but few marriages are a hell, and fewer still enjoy the highest beatitudes of heaven; the most stand halfway between the two—that is, in purgatory. there they live without redemption, which means without any hope of mounting to heaven; but neither have they any fear of being hurled down among the fallen angels. after a more or less lengthy honeymoon they descend gradually to earth, now walking amongst nettles and thorns, now amongst the flowering [pg 252] beds of the garden, to remain there till death.
to describe all the forms and accidents of this conjugal purgatory would be to exhaust the human universe. it is enough for me to present some scenes taken from life, so that you can judge of the rest from these examples.
?
it is eight o’clock in the morning; he has been awake for some time; she is sleeping soundly and sweetly.
he had been quiet and silent for more than an hour, reading the paper, smoking a cigarette, looking at his wife with the fond hope that she may wake up of herself, but in vain.
[pg 253]
then he coughed several times, used his handkerchief without needing it, shook the bed, but in vain.
the waiting had become impatience; impatience had changed to a troublesome, insupportable agitation.
then he gave her a sweet, light little kiss on her lips. she woke with a start and stared at him—he who had expected a smile or an answer on a par with the question.
“how you frightened me! why did you wake me so suddenly?”
“i thought my kiss would have pleased you, and hoped to wake you gradually without giving you a shock.”
“but you know—you know very well that for some time past waking me in that way has hurt me. it [pg 254] gives me palpitation of the heart, and then i feel ill all day.”
“i have been awake since six o’clock, and have had the patience to wait two hours for you to wake; you have slept nine hours.”
“and if i wish to sleep ten what have you to say against it? do you not remember that i worked like a dog yesterday, that i had to attend to the house linen, put the drawing room in order, and then went round to all the shops to find a good flannel for your vests? you ruin my health, and will give me disease of the heart by your nasty habit of waking me up so suddenly.”
“and how ought i to wake you? teach me.”
[pg 255]
“if i could teach you to have a little more consideration, if i could cure you of your egotism, i would willingly do so; you only think of yourself.”
the tone of the conversation on her part, at first slightly irritated, had become angry, rancorous, and full of suppressed bitterness.
he felt it, but still hoped for a reconciliation.
he tried to feel her heart.
“let me see if you really have palpitation of the heart.”
she turned her back on him angrily.
“let me alone; after having done me harm you now want to joke. i tell you you will finish by killing me!”
he turned away too, muttering [pg 256] under his breath and thinking sad thoughts of that chemical combination called marriage.
?
“listen, dear; i should like to dine an hour earlier to-day.”
“and why?”
“because i eat nothing at breakfast and have a poet’s hunger.”
“i, on the contrary, have none at all. i eat too much.”
“but besides my appetite, i have another reason for wishing to dine earlier. do you know, i have promised my oldest and best friend, giovanni, to meet him at the station on his way to rome?”
“who knows that it is not a lady instead?”
[pg 257]
“come with me to the station and convince yourself.”
“heaven defend me! i am not jealous.”
“a little! you are jealous six days in the week and seven times every day. you are always so and always in the wrong.”
“but i tell you i believe you; i was only joking.”
“very well, then, we will dine at five instead of six.”
“impossible! annina has brought home such a tough fowl that it will require all the cooking in the world to have it ready by seven.”
“but i can do without the fowl!”
“but there is nothing else! go another time to meet giovanni—when he returns from rome, for instance.”
[pg 258]
“he will not be returning by the same route. i know he has to go back by civita vecchia and genoa.”
“well, anyhow, we cannot dine at five!”
“ah! it is enough that i should ask a thing for you to find a thousand and one difficulties to prevent you doing what i want. it has been so ever since we were married, and will be to the end.”
“and you will always be that obstinate and infallible man who wishes to command in housekeeping where the woman ought to be mistress.”
“go on, go on! just because one wants dinner at five instead of at six you have your usual reproaches for me. i know them by heart already.”
“yet it does not appear so, for you [pg 259] are incorrigible and will have what you want at any cost, even if your wife’s or children’s health has to suffer, or even if the sky fall.”
