her children--all that will count for nothing when

she realizes that the lover is gone.

* * * * *

Never allow a third person to interfere with your private affairs. Never

confide your little troubles and grievances to anybody. Beware of the

advising lady who would say to you: 'If I were in your place, I would

not allow him to do this or to do that.' First of all, she is not in

your place; secondly, she cannot be in your place, because she is

neither in your heart nor in that of your husband.

* * * * *

You are the best judge--in fact, you are the only judge--of what is best

for you to do in the presence of the many little difficulties that arise

in married life. Whether you are happy or unhappy, keep the secrets of

your married life to yourself; neither your happiness nor your

misfortune will cause you to increase the number of your friends.

Indeed, if you are perfectly happy, it is only by remaining silent

about it that you will get people to forgive you your happiness.

* * * * *

Accept a life of abnegation and devotion. There is in devotion a bliss

which is unsurpassed. Devotion is perhaps the most refined and lofty

form of selfishness; it raises you so much in your own estimation! It

enslaves so surely the hearts of those whom you love! Devotion is not a

sacrifice; it is a halo.

* * * * *

If I were a woman, I would give all the pleasures of life to witness the

smile of my husband on a sick-bed as I entered the room to come and sit

by his side with his hand in mine. In health, the man loves to feel that

he is the protector of his wife; in sickness, there is no such arbour

for him as the arms of the woman he loves.

CHAPTER II

THE MATRIMONIAL PROBLEM

From inquiries which I have made right and left I have arrived at this

conclusion--that, out of a hundred couples who have got married, fifty

would like to regain their freedom after six months of matrimonial life,

twenty have come to the same opinion after a couple of years, ten more

after a longer period, and about twenty are satisfied, though, in the

last case, it often amounts to making the best of it. Not ten of them

spend their leisure time in returning thanks that they got

married--perhaps ten, but certainly not more.

And I will add this--that, among my friends and acquaintances, the

couples who live most happily together are, without exception, those who

made up their minds to be married most quickly, and did not attempt,

during years and years of engagement, to try and learn how to know

something of each other. I do not give this as a piece of advice to

those about to marry. I simply state a fact, although I am prepared to

admit that long engagements have never been the proper way of preparing

for matrimony.

In my opinion, the majority of marriages will have a chance of turning

out happily when the following will have become customs and laws:

1. Before a man makes love to a woman with the intention of asking her

to become his wife, and before a woman allows a man to speak love to

her, certainly before she accepts his offer of matrimony, both will have

ascertained that there is no disease, moral or physical, of an

hereditary nature in either family; that the man has been a good and

devoted son, a cheerful brother, and an honest man in all his dealings,

well spoken of by his employers or his acquaintances; that the girl is

not an extravagant woman, and has, among her friends, the reputation of

being amiable, cheerful, and a favourite at home; that both will have

sufficient means to support themselves.

I will go further. I will say that it should not only be a custom to

make inquiries about the antecedents of the parties, and their financial

position, but a law, and a strict law, too, that would prevent couples

from marrying who were likely to present society with undesirable

children, or become a burden to the community. I believe that no

emigrant is allowed to land in America who cannot prove that he

possesses some means of existence. No couples should be allowed to enter

the 'State of Union' who cannot prove that they possess means to support

themselves, and are healthy in mind and in body.

2. Girls will be told, like in the past, that their destiny is to be

one day wives and mothers, but they will be intelligently prepared for

both noble vocations. They will come out of school able to keep a house,

cook a good, palatable meal, and make their own dresses. They will know

how to get their money's worth when they go a-shopping. They will have

learned how to attend to babies, and have played with live dolls. They

will have listened to, and profited by, lectures on hygiene. They will

know all these things, besides possessing the accomplishments which are

only meant to be dessert in matrimonial life.

Boys who have never been once told that their destiny is to become one

day husbands and fathers will be prepared to be tolerably good ones.

They will be taught the consideration that man should always show to

woman. They will be taught to take off their hats to women and young

girls, and advised to do the same one day to their own wives when they

meet them. When they get to be eighteen or twenty, they will be informed

of women's characteristic traits. They will be told that a woman who

accepts an offer of matrimony does a man more honour than he conferred

on her by making the offer.

When men and women shall by early training be made, the former less

selfish and conceited, the latter less frivolous and extravagant, the

chances of happiness in matrimony will be greatly increased.

Still, the problem will not be solved.

You will never prevent matrimony being a lottery. Take your ticket

and--your chance.

After all, matrimony is like a mushroom. The only way to ascertain

whether it is the genuine article or poison that you have got is to

swallow it--and wait.

CHAPTER III

WOMEN SHOULD ASSERT THEMSELVES IN MATRIMONY

A cynic once said that in this world men succeed through the qualities

which they do not possess. By this he meant to say that to cope with the

pushing crowd, you must not be too scrupulous, or you will let everybody

pass before you.

A worse cynic, one of the blackest type and deepest dye, went as far as

to say: 'The way to succeed is to have unbounded impudence, popular

manners, absence of scruple, and complete ignorance of everything.'

But, then, take it for granted that this cynic was only a disappointed

failure. You will constantly hear the man who has failed in life

exclaim: 'Oh, if I had not always wished to remain perfectly honest, I

could have succeeded like many others I know.'

Just as you hear women who fail to get engagements on the stage or the

concert platform remark: 'If I had had no objection to obtaining

engagements in the way some women do, I would have made my mark--but I

am not one of that sort.'

At the risk of appearing paradoxical, and even cynical, I will venture

to say that in love, and in matrimony especially, certain great

qualities are more detrimental to the happiness of women than many of

their defects. And if this is a correct statement, to what shortcoming

of man are we going to attribute it?

I know that on reading this some women will exclaim: 'Shame on you to

say such a thing!' Very well, will you listen to me? Look around you,

among all your circles of friends and acquaintances, of relatives even,

and tell me if, as a rule, the young girl who is vain, selfish,

coquettish, a flirt even, has not better chances of marriage, and is not

sought after rather than the simple, unaffected, devoted, intellectual

girl? Tell me if the bumptious rose does not generally carry the day

over the modest, retiring violet?'

Of course, I know that you will say to me, 'You may be right; men--I

mean most men--are caught, like mackerel, by shining bait; but when a

man is married, surely he is not slow to recognise which of the two is

the right one to have as a wife, and to appreciate all the qualities and

virtues of the second one.'

Well, you are wrong--wrong as can be. Look around you again, study now

the married couples that you know, and you will have to confess that the

wife who is coquettish, frivolous, clever, will know how to make herself

respected, and even feared, by her husband much more than the other.

That husband will pay to her his best attentions, will be proud of her,

and will work like a slave in order to meet all the expenses required

for the adornment of her beauty without once venturing to make a

remark.

I tell you that if I had a marriageable daughter, whom I wanted to get

rid of, I would tell her to put all her retiring ways in the cloak-room

and to assert herself, and, after the wedding ceremony, I would whisper

in her ears:

'My dear child, never make yourself the slave of your husband; be good,

faithful and devoted to him, but do not forget that man is a strange

animal, who seldom appreciates what he does not pay for. In this respect

men are like those people who listen breathlessly to music in a hall or

theatre where they have paid a guinea for their seats, and who, as

guests in a drawing-room, take the very best music as a signal for

entering into general conversation. If you want your husband to listen

to your music, make him pay for his seat.'

The poor little woman who follows to the letter all the lectures she has

heard on matrimony, at home and at church wedding ceremonies, will soon

find the irreparable mistake she has made. In this role of devoted slave

she will lose her beauty, her intelligence, her very mind, and will

wither rapidly.

Devoting herself, body and soul, forgetting herself always in order to

increase the welfare of her husband she will work, wear herself out,

until, when her beauty is gone, her husband will feel for her nothing

but indifference, if not, alas! sometimes contempt.

If one of the two must endure a privation in order that the other may

have more comfort, it should be the man, always the man: first, because

hard work and privations do not hurt a man as they can hurt a woman,

physically and mentally; secondly, because a woman is far more apt to

appreciate self-abnegation in a man than a man in a woman.

All this does not mean that men are all brutes--no; although it must be

admitted that there is something brutal in their very nature which is

ever fascinated by what is piquant, and never excited by a devotion

which they feel is, above all, the duty of the stronger toward the

weaker.

Let women gently, diplomatically, but firmly, assert themselves on the

very threshold of matrimony, or all the concessions which they make at

the beginning will soon be considered by their husbands as their due. In

matrimonial life, as in the government of nations, you can never take

back concessions or privileges granted too quickly and without enough

consideration.

Women who start married life as slaves will never be able to assert

themselves or enjoy the slightest influence over their husbands; and

bear in mind that no marriage has ever proved to be happy where the

influence of woman, though sweet and gentle, has not been paramount.

