“First, let’s determine whether it is not an empty myth, this husband’s notion that his honor and peace of mind are hinged to the conduct of his wife.
“Honor! Our honor! Whose is my honor—mine or someone else’s? And what has someone else to do with it? Would it not appear that the concept of a husband’s honor is but another crafty means husbands have devised and employ in order to obtain the more from their wives, in order to bind their wives more firmly to them? Oh, honor! Eh, then! ’tis all very permissible and very honorable that iniquitous husbands debauch themselves in every way under the sun and that, behave as they wish, their honor emerges unscathed? That wife the rakehell husband neglects, that passionate wife not one fifth of whose desires he bothers to satisfy, does she dishonor him when she resorts to another man? And there are people—can you believe it?—who answer in the affirmative! But this is positively the same kind of madness, found among various peoples, which consists in the husband tucking into bed when the wife is giving birth. Let’s not be fools: our honor is ours, never can it depend upon what someone else does, and it is wild extravagance to imagine the faults others commit can in any wise have an impact upon us.
“If then it is absurd to suppose that unto a man any dishonor can come through his wife’s conduct, what other injury can he possibly sustain therefrom? Either one or the other: this man loves his wife or he doesn’t love her. In the former instance, as soon as he finds her missing because she has repaired to another, it’s that she no longer loves him; well, tell me whether the height of folly isn’t to go on loving somebody who has stopped loving you? The man in question ought as of this instant to cease being attached to his wife, and within this supposition inconstancy must be perfectly acceptable. If we are dealing with events arising from the second instance, if, no longer loving his wife, the husband has precipitated her inconstancy, what has he to complain about? He gets what he deserves, what he must necessarily get by behaving in the way he has; he would be committing the greatest injustice were he to whine, pule, snarl at his wife or condemn her; hasn’t he ten thousand other objects all around him whereupon he can vent his feelings or wherewith he can soothe them? Let the good fellow leave his wife to amuse herself in peace; has he not made her unhappy enough already? hasn’t he forced her to restrain herself while he, cavorting about, performed his little felonies in broad daylight and never heard opinion condemn them? Let him then leave her in peace, that she taste pleasures he can procure her no more, and his complacency may yet someday make a friend of the woman whom a contrary attitude enraged. Gratitude will then do what the heart couldn’t achieve; confidence will be reborn, and both, reaching the years of their decline, will together, clasped in friendship’s embrace, perhaps make up for what love denied them earlier.
“Unjust husbands, an end then to harrying your wives because they are faithless. Take the trouble, have the manliness to cast critical eyes upon your own selves, and you will always discover that the initial fault was yours, and what will convince the public that this first fault is always on your side is that all the prejudices disfavor infidelity in wives: thus, in order to be libertine, they have countless obstacles to surmount and ruptures to effect, and it is neither natural nor logical that the timid and gentle sex go so far unless impelled by irresistible causes. Is my hypothesis fallacious? Is the wife alone guilty? Well, even so, what good will it do the husband to believe it? What idiot will have his whole tranquillity depend upon what a wife does? Do his wife’s idle little carryings-on cause him any physical pain? Alas, no. All the injury he sustains is imaginary; his sufferings, what are they? they are mental. And their cause? Some activities which are admired five hundred leagues from Paris. Why does he suffer then? Because local prejudices train him to. What should he do? Free himself of those prejudices, spit upon them, and at once. Does one worry about wrongs done to one as a husband when as a man one plunges into the thick of fuckery’s pleasures? Hardly; why then, that’s what he’d better do, plunge, and all his wife’s carousings will be speedily forgotten.
“Then it is not the act she’s committed, but its material consequences … this that’s hatched from an egg Monsieur didn’t fertilize, this chick Monsieur’s got nevertheless to admit into his brood; is this the cause of his sorrow? What childishness! Here we have a brace of alternatives: you continue to cohabit with a wife, unfaithful though she be, so as to have heirs; or you don’t live with her anymore. Or again you live with her, as do certain libertine husbands, proceeding in such wise as to be sure that any infants she bears aren’t yours. Don’t let this latter possibility alarm you, your wife will prove astute enough not to present you with any children, give her a chance, rest assured, she’ll know what to do, children you’ll have none: no woman who has sufficient intelligence to conduct an intrigue will ever commit that blunder. In the former case, you have only, like your rival, to labor at multiplying the species—and who’ll be able to convince you that the eventual results won’t have been brought about by you? The chances are as good for as against, and you’ll be a very ass if you don’t adopt the more comforting conclusion. Either do that, or stop altogether consorting with your wife directly you suspect she has an intrigue afoot—that’s the surest and best manner to preserve mastery of the situation—; or if you continue to cultivate the same garden her lover is spading, don’t blame him any more than you blame yourself for having sown the seed that ripens into growth.
