Honore de Balzac - Analytical Studies

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"But," I said, "love only reveals its pleasures to those who mingle in
one their thoughts, their fortunes, their sentiments, their souls,
their lives--"

"Oh dear, dear!" cried the old man, in a jeering tone. "Can you show
me five men in any nation who have sacrificed anything for a woman? I
do not say their life, for that is a slight thing,--the price of a
human life under Napoleon was never more than twenty thousand francs;
and there are in France to-day two hundred and fifty thousand brave
men who would give theirs for two inches of red ribbon; while seven
men have sacrificed for a woman ten millions on which they might have
slept in solitude for a whole night. Dubreuil and Phmeja are still
rarer than is the love of Dupris and Bolingbroke. These sentiments
proceed from an unknown cause. But you have brought me thus to
consider love as a passion. Yes, indeed, it is the last of them all
and the most contemptible. It promises everything, and fulfils
nothing. It comes, like love, as a need, the last, and dies away the
first. Ah, talk to me of revenge, hatred, avarice, of gaming, of
ambition, of fanaticism. These passions have something virile in them;
these sentiments are imperishable; they make sacrifices every day,
such as love only makes by fits and starts. But," he went on, "suppose
you abjure love. At first there will be no disquietudes, no anxieties,
no worry, none of those little vexations that waste human life. A man
lives happy and tranquil; in his social relations he becomes
infinitely more powerful and influential. This divorce from the thing
called love is the primary secret of power in all men who control
large bodies of men; but this is a mere trifle. Ah! if you knew with
what magic influence a man is endowed, what wealth of intellectual
force, what longevity in physical strength he enjoys, when detaching
himself from every species of human passion he spends all his energy
to the profit of his soul! If you could enjoy for two minutes the
riches which God dispenses to the enlightened men who consider love as
merely a passing need which it is sufficient to satisfy for six months
in their twentieth year; to the men who, scorning the luxurious and
surfeiting beefsteaks of Normandy, feed on the roots which God has
given in abundance, and take their repose on a bed of withered leaves,
like the recluses of the Thebaid!--ah! you would not keep on three
seconds the wool of fifteen merinos which covers you; you would fling
away your childish switch, and go to live in the heaven of heavens!
There you would find the love you sought in vain amid the swine of
earth; there you would hear a concert of somewhat different melody
from that of M. Rossini, voices more faultless than that of Malibran.
But I am speaking as a blind man might, and repeating hearsays. If I
had not visited Germany about the year 1791, I should know nothing of
all this. Yes!--man has a vocation for the infinite. There dwells
within him an instinct that calls him to God. God is all, gives all,
brings oblivion on all, and thought is the thread which he has given
us as a clue to communication with himself!"

He suddenly stopped, and fixed his eyes upon the heavens.

"The poor fellow has lost his wits!" I thought to myself.

"Sir," I said to him, "it would be pushing my devotion to eclectic
philosophy too far to insert your ideas in my book; they would destroy
it. Everything in it is based on love, platonic and sensual. God
forbid that I should end my book by such social blasphemies! I would
rather try to return by some pantagruelian subtlety to my herd of
celibates and honest women, with many an attempt to discover some
social utility in their passions and follies. Oh! if conjugal peace
leads us to arguments so disillusionizing and so gloomy as these, I
know a great many husbands who would prefer war to peace."

"At any rate, young man," the old marquis cried, "I shall never have
to reproach myself with refusing to give true directions to a traveler
who had lost his way."

"Adieu, thou old carcase!" I said to myself; "adieu, thou walking
marriage! Adieu, thou stick of a burnt-out fire-work! Adieu, thou
machine! Although I have given thee from time to time some glimpses of
people dear to me, old family portraits,--back with you to the picture
dealer's shop, to Madame de T-----, and all the rest of them; take
your place round the bier with undertaker's mutes, for all I care!"

MEDITATION XXX.

CONCLUSION.

A recluse, who was credited with the gift of second sight, having
commanded the children of Israel to follow him to a mountain top in
order to hear the revelation of certain mysteries, saw that he was
accompanied by a crowd which took up so much room on the road that,
prophet as he was, his _amour-propre_ was vastly tickled.

