Chapter 3

She is of that light unreflecting class, of that light unreflecting sex: _varium semper et mutabile_. And then her Fine-ladyism, though a purseless one: capricious, coquettish, and with all the finer sensibilities of the heart; now in the rackets, now in the sullens; vivid in contradictory resolves; laughing, weeping, without reason,--though these acts are said to be signs of season. Consider, too, how she has had to work her way, all along, by flattery and cajolery; wheedling, eaves-dropping, namby-pambying; how she needs wages, and knows no other productive trades.--_The Diamond Necklace._

Thought can hardly be said to exist in her; only Perception and Device. With an understanding lynx-eyed for the surface of things, but which pierces beyond the surface of nothing, every individual thing (for she has never seized the heart of it) turns up a new face to her every new day, and seems a thing changed, a different thing.--_The Diamond Necklace._

Reader! thou for thy sins must have met with such fair Irrationals; fascinating, with their lively eyes, with their quick snappish fancies; distinguished in the higher circles, in Fashion, even in Literature; they hum and buzz there, on graceful film-wings:--searching, nevertheless, with the wonderfullest skill for honey; _un_tamable as flies!--_The Diamond Necklace._

Nature is very kind to all children, and to all mothers that are true to her.--_Frederick the Great._

She is of stately figure;--of beautiful still countenance.--A completeness, a decision is in this fair female figure; by energy she means the spirit that will prompt one to sacrifice himself for his country.--_French Revolution._

A clever, high-mannered, massive-minded old lady; admirable as a finished piece of social art, but hardly otherwise much.--_Reminiscences._

Who can account for the taste of females?--_The Diamond Necklace._

A Beauty, but over light-headed: a Booby who had fine legs. How these first courted, billed, and cooed, according to nature; then pouted, fretted, grew utterly enraged and blew one another up.--_Boswell's Life of Johnson._

With delicate female tact, with fine female stoicism too, keeping all things within limits.--_Frederick the Great._

A true-hearted, sharp-witted sister.--_Essay of Diderot._

A graceful, brave, and amiable woman;--her choicest gift an open eye and heart.--_Oliver Cromwell._

Every graceful and generous quality of womanhood harmoniously blended in her nature.--_Life of Schiller._

She is a fair vision, the _beau idéal_ of a poet's first mistress.--_Life of Schiller._

Heaven, though severe, is _not_ unkind; Heaven is kind, as a noble mother; as that Spartan mother, saying while she gave her son his shield, "With it, my son, or upon it!"--Complain not; the very Spartans did not complain.--_Past and Present_.

VICTOR HUGO.

All her face, all her person, breathed an ineffable love and kindness. She had always been predestined to gentleness, but Faith, Hope, and Charity, those three virtues that softly warm the soul, had gradually elevated that gentleness to sanctity. Nature had only made her a lamb, and religion had made her an angel.--_Les Misérables._

She was the very embodiment of joy as she went to and fro in the house; she brought with her a perpetual spring.--_Toilers of the Sea_.

Her entire person was simplicity, ingenuousness, whiteness, candor, and radiance, and it might have been said of her that she was transparent. She produced a sensation of April and daybreak, and she had dew in her eyes. She was the condensation of the light of dawn in a woman's form.--_Les Misérables._

The woman was weak, but the mother found strength.--_Ninety-Three._

Woman feels and speaks with the infallibility which is the tender instinct of the heart.--_Les Misérables._

What is a husband but the pilot in the voyage of matrimony? Wife, let your fine weather be your husband's smiles.--_Toilers of the Sea._

No one knows like a woman how to say things which are at once gentle and deep. Gentleness and depth,--in these things the whole of woman is contained, and it is heaven.--_Les Misérables._

Beauty heightened by simplicity is ineffable, and nothing is so adorable as a beauteous, innocent maiden, who walks along unconsciously, holding in her hand the key of Paradise.--_Les Misérables._

She had the prettiest little hands in the world, and little feet to match them. Sweetness and goodness reigned throughout her person; ... her occupation was only to live her daily life; her accomplishments were the knowledge of a few songs; her intellectual gifts were summed up in her simple innocence.--_Toilers of the Sea._

The coquette is blind: she does not see her wrinkles.--_By Order of the King._

A mother's arms are made of tenderness, and children sleep soundly in them.--_Les Misérables._

There are moments when a woman accepts, like a sombre and resigned duty, the worship of love.--_Les Misérables._

She was pale with that paleness which is like the transparency of a divine life in an earthly face.... A soul standing in the dawn.--_By Order of the King._

