"You know the old story of the ring given to Venus? Well, it is the ruin of no few men to meet Venus for the first time on their marriage night.Their very chastity, paradoxical as it may seem, is their destruction.No one can appreciate the peace, the holy satisfaction of monogamy till he has passed through the wasting distractions, the unrest of polygamy.Plunged right away into monogamy, man, unexperienced in his good fortune, hankers after polygamy, as the monotheistic Jew hankered after polytheism; and thus the monogamic young man too often meets Aphrodite for the first time, and makes future appointments with her, in the arms of his pure young wife.If you have read Swedenborg, you will remember his denunciation of the lust of variety.Now, that is a lust every young man feels, but it is one to be satisfied before marriage.Sylvia Joy has been such a variant for you; and I'm afraid you're going to have some little trouble to get her off your nerves.Tell me frankly," I said, "have you had your fill of Aphrodite? It is no use your going back to your wife till you have had that.""I'm not quite a beast," he retorted."After all, it was an experiment we both agreed to try.""Certainly," I answered, "and I hope it may have the result of persuading you of the unwisdom of experimenting with happiness.
You have the realities of happiness; why should you trouble about its theories? They are for unhappy people, like me, who must learn to distil by learned patience the aurum potabile from the husks of life, the peace which happier mortals find lying like manna each morn upon the meadows.""Well," I continued, "enough of the abstract; let us have another drink, and tell me what you propose to do.""Poor Sylvia!" sighed Orlando.
"Shall I tell you about Sylvia?" I said."On second thoughts, I won't.It would hardly be fair play; but this, I may say, relying on your honour, that if you were to come to my hotel, Icould show you indisputable proof that I know at least as much about Sylvia Joy as even such a privileged intimate as yourself.""It is strange, then, that she never recognised you just now,"he retorted, with forlorn alertness.
"Of course she didn't.How young you are! It is rather too bad of a woman of Sylvia's experience.""And I've bought our passages for to- morrow.I cannot let her go without some sort of good-bye.""Give the tickets to me.I can make use of them.How much are they? Let's see."The calculation made and the money passed across, I said abruptly,--"Now supposing we go and see your wife."
"You have saved my life," he said hoarsely, pressing my hand as we rose.
"I don't know about that," I said inwardly; "but I do hope Ihave saved your wife."
As I thought of that, a fear occurred to me.
"Look here," I said, as we strolled towards the Twelve Golden-Haired, "I hope you have no silly notions about confession, about telling the literal truth and so on.Because Iwant you to promise me that you will lie stoutly to your wife about Sylvia Joy.You must swear the whole thing has been platonic.It's the only chance for your happiness.Your wife, no doubt, will lure you on to confession by saying that she doesn't mind this, that, and the other, so long as you don't keep it from her; and no doubt she will mean it till you have confessed.But, however good their theories, women by nature cannot help confusing body and soul, and what to a man is a mere fancy of the senses, to them is a spiritual tragedy.Promise me to lie stoutly on this point.It is, I repeat, the only chance for your future happiness.As has been wisely said, a lie in time saves nine; and such a lie as I advise is but one of the higher forms of truth.Such lying, indeed, is the art of telling the truth.The truth is that you love her body, soul, and spirit; any accidental matter which should tend to make her doubt that would be the only real lie.Promise me, won't you?""Yes, I will lie," said Orlando.
"Well, there she is," I said; "and God bless you both."
