not understand, do you? I thought you would not.
“Do you remember the first time you came to see me at my house? You stepped inside quickly in a cloud of perfume of violets from your clothes. We looked at each other, for ever so long, without uttering a word, after which we embraced madly … then … we did not speak until morning.
“But when we separated, our trembling hands and our eyes said many things, things which cannot be expressed in any language. At least, I thought so; and when you went away, you murmured:
“ ‘We shall meet again soon!’
“That was all you said, and you will never guess what delightful dreams you left me, all that I, as it were, caught a glimpse of, all that I fancied I could guess in your thoughts.
“You see, my poor child, for men who are not stupid, who are rather refined and somewhat superior, love is such a complicated instrument that the merest trifle puts it out of order. You women never perceive the ridiculous side of certain things when you love, and you fail to see the grotesqueness of some expressions.
“Why does a word which sounds quite right in the mouth of a small, dark woman seem quite wrong and funny in the mouth of a fat, light-haired woman? Why are the wheedling ways of the one altogether out of place in the other?
“Why is it that certain caresses which are delightful from the one should be wearisome from the other? Why? Because in everything, and especially in love, perfect harmony—absolute agreement in motion, voice, words, and in demonstrations of tenderness, is necessary in the person who moves, speaks, and manifests affection; harmony is necessary in age, in height, in the colour of the hair, and in the style of beauty.
“If a woman of thirty-five, who has arrived at the age of violent tempestuous passion, were to preserve the slightest traces of the roguish playfulness of her love affairs at twenty, were not to understand that she ought to express herself differently, look at her lover differently and kiss him differently, were not to see that she ought to be a Dido and not a Juliet, she would infallibly disgust nine lovers out of ten, even if they could not account to themselves for their estrangement. Do you understand me? No? I hoped so.
“From the time that you gave rein to your tenderness, it was all over for me, my dear friend. Sometimes we would embrace for five minutes, in one interminable kiss, one of those kisses which make lovers close their eyes, lest part of it should escape through their looks, as if to preserve it entire in the clouded soul which it is ravaging. And then, when our lips separated, you would say to me:
“ ‘That was nice, you dear old duck.’
“At such moments, I could have beaten you; for you gave me successively all the names of animals and vegetables which you doubtless found in La Cuisinière bourgeoise, La Parfait jardinier, and Les Éléments d’histoire naturalle à l’usage des classes inférieures. But even that did not matter.
“The caresses of love are brutal, bestial, and if one comes to think of it, grotesque!
“Musset says:
“ ‘Je me souviens encor de ces spasmes terribles,
De ces baisers muets de ces muscles ardents,
De cet être absorbé, blême et serrant les dents.
S’ils ne sont pas divins, ces moments sont horribles.7
“Oh! My poor child, what joking elf, what perverse sprite could have prompted your words … afterwards? I have made a collection of them, but out of love for you, I will not show them to you.
“And sometimes you really said things which were quite inopportune. For instance you managed now and then to let out an exalted I love you! on such singular occasions that I was obliged to restrain a strong desire to laugh. There are times when the words I love you! are so out of place that they become indecorous; let me tell you that.
“But you do not understand me, and many other women also will not understand me, but think me stupid, though that matters very little to me. Hungry men eat like gluttons, but people of refinement are disgusted at it and often feel an invincible dislike for a dish, on account of a mere trifle. It is the same with love, as with cookery.
“What I cannot comprehend for example is that certain women who fully understand the irresistible attraction of fine, embroidered silk stockings, the exquisite charm of shades, the witchery of valuable lace concealed in the depths of their most intimate garments, the exciting savour of hidden luxury, of the flimsiest and most delicate underclothing, and all the subtle delicacies of female elegance, never understand the invincible disgust with which words that are out of place, or foolishly tender, inspire us.
“At times coarse and brutal expressions work wonders, as they excite the senses and make the heart beat, and they are allowable at the hours of combat. Is not that word of Cambronne’s sublime?
“Nothing shocks us that comes at the right time; but then, we must also know how to hold our tongue, and to avoid phrases in the manner of Paul de Kock, at certain moments.
“And I embrace you passionately, on the condition that you say nothing.
Marroca
You ask me, my dear friend, to send you my impressions, and an account of my love affairs in this Africa to which I have so long been attracted. You laughed a great deal beforehand at my dusky sweethearts, as you called them, and you could see me returning to France followed by a tall, ebony-coloured woman, with a yellow silk handkerchief round her head, and wearing voluminous bright-coloured clothes.
No doubt the Moorish dames will have their turn, for I have seen several who made me feel very much inclined to fall in love with them. But by way of making a beginning,