He looked at her, and saw nothing but her. This is love; one may be carried away for a moment by the importunity of some other idea, but the beloved one enters, and all that does not appertain to her presence immediately fades away, without her dreaming that perhaps she is effacing in us a world.--_By Order of the King._

She walked on with a light and free step, so little suggestive of the burden of life that it might easily be seen that she was young. Her movements possessed that subtle grace which indicates the most delicate of all transitions--the soft intermingling, as it-were, of two twilights,--the passage from the condition of a child to that of womanhood.--_Toilers of the Sea._

She had never been pretty, but her whole life, which had been but a succession of pious works, had eventually cast over her a species of whiteness and brightness, and in growing older she had acquired what may be called the beauty of goodness. What had been thinness in her youth had became in her maturity transparency, and through this transparency the angel could be seen.--_Les Misérables._

A ray of happiness was visible upon her face. Never had she appeared more beautiful. Her features were remarkable for prettiness rather than what is called beauty. Their fault, if fault it be, lay in a certain excess of grace.... The ideal virgin is the transfiguration of a face like this. Dèruchette, touched by her sorrow and love, seemed to have caught that higher and more holy expression. It was the difference between the field daisy and the lily.--_Toilers of the Sea._

The glance of a woman resembles certain wheels which are apparently gentle but are formidable.... You come, you go, you dream, you speak, you laugh, and all in a minute you feel yourself caught, and it is all over with you. The wheel holds you, the glance has caught you.--_Les Misérables._

She had listened to nothing, but mothers hear certain things without listening.--_Ninety-Three._

She was really a respectable, firm, equitable, and just person, full of that charity which consists in giving, but not possessing to the same extent the charity which comprehends and pardons.--_Les Misérables._

She seemed a vision scarcely embodied; ... in her fairness, which amounted almost to serenity of her look; ... in the sacred innocence of her smile, she was almost an angel, and yet just a woman.--_By Order of the King._

The girl becomes a maiden, fresh and joyous as the lark. Noting her movements, we feel as if it were good of her not to fly away. The dear familiar companion moves at her own sweet will about the house; flits from branch to branch, or rather from room to room; goes to and fro; approaches and retires.... She asks a question and is answered; is asked something in return, and chirps a reply. It is delightful to chat with her when tired of serious talk; for this creature carries with her something of her skyey element. She is, as it were, a thread of gold interwoven with your sombre thoughts; you feel almost grateful to her for her kindness in not making herself invisible, when it would be so easy for her to be even impalpable; for the beautiful is a necessity of life. There is in the world no function more important than that of being charming.... To shed joy around, to radiate happiness, to cast light upon dark days, to be the golden thread of our destiny, and the very spirit of grace and harmony, is not this to render a service?--_Toilers of the Sea._

She scarcely knew, perhaps, the meaning of the word love, and yet not unwillingly ensnared those about her in the toils.--_Toilers of the Sea._

She stopped. She walked back a few paces, stopped again; she inclined her head, with those thoughtful eyes which look attentive yet see nothing.... Her lowered eyelids had that vague contraction which suggests a tear checked in its course, or a thought suppressed.... Her face, which might inspire adoration, seemed meditative, like portraits of the Virgin.--_Toilers of the Sea._

She broke the bread into two fragments, and gave them to the children, who ate with avidity. "She has kept none for herself," grumbled the sergeant. "Because she is not hungry," said a soldier. "Because she is a mother," said the sergeant.--_Ninety-Three._

Extreme simplicity touches on extreme coquetry.... They did not speak, they did not bow, they did not know each other, but they met; and like the stars in the heavens, they lived by looking at each other. It was thus that she gradually became a woman, and was developed into a beautiful and loving woman, conscious of her beauty and ignorant of her love. She was a coquette into the bargain, through her innocence.--_Les Misérables._

Does not beauty confer a benefit upon us, even by the simple fact of being beautiful?--Here and there we meet with one who possesses that fairy-like power of enchanting all about her; sometimes she is ignorant herself of this magical influence, which is, however, for that reason only the more perfect. Her presence lights up the home; her approach is like cheerful warmth; she passes by, and we are content; she stays awhile, and we are happy.--_Toilers of the Sea._

To behold her is to live; she is the Aurora with a human face. She has no need to do more than simply to be, she makes an Eden of the house; Paradise breathes from her: and she communicates this delight to all, without taking any greater trouble than that of existing beside them. Is it not a thing divine to have a smile which, none know how, has the power to lighten the weight of that enormous chain which all the living, in common, drag behind them?--_Toilers of the Sea._

On the day when a woman who passes before you emits light as she walks you are lost, for you love. You have from that moment but one thing to do: think of her so intently that she will be compelled to think of you.--_Les Misérables._

The soul only needs to see a smile in a white crêpe bonnet in order to enter the palace of dreams.--_Les Misérables._

She had upon her lips almost the light of a smile, with the fulness of tears in her eyes.... The reflection of an angel was in her look.--_Toilers of the Sea._

ROBERT BROWNING.

