“All marry in this way. And I did like the rest. If the young people who dream of the honeymoon¹ only knew what a disillusion² it is, and always a disillusion! I really do not know why all think it necessary to conceal³ it.

“One day I was walking among the shows in Paris, when, attracted by a sign, I entered an establishment to see a bearded woman and a water-dog. The woman was a man in disguise, and the dog was an ordinary dog, covered with a sealskin, and swimming in a bath. It was not in the least interesting, but the Barnum accompanied me to the exit very courteously⁴, and, in addressing the people who were coming in, made an appeal to my testimony⁵. ‘Ask the gentleman if it is not worth seeing! Come in, come in! It only costs a franc!’ And in my confusion I did not dare to answer that there was nothing curious to be seen, and it was upon my false shame that the Barnum must have counted.

“It must be the same with the persons who have passed through the abominations of the honeymoon. They do not dare to undeceive their neighbor. And I did the same.

“The felicities of the honeymoon do not exist. On the contrary, it is a period of uneasiness, of shame, of pity, and, above all, of ennui⁶,— of ferocious⁷ ennui. It is something like the feeling of a youth when he is beginning to smoke. He desires to vomit⁸; he drivels, and swallows his drivel, pretending to enjoy this little amusement. The vice⁹ of marriage” . . .

“What! Vice?” I said. “But you are talking of one of the most natural things.”

“Natural!” said he. “Natural! No, I consider on the contrary that it is against nature, and it is I, a

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