University of Virginia Library

“LA FEMME.”
AFTER THE FRENCH OF M. MICHELET.

1. I.
WOMEN AS AN INSTITUTION.

“If it were not for women, few of us would at
present be in existence.” This is the remark of a
cautious and discreet writer. He was also sagacious
and intelligent.

Woman! Look upon her and admire her. Gaze
upon her and love her. If she wishes to embrace
you, permit her. Remember she is weak and you
are strong.

But don't treat her unkindly. Don't make love to
another woman before her face, even if she be your
wife. Don't do it. Always be polite, even should
she fancy somebody better than you.

If your mother, my dear Amadis, had not fancied
your father better than somebody, you might have
been that somebody's son. Consider this. Always
be a philosopher, even about women.

Few men understand women. Frenchmen perhaps
better than any one else. I am a Frenchman.

2. II.
THE INFANT.

She is a child—a little thing—an infant.

She has a mother and father. Let us suppose, for
example, they are married. Let us be moral if we
cannot be happy and free—they are married—perhaps—they
love one another—who knows?

But she knows nothing of this; she is an infant—
a small thing—a trifle!

She is not lovely at first. It is cruel, perhaps—
but she is red—and positively ugly. She feels this
keenly, and cries. She weeps. Ah, my God! how
she weeps! Her cries and lamentations now are
really distressing.

Tears stream from her in floods. She feels deeply
and copiously like M. Alphonse de Lamartine in his
Confessions.

If you are her mother, Madame, you will fancy
worms; you will examine her linen for pins and
what not. Ah, hypocrite! you, even you, misunderstand
her.

Yet she has charming natural impulses. See how
she tosses her dimpled arms. She looks longingly
at her mother. She has a language of her own.
She says, “goo goo,” and “ga ga.”

She demands something—this infant!

She is faint, poor thing. She famishes. She
wishes to be restored. Restore her, Mother!

It is the first duty of a mother to restore her child!

3. III.
THE DOLL.

She is hardly able to walk—she already totters
under the weight of a doll.

It is a charming and elegant affair. It has pink
cheeks and purple-black hair. She prefers brunettes,
for she has already, with the quick knowledge
of a French infant, perceived she is a blonde and
that her doll cannot rival her. Mon Dieu, how
touching! Happy child! She spends hours in preparing
its toilette. She begins to show her taste in
the exquisite details of its dress. She loves it madly,
devotedly. She will prefer it to bonbons. She already
anticipates the wealth of love she will hereafter
pour out on her lover, her mother, her father,
and finally perhaps her husband.

This is the time the anxious parent will guide
these first outpourings. She will read her extracts
from Michelet's L'Amour, Rousseau's Héloise, and the
Revue des deux Mondes.

4. IV.
THE MUD PIE.

She was in tears to-day.

She had stolen away from her bonne and was with
some rustic infants. They had noses in the air, and
large, coarse hands and feet.

They had seated themselves around a pool in the
road, and were fashioning fantastic shapes in the
clayey soil with their hands. Her throat swelled and
her eyes sparkled with delight as, for the first time,
her soft palms touched the plastic mud. She made a
graceful and lovely pie. She stuffed it with stones
for almonds and plums. She forgot everything. It
was being baked in the solar rays, when madame
came and took her away.

She weeps. It is night, and she is weeping still.

5. V.
HER FIRST LOVE.

She no longer doubts her beauty. She is loved.

She saw him secretly. He is vivacious and sprightly.
He is famous. He has already had an affair
with Finfin, the fille de chambre, and poor Finfin is
desolate. He is noble. She knows he is the son of
Madame la Baronne Couturière. She adores him.

She affects not to notice him. Poor little thing!
Hippolyte is distracted—annihilated—inconsolable
and charming.

She admires his boots, his cravat, his little gloves
—his exquisite pantaloons—his coat, and cane.

She offers to run away with him. He is transported,
but magnanimous. He is wearied, perhaps. She
sees him the next day offering flowers to the daughter
of Madame la Comtesse Blanchisseuse.

She is again in tears.

She reads Paul et Virginie. She is secretly transported.
When she reads how the exemplary young
woman laid down her life rather than appear en déshabillé
to her lover, she weeps again Tasteful and
virtuous Bernardine de St. Pierre!—the daughters of
France admire you!

All this time her doll is headless in the cabinet.
The mud pie is broken on the road.

6. VI.
THE WIFE.

She is tired of loving and she marries.

Her mother thinks it, on the whole, the best thing.
As the day approaches, she is found frequently in
tears. Her mother will not permit the affianced one
to see her, and he makes several attempts to commit
suicide.

But something happens. Perhaps it is winter, and
the water is cold. Perhaps there are not enough
people present to witness his heroism.

In this way her future husband is spared to her.

She will offer philosophy. She will tell her she was
married herself.

But what is this new and ravishing light that breaks
upon her? The toilette and wedding clothes! She
is in a new sphere.

She makes out her list in her own charming writing.
Here it is. Let every mother heed it.[1]

She is married. On the day after, she meets her
old lover, Hippolyte. He is again transported.

7. VII.
HER OLD AGE.

A French women never grows old.