“yes, yes, you are right; a tough fowl will kill you. for heaven’s sake do not let us have such pettiness.”
“but it is you who are petty, thanks for the compliment; if i am petty you are egotistical, and ought not to have married.”
“and you ought not to have had a husband, you chatterer, you intolerable scold!”
“go on. haven’t you some more gentle, nice adjectives; they are so well suited to your delicate mouth?”
“yes, i have a good many left; you are foolish and have no common sense; [pg 260] you make a rope out of a thread of silk, and in everything you find a pretext to make scenes and torment me, and scatter gall on all you touch. yes, you must be suffering from the liver. call in the doctor, you must have the jaundice.”
“it is you who have the jaundice, and to show you that you are the most petty of the two i will be silent and go.”
“and i will go too, and will dine neither at five nor six, but at the hotel. at least i shall not hear your ugly and impertinent voice there, your chatter without sense, and i shall have an hour’s rest from the infinite sweetnesses you scatter over the time when we are obliged to be together.”
[pg 261]
he is director of some large works. he is early at his desk, for it is saturday and he must balance the accounts of the week and pay the work people. he is in an exceedingly bad temper, for he has discovered that the cashier is not honest, that his chief superintendent is ignorant, and that a good many customers have sent in complaints of the bad quality of the goods despatched from the factory. he has both arms on the writing table, his head is between his hands, and he looks mechanically at a row of figures before him without reading them.
she, on the contrary, is in the best of tempers, for she feels well, and when she was dressing her hair the glass told her how handsome she was, [pg 262] very handsome; and then her little boy on waking a little before had sat up in his cradle and, smiling, had said mamma for the first time.
she caught him up in delight in his little white night-dress, just as he was, and ran to her husband’s office, opened the door without knocking or waiting to know if anyone was there, and rushed in hastily and happily.
he had hardly time to raise his eyes before she was at the writing table, and had placed the child on a bundle of papers, and said in an agitated voice:
“give papa a kiss.”
papa loved the little fellow very much and the mother exceedingly; but at that moment he hated all and everything, even himself. what [pg 263] would he have given at that moment not to be unkind; what would he have done not to have had his wife and child there to make him hurt them!
how many fierce, dumb, and invisible struggles are carried on in a man’s brain within a few seconds.
he said nothing, but put his mouth quickly to the child’s.
“yes, yes; bravo; give me a kiss and then go away directly, for i am busy—i have a devil in every hair and a thousand anxieties in my mind ... yes ... yes, so ... good-by, good-by.”
and he almost pushed away mother and child with his two nervous, angry, almost threatening hands. the poor mother had not expected such a reception, [pg 264] and could not reconcile herself to it.
“do you know that carlino has just said mamma for the first time, really, just now when he woke?”
the father was silent and fretted, angry with himself because he could not and did not know how to call up a single affectionate word to his lips or a sole caress to his hands; all was dark before him, and everything so bitter that absinthe would have seemed honey to him.
and to be obliged to be so hard with that touching picture before him! oh, why had that woman come at such a moment? why had he not locked himself in his office?
the mother could not give in. she drew her lips to his scowling [pg 265] forehead, but he did not draw down those lips to his; he simply touched her cheek coldly. that kiss was an insult; he was ice; he was brutal.
she felt a lump in her throat, which broke into a sob.
“yes, yes, let us go away. we will not come again to trouble you.”
he got up hurriedly and went to the window, but did not open it. he put his hands through his hair and exclaimed aloud:
“bless the women! they never understand anything; they come into the office, interrupt one’s work, and oblige one to be harsh to those one loves best. and yet they pretend to be our equals.”
he continued his panegyric on women alone, for mother and child had [pg 266] disappeared, both crying, the mother mortally offended by the double blow—the one to the wife’s heart, the other to the mother’s. the child screamed, frightened at the cruel scene which he appeared to feel, if he did not understand.
sobs and cries lasted some time, and were heard through the wall in the office, making a savage harmony with the bursts of impatience of the angry director of the factory.
?
“do you know, dear, the marquis of bellavista came into our box at the theatre yesterday evening?”