CHAPTER IV

RAMBLES ABOUT MATRIMONY--I

I have many times been asked the question, Who are the best subjects for

matrimony? I believe (kindly mark that I do not say I am sure) that the

best subjects for matrimony are people with simple tastes, equable

tempers, no very great aspirations, satisfied with doing little and

being little. These, at all events, are the kind of people most likely

to be happy in matrimony, far more likely than, say, for instance, the

'intellectuals,' who are ever in search of the pathway that leads to the

higher walks of life, who have ambitions to satisfy and many inducements

to divert their minds from the peaceful ways of contentment and happy

matrimony. Little things please little minds, and those couples, whom we

have all met in life, who know nothing, who dream of nothing above what

they have got, who are perfect mutual admiration societies, are the best

subjects for matrimony. These people, snoring under the same curtain,

eating out of the same plate, as it were, having the same tastes,

persuaded that no one is blessed with such children as they have,

satisfied with all they do, sure that the religion they follow is the

only true one in the world, spend a peaceful and happy life in the

exchange of familiarities which, for them, constitute love. They respect

and enjoy each other; they echo each other's sentiments; and their

beings are coupled together, trotting along, like two dogs well looked

after. Their discussions at home are never on any higher questions than

whether green peas are better with duck than Brussels sprouts. They are

cheerful, smiling. She calls him Smith or Brown, and he never speaks of

her but as 'my good lady.' Before the children they call each other

'father' and 'mother.' They may be grocers, fruiterers--I don't care

what they are; they are happy, perfect subjects for matrimony.

* * *

What divers and strange unions are sanctioned by matrimony, to be sure!

By the side of resigned couples, harnessed together and painfully

dragging the plough, those who have never been able to understand each

other, through want of space, because they were too near to make proper

observations; those who, alas! understand each other too well; sweet,

amiable women of poetic dispositions, chained to matter-of-fact, brutal

men; honest, saving, hard-working men fastened for life to silly,

thoughtless, extravagant women; romantic women married to men who see no

difference between Vesuvius in eruption and the smoking chimneys of

Pittsburg or Birmingham; women of a keen, humorous disposition living

with dullards unable to see a joke; Wagnerians having for wives women

who prefer the music of 'The Casino Girl' to that of 'Lohengrin':

almost everywhere tragedy or comedy.

* * *

Matrimony is a very narrow carriage. If you want to be comfortable in it

you have to be careful, or one will soon be in the way of the other. To

put yourself to a little inconvenience now and then is the only way of

making the other comfortable. To believe that love alone, without

careful study, will resist all the shocks and will be all the more

durable that it is ardent is the greatest mistake one can make in the

world. Violent passion may be compared to Hercules, who might have

enough strength to raise a palace on his shoulders, but not enough to

stand a cold in his head. It is the thousand and one little drawbacks of

matrimonial life that undermine it. Love will survive a great

misfortune, but will be killed by the little miseries of conjugal

partnership. In matrimony it is the little things that count and which,

added up, make a terrible total. The waning love of a wife will not be

revived by the present of a thousand pound pair of ear-rings, but it may

be kept up by the daily present of a penny bunch of violets, which

reminds her that you think of her every day of your life. It is not the

great sacrifices that appeal to her as do constant little concessions.

Many men would sacrifice their lives who would not give up smoking or

their too frequent visits to their clubs for their wives. Many women

will be the incarnation of devotion and self-abnegation who will not do

their hair as their husbands beg them to.

* * *

Surely matrimony ought to procure happiness, for the greatest bliss on

earth should be to love in peaceful security with the guarantee of the

morrow. Matrimony is all right. So are the symphonies of Beethoven--when

they are performed by orchestras who play in time and in tune.

The worst--indeed, the only serious--drawback to matrimony is that it is

an everyday meal which, palatable as it may be, runs the risk of

becoming insipid, and of making fastidious the people who have to

partake of it. True, but then let people who are intelligent and

thoughtful supply seasoning which will whet the appetite and combat

Habit, that demon which is their deadliest enemy.

It is folly, rank folly, to believe that it is wise, even prudent, to

exhaust all at once the sum of happiness, illusion, and love with which

one enters the state of matrimony, and to give one's self body and soul

until, soon satiated and by-and-by tired of each other, both will turn

their heads away in disgust, and may, later on, lose them in despair.

CHAPTER V

RAMBLES ABOUT MATRIMONY--II

There was a time, and I can remember it myself, when men as well as

women wore wedding-rings. It was, I think, a very pretty custom. The

wedding-ring ought to be worn by both husband and wife, not only as a

constant reminder of faith sworn, but also as a talisman; it should be a

cherished jewel given to the husband by the wife, as well as one given

to the wife by the husband, and given in each case with a loving,

earnest kiss impressed upon it. The wedding-ring is such a priceless

jewel in the eyes of loving women that I have heard of some who became

insane on losing it. Why should it not be priceless in the eyes of a man

who loves his wife?

* * *

Every time that two beings who live together are not of the same opinion

or of the same taste, a concession on the part of the one or of the

other has to be made, or trouble will follow. This is a rule without

exception. In conjugal parlance Concession is another name for Duty.

Concessions should even be made in everyday conversation, and long

discussions most carefully and invariably avoided. Discussions are

generally useless; they never lead to conviction, and may cause you to

run a dangerous risk--that of losing your control over your good temper.

In a wild desire to prove that he is right, a man will blurt out words

that he will be sorry to have uttered, betray thoughts which he always

meant to keep to himself, and when the discussion is over those words

remain and the harm is done.

The moment a discussion takes too lively a form, one of the two should

have enough self-control to stop adding fuel to it and remain silent,

even at the risk of letting the other suppose that his (or her)

arguments are unanswerable. Of course, this silence should be kind,

discreet; not that odious silence of ill-assorted couples, which is a

silence of disgust and hatred. If both man and wife are quick-tempered

and unable to avoid a heated discussion, they should leave off at once;

they should even separate and go, he to light a cigar in his library or

in the garden, she to touch her piano or take up a novel, until both

have forgotten all about it.

* * *

A mistake made by a great many married couples is to avoid speaking of

money matters. But the most loving couples cannot altogether live on

love and the air of the atmosphere; it is not given to all of them--in

fact, it is given to only very few of them--to spend without having to

count. A man and a wife are two friends, two partners, who should

constantly hold pleasant little committee meetings of two in order to

discuss all matters of pecuniary interest and balance their budget of

receipts and expenditure. Once a week at least, they should employ an

hour in this way, hand in hand, like the best of friends. Thus it is

that by mutual confidence each will encourage the other to think of the

future, and little by little both will soon find themselves possessing

the nucleus of a small fortune, in which they will take more and more

interest, and which one day, to their surprise, will be found quite snug

and bearing an interest that will add considerably to their annual

revenue.

A married woman should never consent to receive so much a week for

household expenses, so much a month for her dress, and to be treated, so

to speak, as a dependent person. It should be left to her to decide

whether, considering what the financial situation is, she can afford two

new hats or one only. The suggestion, much less the order, should not

come from her husband, but from herself.

I like the French system, where a man consults his wife in all important

matters of financial interest, such as the investment of savings, etc.;

but from the day she is married, the French wife begins to be taught by

her husband the details of his profession or business, and the best and

safest investments of the day, and she immediately and invariably is

appointed by him secretary of the treasury--among the masses of the

people, anyway--and that is why I have not the least hesitation is

asserting the fortune of France is so stable and steady. It is because,

thanks to the influence of the wife, French families have their money

invested in the safest Government securities. So long as they can work,

they are satisfied with a very small interest for their capital, in

order to be quite sure that when the days of rest will become a

necessity, that capital will be there to keep them, if not in wealth, at

all events in comfort and complete independence.

* * *

When married couples have nothing better to do, they should amuse

themselves making all sorts of plans for the future. They should plan

journeys to distant countries, build castles in the air, buy country

houses, and consult each other and decide how they shall furnish them

and lay out the grounds. These plans are like barricades--they mask the

future; besides, they cause you amusement and cost nothing. And--who

knows?--among those many plans perhaps there will be one of your

predilections that you will actually be able to realize. What happens

then? Plans are akin to caresses--they go together hand in hand; they

are the gratuitous pleasures of sweet intimacy.

* * *

Young married people should avoid being too demonstrative, not only in

public, but in private, in the first years especially. They should

constantly remember that they enter the state of matrimony with a

certain capital of love. They must not squander that capital, but live

on the interest of it only.

* * *

There are young people who too often feel the want of manifesting their

love by exaggerated proofs of tenderness, such as the administration to

each other of names of birds and pet quadrupeds, of showers of kisses,

of little pats on the face. The exaggerated frequency of such acts

produces a reaction, and often a slight sensation of enervation, that

should never be born of caresses. And as these outward shows of love run

the risk of diminishing in number and fervour, there is danger of their

thus becoming a sign or a proof of decline in tenderness.

In public these demonstrations are ridiculous and vulgar; they put other

people ill at ease, who smile and sneer, and even remark, 'They will

soon get over it.'

CHAPTER VI

RAMBLES ABOUT MATRIMONY--III

To marry a beautiful woman for the mere love of her beauty is to

undertake to dwell in a country that has a temperature of 100 in the

shade without being provided with clothes that will enable you to stand

a winter of 50 below zero when it comes.