“There then are the objections put forth and the replies to them: either, Sir, you shall surely have no children; or if you have any, it is an even wager whether they are yours or your competitor’s. In support of this latter statement there is a further probability: I refer to the inclination your wife is apt to have to mask her liaison behind a pregnancy, and this, you may be certain, will make her do everything on earth to get herself into your bed, for ’tis obvious she’ll never be at ease until she has felt you put balm on what ails her and until this treatment has guaranteed her freedom, from here on, to do as she likes with her lover. Your anxiety is hence utterly baseless, the child is yours, you may set your mind at rest; it is infinitely to your wife’s interest that it belong to you, you’ve toiled at its conception. Well, combine these two reasons and you obtain certainty concerning what you are so eager to know: the child is yours, no doubt of it, and it’s yours by the same reckoning which must make that one of two runners who is paid cross the finish line first, defeating his comrade who stands to gain nothing in the same race. But, nevertheless, let’s suppose for a moment that the child isn’t yours. Well, what do you care? You wanted an heir, did you not? Now you have one. Not Nature but upbringing creates filial sentiments. Be persuaded that this child—whom nothing makes doubt that he is your son, accustomed to seeing you, to pronouncing your name, to loving you for his father—will revere you, cherish you as much and possibly more than if you had a hand in bringing about his existence. Well, what now? Do you still tremble? Your imagination sickens you; however, there’s nothing easier to cure than these ills. Give that imagination of yours a good jolt, agitate it with something whose grip, whose sway, is more potent, whose effect upon it is stronger, you’ll soon knock it round into the shape and tenor you wish, and you’ll have drubbed it into health. No matter what the case or its details may be, my philosophy offers you everything you need. Nothing is so much ours as our offspring—good: you’ve just been given a boy, there he is, he’s yours. Nothing belongs so much to us as what we’re given. Exercise your rights, and remember that a few pounds of organized matter, whether it belong to us or be the property of someone else, is of slight worth in the eyes of Nature who at all times bestows upon us the power to disorganize it whenever and however we please.
“’Tis now for you, charming wives, for you, my dear friends, to set the example. I have put your husbands’ minds at rest, I have taught those gentlemen that, irrespective of what you do, they need not lose a wink of sleep on your account; I am ready now to instruct you in that art of adroitly deceiving them, b
ut first I’m going to make you shudder before the dreadful picture of all the penalties reserved for adultery—I show you this picture in order that you see what enormous pleasures this alleged crime must afford if everyone punishes it with such exceptional rigor, and in order also that you be moved to be thankful for having been born under a benign regime where opinion, leaving your conduct to your own conscience, penalizes you, if your conduct is not good, by attempting to make you feel some frivolous sentiment of shame for having dishonored yourselves…. And this dishonor … come, let’s admit it, ’tis, for the majority of us, an added charm.
“A law proclaimed by the Emperor Constantine prescribed for adultery the same punishment meted out for parricide, to wit: the culprit was burned alive, either that or sewn in a sack and cast into the sea; those luckless women found guilty of the crime were deprived even of the right to appeal their case.
“A governor of a province had exiled a woman found guilty of adultery; Majorianus, deeming the punishment too light, expelled the woman from Italy and decreed that whoever were to slay her had the Emperor’s permission so to do.
“The ancient Danes punished the adulteress with death, while among them homicide meant the payment of a mere fine; that reveals which of the two offenses they considered the graver.
“The Mongols cleave an adulteress in two with a sword.
“In the Kingdom of Tonkin, she is trampled by an elephant.
“But in Siam, their ways are more lenient: she is otherwise delivered unto the elephant. A specially prepared contraption into which she is placed allows it to enjoy her in the belief it is tuppering a female elephant. Lewdness may well have been behind the invention of this procedure.