“what did he want? i did not know he was in florence.”
“neither did i.”
[pg 267]
“um!”
“i thought he was still in naples; but he told me he was staying a day or two in florence on his way to the races at milan, and seeing me in the box, he came up to shake hands with me.”
“i hope you were rude to him, so that he will not be tempted to come and see you a second time.”
“rude, no! but cold. you can ask your mother, who was present at the time.”
“i can’t believe that you had not seen him before during the day, when you were out, or perhaps here at home. you tell me now that you have seen him at the theatre because a hundred others might tell me, and you wished to forestall them.”
[pg 268]
“but this is a gratuitous insult, unjust, cruel! i do not think i have ever given you reason to doubt my loyalty.”
“i have not the slightest suspicion of any other man who may pay you attention, but with the marquis it is quite a different thing. before you married me he was deeply in love with you, and you with him; and the affair went a good way, for you were engaged to each other. it was only your father who broke off the engagement at the last moment because he heard the worst accounts of the character of his future son-in-law and of his disreputable conduct. first love always leaves deep impressions.”
“no, my love, had i really loved [pg 269] the marquis i should not have married anyone else, nor should i have believed the accusations they cast at him. i should have waited until i was mistress of myself, and not have given my hand to another.”
“and how long was the marquis in the box?”
“about an hour.”
“very good, only an hour! too short a time for a love appointment, and too long for a complimentary visit.”
“but i could not send him away.”
“when a woman desires it she can always make a man understand that his visit is inopportune, inconvenient, and that he must shorten it if possible.”
“you teach me how i can do so.”
[pg 270]
“and then you chatted over your old love, and the cruel rupture of your separation.”
“we only spoke of music and theatres.”
“we may believe that. but i am going out to see if i can discover whether the marquis is still in florence, and how long he intends to stay. and in the meantime, if he is barefaced enough to call here, i beg you will not receive him. this i demand and desire.”
“no command is necessary; i know my duty.”
“not always. a visit of an hour in the box of a woman to whom the man was once engaged is an offence to her husband.”
she, who was completely innocent, [pg 271] felt herself really offended by all the suspicions of her husband, and began to beat her foot on the carpet and to torture a volume of coppée lying on the table with a paper knife.
from anger and from opposition to the unmerited offence she had a firm idea that the marquis of bellavista would never have been so jealous, so foolishly jealous. libertines know the hearts of women a little better.
the husband went out of the house without a farewell word to his wife. he became a spy on the marquis, and followed his steps from café to café, at the club, amongst friends, dividing his projects, and tormenting himself in a hundred and one ways, one more absurd than the other.
[pg 272]
“will you allow me, dear, to make an observation?”
the question is asked by a man still in bed, and is addressed to his wife, who is near him under the same sheet, and is still sleepy.
“about what?”
“about the french song you sang yesterday at the countess’s.”
“and what have you to say about it?”
“that you pronounced the u very badly, just as if it were ou.”
“and have you nothing else to criticise?”
“no. now do not be angry; if your husband does not tell you of these things————”
“bravo, capital, and a thousand thanks; above all, let me congratulate [pg 273] you on the time you have selected for correcting my errors in french pronunciation. instead of wishing me good-morning with a kiss, a caress, or a loving word the french professor gives me a lesson in language. do you give it to me gratuitously, or what do you charge for it?”
“there you are, up on your high horse in a moment, and for such a trifle. you are a tuscan and the u is hard and difficult for those lips of yours, which distil milk and honey; but another time be careful. people will say you do not know french.”
“but what french! i ask you if in the excitement of the music, or the torrent of notes, there is anyone who would notice if one said u or ou. and i do not speak of a vowel [pg 274] only. who listens to the words? they can only be distinguished with difficulty.”
“there are those who notice. first of all, the french, who do not like to hear their language mutilated; then the envious, the spiteful. now only see, each time you had to repeat the word dur, which you always pronounced dour, the marchioness vittoria smiled, and looked at her sister, who laughed and then pursed her lips to imitate you. neither one nor the other was aware that i saw all their pantomime in the mirror.”
