pretext. Or sometimes I do not go in; I remain
near the door, and listen. How can she humiliate herself and humiliate
me by placing me in this cowardly situation of suspicion and espionage?
Oh, abomination! Oh, the wicked animal! And he too, what does he think
of you? But he is like all men. He is what I was before my marriage. It
gives him pleasure. He even smiles when he looks at me, as much as to
say: 'What have you to do with this? It is my turn now.'

"This feeling is horrible. Its burn is unendurable. To entertain this
feeling toward any one, to once suspect a man of lusting after my wife,
was enough to spoil this man forever in my eyes, as if he had been
sprinkled with vitriol. Let me once become jealous of a being, and
nevermore could I re-establish with him simple human relations, and my
eyes flashed when I looked at him.

"As for my wife, so many times had I enveloped her with this moral
vitriol, with this jealous hatred, that she was degraded thereby. In the
periods of this causeless hatred I gradually uncrowned her. I covered
her with shame in my imagination.

"I invented impossible knaveries. I suspected, I am ashamed to say, that
she, this queen of 'The Thousand and One Nights,' deceived me with my
serf, under my very eyes, and laughing at me.

"Thus, with each new access of jealousy (I speak always of causeless
jealousy), I entered into the furrow dug formerly by my filthy
suspicions, and I continually deepened it. She did the same thing. If
I have reasons to be jealous, she who knew my past had a thousand times
more. And she was more ill-natured in her jealousy than I. And the
sufferings that I felt from her jealousy were different, and likewise
very painful.

"The situation may be described thus. We are living more or less
tranquilly. I am even gay and contented. Suddenly we start a
conversation on some most commonplace subject, and directly she finds
herself disagreeing with me upon matters concerning which we have been
generally in accord. And furthermore I see that, without any necessity
therefor, she is becoming irritated. I think that she has a nervous
attack, or else that the subject of conversation is really disagreeable
to her. We talk of something else, and that begins again. Again she
torments me, and becomes irritated. I am astonished and look for a
reason. Why? For what? She keeps silence, answers me with monosyllables,
evidently making allusions to something. I begin to divine that the