“In similar cases, the Bretons of long ago, and perhaps also with lewd motivations, were wont to flog the adulteress to death.
“Luango is an African kingdom, and there they have the custom of hurling her and her lover too from the top of a craggy mountain.
“The Gauls used to smother her in mud and filth, then drag her body around in it awhile.
“In Juida, the husband himself condemned his wife: he had her executed immediately, there before his eyes, if he found her guilty, all of which was a tradition of extreme convenience to husbands who were weary of their wives.
“In other countries, the law empowers the husband to execute his spouse with his own hand if he finds that she has wronged him. This custom was notably that of the Goths.10
“Members of the Miami tribe hacked off an adulteress’ nose; the Abyssinians drove her from the house clad in rags and tatters.
“The savages of Canada made an incision running round her head, then removed the strip of skin.
“In the Eastern Roman Empire, the adulterous woman was prostituted in the market place.
“At Diyarbekir, the criminal was executed by her assembled family, all of whose members had to deliver at least one thrust of a dagger.
“In several Greek provinces where, in contrast to Sparta, this crime was unauthorized, anyone at all could kill an adulteress with impunity.
“The Guax-Tolliams, as our French explorers call that American tribe, led the adulteress before the feet of their chief, and there she was cut to pieces, and the pieces were eaten by the witnesses.
“The Hottentots, who allow father-murder, matricide, and child-killing, frown upon adultery. They punish it by death; the delation even of a child is accepted as proof of the fact.11
“Oh, voluptuous libertine women! if, as I should imagine, these examples serve only to inflame you the more, because the hope become a certainty that an act is criminal is always but one further pleasure for minds organized like ours, oh, my friends, hark unto my lessons, heed them, profit therefrom; to your lascivious intelligence I am going to expose the whole theory of adultery.
“Be never so unctuous, so complacent with your husband as when you plan to deceive him.
“If he is libertine, accommodate his desires, submit to his caprices, flatter all his whims however fantastical, even of your own accord present him with lust-inspiring objects. According to his bent and tastes, have either pretty girls or pretty boys about, cater to his requirements. Bound by gratitude, he’ll never dare reproach you; and what, moreover, can he ever possibly accuse you of, whose other edge you cannot turn against him?
“You need a confidante: acting alone, the risks of disaster are great; so find yourself a woman you can trust, and omit nothing that will identify her interests with yours and your passions. Above all, pay her well.
“For the satisfaction of your wants look rather to hired help than to a lover. The former will serve you well and in secrecy, the latter will fly about town boasting of his conquest and he’ll dishonor you without giving pleasure.
“A lackey, a valet, a secretary, no one takes any notice of such creatures; but get yourself a little master and then you’re lost, often without having gained much from it.
“Do not breed. Nothing gives less pleasure than childbearing. Pregnancies are damaging to health, spoil the figure, wither the charms, and it’s the cloud of uncertitude forever hanging over those events that darkens a husband’s mood. There are a thousand means to avoid conception, five hundred more to forestall childbirth; ass-fuckery is by far the best and surest of all; have someone frig your clitoris meanwhile, and this manner of amusing yourself will soon prove incomparably more pleasant than the other: your fuckers’ pleasure will probably increase too, your husband will notice nothing, and everyone will be content.
“Perhaps your husband himself will propose sodomy to you. If so, don’t be overhasty accepting the invitation: one must always have the look of refusing what one covets. If fear of having children forces you to suggest the thing yourself, advance the excuse that you are afraid of dying in labor; maintain that one of your friends has told you that her husband manages matters with her in that fashion. Once you’re broken in to these pleasures, taste no others with your lovers—and now you’ve dissipated half the suspicions anyone could have, and you’re rid of all worry with pregnancies.
“Put spies on the track of your tyrant, have his movements watched; you must never lie in fear of being surprised if you wish to know an authentic joy.
