Part 42 (1/2)
One day, returning from your government office, after lingering for a long time before the rich and tasteful book shop of Chevet, hovering in suspense between the hundred francs of expense, and the joys of a Strasbourg _pate de fois gras_, you are struck dumb on finding this _pate_ proudly installed on the sideboard of your dining-room. Is this the vision offered by some gastronomic mirage? In this doubting mood you approach with firm step, for a _pate_ is a living creature, and seem to neigh as you scent afar off the truffles whose perfumes escape through the gilded enclosure. You stoop over it two distinct times; all the nerve centres of your palate have a soul; you taste the delights of a genuine feast, etc.; and during this ecstasy a feeling of remorse seizes upon you, and you go to your wife's room.
”Really, my dear girl, we have not means which warrant our buying _pates_.”
”But it costs us nothing!”
”Oh! ho!”
”Yes, it is M. Achille's brother who sent it to him.”
You catch sight of M. Achille in a corner. The celibate greets you, he is radiant on seeing that you have accepted the _pate_. You look at your wife, who blushes; you stroke your beard a few times; and, as you express no thanks, the two lovers divine your acceptance of the compensation.
A sudden change in the ministry takes place. A husband, who is Councillor of State, trembles for fear of being wiped from the roll, when the night before he had been made director-general; all the ministers are opposed to him and he has turned Const.i.tutionalist.
Foreseeing his disgrace he has betaken himself to Auteuil, in search of consolation from an old friend who quotes Horace and Tibullus to him. On returning home he sees the table laid as if to receive the most influential men of the a.s.sembly.
”In truth, madame,” he says with acrimony as he enters his wife's room, where she is finis.h.i.+ng her toilette, ”you seem to have lost your habitual tact. This is a nice time to be giving dinner parties! Twenty persons will soon learn--”
”That you are director-general!” she cries, showing him a royal despatch.
He is thunderstruck. He takes the letter, he turns it now one way, now another; he opens it. He sits down and spreads it out.
”I well know,” he says, ”that justice would be rendered me under whatever ministers I served.”
”Yes, my dear! But M. Villeplaine has answered for you with his life, and his eminence the Cardinal de ----- of whom he is the--”
”M. de Villeplaine?”
This is such a munificent recompense, that the husband adds with the smile of a director-general:
”Why, deuce take it, my dear, this is your doing!”
”Ah! don't thank me for it; Adolphe did it from personal attachment to you.”
On a certain evening a poor husband was kept at home by a pouring rain, or tired, perhaps, of going to spend his evening in play, at the cafe, or in the world, and sick of all this he felt himself carried away by an impulse to follow his wife to the conjugal chamber. There he sank into an arm-chair and like any sultan awaited his coffee, as if he would say:
”Well, after all, she is my wife!”
The fair siren herself prepares the favorite draught; she strains it with special care, sweetens it, tastes it, and hands it to him; then, with a smile, she ventures like a submissive odalisque to make a joke, with a view to smoothing the wrinkles on the brow of her lord and master. Up to that moment he had thought his wife stupid; but on hearing a sally as witty as that which even you would cajole with, madame, he raises his head in the way peculiar to dogs who are hunting the hare.
”Where the devil did she get that--but it's a random shot!” he says to himself.
From the pinnacle of his own greatness he makes a piquant repartee.
Madame retorts, the conversation becomes as lively as it is interesting, and this husband, a very superior man, is quite astonished to discover the wit of his wife, in other respects, an accomplished woman; the right word occurs to her with wonderful readiness; her tact and keenness enable her to meet an innuendo with charming originality. She is no longer the same woman. She notices the effect she produces upon her husband, and both to avenge herself for his neglect and to win his admiration for the lover from whom she has received, so to speak, the treasures of her intellect, she exerts herself, and becomes actually dazzling. The husband, better able than any one else to appreciate a species of compensation which may have some influence on his future, is led to think that the pa.s.sions of women are really necessary to their mental culture.
But how shall we treat those compensations which are most pleasing to husbands?
Between the moment when the last symptoms appear, and the epoch of conjugal peace, which we will not stop to discuss, almost a dozen years have elapsed. During this interval and before the married couple sign the treaty which, by means of a sincere reconciliation of the feminine subject with her lawful lord, consecrates their little matrimonial restoration, in order to close in, as Louis XVIII said, the gulf of revolutions, it is seldom that the honest woman has but one lover. Anarchy has its inevitable phases. The stormy domination of tribunes is supplanted by that of the sword and the pen, for few loves are met with whose constancy outlives ten years. Therefore, since our calculations prove that an honest woman has merely paid strictly her physiological or diabolical dues by rendering but three men happy, it is probable that she has set foot in more than one region of love.
Sometimes it may happen that in an interregnum of love too long protracted, the wife, whether from whim, temptation or the desire of novelty, undertakes to seduce her own husband.
Imagine charming Mme. de T-----, the heroine of our Meditation of _Strategy_, saying with a fascinating smile: