The most jesuitical Jesuit of Jesuits is yet a thousand times less jesuitical than the least jesuitical woman, ­so you may judge what Jesuits women are!  They are so jesuitical that the cunningest Jesuit himself could never guess to what extent of jesuitism a woman may go, for there are a thousand ways of being jesuitical, and a woman is such an adroit Jesuit, that she has the knack of being a Jesuit without having a jesuitical look.  You can rarely, though you can sometimes, prove to a Jesuit that he is one:  but try once to demonstrate to a woman that she acts or talks like a Jesuit.  She would be cut to pieces rather than confess herself one.

She, a Jesuit!  The very soul of honor and loyalty!  She a Jesuit!  What do you mean by “Jesuit?” She does not know what a Jesuit is:  what is a Jesuit?  She has never seen or heard of a Jesuit!  It’s you who are a Jesuit!  And she proves with jesuitical demonstration that you are a subtle Jesuit.

Here is one of the thousand examples of a woman’s jesuitism, and this example constitutes the most terrible of the petty troubles of married life; it is perhaps the most serious.

Induced by a desire the thousandth time expressed by Caroline, who complained that she had to go on foot or that she could not buy a new hat, a new parasol, a new dress, or any other article of dress, often enough: 

That she could not dress her baby as a sailor, as a lancer, as an artilleryman of the National Guard, as a Highlander with naked legs and a cap and feather, in a jacket, in a roundabout, in a velvet sack, in boots, in trousers:  that she could not buy him toys enough, nor mechanical moving mice and Noah’s Arks enough: 

That she could not return Madame Deschars or Madame de Fischtaminel their civilities, a ball, a party, a dinner:  nor take a private box at the theatre, thus avoiding the necessity of sitting cheek by jowl with men who are either too polite or not enough so, and of calling a cab at the close of the performance; apropos of which she thus discourses: 

“You think it cheaper, but you are mistaken:  men are all the same!  I soil my shoes, I spoil my hat, my shawl gets wet and my silk stockings get muddy.  You economize twenty francs by not having a carriage, ­no not twenty, sixteen, for your pay four for the cab ­and you lose fifty francs’ worth of dress, besides being wounded in your pride on seeing a faded bonnet on my head:  you don’t see why it’s faded, but it’s those horrid cabs.  I say nothing of the annoyance of being tumbled and jostled by a crowd of men, for it seems you don’t care for that!”

That she could not buy a piano instead of hiring one, nor keep up with the fashions; (there are some women, she says, who have all the new styles, but just think what they give in return!  She would rather throw herself out of the window than imitate them!  She loves you too much.  Here she sheds tears.  She does not understand such women).  That she could not ride in the Champs Elysees, stretched out in her own carriage, like Madame de Fischtaminel. (There’s a woman who understands life:  and who has a well-taught, well-disciplined and very contented husband:  his wife would go through fire and water for him!)

Finally, beaten in a thousand conjugal scenes, beaten by the most logical arguments (the late logicians Tripier and Merlin were nothing to her, as the preceding chapter has sufficiently shown you), beaten by the most tender caresses, by tears, by your own words turned against you, for under circumstances like these, a woman lies in wait in her house like a jaguar in the jungle; she does not appear to listen to you, or to heed you; but if a single word, a wish, a gesture, escapes you, she arms herself with it, she whets it to an edge, she brings it to bear upon you a hundred times over; beaten by such graceful tricks as “If you will do so and so, I will do this and that;” for women, in these cases, become greater bargainers than the Jews and Greeks (those, I mean, who sell perfumes and little girls), than the Arabs (those, I mean, who sell little boys and horses), greater higglers than the Swiss and the Genevese, than bankers, and, what is worse than all, than the Genoese!

Finally, beaten in a manner which may be called beaten, you determine to risk a certain portion of your capital in a business undertaking.  One evening, at twilight, seated side by side, or some morning on awakening, while Caroline, half asleep, a pink bud in her white linen, her face smiling in her lace, is beside you, you say to her, “You want this, you say, or you want that:  you told me this or you told me that:”  in short, you hastily enumerate the numberless fancies by which she has over and over again broken your heart, for there is nothing more dreadful than to be unable to satisfy the desires of a beloved wife, and you close with these words: 

“Well, my dear, an opportunity offers of quintupling a hundred thousand francs, and I have decided to make the venture.”

She is wide awake now, she sits up in bed, and gives you a kiss, ah! this time, a real good one!

“You are a dear boy!” is her first word.