* * *

In the relations between men and women it is, after all, beauty that

makes woman particularly attractive to man. For this reason, the love of

a man is more sensual, more jealous, than that of a woman, which is more

affectionate, more confiding, and more faithful. As a rule, the passion

of a husband goes on diminishing as that of his wife goes on increasing.

A man exacts of his wife her first love; a woman exacts of her husband

his last. Only the select few can manage their matrimonial affairs with

such clever diplomacy as to make these different elements of happiness

and sources of danger work together with success.

* * *

Married people would live more happily together if they could now and

then forget that they are tied together for life. Any little scene that

may help them to forget it should be enacted by them.

* * *

Happiness in matrimony is more solid when it is founded on friendship

through thick and thin than when it is merely on love.

* * *

In love a moment of bliss is nothing; it is only the morrow which

purifies and sanctifies it. How many married couples would be happy if

they would only think of the morrow!

* * *

The husband who knows how to always keep something in store for his wife

has solved the great problem of happiness in matrimonial life.

* * *

Cupid introduces men and women into that enclosure which is called

matrimony, and then discreetly and almost immediately retires. What a

pity it is he does not make their acquaintance later, in order to remain

with them for ever!

* * *

Marriages would be very much happier if women preferred marrying men who

love them to those whom they love.

* * *

Matrimony would be a glorious institution if women would take as much

care of themselves for their husbands as they do when they expect guests

at their dinner-parties and receptions.

* * *

Women should devote all their best attentions to learning how to grow

old in time and gradually, and in remembering that tears make them

unattractive, and angry looks hideous.

* * *

One of the greatest dangers to happiness in matrimony is not want of

love, but too much of it, at the beginning especially. Love dies of

indigestion more quickly than of any other disease. Never satiate your

wife--or your husband--with love. Do not live on L10,000 the first year

of your married life, and be obliged to reduce your income by L1,000 or

L2,000 every year. Begin gently, quietly, and let your revenue, like

your love, slowly but steadily increase. There lies your only chance.

With self-control you have it at your disposal.

* * *

All vocations require preparation and apprenticeship. Matrimony is the

only one which men and women can enter into without knowing anything

about it. Alas!

CHAPTER VII

THE START IN MATRIMONY, AND ITS DANGERS

In matrimony it is not 'All is well that ends well'; it is 'All is well

that begins well, but not too well.' Starting from this principle, I

have often advised young husbands to control themselves, and to be

careful to avoid putting all their smartest dialogue and strongest

situations in the first act of the comedy of matrimony, for fear lest

the interest should go on flagging steadily to the end.

I have advised them to see that their wives do not get their own way in

everything at once, and not to make themselves their abject slaves,

because, just as no government has ever been known to successfully

suppress, or even reduce, any liberty or privilege previously granted to

the people, just so will no husband be able to recover one inch of the

ground he has surrendered if he capitulates on the threshold of

matrimony.

In fact, let young husbands and young wives behave toward each other in

such a way that their friends will not smile and say: 'Lovely, but too

good to last, I'm afraid.'

The dangers against which I have attempted to warn men exist for

women--devoted, loving women who wish to start matrimony by trying to do

the impossible in order to please their husbands, or, if not the

impossible, at all events, what it may not be in their power to do for

ever, or even for a long time.

One of these dangers is that of economy.

'My dear,' remarked a shrewd friend to a bride of a few weeks' standing,

'you will make a terrible mistake if you let your husband think that you

can keep house on nothing.'

Young wives are sometimes pitifully anxious to be credited with

remarkable cleverness as house-mistresses. The more they love their

husbands, the less they like the idea of their toiling and moiling.

Hence they are keenly anxious to prove themselves helpmeets in the

literal sense of the word.

Not only will they name a far smaller sum as housekeeping money than

their husbands can well afford to give them, but they will actually save

out of that sum enough for their own clothes and petty cash expenses.

All this self-sacrifice is not only charming, but beautiful, when there

is necessity for rigid economy. Young couples who wisely marry on small

incomes, instead of wasting the sweetness of their youth over an endless

engagement, must make a study of ways and means, and the wife who will

cajole a shilling into doing duty for a five-shilling piece is a jewel

beyond price.

Again, when times are bad, when the bread-winner falls ill, and the

treasury runs dry, there is no more pathetic and lovely sight than the

brave little wife who struggles and succeeds in keeping the wolf out of

the house.

But in instances where no serious demand of this kind need be made upon

a wife's ingenuity, she is a very short-sighted woman indeed who does

not see the dangers and realize the evils of overzealous economy.

There would be fewer complaints of marriages that result in the wife

being merely an unpaid servant or housekeeper, who cannot give notice to

leave, if brides began as they meant to go on, for no one save those who

have lived through the process knows how difficult it is to introduce a

new regime when once its opposite had been inaugurated and accepted.

'You said you would find L3 10s. a week ample a month ago. Why in the

world do you want L5 now?' asks the husband, whose wife has been

foolishly anxious to impress him with her cleverness as an economist,

and finds she cannot keep up the farce beyond the limit of a few weeks.

Economy may be carried too far from choice. There are women who simply

love saving. They neglect their intellectual life, and abandon all

attempts to keep in the movement, all in order to grind down the weekly

bills. No reward awaits them.

The women who believe themselves perfect because they are economical,

and consider the spring-cleaning of their house the greatest event of

the year, grow old before their time, and are never the companions

modern wives should be to their husbands.

Be good, but never overdo it, I will say to any woman who has the sense

of humour.

CHAPTER VIII

'OMELETTE AU RHUM'

When you are dining with an intimate friend, and an _omelette au rhum_

is served, what do you do? Without any ceremony, you take a spoon, and,

taking the burning liquid, you pour it over the dish gently and

unceasingly. If you are careless, and fail to keep the pink and blue

flame alive, it goes out at once, and you have to eat, instead of a

delicacy, a dish fit only for people who like, or are used to have,

their palates scraped by rough food. If you would be sure to be

successful, you will ask your friend to help you watch the flame, and

you will even ask him to lift the omelette gently so that the rhum may

be poured all over it until the whole of the alcohol contained in the

liquor is burned out.

This _omelette au rhum_ is a fairly good symbol of matrimony.

In the earliest stage of married life the eggs have just been broken,

beaten, and strewn with sugar, a light has been set, and everything is

burning and perfectly beautiful. The young partakers of the matrimonial

repast are intoxicated with their new life, their new emotions, their

new sensations; they require no indulgence toward each other, no

special cleverness or diplomacy to please each other; there are no

concessions to make--neither of them can go or do wrong; the flame burns

of itself.

I do not mean to say that the flame can be kept burning for ever and

ever--alas! no, not any more than life can be made to eternally animate

your body. The flame must go out one day, as some illness must one day

end your life. But, just as hygiene teaches how to keep our good health

prolonged by precautions of all sorts, just so does common-sense, aided

by diplomacy and skill, help us to keep alive the flame of love between

the man and the woman who have kindled it.

And let no woman accuse me of manly conceit if I say that, clever and

attentive as the man must be, the woman has to be more clever and

attentive still, and that simply because it is a fact--an uncontradicted

fact (call it psychological if you like, or physiological if you

prefer)--that the love or passion of a woman goes on naturally

increasing in married life, whereas that of a man goes on just as

gradually and steadily decreasing.

In marriage the flame of love has been known to keep long alive through

the intelligence of the wife, and even without any effort in that

direction on the part of the husband; but the contrary has never been

known to be successful.

Woman is a divine delicacy who has to tempt the appetite of man; but the

most exquisite delicacy may become insipid if served every day with the

eternally same sauce. This is plain common-sense, and let me tell you

this: that no married life (not one) has a shadow of chance to be happy

for long unless the woman clearly understands and quickly realizes that,

if moral duties are the same for men and women, Nature has made their

temperaments absolutely different.

CHAPTER IX

COQUETRY IN MATRIMONY

No coquetry in matrimony? Who is the Philistine who dares utter such

blasphemy? Good heavens! if half the curling-pins, which are used by

women at night in order to be beautiful the following day and attract

the attention and admiration of strangers, were used by them in the

morning, so that they might be beautiful the same day, and draw the

attention and admiration of their husbands, there would be happiness in

matrimony, and the world would go much better than it does.

The greatest, the most dangerous enemy of happiness in matrimony is

habit which engenders monotony. You get too much accustomed to each

other, and love fades, as a flower which falls off its stem before it

has lived its natural life, owing to some insect which destroys it.

That insect in matrimony is habit, which devours everything without your

being aware of its presence. Destroy that insect before it has had time

to do any harm, and you will have saved your dual happiness.

A grave error committed by many women is to believe that they must look

their best for the friends, acquaintances and strangers who visit them,

but that they need not take much trouble for their husbands.

But the fact is that a woman ought to ever appear before her husband

at her very best, whether it is in a morning negligee or in a full

afternoon or evening toilette.

