What the essential difference between man and woman is, that they
should be thus attracted to one another, no one has satisfactorily
answered. Perhaps we must acknowledge the justness of the distinction
which assigns to man the sphere of wisdom, and to woman that of love,
though neither belongs exclusively to either. Man is continually
saying to woman, Why will you not be more wise? Woman is continually
saying to man, Why will you not be more loving? It is not in their
wills to be wise or to be loving; but, unless each is both wise and
loving, there can be neither wisdom nor love.
All transcendent goodness is one, though appreciated in different
ways, or by different senses. In beauty we see it, in music we hear
it, in fragrance we scent it, in the palatable the pure palate tastes
it, and in rare health the whole body feels it. The variety is in the
surface or manifestation; but the radical identity we fail to express.
The lover sees in the glance of his beloved the same beauty that in
the sunset paints the western skies. It is the same daimon, here
lurking under a human eyelid, and there under the closing eyelids of
the day. Here, in small compass, is the ancient and natural beauty of
evening and morning. What loving astronomer has ever fathomed the
ethereal depths of the eye?
The maiden conceals a fairer flower and sweeter fruit than any calyx
in the field; and, if she goes with averted face, confiding in her
purity and high resolves, she will make the heavens retrospective, and
all nature humbly confess its queen.
Under the influence of this sentiment, man is a string of an æolian
harp, which vibrates with the zephyrs of the eternal morning.
There is at first thought something trivial in the commonness of love.
So many Indian youths and maidens along these banks have in ages past
yielded to the influence of this great civilizer. Nevertheless, this
generation is not disgusted nor discouraged, for love is no
individual's experience; and though we are imperfect mediums, it does
not partake of our imperfection; though we are finite, it is infinite
and eternal; and the same divine influence broods over these banks,
whatever race may inhabit them, and perchance still would, even if the
human race did not dwell here.
Perhaps an instinct survives through the intensest actual love, which
prevents entire abandonment and devotion, and makes the most ardent
lover a little reserved. It is the anticipation of change. For the
most ardent lover is not the less practically wise, and seeks a love
which will last forever.
Considering how few poetical friendships there are, it is remarkable
that so many are married. It would seem as if men yielded too easy an
obedience to nature without consulting their genius. One may be drunk
with love without being any nearer to finding his mate. There is more
of good nature than of good sense at the bottom of most marriages.
But the good nature must have the counsel of the good spirit or
Intelligence. If common sense had been consulted, how many marriages
would never have taken place; if uncommon or divine sense, how few
marriages such as we witness would ever have taken place!
Our love may be ascending or descending. What is its character, if it
may be said of it,--
"We must _respect_ the souls above,
But only _those below we love_."
Love is a severe critic. Hate can pardon more than love. They who
aspire to love worthily, subject themselves to an ordeal more rigid
than any other.
Is your friend such a one that an increase of worth on your part will
surely make her more your friend? Is she retained--is she attracted by
more nobleness in you,--by more of that virtue which is peculiarly
yours; or is she indifferent and blind to that? Is she to be flattered
and won by your meeting her on any other than the ascending path? Then
duty requires that you separate from her.
Love must be as much a light as a flame.
Where there is not discernment, the behavior even of the purest soul
may in effect amount to coarseness.
A man of fine perceptions is more truly feminine than a merely
sentimental woman. The heart is blind; but love is not blind. None of
the gods is so discriminating.
In love and friendship the imagination is as much exercised as the
heart; and if either is outraged the other will be estranged. It is
commonly the imagination which is wounded first, rather than the
heart,--it is so much the more sensitive.
_Comparatively_, we can excuse any offense against the heart, but not
against the imagination. The imagination knows--nothing escapes its
glance from out its eyry--and it controls the breast. My heart may
still yearn toward the valley, but my imagination will not permit me
to jump off the precipice that debars me from it, for it is wounded,
its wings are clipt, and it cannot fly, even descendingly. Our
"blundering hearts!" some poet says. The imagination never forgets; it
is a re-membering. It is not foundationless, but most reasonable, and
it alone uses all the knowledge of the intellect.
Love is the profoundest of secrets. Divulged, even to the beloved, it
is no longer Love. As if it were merely I that loved you. When love
ceases, then it is divulged.
In our intercourse with one we love, we wish to have answered those
questions at the end of which we do not raise our voice; against which
we put no interrogation-mark,--answered with the same unfailing,
universal aim toward every point of the compass.
I require that thou knowest everything without being told anything. I
parted from my beloved because there was one thing which I had to tell
her. She _questioned_ me. She should have known all by sympathy. That
I had to tell it her was the difference between us,--the
misunderstanding.
A lover never hears anything that he is _told_, for that is commonly
either false or stale; but he hears things taking place, as the
sentinels heard Trenck[45] mining in the ground, and thought it was
moles.
The relation may be profaned in many ways. The parties may not regard
it with equal sacredness. What if the lover should learn that his
beloved dealt in incantations and philters! What if he should hear
that she consulted a clairvoyant! The spell would be instantly broken.
If to chaffer and higgle are bad in trade, they are much worse in
Love. It demands directness as of an arrow.
There is danger that we lose sight of what our friend is absolutely,
while considering what she is to us alone.
The lover wants no partiality. He says, Be so kind as to be just.
Canst thou love with thy mind,
And reason with thy heart?
Canst thou be kind,
And from thy darling part?
Canst thou range earth, sea, and air,
And so meet me everywhere?
Through all events I will pursue thee,
Through all persons I will woo thee.
I need thy hate as much as thy love. Thou wilt not repel me entirely
when thou repellest what is evil in me.
Indeed, indeed, I cannot tell,
Though I ponder on it well,
Which were easier to state,
All my love or all my hate.
Surely, surely, thou wilt trust me
When I say thou doth disgust me.
O, I hate thee with a hate
That would fain annihilate;
Yet, sometimes, against my will,
My dear Friend, I love thee still.
It were treason to our love,
And a sin to God above,
One iota to abate
Of a pure, impartial hate.
It is not enough that we are truthful; we must cherish and carry out
high purposes to be truthful about.
It must be rare, indeed, that we meet with one to whom we are prepared
to be quite ideally related, as she to us. We should have no reserve;
we should give the whole of ourselves to that society; we should have
no duty aside from that. One who could bear to be so wonderfully and
beautifully exaggerated every day. I would take my friend out of her
low self and set her higher, infinitely higher, and _there_ know her.
But, commonly, men are as much afraid of love as of hate. They have
lower engagements. They have near ends to serve. They have not
imagination enough to be thus employed about a human being, but must
be coopering a barrel, forsooth.
What a difference, whether, in all your walks, you meet only
strangers, or in one house is one who knows you, and whom you know. To
have a brother or a sister! To have a gold mine on your farm! To find
diamonds in the gravel heaps before your door! How rare these things
are! To share the day with you,--to people the earth. Whether to have
a god or a goddess for companion in your walks, or to walk alone with
hinds and villains and carles. Would not a friend enhance the beauty
of the landscape as much as a deer or hare? Everything would
acknowledge and serve such a relation; the corn in the field, and the
cranberries in the meadow. The flowers would bloom, and the birds
sing, with a new impulse. There would be more fair days in the year.
The object of love expands and grows before us to eternity, until it
includes all that is lovely, and we become all that can love.