“I sent for assistance and for the work-girl’s
relatives and told them a, made-up story of a runaway
carriage which had knocked her down and lamed her
outside my door. They believed me, and the gendarmes
for a whole month tried in vain to find the author
of this accident.
“That is all! And I say that this woman
was a heroine and belonged to the race of those who
accomplish the grandest deeds of history.
“That was her only love affair, and she died
a virgin. She was a martyr, a noble soul, a sublimely
devoted woman! And if I did not absolutely admire
her, I should not have told you this story, which I
would never tell any one during her life; you understand
why.”
The doctor ceased. Mamma cried and papa said
some words which I did not catch; then they left the
room and I remained on my knees in the armchair and
sobbed, whilst I heard a strange noise of heavy footsteps
and something knocking against the side of the staircase.
They were carrying away Clochette’s body.
My Little Darling: So you are crying from morning
until night and from night until morning, because
your husband leaves you; you do not know what to do
and so you ask your old aunt for advice; you must consider
her quite an expert. I don’t know as much
as you think I do, and yet I am not entirely ignorant
of the art of loving, or, rather, of making one’s
self loved, in which you are a little lacking.
I can admit that at my age.
You say that you are all attention, love, kisses and
caresses for him. Perhaps that is the very trouble;
I think you kiss him too much.
My dear, we have in our hands the most terrible power
in the world: Love.
Man is gifted with physical strength, and he exercises
force. Woman is gifted with charm, and she rules
with caresses. It is our weapon, formidable and
invincible, but we should know how to use it.
Know well that we are the mistresses of the world!
To tell the history of Love from the beginning of
the world would be to tell the history of man himself:
Everything springs from it, the arts, great events,
customs, wars, the overthrow of empires.
In the Bible you find Delila, Judith; in fables we
find Omphale, Helen; in history the Sabines, Cleopatra
and many others.
Therefore we reign supreme, all-powerful. But,
like kings, we must make use of delicate diplomacy.
Love, my dear, is made up of imperceptible sensations.
We know that it is as strong as death, but also as
frail as glass. The slightest shock breaks it,
and our power crumbles, and we are never able to raise
it again.
We have the power of making ourselves adored, but
we lack one tiny thing, the understanding of the various
kinds of caresses. In embraces we lose the sentiment
of delicacy, while the man over whom we rule remains
master of himself, capable of judging the foolishness
of certain words. Take care, my dear; that is
the defect in our armor. It is our Achilles’
heel.
