Of every ten disappointed lovers seven might say: Had I been a less
submissive slave, I might have been a more successful suitor.
“It is a rule of manners,” says Emerson, “to avoid exaggeration.... In
man or woman the face and the person lose power when they are on the
strain to express admiration.”
In other words, one of the ways of winning Love is through stolidity and
indifference, real or feigned.
Were women the paragons of subtle insight they are painted, they would
favour those who are most visibly affected by their charms, as being
best able to appreciate and cherish them. There are such women—a few;
but the majority are partial coquettes, to whom Love is known only as a
form of Vanity, who neglect a man already won, and reserve their
sweetest smiles for those that seem less submissive. The artificial
dignity under which so many young society men hide their mental vacuity
has an irresistible fascination for the average society girl. And the
high collar, which helps to keep the head in a dignified position,
unswerved by emotion, is responsible for innumerable conquests.
Ergo, to win a society girl’s heart, wear a high collar, appear awfully
dignified and stolid, and show not the slightest interest in anything.
Above all, if you are of superior intelligence, carefully conceal the
fact. Brains are not “good form” in society; for what’s the use of
having flint where there is no steel to strike a spark? “Stolidity,”
says Schopenhauer, “does not injure a man in a woman’s eye: rather will
mental superiority, and still more genius, as something abnormal, have
an unfavourable influence.”
A passage from Diderot’s _Paradox of Acting_ (Pollock’s translation) may
be cited in illustration of Schopenhauer’s remark.
“Take two lovers, both of whom have their declarations to make. Who will
come out of it best? Not I, I promise you. I remember that I approached
the beloved object with fear and trembling; my heart beat, my ideas grew
confused, my voice failed me, I mangled all I said; I cried _yes_ for
_no_; I made a thousand blunders; I was inimitably inept; I was absurd
from top to toe, and the more I saw it the more absurd I became.
Meanwhile, under my very eyes, a gay rival, light-hearted and agreeable,
master of himself, pleased with himself, losing no opportunity for the
finest flattery, made himself entertaining and agreeable, enjoyed
himself; he implored the touch of a hand which was at once given him, he
sometimes caught it without asking leave, he kissed it once and again. I
the while, alone in a corner, avoided a sight which irritated me,
stifling my sighs, cracking my fingers with grasping my wrists, plunged
in melancholy, covered with a cold sweat, I could neither show nor
conceal my vexation. People say of love that it robs witty men of their
wit, and gives it to those who had none before: in other words, makes
some people sensitive and stupid, others cold and adventurous.”
Another specialist in Love-lore, Lord Byron, discourses on this text in
five pithy lines—
“Not much he kens, I ween, of woman’s breast
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs,
Do proper homage to thine idol’s eyes,
_But not too humbly or she will despise;
Disguise even tenderness, if thou art wise_.”
And even the king of German metaphysicians, old Kant, understood this
feminine foible, which may have been the reason why he never found a
wife: “An actor,” he says, “who remains unmoved, but possesses a
powerful intellect and imagination, may succeed in producing a deeper
impression by his feigned emotion than he could by real emotion. One who
is truly in love is, in presence of his beloved, confused, awkward, and
anything but fascinating. But a clever man who merely plays the _rôle_
of a lover may do it so naturally as to easily ensnare his poor victim;
simply because, his heart being unmoved, his head remains clear, and he
can, therefore, make the most of his wits and his cleverness in
presenting the counterfeit of a lover.”
“The counterfeit of a lover.” It is he, then, whom women, according to
these French, English, and German witnesses, encourage, instead of the
true lover. So that women are not only less capable of deep Love than
men, but they do not even promote the growth and survival of Love by
favouring the men most deeply affected by it. And the fault, be it said
once more, lies in the superficial education not only of their intellect
but of their emotions, for the heart can only be reached and refined
through the brain. The average woman, being incapable of feeling Love,
is incapable of appreciating it when she finds it in a man. She sees
only its ridiculous side—and ridicule is fatal, even to Love. Ridicule
killed Love in France, which to-day is the most loveless country in the
civilised world, its women the most frivolous and heartless,—and its
population gradually diminishing.
The ridiculous exaggerations of a lover are indeed harmless if the girl
is in love too, for then she does not see them; but to one who has yet
to win Love, as girls are now constituted, they are fatal. Perhaps this
is the reason why the list of men of genius who failed in their truest
Love is so extraordinarily large: for, their Love being more ardent than
that of others, they were unable to restrain its excesses and feign
indifference; while another way in which they “lost power” was through
their extravagant admiration of Beauty, which put their faces “on the
strain” to express it.
However this may be, lovers should keep in mind this paradoxical rule,
which follows as a corollary from the foregoing discussion:
In order to win a woman, first cure yourself of your passion, then,
having won her through feigned indifference (which is easy), fall in
love again and bag her before she has had time to discover your change
of feeling.
The only difficulty herein lies in the cure. Should this be found
impossible, even with the aid of our next chapter, one last resource is
open to the lover. Says La Bruyère: “Quand l’on a assez fait auprès
d’une femme pour devoir l’engager, il y a encore une ressource, qui est
de ne plus rien faire; _c’est alors qu’elle vous rappelle_.” In other
words, if you have failed to win her love, with all your attentions,
change your policy: leave her alone, and she will be sure to recall you.
This trait is not simply the outcome of feminine perverseness or
coquetry. The explanation lies deeper. Every sensible woman, be she ever
so vain and accustomed to flattery, is painfully conscious of certain
defects, physical or mental. “Has he discovered them?” she will
anxiously ask herself when the sly lover suddenly withdraws; “I must
recover his good opinion.” So she sets herself the task of fascinating
and pleasing him; and this desire to please (Gallantry) being one of the
constituent parts of Love, it is apt to be soon joined by the other
symptoms which make up the romantic passion.