  Okay, evil essay of d00m done. I'm so excited I can hardly speak. Or maybe that's sleep deprivation. Hard to tell at this juncture. (It's three in the morning here. ) I have kitchen shift tomorrow- *yay!
I miss cleaning! * (*haha, never thought you'd hear me say that. *) but after that, I'm napping for a couple of hours. And then going to pubspeaks -the pressure's off there, thank GODS- and then going to bed immediately. This Sunday will be my three week marker- half-way through. I'll be hiking *back* down to the farmer's market, which will be a lot of fun, since my feet look like raw meat, but will be well worth it.
I've also decided to try to conserve my funds, since I did an accounting today and realized that if I'm trying to bring back money for you guys -and I am!- I need to do a better job of keeping track of where I'm spending and what I'm spending on. Ideally, I'd like to bring back $150 from the trip. Now let's see if I can manage it. (I figure that's fair, half-half. The other bit of good news is that the majority of my expenses are done with. ) Well, except for getting pots for the herbs I bought *last* week.
I'm only going with five dollars this week. Maybe I can manage to rein myself in. Here's the *very rough* draft of my essay for class later today. *cough five hours cough* I have a lot of personal notes on it, things like changing "subverted" to the word I *meant* to use but can't remember right now because I'm so tired, little critical details like that. It's one of my longer essays- I'm hoping my editors will chop some deadwood and I can refine it down to something a bit shorter. Course, I can always cut out the first paragraph after the introduction, and refine the introduction a bit, for a much shorter paper.
I dunno, we'll see. For now, kiddos, smooches and love. Jen needs sleep. *zombie stumble up the four flights of stairs to her room* Jennifer Green Cornell I Week Three Essay July 13, 2004 Vengeance, Served Cold, with Salad on the Side: The motif of the subverted husband who revenges himself through bloodshed is common in literature: from Sampson and Delilah to the Count of Monte Cristo, vengeance is as common to the marriage bed as adultery. Most husbands avenge their honor quickly, with a blade, settling for retribution but not for justice. The stories of those few who wait, and let their betrayer suffer the lingering consequences of betrayal, becoming chilling examples of justice without mercy.
So perhaps this tactic is most fitting for a lawyer and politician, a man concerned with the administration of law. When the President of the Grenoble Parlement discovers his wife in bed with her lover, his vengeance takes the form of a progression of deceptions, perpetuated not on his deceivers and his friends, but on society as well. By controlling the semblance of each scene in the tale, and the way it is presented to each character, the older man manipulates their responses, leading each to downfall through assumption and perception. Legally and lethally elegant, the President’s vengeance allows him to unmake a crime by removing all its witnesses, demonstrating that what was not seen, did not happen. Of those deceived by the President in his quest for vengeance, only the old servant ventures to defend his own vision of the truth, the allegation which led him to accuse his master’s wife of adultery. Believing, from the President’s attitude toward his wife’s possible infidelity, that the older man would not countenance any such slur, the old servant shows his master the lovers in flagrante delecto.
The President does not indicate he has any reason to show mercy to his betrayers, so despite his mention of the second “locked” chamber, the servant never suspects that Nicolas is actually hidden there. In hiding Nicolas and then using the re-staged scene to force the servant to discredit himself, (“The Devil must have carried him off! I saw him come in, and he didn’t come out through the door- yet I can see that he is not here!” (p.354)) the President justifies dismissing the old servant, and thereby removes the only witness of the pair’s wrongdoing. Both lovers begin the tale as deceivers, echoing the idea that those who dishonor will, in their turn, be dishonored by their victim. Initially their deception proves successful, but their lack of caution leads a clear-eyed servant to observe their actions and bring word to the President. In the moments following his discovery of the pair’s adultery, the President places himself in the role of their savior when he elects not to destroy the lover’s reputations instantaneously, then acts to protect them from the accusing eyes of his servant.
Furthermore, he guides the distraught pair into a semblance of gilt and gaiety which helps them to escape censure. For Nicolas, the President’s actions are particularly misleading: despite the shadow of the older man’s dictate that he leave when ordered, the boy believes that the endless round of parties and his apparent favor reflect a real softening in the husband’s attitude toward the liason: “Nicolas, thinking the President had forgotten what had happened . . . ” (p. 355). The President’s clemency, however, hides careful calculation, and he acts to strip the young man of his illusions at the very moment when Nicolas sees the greatest hope of realizing them, “But after the dace was over, the President .
. . whispered into Nicolas’s ear: ‘Leave this place and never return,” (p.355). For the gallant, the President’s lies prove a poignant education in deception. For the President’s wife, however, the President’s betrayal is both longer in coming, and more final in restitution. In encouraging her to focus on appearances, to conceal her deed, the President seems to tacitly accept her actions: indeed, he reveals himself as solicitous to her, at least in social context.
“On one occasion he noticed that his wife wasn’t dancing and told Nicolas to be her partner” (p.355). However, this concern for her social position may not revolve around actual tenderness for her, but desire to avoid scandal: his wife’s later actions, including her trust in her husband, suggest that, regardless of the President’s motive, the lady believes his pretense, at least to the point of trusting greens picked by his own hands. For her, too, the President’s “sympathy” proves tragically seductive. But the President’s piece de resistance lies in the deception he perpetuates on society. From the first, upon discovering his wife’s infidelity, concern for his family’s reputation goads him to speech, “I do not wish to see my household dishonored or the daughters I have had by you disadvantaged” (p.354). This desire justifies each of the subsequent –and numerous- deceptions that the President foists on his friends and neighbors.
His instructions to the lovers, encouraging gaiety in dress and manners, provide a diversion for speculation: the glitter of the lady’s attire, the sparkle of Nicolas’s comportment, both serve to distract the eye from their less illustrious –and less lustrous- guilt. And the old man, not content with these measures, adds his own diversionary tactics: first, to immediately dispel any potential public gossip, (“he returned to the Palais de Justice without the slightest hint that anything had happened”) and then, to prepare an alibi for his wife’s eventual downfall, (“The President impressed upon all his relatives, friends and neighbors how much he loved his wife,” (p.355)). Later, the narrator’s use of litotes (“Then, one fine day in the month of May, he went into his garden and picked some herbs for a salad. After eating it his wife did not live. . .” (p.355)) emphasizes the parallel between what is not directly said and what is not clearly seen, and the tertiary placement of the declaratory, “the grief that the President showed was so great that nobody suspected he was the agent of her death” (p.355) contrives to downplay the President’s role in his wife’s death, mimicking society’s own erroneous views.
The President’s careful preparations and his meticulous attention to his lies result in the preservation of his family’s social standing. Ultimately, the President’s machinations are successful in erasing his wife’s sin: in a series of measured blows, he destroys a potential threat to his family’s reputation, and simultaneously metes out justice for the real damage to his honor. The President has succeeded in unmaking truth, by removing or discrediting all those who could confirm that truth’s validity. However, the existence of the story –the factual retelling of the man’s cuckholding, and of his vengeance- casts a dubious light on the veracity of the events related. Either the tale is entirely false, made up on the spot, or else the President’s attempt to preserve his honor failed, his secret shames became known, and all of his convoluted plans came to naught. 