Your husband, my dear lady, ought to see in you more than he could see

in any other woman. All comparisons ought to be to your advantage. It is

not at all necessary that you should have an expensive gown on at

breakfast-time. Your hair well fixed, and a nice-fitting dressing-gown

may make you look as attractive as a beautiful ball-dress.

It is not clothes that make a woman fascinating; it is the way she puts

them on.

In fact, never allow yourself to be seen by your husband in any other

state than that in which you would allow yourself to be seen by the male

portion of your acquaintances, not even in illness. As long as your

strength permit, remain coquettish and jealous of your appearance. Yes,

I say, even on a sick-bed.

The part you have to play consists in spraying a perfume of poetry

around you. Fill your husband with remembrances of you, so that, even

when you are not visible, you are present before his eyes.

Allow him the most complete liberty, and never ask him questions on what

he has done, where he has been.

Take it for granted that he has done nothing which he should not have

done, that he has been nowhere where he should not have been, and it is

that perfect confidence which you show you have in him that will always

keep him in the path of faithfulness, unless he is, which is only

exceptional, an absolutely bad man.

If clouds are gathering over your happiness, it is for you women to

clear them away. You are the guardian angels of the home, which is your

kingdom. If you have trials, strain every nerve to appear smiling, and

if sometimes tears stifle you, shed them in secret, even should the

cause of your trial be the inconstancy of your husband.

You will not bring him back to you with reproaches, tears and scenes.

You will thus keep him away for good. Remember that Nature, which has

treated you so ungenerously, makes you ugly when you weep and hideous

when you make a scene.

You will bring back an erring husband by your kindness, your sweetness,

your devotion, and your intelligence. The only infallible way to get a

husband attached to you is to let him believe that you never suspected

him, much less accused him, even when he was guilty. Call to your aid

whatever resources are at your disposal--resources of intelligence, of

beauty, of abnegation--and, if your husband is not a brute, he will

return to you, and he will be all the more ashamed of the way in which

he neglected you for a time that, by your behaviour, you seem to

consider he had never for a day ceased to love you.

Never make an allusion to the fatted calf which you killed on the

return of the prodigal heart. Be as merciful in your victory as you were

in your temporary defeat.

Do not be satisfied with forgiving; forget, and make him forget

everything. Use scales: on one side place his years of devotion to you,

his industry, his forethought in securing your future and that of your

children; on the other his faults; and even if these scales should

incline to remain horizontal, with a gentle touch of your finger make

them go down in favour of what he has done for you.

The supreme coquetry of a woman is to know how to reign, even when her

husband governs. Her very weakness is the best weapon in her hands. Her

husband should be the motive of all her actions. Before thinking of

appearing beautiful to the indifferent, she should think of appearing

beautiful to her husband.

If she is admired, she should feel proud of it for his sake, and make

him understand that only crumbs are for strangers; that he alone is

invited to the whole meal of her beauty, her love, her boundless

devotion.

And let me add that there is not, in this chapter, a single word of

advice which I give to women in their dealings with husbands which I do

not endorse and give to men in their dealings with their wives.

CHAPTER X

RESIGNATION IN MATRIMONY

According to characters and circumstances, resignation is the virtue of

the weak or the virtue of the strong. A woman resigns herself to her

fate in married life, sometimes because she has not enough strength of

will, sometimes because she does not deign to revolt, oftener still

because she discovers that her rebellion could only make matters worse

for herself, and especially for her children.

If her husband is good, her resignation will soon bring him back to her;

if he is bad, her rebellion will make him much worse.

If you cannot sympathize with your husband, or adopt his views and

manner of thinking, resign yourself, keep your views for yourself, and

do not transform your married life into an eternal French public

meeting, where, instead of striking pebbles together in order to obtain

light, they throw them at one another's faces.

Fulfil your duties. Never complain. Never exact what is not offered to

you, unless it be respect. So long as your husband treats you with

respect, at home as well as in public; so long as he is the thoughtful

father of your children, and carefully and industriously attends to his

profession or business, respect him and inspire in your children the

respect for him, and especially do not make your children the confidant

of your grievances; that is your foremost duty.

I cannot say to you: Try to force yourself to love your husband. This is

not in your power. But I will say: Be irreproachable, and thus make

yourself the superior of your husband. Devote yourself to your family.

If you are rich, do with your money all the good that you can. The

greatest possession is self-esteem. You can rise so high that the

offences committed against you may appear infinitely small. After all,

we get in this world the place that we know how to make for ourselves.

Never let the outside public know the details of your private life.

Receive your friends and your guests with a smile on your lips. If your

husband is a gentleman, he will show you before them the greatest

consideration, and if you are a lady you will treat him in a like

manner.

If your husband is unable to offer you his love--I mean a lover's

love--do not commit the mistake of refusing his friendship, for it is

just possible that this man, who has not in him the power to love you as

a lover, would still be ready to give his life for you.

He would certainly be still ready to give it for his children, _your_

children. Surely that friendship is worth having. Of course, the young

wife, who discovers after only a few years of marriage that the dream of

love has vanished, is to be pitied, supposing that it has not been

through her fault that the dream has had such a short life; but the

woman who for twenty or more years has had a faithful lover-husband is

conceited and ridiculous beyond measure when she does not almost

cheerfully resign herself to the inevitable crisis in matrimony; and if

she has children that she takes in her confidence, and thus estranges

from their father, her vanity is not very far from criminal. At all

events, she deserves the sympathy of no one.

Resign yourself to the inevitable. Let the days of love, happiness, and

devotion count in the final reckoning, and, in turning over a new leaf,

be sure you bring forward devotion, and soon happiness may have to be

added again.

Put on a cheerful face always, and remember that it pays to excite envy,

never to excite pity.

CHAPTER XI

TIT FOR TAT

There is more joy in heaven, we are told, for one sinner who repents

than for a hundred righteous people who keep straight on the narrow ways

of salvation.

And, I should add, there must be more joy in hell for one good man who

goes wrong than for a hundred sinners who persevere in their wicked

ways.

There should be more joy in the heart of a woman for a man who remains

in love with her than for a hundred others whose admiration she may

obtain.

There are some women who may love a man ever so much, and be loved by

him to their hearts' content, who will use all their artillery to bring

down strangers to their feet, but who will make little or no effort to

look their best for the man who loves them and is devoted to them. For

such women their beauty is an altar erected to unknown gods.

Married life would be an everyday bliss and an eternal one if men never

thought of doing to or before their wives what they would never dream of

doing to or before any ladies of their acquaintance, and, of course, if

women did the same; but such is not always, even often, the case. Hence

the trouble.

How many men have taken their wives to a ball, women whose radiant

beauty and brilliant toilettes have caused the admiration of all men

present, and also the envy of many women?

How many men have felt that, if the said wives had made as much

preparation for them as they had for all the strangers present at that

ball, they could have fallen at their feet and worshipped them?

On returning home, however, Madame has immediately retired to her room,

ordered her maid to quickly remove and pack away the lovely attire, and,

an hour later, prepared for the night's rest, she appeared before her

husband with her hair all prepared for the next day, her hands carefully

gloved so that they may be as white as snow--also for the next day--and

wrapped up and as inaccessible as a valuable clock that is going to be

shipped to the other end of the world.

That is the lot of many men--may I not even say of most husbands? Then a

bold husband will venture to make some remarks. He will say, 'Now, my

dear, I hear you practise your scales and exercises, but seldom do you

treat me to a piece of music, which I only hear when I have guests or we

go out. Everyone--at the ball--has admired your beautiful hair and your

lovely gown, but for me, all I see is hairpins and curlers and a

dressing-gown.'

And Madame will answer more or less sourly, 'Is it because I am your

wife that I must grow ugly? Do you want my hair to fall over my neck and

shoulders to-morrow like weeping willows? Do you want my hands to be red

and chappy? Are you sorry I am careful of my clothes and have them put

away, well folded in tissue-paper, when I have no need of them?

'Do you reproach me for doing you honour and being at the same time

careful? Will you tell me, is there any way to please you? And do you

think that, after enjoying herself and receiving compliments during a

whole evening, it is very pleasant for a woman to return home and hear

nothing but rebuffs, reproaches and the like?'

The poor man feels he is beaten, that he is a brute, and he says nothing

more, until one night when it is time to retire, he prepares a surprise

for his wife.

'What's all this?' exclaims the wife when she realizes what has

happened.

'Nothing, dear,' he replies. 'To tell you the truth, I go hunting

to-morrow morning, and I shall have to rise very early. My hunting-boots

are new, and in the morning my feet are always a little swollen, so I

keep them on to save trouble. You must excuse my spurs, too, dear, but I

prefer these, which are fastened to the boots. I shall be most

comfortable to-morrow.'

CHAPTER XII

THE IDEAL HUSBAND

There are qualities which most women admire in men, and there are

qualities which practically every man admires in all women; but if you

were to ask of a hundred men, 'What is the ideal wife?' and of a hundred

women, 'What is the ideal husband?' you would get a hundred opinions all

different one from the other.