We will not mention her last, for it is an enormous and unpronounceable onomatope.

“Now,” she says, “tell me all about it.”

You try to explain the nature of the affair.  But in the first place, women do not understand business, and in the next they do not wish to seem to understand it.  Your dear, delighted Caroline says you were wrong to take her desires, her groans, her sighs for new dresses, in earnest.  She is afraid of your venture, she is frightened at the directors, the shares, and above all at the running expenses, and doesn’t exactly see where the dividend comes in.

Axiom. ­Women are always afraid of things that have to be divided.

In short, Caroline suspects a trap:  but she is delighted to know that she can have her carriage, her box, the numerous styles of dress for her baby, and the rest.  While dissuading you from engaging in the speculation, she is visibly glad to see you investing your money in it.

FIRST PERIOD. ­“Oh, I am the happiest woman on the face of the earth!  Adolphe has just gone into the most splendid venture.  I am going to have a carriage, oh! ever so much handsomer than Madame de Fischtaminel’s; hers is out of fashion.  Mine will have curtains with fringes.  My horses will be mouse-colored, hers are bay, ­they are as common as coppers.”

“What is this venture, madame?”

“Oh, it’s splendid ­the stock is going up; he explained it to me before he went into it, for Adolphe never does anything without consulting me.”

“You are very fortunate.”

“Marriage would be intolerable without entire confidence, and Adolphe tells me everything.”

Thus, Adolphe, you are the best husband in Paris, you are adorable, you are a man of genius, you are all heart, an angel.  You are petted to an uncomfortable degree.  You bless the marriage tie.  Caroline extols men, calling them “kings of creation,” women were made for them, man is naturally generous, and matrimony is a delightful institution.

For three, sometimes six, months, Caroline executes the most brilliant concertos and solos upon this delicious theme:  “I shall be rich!  I shall have a thousand a month for my dress:  I am going to keep my carriage!”

If your son is alluded to, it is merely to ask about the school to which he shall be sent.

SECOND PERIOD. ­“Well, dear, how is your business getting on? ­What has become of it? ­How about that speculation which was to give me a carriage, and other things? ­It is high time that affair should come to something. ­It is a good while cooking. ­When will it begin to pay?  Is the stock going up? ­There’s nobody like you for hitting upon ventures that never amount to anything.”

One day she says to you, “Is there really an affair?”

If you mention it eight or ten months after, she returns: 

“Ah!  Then there really is an affair!”

This woman, whom you thought dull, begins to show signs of extraordinary wit, when her object is to make fun of you.  During this period, Caroline maintains a compromising silence when people speak of you, or else she speaks disparagingly of men in general:  “Men are not what they seem:  to find them out you must try them.”  “Marriage has its good and its bad points.”  “Men never can finish anything.”

THIRD PERIOD. ­Catastrophe. ­This magnificent affair which was to yield five hundred per cent, in which the most cautious, the best informed persons took part ­peers, deputies, bankers ­all of them Knights of the Legion of Honor ­this venture has been obliged to liquidate!  The most sanguine expect to get ten per cent of their capital back.  You are discouraged.

Caroline has often said to you, “Adolphe, what is the matter?  Adolphe, there is something wrong.”

Finally, you acquaint Caroline with the fatal result:  she begins by consoling you.

“One hundred thousand francs lost!  We shall have to practice the strictest economy,” you imprudently add.

The jesuitism of woman bursts out at this word “economy.”  It sets fire to the magazine.

“Ah! that’s what comes of speculating!  How is it that you, ordinarily so prudent, could go and risk a hundred thousand francs! You know I was against it from the beginning! BUT YOU WOULD NOT LISTEN TO ME!”

Upon this, the discussion grows bitter.

You are good for nothing ­you have no business capacity; women alone take clear views of things.  You have risked your children’s bread, though she tried to dissuade you from it. ­You cannot say it was for her.  Thank God, she has nothing to reproach herself with.  A hundred times a month she alludes to your disaster:  “If my husband had not thrown away his money in such and such a scheme, I could have had this and that.”  “The next time you want to go into an affair, perhaps you’ll consult me!” Adolphe is accused and convicted of having foolishly lost one hundred thousand francs, without an object in view, like a dolt, and without having consulted his wife.  Caroline advises her friends not to marry.  She complains of the incapacity of men who squander the fortunes of their wives.  Caroline is vindictive, she makes herself generally disagreeable.  Pity Adolphe!  Lament, ye husbands!  O bachelors, rejoice and be exceeding glad!