J. B.—“A social system that is not built upon the submission of woman is shaky.”
Monsieur.—“And what about happiness ... and joy? Where do you look for them? In your banking account?”
J. B.—“One would think you had a supreme contempt for banking accounts, upon my word.”
Monsieur.—“Not I. Peace of mind may come from a good banking account, I admit, but joy comes from the heart.... Matrimony seems to me to be the finest institution going, I assure you; and I think it a great fault of novelists to end their stories with the marriage ceremony.... If ever I turned novelist—Heaven protect me and the public from such a calamity!—my story should open with orange blossoms and old slippers, and I should not disdain a pretty little plump mother in her thirties, as a heroine for the middle chapters of my book.”
J. B.—“I was congratulating you just now upon the news of your marriage ... but it is the young lady that I should like to congratulate from the bottom of my heart. My dear fellow, if you get spreading those ideas of yours about this country, we matter-of-fact Britons shall soon look in vain for women who will marry us.... And whilst you are on the chapter of confidences, you might initiate me into your secret and tell me how you do away with ... the little drawbacks of matrimony.”
Monsieur.—“I do not do away with them, but I foresee them and am prepared to meet them.”
J. B.—“Very good; but how?”
Monsieur.—“I cannot say that I have plans of campaign well marked out ... but, in my own mind, I say to myself: In matrimonial life, a little diplomacy is necessary to prevent its becoming humdrum, and I fully intend that my conjugal life shall not be humdrum. The bond and habit are the two mortal enemies of love. Bonjour, contrat! adieu, amour! Well, since legal marriage was invented by some idiot or scoundrel, it is for a sensible man to make the best of it, and to forget, as quickly as possible, all the incongruous nonsense that has been dinned into his ears, about marriage being a stern reality and a rather disagreeable undertaking. I am going to try it; but I start with the firm intention of being and remaining my wife’s lover. I shall do my best to forget that I am married. The illusion of the stage is all gone for him who penetrates behind the scenes. We shall each have our own quarters. Madame will sometimes allow Monsieur to conduct her to his room; sometimes it will be Monsieur who will glide into Madame’s, when all around is hushed in slumber. We shall each have a room that will be closed to the other: the boudoir for Madame, the study for Monsieur. These two retreats I look upon as the strongholds of love in matrimonial life.”
J. B.—“Well done.”
Monsieur.—“Let me explain. A man who would continue to inspire esteem and love in a sensible wife, must not live constantly in her society. To keep up a certain prestige in her eyes, he must lead a busy life, and if ever he has nothing to do, he must be able to appear as if he had. Therefore, when I have nothing particular in hand, I shall lock myself into my study. There I shall read the paper and smoke a cigar; but before shutting myself in, I shall be careful to ask my wife to kindly see that I am not disturbed, as I shall be busy all the morning, or all the afternoon, as the case may be. On the other hand, when Madame has her vapours, or does not feel very sociable, she will retire to her boudoir and send me word that she is indisposed. In this boudoir, that I shall have coquettishly furnished, she will receive a friend, read a novel, rest and dissipate her ill humour. By this arrangement, we shall only be together when we feel attracted towards each other, and I shall not be doomed to pass whole evenings yawning in my wife’s society. Why should a man do before his wife that which would be considered the height of rudeness, if she were any other woman?”