_Quot capita, tot sensus_, which, in the case of women, I should like to

translate, 'So many pretty heads, so many different opinions.' This,

however, is as it should be. Only there remains that terrible problem

for every man and woman to solve: Find your ideal if you can, and when

you think you have found it, see that you are not disappointed.

I have of late interviewed a good many Parisiennes on the subject, and I

will give some of the answers which I have received.

One said to me: 'The ideal husband is the one who devotes his life to

his wife, who makes her the first consideration in all his thoughts and

acts, who understands that she is the aim of everything which he

undertakes, and that he should use all the resources that Nature has

placed in his mind and Fortune has put in his hands in order that she

may be happy and remain long beautiful.'

I need not say that this was the opinion of a young girl who had only

just made her debut in society. Nor do I need say that the following

came from the lips of a married woman--one, however, whom I guarantee to

be in the possession of all the womanly virtues likely to make a husband

most satisfied with his lot.

'The ideal husband,' she said, 'is the one who lets his wife alone, who

does not interfere with her household duties or any of her little

womanly fads, who is not always paying her compliments or besieging her

with advice, and who is not always by her side or behind her back, who

seldom addresses her reproaches, and never reminds her of what he has

done to deserve her gratitude, who is not fussy, fidgety, or a bore of a

model of propriety and virtue.

'When I was a young girl I dreamed of matrimony as a sweet state of

slavery. Now I shout for liberty--liberty for him and liberty for me. I

do not mean to say, of course, that man and wife should live apart and

not care one what the other does. No, no; but I firmly believe that we

should remain at a respectful distance from the objects which we want to

see to advantage and admire.

'A woman should never allow even the most loving and beloved of husbands

to be constantly making love to her. One may suffer from abundance of

wealth. A great deal of discretion and a certain amount of respect

between married people are sure to secure the duration and the solidity

of their affection. Those who live at too close quarters are sure to

part one day or the other.'

Here is another, with less philosophy, but a good deal of what I might

call paradoxical psychology:

'The ideal husband,' said to me a woman married to a French painter on

the road to celebrity, 'is the one who is not a man of genius. Nothing

monopolizes a man like a great talent for writing, painting, or even

business; he belongs to his muse, his art, or his figures. His thoughts

are absorbed, and he has very few, if any, left for the little creature

who lives with him, not in the clouds, but by his side on this earth.

'When he returns from his dreams, he throws at her--poor inferior

being!--a glance of pity, if not of contempt. My ideal husband is a man

who can live for me as I am ready to live for him, and who can do

without a mistress, whether that mistress be called Literature, Art, or

Commerce. I love great men, great poets, great painters or sculptors,

but I would not have a great man for a husband; nay, furthermore, I

should like to have a husband jealous of all the great men of my

predilection in the world of fiction.'

A piquant little woman, not a bit beautiful, but absolutely charming and

the embodiment of amiability and cheerfulness, said to me:

'The ideal husband shall not be a handsome man, but a gentlemanly one,

with a keen sense of humour, cheerful, a laughing philosopher, and a man

with a magnanimous turn of mind, who would never take advantage of a

little trouble in which I might find myself entangled to say to me, "I

told you so," but get me out of it quickly.'

Of course, all my fair friends, without exception, have insisted on the

ideal husband being indulgent, generous, manly, sincere, loyal, and

above middle height. Strange to say that none of them ask him to be

handsome, much less insist on it. One of them even went so far as to

say:

'A husband should not be handsome. First of all he is never very

beautiful, since he is a man. But he might be worse; he might think he

is beautiful, and then Heaven help his wife!'

'The ideal husband,' remarked a lady, 'is a man who should never be

ridiculous, never make a fool of himself, and never for a moment believe

that women took notice of him. A woman's love may survive any defect in

her husband, but ridicule never.'

The fact is that words or acts of a man ridiculous enough to make his

wife wish she were a mile deep under the floor will lower him so much in

her estimation that she will never be able to look up to him again; and

no woman has ever been known to drop her love--she sends it up always. I

will conclude with the opinion of an American lady:

'The ideal husband should never part with any of his most refined

manners in his home, where he should endeavour ever to appear at his

best, in dress, language, and behaviour, in the presence of his wife,

who is his queen.'

I expected as much from her supreme and magnificent majesty, Mrs.

Jonathan, Queen of the United States.

CHAPTER XIII

MARRYING ABOVE OR BELOW ONE'S STATION

It is said in England that, of all men who occupy high positions in

professional life, judges are those who oftenest marry below their

station.

Many are even said to have married impossible women, and on these

women many amusing stories are related in the smoke-rooms of London

clubs--stories which, I have no doubt, are of the _se non e vero, e ben

trovato_ type, and as faithful to truth as the stories that are told on

the feet of the Chicago women or the intellect of the Boston girls.

CHORUS-GIRL MARRIAGES

However, it must be admitted that fools are not the only men who marry

women that are greatly inferior to them in manner, education, and social

standing; the cleverest men and the most aristocratic ones have often

been known to do the same.

Dukes, marquises, and earls have married chorus-girls and shop-girls;

great literary men and artists have married uneducated girls, and have

led very happy lives with them. Of course, I pass over the aristocracy

who marry among the common people in order to get their coats of arms

out of pawn. If they are poor and marry rich girls, you can hardly call

this a case of _mesalliance_, since the superiority of birth in the man

is compensated by the superiority of fortune in the woman.

Of course, _mesalliances_ appeal to people, because they always suggest

marriages for love, and novelists of all countries have worked this

theme for all it is worth. In real life they very seldom work well, for

the simple reason that matrimony places a man and a woman on absolutely

equal footing, and that happiness for them, in the case of a

_mesalliance_, is only possible on condition that one goes up to the

level of the superior, or the other comes down to the level of the

inferior.

EDUCATING ONE'S WIFE

Marriages that have the greatest chances of success are those in which

the two partners bring the same amount of capital in social position, in

education, in fortune, in character, and I will even add in stature and

in physical beauty, with perhaps a slight--a very slight--superiority to

the credit of the man in all these conditions, except that of beauty,

which is an attribute that woman can possess in any degree without

making the happiness of her husband and herself run any risk.

Mrs. Hodgson Burnett, in one of her novels, makes a barrister fall in

love with a girl who works in the coal-mines of Lancaster (another case

of the legal profession going wrong). The man has the girl sent to

school to learn manners and get educated, then marries her, and all is

smooth ever after.

I have heard of this being done in real life with less success. The

behaviour of the man in a case like this should create gratitude in the

heart of the woman, and gratitude does not engender love. On the

contrary, Cupid is a little fellow so fond of his liberty and so wilful

that anything that tends to influence him--worse than that, to force

him--has on him the contrary effect to that which should be expected.

Yet, I say, it is the only way to bring an uneducated woman to the level

of an educated man--before matrimony. After marriage the woman is

acknowledged, proclaimed the equal of her husband, and she will stand no

hint as to her being inferior to her husband in any way.

If she loves him and is not conceited, any act on his part, however

kindly performed, that would suggest to her that she might improve

herself in language, behaviour, etc., would cause her unhappiness and

even pangs of anguish.

If, on the other hand, she did not love him and was conceited, or even

only of an independent character, she would soon give him a piece of her

mind on the subject of her improvements, and let him hear the great

typical phrase of democracy, 'I'm as good as you.'

DANGEROUS EXPERIMENTS

No, no; he must put up with the situation, and make the best of it. In

that case men console themselves with the thought that their wives are

pretty, or that they are good housekeepers, good cooks. After all, a man

gets married to please himself, not for what the world has to say of his

wife.

Still, you have to succeed in the world, and if you despise the opinion

of the world the world turns its back on you. And you must remember

this: however big you are, or you think you are, the earth can go on

running its course round the sun without your help.

French and American women have a keen power of observation and native

adaptability. Better than any other women in the world, they can soon

adapt themselves to new surroundings and new ways, and learn how to

talk, walk, dress, and behave like the leading women of any new social

circles they may have entered. Witness the American women that are to be

seen at the courts of Europe.

However, the experiment of a _mesalliance_ is always a dangerous one to

make. Nine times out of ten the rabbit will always taste of the cabbage

it was brought up on.

CHAPTER XIV

PREPARE FOR MATRIMONY, BUT DO NOT OVERTRAIN YOURSELVES

I'll tell you what the trouble is with most women in connection with

matrimony--they expect too much out of it. Not only do they expect too

much, but, in their goodness, they prepare themselves to do too much, to

give too much; in fact, they overtrain themselves.

The moment a woman is in love and becomes a fiancee she cultivates the

growing of her wings, and orders a halo for her head--in fact, she sets

herself to rehearse the part of an angel.

But see the 'cussedness' of things! Man is a strange animal, who prefers

women to angels, and the result is that things go wrong. The dear soul

is persuaded that she is going to marry a hero, a demi-god, and very

soon she discovers that, after all, she has married only a man. How few

of us can stand comfortably and long on the pedestals that our admiring

friends have erected for us!