But as the mountain was a considerable distance off, it happened that
at the first halt, an artisan remembered that he had to deliver a new
pair of slippers to a duke and peer, a publican fell to thinking how
he had some specie to negotiate, and off they went.

A little further on two lovers lingered under the olive trees and
forgot the discourse of the prophet; for they thought that the
promised land was the spot where they stood, and the divine word was
heard when they talked to one another.

The fat people, loaded with punches a la Sancho, had been wiping their
foreheads with their handkerchiefs, for the last quarter of an hour,
and began to grow thirsty, and therefore halted beside a clear spring.

Certain retired soldiers complained of the corns which tortured them,
and spoke of Austerlitz, and of their tight boots.

At the second halt, certain men of the world whispered together:

"But this prophet is a fool."

"Have you ever heard him?"

"I? I came from sheer curiosity."

"And I because I saw the fellow had a large following." (The last man
who spoke was a fashionable.)

"He is a mere charlatan."

The prophet kept marching on. But when he reached the plateau, from
which a wide horizon spread before him, he turned back, and saw no one
but a poor Israelite, to whom he might have said as the Prince de
Ligne to the wretched little bandy-legged drummer boy, whom he found
on the spot where he expected to see a whole garrison awaiting him:
"Well, my readers, it seems that you have dwindled down to one."

Thou man of God who has followed me so far--I hope that a short
recapitulation will not terrify thee, and I have traveled on under the
impression that thou, like me, hast kept saying to thyself, "Where the
deuce are we going?"

Well, well, this is the place and the time to ask you, respected
reader, what your opinion is with regard to the renewal of the tobacco
monopoly, and what you think of the exorbitant taxes on wines, on the
right to carry firearms, on gaming, on lotteries, on playing cards, on
brandy, on soap, cotton, silks, etc.

"I think that since all these duties make up one-third of the public
revenues, we should be seriously embarrassed if--"

So that, my excellent model husband, if no one got drunk, or gambled,
or smoked, or hunted, in a word if we had neither vices, passions, nor
maladies in France, the State would be within an ace of bankruptcy;
for it seems that the capital of our national income consists of
popular corruptions, as our commerce is kept alive by national luxury.
If you cared to look a little closer into the matter you would see
that all taxes are based upon some moral malady. As a matter of fact,
if we continue this philosophical scrutiny it will appear that the
gendarmes would want horses and leather breeches, if every one kept
the peace, and if there were neither foes nor idle people in the
world. Therefore impose virtue on mankind! Well, I consider that there
are more parallels than people think between my honest woman and the
budget, and I will undertake to prove this by a short essay on
statistics, if you will permit me to finish my book on the same lines
as those on which I have begun it. Will you grant that a lover must
put on more clean shirts than are worn by either a husband, or a
celibate unattached? This to me seems beyond doubt. The difference
between a husband and a lover is seen even in the appearance of their
toilette. The one is careless, he is unshaved, and the other never
appears excepting in full dress. Sterne has pleasantly remarked that
the account book of the laundress was the most authentic record he
knew, as to the life of Tristram Shandy; and that it was easy to guess
from the number of shirts he wore what passages of his book had cost
him most. Well, with regard to lovers the account book of their
laundresses is the most faithful historic record as well as the most
impartial account of their various amours. And really a prodigious
quantity of tippets, cravats, dresses, which are absolutely necessary
to coquetry, is consumed in the course of an amour. A wonderful
prestige is gained by white stockings, the lustre of a collar, or a
shirt-waist, the artistically arranged folds of a man's shirt, or the
taste of his necktie or his collar. This will explain the passages in
which I said of the honest woman [Meditation II], "She spends her life
in having her dresses starched." I have sought information on this
point from a lady in order to learn accurately at what sum was to be
estimated the tax thus imposed by love, and after fixing it at one
hundred francs per annum for a woman, I recollect what she said with
great good humor: "It depends on the character of the man, for some
are so much more particular than others." Nevertheless, after a very
profound discussion, in which I settled upon the sum for the
celibates, and she for her sex, it was agreed that, one thing with
another, since the two lovers belong to the social sphere which this
work concerns, they ought to spend between them, in the matter
referred to, one hundred and fifty francs more than in time of peace.