There is a vision in the heart of each Of justice, mercy, wisdom, tenderness To wrong and pain, and knowledge of its cure: And these embodied in a woman's form That best transmits them, pure as first received, From God above her, to mankind below.

_Colombe's Birthday._

This woman ... ... Being true, devoted, constant--she Found constancy, devotion, truth, the plain And easy commonplace of character.

_The Inn Album._

... The good and tender heart, Its girl's trust and its woman's constancy, How pure yet passionate, how calm yet kind, How grave yet joyous, how reserved yet free As light where friends are--how imbued with lore The world most prizes, yet the simplest. * * * * * Herself creates The want she means to satisfy.

_A Blot on the 'Scutcheon._

Truly, the woman's way High to lift heart up.

_Agamemnon._

And Michal's face Still wears that quiet and peculiar light Like the dim circlet floating 'round a pearl. * * * * * And yet her calm sweet countenance, Though saintly, was not sad; for she would sing Alone ... bird-like, Not dreaming you were near.--Her carols dropt In flakes through that old leafy bower.

_Paracelsus._

... Such a lady, cheeks so round and lips so red,-- On her neck the small face buoyant like a bell-flower on its bed.

_Lyric._

There's a woman like a dew-drop, she's so purer than the purest; And her noble heart's the noblest, yes, and her sure faith's the surest; And her eyes are dark and humid, like the depth on depth of lustre Hid i' the harebell, while her tresses, sunnier than the wild-grape cluster, Gush in golden-tinted plenty down her neck's rose-misted marble; Then her voice's music ... call it the well's bubbling, the bird's warble!

_A Blot on the 'Scutcheon._

How twinks thine eye, my Love, Blue as yon star-beam.

_Ferishtah's Fancies._

That flower-like love of hers; * * * * * She was true--she only of them all! True to her eyes, ... those glorious eyes. * * * * * With truth and purity go other gifts. All gifts come clustering to that.

_The Return of the Druses._

Good as beautiful is she, With gifts that match her goodness, no faint flaw I' the white;--she were the pearl you think you saw.

_Daniel Bartoli._

Since beneath my roof Housed she who made home heaven, in heaven's behoof I went forth every day, and all day long Worked for the world. Look, how the laborer's song Cheers him! Thus sang my soul, at each sharp throe Of laboring flesh and blood--"She loves me so!"

_A Forgiveness._

It is conspicuous in a woman's nature Before its view to take a grace for granted: Too trustful,--on her boundary, usurpature Is swftly made; But swftly, too, decayed, The glory perishes by woman vaunted.

_Agamemnon._

That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers; And the blue eye Dear and dewy, And that infantine fresh air of hers! * * * * * Eyes and mouth too, All the face composed of flowers.... * * * * * ... The sweet face ... Be its beauty Its sole duty!

_A Pretty Woman._

Women hate a debt as Men a gift.

_In a Balcony._

A pretty woman's worth some pains to see, Nor is she spoiled, I take it, if a crown Complete the forehead pale and tresses pure.

_Colombe's Birthday._

Sure, 'tis no woman's part to long for battle; * * * * * Who conquers mildly God from afar benignantly regardeth.

_Agamemnon._

Man's best and woman's worse Amount so nearly to the same thing.

_Daniel Bartoli._

Nature's law ... Given the peerless woman, certainly Somewhere shall be the peerless man to match.

_The Inn Album._

Show me where's the woman won without The help of one lie which she believes-- That--never mind how things have come to pass, And let who loves have loved a thousand times-- All the same he now loves her only, loves Her ever....

_The Inn Album._

Girl with sparkling eyes.... * * * * * What an angelic mystery you are-- * * * * * You have a full fresh joyous sense of life That finds you out life's fit food everywhere; * * * * * By joyance you inspire joy.

_The Inn Album._

Now makes twice That I have seen her, walked and talked With the poor pretty thoughtful thing, Whose worth I weigh; she tries to sing: Draws, hopes in time the eye grows nice; Reads verse and thinks she understands; Loves all, at any rate, that's great, Good, beautiful....

_Dis Aliter Visum._

Wave my lady dear a last farewell, Lamenting who to one and all of us Domestics was a mother, myriad harms She used to ward away from every one, And mollify her husband's ireful mood.