When that woman engaged herself she did not go straightway to her

parents, as she should have done, and ask them for information on man

and matrimony. Her father might have gently disabused her on the

subject of many illusions. Certainly her mother would. No, she did not

do that. She kept to herself, read poetry, invented poetry, filled

herself with poetry.

Boys dream of military life. To them it means gorgeous uniforms, a

sword, a life of adventure, battle and glory. Girls dream of married

life. To them it means beautiful dresses and jewels and a life of

love-making. But soldiers do not always fight, and husbands do not

always make love, and that is why military life and married life are

often so sadly disappointing.

The dear little woman has prepared herself to be loving and devoted

every minute of her life. She has stored provisions of all the best

resolutions and virtues under the sun and above. She arrives in her new

home ready to yield in everything, even ready to run the house and dress

on nothing a year. How she loves that man! Her whole being is given up

to love. By-and-by she discovers that the most loving couples require

one or two meals a day, and that fig-leaves are much more expensive than

they were when they were first worn. Her husband, who, like all men, is

an idiot as far as the knowledge of housekeeping is concerned, begins to

grumble when she asks for a reasonable sum to allow her to keep things

going decently. Remarks pass, lectures are delivered, faces frown, and

frowning faces don't go well with halos.

Why will young girls leave it to their imagination to find out what

married life is? Why do they not consult and listen to the advice of

married lady friends, choosing those who are happy, of course?

They would hear the voice of common-sense.

'If you want your husband to love you and be happy, my dear,' some old

stager will tell her, 'follow _Punch's_ advice--feed the brute. Never

expect him to be loving while he is hungry. The way to his heart is

through the portion of his anatomy that lies just under it.'

Another will say to her: 'Don't start married life by keeping your house

on nothing a year, because your husband will find it quite natural, and

will get used to it.'

Let that girl frankly confess to her sweetheart that she is not an

angel, and the probability is that, if he is a man, he will say to her:

'Never mind the angels, dearie; be a woman: that's quite good enough for

me.'

CHAPTER XV

ACTRESSES SHOULD NOT MARRY

'Are you married?' once asked an English magistrate of an actress who

had been summoned for assault. She had flung a pot of cold cream in the

face of her manager.

'No, sir,' replied the lively lady, 'nor do I wish to be.'

'That is fortunate for your husband,' remarked the judge, who probably

had Irish blood in his veins.

The actress--I do not mean the mere woman on the stage--is made by her

profession unfit for matrimony. If she is fit for it, she is not, and

never will be, a great actress.

I know that you will at once tell me that Mr. and Mrs. Kendal and Mr.

and Mrs. Cyril Maude (Winifred Emery) have been married a good many

years and lived most happy lives together. I even imagine that you will

easily be able to name others, but I will still maintain that they are

only exceptions, and you will please remark that in the exceptions I

have named the husbands have, as actors, quite as high a reputation as

their wives, which may be the very explanation of those exceptions.

The actress is a heroine, partly owing to the roles that she plays, and

partly to the talent which she displays in them, and no heroine can be a

good wife to a man unless he be a hero himself. A woman can never drop

her love, and she never does; she gives it only to a man she can look up

to.

But there are a great many other reasons. An actress wants perfect

freedom of action. She cannot be bothered by household duties, hampered

by the bringing up of children, mindful of the attentions required, or

at least expected, by a husband.

Her soul and her very nervous system have to be stirred by the whole

gamut of sentiments, sensations, and even passions, or she will never be

able to stir the soul of her audience.

Can you imagine Lady Macbeth, Camille, Fedora, Phedre, La Tosca,

Brunnehilde, played by young innocent virgins or by attentive and

devoted wives who mend their husbands' stockings and make the puddings?

Perhaps you will tell me that Mrs. Kendal does all that, and if you do,

my reply will be, 'Will you please leave me alone with Mrs. Kendal?'

However, since we have mentioned the name of that great actress, I will

quote her, and repeat what she said to me one day: 'It is a general rule

with me never to engage married couples in my company; whenever I have

done so I have had trouble. I want both men and women to act in my

plays without having to mind what their wives or husbands may look like

in the wings while they are making love on the stage.'

The husband of an actress is nine times out of ten an intolerable bore.

He is jealous when she rehearses, he is jealous when she plays, he is

jealous when the audience applauds her, he is jealous when she receives

bouquets, he is jealous and suspicious if the manager increases her

salary, he is jealous during the intervals, he makes scenes to her when

she returns home, and, if he does not, he sulks, which is worse, because

the man who consumes his own smoke is far less bearable than the one who

'has it out' and has done with it. Even if he is not all that, he has

that feeling, which we can quite understand, that his wife belongs to

the authors of the play, to the manager of the theatre, to the public,

to the critics--in fact, to everybody except himself.

No, actresses should certainly not marry unless they marry actors, but

as a rule they do not, and will not.

The actor may be a hero to the susceptible matinee girl, who sees him as

Othello, Hamlet, Romeo, Henry V., d'Artagnan, or some other romantic

swashbuckler, but he is no hero to the woman who dwells in the

dressing-room next to his, and who knows that he is putting on his wig,

smearing his face with grease-paint, making-up his eyes, and covering

his face with violet-powder with a puff, which he handles in ladylike

manner. The actor loses in the eyes of an actress all the prestige which

is due to mystery and imagination, and which constitutes the primary

and fundamental element of the attraction of one sex for the other. I

have never met actresses of standing who had admiration for actors as

men, much as they might praise them as members of their profession.

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred the marriage of an actress is a

mistake, a remorse, or an act of folly. An actress, in order to

interpret the works of dramatists, should love, love passionately,

dream, suffer even terribly, in order to be able to incarnate love,

voluptuousness, suffering, and despair. The drama is the reflection of

humanity; the art of the actress should be the reflection of all the

different passions that have stirred her own heart and soul.

Another thing: The public takes a greater personal interest in a woman

who is not married than in one who is. Actresses know this so well that,

when they are married, they insist on having their names put on the

bills as Miss So-and-So. When they do not, managers make them do it.

For art's sake, for her own sake, and, remembering the remark of the

magistrate, I will add, for her husband's sake, an actress should not

marry.

CHAPTER XVI

A MATRIMONIAL BOOM

There is quite a boom in the French matrimonial market just at present,

and not marriages of convenience either, but real good love matches.

Young girls elope with respectable young men holding good positions in

order to compel their parents to give their consent. Sons now inform

their fathers and mothers that they have, without their help or even

their meddling, chosen wives for themselves. It is an open state of

rebellion against the old state of affairs in France.

Hitherto there were practically only two kinds of marriages among the

upper classes and the good bourgeoisie of France: the marriage of

convenience from which love was excluded, and the marriage for love,

which, nine times out of ten, was a _mesalliance_. And, to do justice to

the old system, let me say that, as a rule, the marriages of convenience

turned out to be much happier than _mesalliances_, which generally

consisted in marrying mistresses--that is to say, according to Balzac,

in changing tolerably good wine into very sour vinegar. However, in

these marriages of convenience, arranged by families, the social

position of the bridegroom and the dot of the bride were the first

considerations, and these couples, after being married, often discovered

they were made one for the other, and more than one husband won his wife

by courting, and really fell in love with her. In cases of

_mesalliance_, after the hours of passion had gone, the husband

discovered that all his prospects in life were destroyed through being

married to a woman he would never be able to make acceptable to the

people of the set he belonged to, and often despair followed disgust,

for woe to married people if either of them has the slightest cause for

being ashamed of the other!

But things are being changed, and a splendid sign of the times it is,

too. Young Frenchmen now seek wives among the families of their own

stations in life, court them, and make up their minds to marry them,

and, what is best of all, parents begin to realize that, after all, it

is their sons, and not themselves, who marry, and that it is they who

should make their choices.

I believe that this new state of things, which I hope, for my country,

will last, and even yet improve, is greatly due to the influence of the

Anglo-Saxons, English and Americans, whose freedom in matrimonial

matters is getting more and more familiar to the French through reading

and travelling.

Like the Anglo-Saxons, they begin to see the practical side of

matrimony. The young Frenchman says to himself: 'I do not send my father

to my tailor to choose the clothes I am to wear, and I do not see why I

should allow him to go and choose for me the girl I am to marry.'

There are other reasons which may also be due to the ever-increasing

influence of Anglo-Saxon manners and customs on France. The French girl

is every day getting freer. She is no longer cloistered, as it were, at

home and at school. She now frequents the society of young men, gets

better acquainted with them, and on more intimate terms than before. She

is more independent, feels more confidence in herself, knows more of

life than before, and the consequence is that she is better able to

provoke the love which she desires to inspire in a man of her choice.

There may also be an economical reason which incites young Frenchmen to

seek love in matrimony instead of outside of it. They have been

observing their elders, and come to the right conclusion that real love

and respectable women are much more within their means than sham love

and disreputable women. A charming companion, who is at the same time a

sweet mistress and counsellor, a careful housekeeper and a devoted wife,

appears to them in her true light--the best article in the market.