By a like treaty, friendly in character and long discussed, we
arranged that there should be a collective difference of four hundred
francs between the expenditure for all parts of the dress on a war
footing, and for that on a peace footing. This provision was
considered very paltry by all the powers, masculine or feminine, whom
we consulted. The light thrown upon these delicate matters by the
contributions of certain persons suggested to us the idea of gathering
together certain savants at a dinner party, and taking their wise
counsels for our guidance in these important investigations. The
gathering took place. It was with glass in hand and after listening to
many brilliant speeches that I received for the following chapters on
the budget of love, a sort of legislative sanction. The sum of one
hundred francs was allowed for porters and carriages. Fifty crowns
seemed very reasonable for the little patties that people eat on a
walk, for bouquets of violets and theatre tickets. The sum of two
hundred francs was considered necessary for the extra expense of
dainties and dinners at restaurants. It was during this discussion
that a young cavalryman, who had been made almost tipsy by the
champagne, was called to order for comparing lovers to distilling
machines. But the chapter that gave occasion for the most violent
discussion, and the consideration of which was adjourned for several
weeks, when a report was made, was that concerning presents. At the
last session, the refined Madame de D----- was the first speaker; and
in a graceful address, which testified to the nobility of her
sentiments, she set out to demonstrate that most of the time the gifts
of love had no intrinsic value. The author replied that all lovers had
their portraits taken. A lady objected that a portrait was invested
capital, and care should always be taken to recover it for a second
investment. But suddenly a gentleman of Provence rose to deliver a
philippic against women. He spoke of the greediness which most women
in love exhibited for furs, satins, silks, jewels and furniture; but a
lady interrupted him by asking if Madame d'O-----y, his intimate
friend, had not already paid his debts twice over.

"You are mistaken, madame," said the Provencal, "it was her husband."

"The speaker is called to order," cried the president, "and condemned
to dine the whole party, for having used the word _husband_."

The Provencal was completely refuted by a lady who undertook to prove
that women show much more self-sacrifice in love than men; that lovers
cost very dear, and that the honest woman may consider herself very
fortunate if she gets off with spending on them two thousand francs
for a single year. The discussion was in danger of degenerating into
an exchange of personalities, when a division was called for. The
conclusions of the committee were adopted by vote. The conclusions
were, in substance, that the amount for presents between lovers during
the year should be reckoned at five hundred francs, but that in this
computation should be included: (1) the expense of expeditions into
the country; (2) the pharmaceutical expenses, occasioned by the colds
caught from walking in the damp pathways of parks, and in leaving the
theatre, which expenses are veritable presents; (3) the carrying of
letters, and law expenses; (4) journeys, and expenses whose items are
forgotten, without counting the follies committed by the spenders;
inasmuch as, according to the investigations of the committee, it had
been proved that most of a man's extravagant expenditure profited the
opera girls, rather than the married women. The conclusion arrived at
from this pecuniary calculation was that, in one way or another, a
passion costs nearly fifteen hundred francs a year, which were
required to meet the expense borne more unequally by lovers, but which
would not have occurred, but for their attachment. There was also a
sort of unanimity in the opinion of the council that this was the
lowest annual figure which would cover the cost of a passion. Now, my
dear sir, since we have proved, by the statistics of our conjugal
calculations [See Meditations I, II, and III.] and proved
irrefragably, that there exists a floating total of at least fifteen
hundred thousand unlawful passions, it follows:

That the criminal conversations of a third among the French population
contribute a sum of nearly three thousand millions to that vast
circulation of money, the true blood of society, of which the budget
is the heart;

That the honest woman not only gives life to the children of the
peerage, but also to its financial funds;

That manufacturers owe their prosperity to this _systolic_ movement;

That the honest woman is a being essentially _budgetative_, and active
as a consumer;

That the least decline in public love would involve incalculable
miseries to the treasury, and to men of invested fortunes;

That a husband has at least a third of his fortune invested in the
inconstancy of his wife, etc.