_Balaustion's Adventure._

Men? say you have the power To make them yours, rule men, throughout life's little hour, According to the phrase: what follows? Men, you make, By ruling them, your own; each man for his own sake Accepts you as his guide, avails him of what worth He apprehends in you to sublimate his earth With fire; content, if so you convey him through night, That you shall play the sun, and he, the satellite, Pilfer your light and heat and virtue, starry pelf, While, caught up by your course, he turns upon himself.

_Fifine at the Fair._

Any sort of woman may bestow Her atom on the star, or clod she counts for such,-- Each little making less bigger by just that much. Women grow you, while men depend on you at best.

_Fifine at the Fair._

Woman, and will you cast For a word, quite off at last Me your own, your You,-- Love, if you knew the light That your soul casts in my sight, How I look to you For the pure and true, And the beauteous and the right,-- Bear with a moment's spite When a mere mote threats the white!

_A Lover's Quarrel._

Love, you did give all I asked, I think-- More than I merit, yes, by many times. And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth, But had you--oh, with the same perfect brow, And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird The fowler's pipe, and follows to the snare-- Had you, with these the same, but brought a mind! Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged, "God and the glory! never care for gain; The present by the future, what is that? Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo! Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three!" I might have done it for you. So it seems; Perhaps not. All is as God overrules.

_Andrea Del Sarto._

All women love great men If young or old; it is in all the tales; Young beauties love old poets who can love-- * * * * * Who was a queen and loved a poet once Humpbacked, a dwarf? ah, women can do that!

_In a Balcony._

For women There is no good of life but love--but love! What else looks good, is some shade flung from love; Love gilds it, gives it worth. Be warned by me. Never you cheat yourself one instant! Love, Give love, ask only love, and leave the rest!

_In a Balcony._

Oh, the beautiful girl ... ... Her flesh was the soft seraphic screen Of a soul that is meant ... To just see earth, and hardly be seen, And blossom in heaven instead. Yet earth saw one thing, one how fair? One grace that grew to its full ... ... She had her great gold hair.

Hair, such a wonder of flix and floss, Freshness and fragrance--floods of it, too! Gold, did I say? Nay, gold's mere dross!

_Gold Hair._

She had A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad, Too easily impressed: she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. * * * * * 'Twas all one! My favour at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her,--all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush at least ... ... Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling?

_My Last Duchess._

W. M. THACKERAY.

To be doing good for some one else, is the life of most good women. They are exuberant of kindness, as it were, and must impart it to some one.--_Henry Esmond._

Who ever accused women of being just? They are always sacrificing themselves or somebody for somebody else's sake.--_Pendennis._

I think it is not national prejudice which makes me believe that a high-bred English lady is the most complete of all Heaven's subjects in this world. In whom else do you see so much grace, and so much virtue; so much faith, and so much tenderness; with such a perfect refinement and chastity? And by high-bred ladies I don't mean duchesses and countesses. Be they ever so high in station, they can be but ladies, and no more. But almost every man who lives in the world has the happiness, let us hope, of counting a few such persons amongst his circle of acquaintance,--women, in whose angelical natures there is something awful, as well as beautiful, to contemplate; at whose feet the wildest and fiercest of us must fall down and humble ourselves, in admiration of that adorable purity which never seems to do or to think wrong.--_Pendennis._

What kind-hearted woman, young or old, does not love match-making?--_The Newcomes._

Who does not know how ruthlessly women will tyrannize when they are let to domineer? And who does not know how useless advice is?... A man gets his own experience about women, and will take nobody's hearsay; nor, indeed, is the young fellow worth a fig that would.--_Henry Esmond._

Stupid! Why not? Some women ought to be stupid. What you call dullness I call repose. Give me a calm woman, a slow woman,--a lazy, majestic woman. Show me a gracious virgin bearing a lily; not a leering giggler frisking a rattle. A lively woman would be the death of me.... Why shouldn't the Sherrick be stupid, I say? About great beauty there should always reign a silence. As you look at the great stars, the great ocean, any great scene of nature, you hush, sir. You laugh at a pantomime, but you are still in a temple. When I saw the great Venus of the Louvre, I thought,--Wert thou alive, O goddess, thou shouldst never open those lovely lips but to speak lowly, slowly; thou shouldst never descend from that pedestal but to walk stately to some near couch, and assume another attitude of beautiful calm. To be beautiful is enough. If a woman can do that well; who shall demand more from her? You don't want a rose to sing. And I think wit is as out of place where there's great beauty; as I wouldn't have a queen to cut jokes on her throne.--_The Newcomes._

And so it is,--a pair of bright eyes with a dozen glances suffice to subdue a man; to enslave him, and inflame him; to make him even forget; they dazzle him so that the past becomes straightway dim to him; and he would give all his life to possess 'em.--_Henry Esmond._