the stupid waddlings of the polar bear, excites 
himself this hairy monster—whose shape imi-
tates, vaguely enough, your own. 
“This monster is one of those animals which 
one generally calls ‘My angel’; that is to say, a 
woman. The other monster, he who, a stick in 
his hand, cries loud enough to break your head 
in, is a husband. He has put his lawful wife in 
irons like a wild animal, and he is showing her 
in the suburbs;—on fair days, needless to say, 
with a licence from the magistrate. 
“Pay close attention. See with what voracity 
(perhaps genuine) she tears to pieces the liv-
ing rabbits and the cackling fowls which her 
keeper throws her. ‘Come,’ says he; ‘one must 
not eat all one’s fortune in a single day’; and 
with this prudent speech he cruelly tears from 
her the prey whose torn guts remain for an in-
stant clinging to the teeth of the savage brute. 
I mean of the woman. 
“Come, a good whack to quiet her! for she 
darts eyes terrible with greed on the food that 
he has snatched away. Great God! the stick is 
not a fool’s bauble; did you not hear the flesh 
smack, despite the hide? And now too, her 
eyes jump out of her head; she howls more 
naturally than before. In her rage she sparkles 
all over, as when one beats hot iron.