I am well aware that you are going to open your mouth and talk to me
about manners, politics, good and evil. But, my dear victim of the
Minotaur, is not happiness the object which all societies should set
before them? Is it not this axiom that makes these wretched kings give
themselves so much trouble about their people? Well, the honest woman
has not, like them, thrones, gendarmes and tribunals; she has only a
bed to offer; but if our four hundred thousand women can, by this
ingenious machine, make a million celibates happy, do not they attain
in a mysterious manner, and without making any fuss, the end aimed at
by a government, namely, the end of giving the largest possible amount
of happiness to the mass of mankind?

"Yes, but the annoyances, the children, the troubles--"

Ah, you must permit me to proffer the consolatory thought with which
one of our wittiest caricaturists closes his satiric observations:
"Man is not perfect!" It is sufficient, therefore, that our
institutions have no more disadvantages than advantages in order to be
reckoned excellent; for the human race is not placed, socially
speaking, between the good and the bad, but between the bad and the
worse. Now if the work, which we are at present on the point of
concluding, has had for its object the diminution of the worse, as it
is found in matrimonial institutions, in laying bare the errors and
absurdities due to our manners and our prejudices, we shall certainly
have won one of the fairest titles that can be put forth by a man to a
place among the benefactors of humanity. Has not the author made it
his aim, by advising husbands, to make women more self-restrained and
consequently to impart more violence to passions, more money to the
treasury, more life to commerce and agriculture? Thanks to this last
Meditation he can flatter himself that he has strictly kept the vow of
eclecticism, which he made in projecting the work, and he hopes he has
marshaled all details of the case, and yet like an attorney-general
refrained from expressing his personal opinion. And really what do you
want with an axiom in the present matter? Do you wish that this book
should be a mere development of the last opinion held by Tronchet, who
in his closing days thought that the law of marriage had been drawn up
less in the interest of husbands than of children? I also wish it very
much. Would you rather desire that this book should serve as proof to
the peroration of the Capuchin, who preached before Anne of Austria,
and when he saw the queen and her ladies overwhelmed by his triumphant
arguments against their frailty, said as he came down from the pulpit
of truth, "Now you are all honorable women, and it is we who
unfortunately are sons of Samaritan women"? I have no objection to
that either. You may draw what conclusion you please; for I think it
is very difficult to put forth two contrary opinions, without both of
them containing some grains of truth. But the book has not been
written either for or against marriage; all I have thought you needed
was an exact description of it. If an examination of the machine shall
lead us to make one wheel of it more perfect; if by scouring away some
rust we have given more elastic movement to its mechanism; then give
his wage to the workman. If the author has had the impertinence to
utter truths too harsh for you, if he has too often spoken of rare and
exceptional facts as universal, if he has omitted the commonplaces
which have been employed from time immemorial to offer women the
incense of flattery, oh, let him be crucified! But do not impute to
him any motive of hostility to the institution itself; he is concerned
merely for men and women. He knows that from the moment marriage
ceases to defeat the purpose of marriage, it is unassailable; and,
after all, if there do arise serious complaints against this
institution, it is perhaps because man has no memory excepting for his
disasters, that he accuses his wife, as he accuses his life, for
marriage is but a life within a life. Yet people whose habit it is to
take their opinions from newspapers would perhaps despise a book in
which they see the mania of eclecticism pushed too far; for then they
absolutely demand something in the shape of a peroration, it is not
hard to find one for them. And since the words of Napoleon served to
start this book, why should it not end as it began? Before the whole
Council of State the First Consul pronounced the following startling
phrase, in which he at the same time eulogized and satirized marriage,
and summed up the contents of this book:

"If a man never grew old, I would never wish him to have a wife!"

POSTSCRIPT.

"And so you are going to be married?" asked the duchess of the author
who had read his manuscript to her.

She was one of those ladies to whom the author has already paid his
respects in the introduction of this work.

"Certainly, madame," I replied. "To meet a woman who has courage
enough to become mine, would satisfy the wildest of my hopes."

"Is this resignation or infatuation?"

"That is my affair."

