A wife's always angry and out of humour with
her husband; and the husband's always kind and grateful to his
wife. He does all he can to make things easy for her, and she does
all she can to torture him.
STRANGER. That's not true. Of course it may sometimes appear to be
so. I once had a woman friend who shifted all the defects that she
had on to me. For instance, she was very much in love with herself,
and therefore called me the most egoistical of men. She drank, and
called me a drunkard; she rarely changed her linen and said I was
dirty; she was jealous, even of my men friends, and called me
Othello. She was masterful and called me Nero. Niggardly and called
me Harpagon.
TEMPTER. Why didn't you answer her?
STRANGER. You know why very well! If I'd made clear to her what she
really was, I'd have lost her favour that moment--and it was
precisely her favour I wanted to keep.
TEMPTER. _A tout prix_! Yes, that's the source of degradation! You
grow accustomed to holding your tongue, and at last find yourself
caught in a tissue of falsehoods.
STRANGER. Wait! Don't you agree that married people so mix their
personalities that they can no longer distinguish between meum and
tuum, no longer remain separate from one another, or cannot tell
their own weaknesses from those of the other. My jealous friend,
who called me Othello, took me for herself, identified me with
herself.
TEMPTER. That sounds conceivable.
STRANGER. You see! You can often explain most if you don't ask
who's to blame.
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