Besides, they realize that the man who is married has a social advantage

over the one who is not. The man who marries a girl of his own society

can now explain that he married her simply because he loved her, without

thinking that he has to apologize for his action by mentioning what a

good stroke of business he has made.

Most men of the preceding generation avoided matrimony as they would

have avoided ridicule. The part of husband and father struck them as

unpleasant and too _petit bourgeois_. Literature and the drama helped to

fill them with this notion; but now literature and the drama are getting

optimistic. We are getting over the period of problem novels and plays,

in which all the morbid diseases of the heart were dissected. The heroes

of novels and plays begin to get married without ceasing to be

interesting, and the result is that the present generation of France is

getting more healthy and more cheerful. This is most hopeful for France,

for the regeneration seems to take place in every class of society. The

friends of France will rejoice in this evolution. I have always

maintained, and still maintain, that it is the educational system that

explains the prosperity of the Anglo-Saxon race, and that absolute

freedom for men to marry the women they love explains its strength and

its marvellous vitality.

CHAPTER XVII

LOVE WITH WHITE HAIR

Don't smile. If there is a love absolutely beautiful, almost holy, it is

love with white hair. If conjugal tenderness deserves at all the name of

love, it is at that time of life when it becomes idealized and purified.

If two hearts can, in this world, beat in perfect unison, it is the two

hearts of old married couples united by a whole life of tender intimacy.

Love, in getting old, does not become repulsive--like an old beau, who,

with dyed hair and moustache perfumed, thinks he can pass for a handsome

young man. In those kisses, which are no longer given on the lips, but,

with sweet reverence, are discreetly given on the hand or on the

forehead, in the effusions of an old married couple, I see the most

profound and most holy of human tenderness.

They are no more lovers, but they are friends who cannot for a single

moment forget that they were lovers, and who spend the winter of their

lives in sweet remembrance of the beautiful spring, the glorious summer,

and the restful, sober autumn they enjoyed together.

This final sublime love may be rare, but it does exist; it is the reward

of concessions made and of faults forgiven; the reward of cheerfulness,

the result of long years spent together, sharing the same joys, the same

sorrows, and the same dreams. Tactful, refined, they are at this very

moment as thoughtful as they ever were before. Each one is the first

consideration in the world to the other. The refinement of their

courtesy to each other is a constant avowal of the esteem they feel; in

their old intimacy they keep the same scruples, the same delicacy as

they did in the first days of their married life. They do not call each

other 'love,' 'darling,' not even, perhaps, by their Christian names,

but 'dear friend'--and they lay on 'dear' an emphasis that shows how

sincere the expression is.

I tell you that there is no love in which you can find as much poetry as

in the love of those dear couples who for forty or fifty years have

walked side by side loving, respecting, helping each other, dreaming,

praying, suffering together, and whose actions, words, and thoughts have

each added an item to that treasure which they can now count piece by

piece. This long community of hearts, this habit of sharing everything,

has even established between them a physical likeness which would almost

cause you to take them for brother and sister rather than for man and

wife.

And how children do love these dear old couples! how they feel attracted

toward them! There is a wonderful affinity between very old people and

very young children. Both are alike in many ways: the former have lost

their strength, the latter have not yet got theirs. The world goes in a

circle, and at the end of his career the old man meets the child. They

have sympathy for each other, they understand each other, and the past

and the future are the best of friends. Old people play with children

with their hearts and souls in absolute earnest, without any of those

signs of condescension which children are so quick to detect and to

resent; and I am not prepared to say that the young children enjoy the

play more keenly than do the old ones.

Oh, if people would early prepare to become old, what pleasures would be

kept in store for them!

In the peaceful winter of a well-spent life, love with white hair is an

evening prayer that soars to the abode of the seraphs.

PART III

RAMBLES EVERYWHERE

CHAPTER I

LITTLE MAXIMS FOR EVERYDAY USE

It would do most of us a great deal of good to always keep in mind, or

to be now and then reminded of it, lest we should forget it, that, when

we are gone, the earth will not stop, but will continue her course

around the sun. No one is indispensable in this world.

* * *

In order to be successful, the cruet-stand should be used with a great

deal of discretion: a little salt always, never any pepper, vinegar very

sparingly, and oil always in plenty.

* * *

Never in your dealings with a man let him suppose that you take him for

a fool. If he is not one, he will appreciate your consideration; and if

he is one, he will go about singing your praises. Either way, you will

probably win; at any rate, you can't lose, and that's something.

* * *

When you have seen a man enjoying himself telling you a story, never

tell him that you have heard that story before, and, above all, never

tell him that you know a much better version of it, and proceed with it.

* * *

Remember that the acknowledged best conversationalists are those who

have the reputation of being good listeners. You will be called

brilliant according to the way in which you will give others a chance to

shine.

* * *

People who tell you all the good things that are said of you teach you

nothing new. Listen to criticism, especially that which is fair and

kind; then you may learn something and profit by it.

* * *

When there is something nasty said about you in a newspaper, you never

run the slightest risk of not seeing it. There is always a friend, even

at the Antipodes, who will post it to you, well marked in blue pencil at

the four corners. He takes an interest in you, and feels that the

paragraph may not do you any harm in the way of antidote. It doesn't.

* * *

When you hear that a man has taken such and such a resolution, take it

for granted, when you feel ready to criticise him, that you are not the

only person in the world who knows what he is about.

* * *

The most valuable gift of nature to man is not talent, not even genius,

but temperament and character. If you have both talent and character,

the world will belong to you, if you succeed in making talent the

servant, and not the master, of your character.

* * *

The successful man is not the one who seeks opportunities, but the one

who knows how to seize them by the forelock when they present

themselves. The great diplomatist is not the one who creates events, but

the one who foresees them and knows best how to profit by them.

* * *

A man may be very clever without being very successful. This happens

when he has more talent than character; but when a man is very

successful, never be jealous of him, for you may take it for absolutely

granted that he possesses qualities which account for his success.

* * *

Envy is the worst of evils, the one that pays least, because it never

excites pity in the breast of anyone, and because it causes you to waste

lots of time concerning yourself about other people's business instead

of spending it all minding your own.

* * *

Watch your children most carefully, for when they are ten or twelve

years of age you may detect in them signs of defects, or even vices,

which, if developed, instead of checked at once, may prove to be their

ruin.

* * *

The key to success in life is the knowledge of value of all things.

* * *

It often requires a head more solidly screwed on the shoulders to bear a

great success than to stand a great misfortune.

* * *

The knowledge of the most insignificant thing is worth having.

CHAPTER II

DO THE BEST WITH THE HAND YOU HAVE

It would be absurd to say that there is no such thing as luck. Of

course, there is luck, and fortunate is the man who knows how to seize

it at once by the forelock.

For instance, it is luck to be born handsome, strong, and healthy; it is

luck to be born rich, or of generous parents who spend a little fortune

in giving you a first-class education.

What is absurd, however, is to say that you are always unlucky. You

cannot always be unlucky any more than you can always be lucky. When a

man says to you, 'I am pursued by bad luck,' or, 'This is my usual bad

luck,' you know that he is lazy, quarrelsome, unreliable, foolish, or a

drunkard.

You may be unlucky at piquet a whole evening--even, though seldom, a

whole week; but if you go on playing a whole year every day, you will

find that, out of 365 games, you have won about 180 and lost about 180.

I take it for granted, of course, that you are as good a player as your

opponent.

There is no more constant luck or constant bad luck in life than there

is at cards, but there is such a thing as good playing with either a

good or bad hand, and in life such a thing as making the best of

fortunate and unfortunate occurrences. A man is bound to have his

chance, and his 'luck' consists in knowing how to avail himself of it.

Practically every officer has had a chance to distinguish himself one

way or the other, and therefore to be noticed by his chiefs and obtain

promotion. Every artist has seen something which may reveal his talent,

his genius, if he has any. Every good actor is bound to come across a

part which may make his fortune.

The same may be said of literary men and journalists. Every man in

business, if he keeps a sharp look-out, has a chance for a good

investment that will be the nucleus of his fortune if he knows how to

watch and nurse it carefully. What most men call bad luck is not that

chance does not present itself to them, but simply that they let it go

by and miss it.

If you want to be lucky in life, force luck and make it yourself.

Believe in yourself, and others will believe in you.

Rise early, be punctual, reliable, honest, economical, industrious, and

persevering, and, take my word for it, you will be lucky--more lucky

than you have any idea of.

Never admit that you have failed, that you have been beaten; if you are

down, get up again and fight on. Frequent good company, be sober,

constantly take advice, and refrain from giving any until you have been

asked for it. Be cheerful, amiable, and obliging. Do not show anxiety to

be paid for any good turn you may have the chance of doing to others.

When you have discovered who your real friends are, be true to them,

stick to them through thick and thin.