“If, however, you were to be found out, and were so flagrantly caught in the act as to be unable to deny your conduct, put on a show of remorse, redouble the care and attentions your husband wishes lavished upon him. If as a preliminary to your adventures your complacency and thoughtfulness have won you his friendship, he’ll soon come back for more; if he persists, be the first to lodge a complaint; make it clear you know his secrets, threaten him with their divulgence; and it is so that you will always have this hold over him that I urge you to study his tastes, to encourage and to serve them from the outset of your marriage. Finally, approaching him from this angle, he’s yours, he’ll return unfailingly. When he does, make things up with him and hand him whatever he wants, provided he pardons you too: but don’t be abused by this reconciliation, multiply your precautions, more shrewdly veil your activities; a prudent wife must always be on guard lest she excessively irritate her husband.
“Enjoy yourself to the limit. The limit? Discovery. If discovered, yield on every score, refuse nothing.
“Keep away from libertine women, insofar as that is possible today. Their company won’t procure you many pleasures and may cause you considerable harm; they display themselves more visibly than lovers, for it is known that one must conceal oneself with a man and that is not thought necessary with a woman.
“If you indulge in foursomes, let the other woman be your trusted friend: have a sharp eye out to discern what bonds, what commitments there are she must respect; don’t enter the party if she does not have roughly the same duties and obligations as you to observe, for then she’ll be less discreet than you, and her imprudences will be your undoing.
“Always find some means for obtaining entire control over others, over, that is, their lives. Should a man betray you, don’t hesi
tate to take the straight way with him. There is no counterpoising that man’s life against your tranquillity; whence I conclude that it’s a hundred times better to dispatch him than be made a show of or compromised by him. Not that reputation is essential; it serves purely to consolidate one’s pleasure opportunities. A woman generally thought to be well-behaved regularly enjoys herself far more and better than one whose overly publicized misconduct has cost her consideration.
“However, respect your husband’s life. I recommend that not because there is any individual on earth whose existence must be preserved if it conflicts with our private interest; but because, in the present case, our personal interest consists in safeguarding that husband’s days. ’Tis a long and wearisome study for a wife, to come to know her husband; once the job’s done, there’s no need for her to have to begin anew with another; and it is not sure that the second will be any improvement upon the first. It’s not a lover she wants in her husband, it’s a complacent, understanding, and understood creature; and success is better assured by long habit than by novelty.
“If the antiphysical pleasure-taking techniques I referred to a short moment ago are not able to arouse you, then cunt-fuck, I really don’t mind; but empty the vessel as soon as it has been filled; never let the embryo get a start, that’s of great importance if you don’t sleep with your husband and hardly any less important if you do, for, as I have told you, incertitude gives rise to every suspicion, and suspicion nearly always brings on scissions and commotion.
“Above all, subdue any respect you have for the civil or religious ceremony that welds you to a man for whom you have no love or whom you love no longer or who does not suffice you. A Mass, a benediction, a contract, this mumbo jumbo—has it the force, the sanctity to make you willing to crawl in irons forever? That word given, that pledge, ’tis nought but a formality which confers upon a man the right to lie with a woman, but which is binding neither upon the one party nor upon the other; and these alliances must appear the less serious to her who, of the twain, is, by this agreement’s terms, accorded the fewer means to unbind herself. You who are destined to go forth from here and live in the world,” said the Superior, fixing her glance upon me, “you, my dear Juliette, scorn these driveling inanities, flout them contemptuously, they merit nothing else. They are man-made conventions whereunto, irrespective of your wishes, they’d compel you to adhere: a costumed charlatan flutters round a table, waves his arms, mutters a little while peering at a big book, a second knave who gets you to sign your name in another—think ye this be stuff to engage or impress a woman? Use the rights Nature has given you; what sayeth Nature? Drown these despicable customs in thy scorn, go be a whore to thy desires. Your body is the church where Nature asks to be reverenced. Nature sneers at the altar where that sottish priest has just brayed his ritual through; the oaths Nature demands of you aren’t those you’ve just repeated to this abject juggler or those others you’ve set your name to pursuant to the instructions of his aide, that lugubrious man over there. What Nature would that you swear unto is that you surrender yourself to men, for so long and to that extent you have the human strength so to do. The god Nature proffers you isn’t that circular chip of dried dough that a harlequin has just launched along the way to your bowels; but ’tis pleasure she gives you for a divinity, pleasure, sweet joy; and ’tis in neglecting your duties toward that god and your own desires that you’ll excite the. ire of a mother who would be tender to her children.
Juliette Page 10