"Well, sir, as you are doctor of conjugal arts and sciences, allow me
to tell you a little Oriental fable, that I read in a certain sheet,
which is published annually in the form of an almanac. At the
beginning of the Empire ladies used to play at a game in which no one
accepted a present from his or her partner in the game, without saying
the word, _Diadeste_. A game lasted, as you may well suppose, during a
week, and the point was to catch some one receiving some trifle or
other without pronouncing the sacramental word."

"Even a kiss?"

"Oh, I have won the _Diadeste_ twenty times in that way," she
laughingly replied.

"It was, I believe, from the playing of this game, whose origin is
Arabian or Chinese, that my apologue takes its point. But if I tell
you," she went on, putting her finger to her nose, with a charming air
of coquetry, "let me contribute it as a finale to your work."

"This would indeed enrich me. You have done me so many favors already,
that I cannot repay--"

She smiled slyly, and replied as follows:

A philosopher had compiled a full account of all the tricks that women
could possibly play, and in order to verify it, he always carried it
about with him. One day he found himself in the course of his travels
near an encampment of Arabs. A young woman, who had seated herself
under the shade of a palm tree, rose on his approach. She kindly asked
him to rest himself in her tent, and he could not refuse. Her husband
was then absent. Scarcely had the traveler seated himself on a soft
rug, when the graceful hostess offered him fresh dates, and a cup of
milk; he could not help observing the rare beauty of her hands as she
did so. But, in order to distract his mind from the sensations roused
in him by the fair young Arabian girl, whose charms were most
formidable, the sage took his book, and began to read.

The seductive creature piqued by this slight said to him in a
melodious voice:

"That book must be very interesting since it seems to be the sole
object worthy of your attention. Would it be taking a liberty to ask
what science it treats of?"

The philosopher kept his eyes lowered as he replied:

"The subject of this book is beyond the comprehension of ladies."

This rebuff excited more than ever the curiosity of the young Arabian
woman. She put out the prettiest little foot that had ever left its
fleeting imprint on the shifting sands of the desert. The philosopher
was perturbed, and his eyes were too powerfully tempted to resist
wandering from these feet, which betokened so much, up to the bosom,
which was still more ravishingly fair; and soon the flame of his
admiring glance was mingled with the fire that sparkled in the pupils
of the young Asiatic. She asked again the name of the book in tones so
sweet that the philosopher yielded to the fascination, and replied:

"I am the author of the book; but the substance of it is not mine: it
contains an account of all the ruses and stratagems of women."

"What! Absolutely all?" said the daughter of the desert.

"Yes, all! And it has been only by a constant study of womankind that
I have come to regard them without fear."

"Ah!" said the young Arabian girl, lowering the long lashes of her
white eyelids.

Then, suddenly darting the keenest of her glances at the pretended
sage, she made him in one instant forget the book and all its
contents. And now our philosopher was changed to the most passionate
of men. Thinking he saw in the bearing of the young woman a faint
trace of coquetry, the stranger was emboldened to make an avowal. How
could he resist doing so? The sky was blue, the sand blazed in the
distance like a scimitar of gold, the wind of the desert breathed
love, and the woman of Arabia seemed to reflect all the fire with
which she was surrounded; her piercing eyes were suffused with a mist;
and by a slight nod of the head she seemed to make the luminous
atmosphere undulate, as she consented to listen to the stranger's
words of love. The sage was intoxicated with delirious hopes, when the
young woman, hearing in the distance the gallop of a horse which
seemed to fly, exclaimed:

"We are lost! My husband is sure to catch us. He is jealous as a
tiger, and more pitiless than one. In the name of the prophet, if you
love your life, conceal yourself in this chest!"

The author, frightened out of his wits, seeing no other way of getting
out of a terrible fix, jumped into the box, and crouched down there.
The woman closed down the lid, locked it, and took the key. She ran to
meet her husband, and after some caresses which put him into a good
humor, she said:

"I must relate to you a very singular adventure I have just had."

"I am listening, my gazelle," replied the Arab, who sat down on a rug
and crossed his feet after the Oriental manner.

"There arrived here to-day a kind of philosopher," she began, "he
professes to have compiled a book which describes all the wiles of
which my sex is capable; and then this sham sage made love to me."

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