Do not waste time regretting what is lost, but prepare yourself for the

next deal. Forget injuries at once; never air your grievances; keep your

own secrets as well as other people's; get determined to succeed, and

let no one, no consideration whatever, divert you from the road that

leads to the goal; let the dogs bark and pass on. According to the way

you behave in life, you will be your greatest friend or your bitterest

enemy. There is no more 'luck' than that in the world.

CHAPTER III

BEWARE OF THE FINISHING TOUCH

'Leave well enough alone,' as the English say, is a piece of advice

which may be followed with benefit in many circumstances of life.

How many excellent pictures have been spoiled by the finishing touch!

How often have I heard art critics, after examining a beautiful

portrait, exclaim, 'H'm, leche!' Well, I cannot translate that French

art expression better than by 'Too much retouched--too well finished!'

This is a fault commonly found in women's portraits.

How many fortunes have been lost because people, instead of being

satisfied with reasonable profits, waited for stocks to go still higher,

and got caught in a financial crash!

Even in literature I see sad results, when authors follow too closely

that principle laid down by Boileau for the elaboration of style:

'Polish and repolish it incessantly.'

Alas! how many stilted lines are due to the too strict obedience to this

advice! What is too well finished often becomes far-fetched and

unnatural.

How many sauces have been spoiled by cooks trying to improve what was

already very good!

How many wings have been singed for not knowing how to keep at a

respectful distance from the fire or the light!

No doubt there is such a thing as perfection; but who is perfect and

what is perfect in this world, except that ineffable lady who, some

weeks ago, took me severely to task for having written an article in

which I advised my readers to be good, but not to overdo it?

The firmaments are perfect, some flowers are perfect, but these are not

the work of man. Nature herself seems to have divided her gifts so as to

have no absolute perfection in her creatures. The nightingale has song,

but no plumage; the peacock has plumage, but his voice makes you stop

your ears.

And the women! Well, yes, the women--let us speak of them.

Which of us, my dear fellow-men, has not admired a woman of ours whose

toilet was finished? We thought she looked beautiful then, we admired

her, and we put on our gloves proudly, saying:

'She is coming.' Yet she did not come. True, her hat was on and fixed

when we saw her, and we thought that she was ready. Not a bit of it. She

was not.

After she has finished dressing, and is absolutely ready to go out, she

will begin to fret and potter about in her room for another hour. She

goes from looking-glass to looking-glass. That is the time when she

thinks of the finishing touches.

She pulls her hat a little more to the right, then a little more to the

left, in order to ascertain how that hat can be improved. She touches

and retouches her hair.

Her complexion is beautiful, a natural rosy pink, for which she ought to

return thanks, all day long, to the most generous and kind Nature who

gave it to her. But, at the last moment, she thinks that this, too,

might be improved.

So she rubs her cheeks and puts more powder on them. The rubbing makes

her cheeks so red that she has to subdue the colour. She works and

works, and now takes it into her head that, being warm, her nose must be

shining.

She takes the puff and puts powder on it. An hour before she was a woman

who, in your eyes at all events, could not very well be improved.

Now she is ready, and emerges from her apartment. Her hair is undone

behind and ruffed in front, her hat is too straight, and her face looks

made-up. The rubbing has changed her lovely pink complexion into a sort

of theatrical purple red.

You feel for her, because, being very proud of her complexion, you do

not want your friends--you do not want anybody--to say: 'Oh, she is

made-up.' And you own that she looks it, and altogether she does not

look half so well as she did when she had finished dressing, and had not

begun the finishing touches.

Beware, ladies! Many a most beautiful woman has been spoiled by the

finishing touches.

CHAPTER IV

THE SELFISHNESS OF SORROW

Real sorrow is no more expressed by the correctness of a mourning attire

and the despair written on a face than true religious fervour is

expressed by the grimaces that are made at prayer-time.

Just as we are told in the Gospel to look cheerful and not to frown and

make faces when we pray, just so, I believe, those who have gone before

us would advise us not to advertise the sorrow we feel at their loss,

but keep it in restraint, and not surround ourselves, and especially not

compel those who are living with us to be surrounded, with gloom.

The outward signs of sorrow are often exaggerated and not uncommonly

nothing but acts of selfishness. The memory of the departed is better

respected by control over the most sincere sorrow, and children, young

ones especially, who cannot at their age realize the loss they have

sustained, have a right to expect to be brought up in that cheerfulness

which is the very keynote of the education of children.

The real heroine is the woman who leaves her grief in her private

apartments and appears smiling and cheerful before her children. The

best way to serve the dead is to live for the living. There is no

courage in the display of sorrow; there is heroism in the control of it.

Great hearts understand this so well that many of them, like the late

Henry Ward Beecher, desire in their wills that none of their relatives

should wear mourning at their death. There is a great difference between

being in mourning and being in black, and I often suspect that the more

in black a person is the less in mourning he or she is.

To be able to attend minutely to all the details of a most correct

mourning attire almost shows signs of recovery from the depth of the

sorrow.

But even when our sorrow is deeply felt and perfectly sincere is it not

an act of selfishness on our part to impose it, to intrude it, on

others--even on our nearest relatives?

I admire the Quaker who, quietly, without attracting the attention of

anyone at table, silently says grace before taking his meal.

How favourably he compares with the host who invites every one of his

guests to bend their heads, and to listen to him while he delivers a

long recital of all the favours he has received from a merciful God, and

of all the favours he expects to receive in the future!

The first is a Christian, the second a conceited Pharisee. There is as

much selfishness in an exaggerated display of sorrow as there is in any

act that is indulged in in order to more or less command admiration.

The truly brave and courageous people are modest in their countenance;

the truly religious are tolerant and forgiving; the truly great are

forbearing, simple, and unaffected; the truly sorrowful remember that

their griefs are personal; before strangers they are natural and even

cheerful, and before their children they are careful to appear with

cheerful and smiling faces.

After all, the greatest virtue, the greatest act of unselfishness, is

self-control. Sorrow gives man the best opportunity for the display of

this virtue.

CHAPTER V

THE RIGHT OF CHANGING ONE'S MIND

A woman's prerogative, it is said, is the right of changing her mind.

How is it that she so rarely avails herself of it when she is wrong?

It should be the prerogative of a man also. 'What is a mugwump?' once

asked an American of a Democrat. 'It's a Republican who becomes a

Democrat,' was the answer. 'But when a Democrat becomes a Republican,

what do you call him?' 'Oh, a d---- fool!' quickly rejoined the

Democrat.

We forgive people for changing their opinions only when they do so to

espouse our views, otherwise they are, in our eyes, fools, scoundrels,

renegades, and traitors.

To my mind the most dignified, praiseworthy, manly act of a man is to

change his opinions the moment he has become persuaded that they are

wrong. To acknowledge to be in the wrong is an act of magnanimity. To

persist in holding views that one knows to be wrong is an act of

cowardice. To try to impose them on others is an act of indelicacy. The

successful man is the opportunist who does what he thinks to be right at

the moment, whatever views he may have held on the subject before.

When, in full Parliament, Victor Hugo and Lamartine declared that they

ceased to be Royalists, and immediately went to take their seats on the

Opposition benches, their honesty and manliness deserved the applause

they received.

Gladstone, who died the greatest leader of the Liberal party, began his

political life as a Tory Member of Parliament. Disraeli, Earl of

Beaconsfield, who for years was the chief of the Tory party, began his

public career as Radical member for Maidstone.

Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, to-day practically the leader of the

Conservative party, not only was an advanced Radical, but a Republican.

Up to about eighteen years ago, the comic papers never failed to

represent him with a Phrygian cap on.

Every man can be mistaken in politics as well as in science, just as he

can for a long time be mistaken in his friends.

The more you study, the more independence of mind you acquire. Events

take a new aspect, and strike you in a different light. With age,

judgment becomes more sober: you weigh more carefully the _pros_ and

_cons _of all questions, and you often arrive at the conclusion that

what you honestly believed to be right is absolutely wrong. And it is

your duty to abide by your conclusions.

The greatest crimes in history were committed by irreconcilable men who

lacked moral courage and dared not admit that they were not infallible.

Philip II. of Spain was one.

That irreconcilable Imperialist, M. Paul de Cassagnac, wrote the other

day: 'When a statesman, a leader of men, perceives that he has made a

mistake, he has only one thing left for him to do: disappear altogether

from the scene, for, having deceived himself, he has been guilty of

deceiving others.'

The aim of man--of the leader of men especially--is to seek truth at any

price.

Some men proudly say at the top of their voices: 'I swear by the faith

of my ancestors, what I thought at twenty I think now. I have never

changed my opinions, and, with God's help, will never change them.'

Those men believe themselves to be heroes; they are asses, and if they

are leaders of men, they are most dangerous asses.

To live and learn should be the object of every intelligent man whose

eyes are not blinded by conceit or obstinacy.

CHAPTER VI

WHAT WE OWE TO CHANCE

Pascal once said that if Cleopatra's nose had been half an inch shorter

the face of the world would have been changed. If we read history, or

even only use our own recollections, we can get up an interesting and

sometimes amusing record of more or less important events which are

entirely due to chance or most insignificant incidents.