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204 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
myself with being no more than the husband of a charm-
ing woman, and eventually she came to believe that she,
and not I, possessed genius. This applied even to the
details of everyday life. Being an excellent swimmer
myself, for instance, I taught her to swim. In order
to encourage her, I simulated nervousness, and the plea-
sure she took in ridiculing my efforts and talking of her
own grand achievements was a constant source of amuse-
ment to me.
The days passed ; into the worship of my wife as mother
a new thought stole and began to haunt me persistently :
I was married to a woman of thirty—a critical age, the
beginning of a period full of dangers and pitfalls—I could
see indications every now and then which made me feel
nervous, indications, perhaps not fraught with disaster
for the moment, but which carried in them the germ of
discord.
After her confinement physical antagonism came to be
added to incompatibility of temper ; sexual intercourse
between us became odious. When her passion was
aroused, she behaved like a cynical coquette. Sometimes
she took a malicious delight in making me jealous ; at
other times she let herself go to an alarming extent, pos-
sibly, I thought, under pressure of licentious and perverse
desires.
One morning we went out in a sailing boat, accom-
panied by a young fisherman. I took charge of tiller
and mainsail, while the lad was attending to the foresail.
My wife Mas sitting near him. The wind dropped and
silence reigned in the boat. All at once I noticed that
the young fisherman, from under his cap, was casting lewd
glances in the direction of my wife’s feet. . . . Her feet?
. . . Perhaps there was more to be seen ; I could not
tell from where I sat. I watched her. Her passionate
eyes devoured the young man’s frame. In order to remind
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