“how can you tell what they were laughing at? i know that i was very much applauded, and that my voice and method of singing were praised.”
[pg 275]
“you certainly sing well, but remember
that in good society applause
is bestowed upon all, especially upon handsome women.”
“yes, but only to those who know how to pronounce the u.”
“shall i tell you all, since you are determined to take offence at the slightest observation which i make?”
“yes, tell me.”
“well, the duke of st. etienne whilst they so loudly applauded you bent forward to his cousin and said: ‘oui, elle chanté très-bien, mais elle a le timbre de la voix un peu dour.’ and the amiable little cousin covered her face to hide her homeric laugh.”
“dur or dour, i must get up an hour earlier, or else you will drive me mad. my day will be a happy one, [pg 276] and i shall have you to thank for it. a thousand thanks, you master of french!”
to know the reason of this sudden burst of anger, why from being slightly keen the conversation became suddenly bitter, and the notes from sharp became acute, you must understand that the cousin of the duke was, from position, youth, and beauty, the official rival of the lady who pronounced u as ou.
?
they are both seated at the table with their four children, their ages ranging from five to twelve years. she, the mother, is helping them all. he is watching the distribution of a delicious custard. from time to time [pg 277] he frowns, and shakes his head in sign of disapprobation.
and this pantomime continued so long that at last she became aware of it, and in her turn looked at him crossly and put down the spoon.
“what is the matter? some new criticism?”
“yes, but it’s no new subject of complaint. for some time past i have noticed the thing every day at breakfast, dinner, and supper, and if i have not given utterance to my dislike, it has been to avoid any unpleasantness; but to-day it seems as if i were losing patience.”
“lose it; i will pick it up.”
“you might have a little more consideration, especially when you usurp the prerogative of a god and distribute [pg 278] good and evil with such authority.”
“what do you mean?”
“i mean that you always serve the boys first and the girls after, whilst in all ages and countries ladies are served first.”
she began to laugh heartily.
“but i see no ladies here, only children, who have no sex in my eyes, for i love them all equally. to-day, and for several days past, i have helped cecchino and pietro first because they are near me. when maria was in cecchino’s place i helped her first. what! ought we to teach children, in their earliest age of innocence, etiquette and the laws of society? this seems to me the height of absurdity.”
[pg 279]
“as to the absurdity of the idea, that is not the question. it is a matter of justice. you always prefer the boys.”
“and you the girls, so we are quits.”
“but look round and read your condemnation in the plates of the children. you not only help the boys first, but you give them more.”
“of course; they are older!”
“no, no, independently of age you are partial.”
“but when none are the same age?”
“what difference does one or two years make? the difference is in your injustice, your deplorable partiality.”
“do me the favour of helping them [pg 280] yourself. it will be one labour the less for me and for you a pleasant occupation, a splendid opportunity to administer justice in the family. from this time forth i will help them no more.”
“neither will i.”
?
for the honour of the two married people who discoursed so learnedly on distributive justice, it must be remarked that they spoke in german, a language the children did not know. so that for this time at least they had no opportunity of learning that heaven is very far from most families, and that human justice is generally very unjust.
the reader will be grateful to me for not wearying him longer with other sketches taken from real life revealing the matrimonial purgatory. hell is awful, but it has its dramatic emotions and these offer some compensation for all there is of monstrous, sanguinary, or horrible. purgatory instead is very small, mean, and deplorably vulgar. there are no ocean storms, but bogs which submerge us inch by inch; no tiger bites, but mosquito stings; no lion’s claws, but the puncture of the flea; no delirium or crime, but secret sobs and silent tears; the continual itching of a scab which heals, forms a crust, and is again broken; an exudation of malignant humours which leak out drop by drop from the marrow of the [pg 282] bones through the tissues, to the skin, and there they remain viscid, fetid, and contagious. this is a true but not very enticing picture of the purgatory of marriage, a hundred times worse than the purgatory of the catholic church, which after a longer or shorter time leads to heaven. this other only leads through a long, sorrowful life, to death at the last.
