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All this is not without its meaning； my dear。 I wish to fill the place
of society to my husband； now society is amusing； and therefore his
solitude must not be allowed to pall on him。 I believed myself jealous
in the old days； when I merely allowed myself to be loved； now I know
real jealousy； the jealousy of the lover。 A single indifferent glance
unnerves me。 From time to time I say to myself； 〃Suppose he ceased to
love me！〃 And a shudder goes through me。 I tremble before him； as the
Christian before his God。
Alas！ Renee； I am still without a child。 The time will surely comeit
must comewhen our hermitage will need a father's and a mother's care
to brighten it； when we shall both pine to see the little frocks and
pelisses； the brown or golden heads； leaping； running through our
shrubberies and flowery paths。 Oh！ it is a cruel jest of Nature's； a
flowering tree that bears no fruit。 The thought of your lovely
children goes through me like a knife。 My life has grown narrower；
while yours has expanded and shed its rays afar。 The passion of love
is essentially selfish； while motherhood widens the circle of our
feelings。 How well I felt this difference when I read your kind；
tender letter！ To see you thus living in three hearts roused my envy。
Yes； you are happy； you have had wisdom to obey the laws of social
life； whilst I stand outside； an alien。
Children； dear and loving children； can alone console a woman for the
loss of her beauty。 I shall soon be thirty； and at that age the dirge
within begins。 What though I am still beautiful； the limits of my
woman's reign are none the less in sight。 When they are reached； what
then？ I shall be forty before he is； I shall be old while he is still
young。 When this thought goes to my heart； I lie at his feet for an
hour at a time； making him swear to tell me instantly if ever he feels
his love diminishing。
But he is a child。 He swears； as though the mere suggestion were an
absurdity； and he is so beautiful thatRenee； you understandI
believe him。
Good…bye； sweet one。 Shall we ever again let years pass without
writing？ Happiness is a monotonous theme； and that is； perhaps； the
reason why； to souls who love； Dante appears even greater in the
/Paradiso/ than in the /Inferno/。 I am not Dante； I am only your
friend； and I don't want to bore you。 You can write； for in your
children you have an ever…growing； every…varying source of happiness；
while mine 。 。 。 No more of this。 A thousand loves。
LIII
MME。 DE L'ESTORADE TO MME。 GASTON
My dear Louise；I have read and re…read your letter； and the more
deeply I enter into its spirit； the clearer does it become to me that
it is the letter； not of a woman； but of a child。 You are the same old
Louise； and you forget； what I used to repeat over and over again to
you； that the passion of love belongs rightly to a state of nature；
and has only been purloined by civilization。 So fleeting is its
character； that the resources of society are powerless to modify its
primitive condition； and it becomes the effort of all noble minds to
make a man of the infant Cupid。 But； as you yourself admit； such love
ceases to be natural。
Society； my dear abhors sterility； but substituting a lasting
sentiment for the mere passing frenzy of nature； it has succeeded in
creating that greatest of all human inventionsthe family； which is
the enduring basis of all organized society。 To the accomplishment of
this end； it has sacrificed the individual； man as well as woman； for
we must not shut our eyes to the fact that a married man devotes his
energy； his power； and all his possession to his wife。 Is it not she
who reaps the benefit of all his care？ For whom； if not for her； are
the luxury and wealth； the position and distinction； the comfort and
the gaiety of the home？
Oh！ my sweet； once again you have taken the wrong turning in life。 To
be adored is a young girl's dream； which may survive a few
springtimes； it cannot be that of the mature woman； the wife and
mother。 To a woman's vanity it is； perhaps； enough to know that she
can command adoration if she likes。 If you would live the life of a
wife and mother； return； I beg of you； to Paris。 Let me repeat my
warning： It is not misfortune which you have to dread； as others do
it is happiness。
Listen to me； my child！ It is the simple things of lifebread； air；
silenceof which we do not tire； they have no piquancy which can
create distaste； it is highly…flavored dishes which irritate the
palate； and in the end exhaust it。 Were it possible that I should
to…day be loved by a man for whom I could conceive a passion； such as
yours for Gaston； I would still cling to the duties and the children；
who are so dear to me。 To a woman's heart the feelings of a mother are
among the simple； natural； fruitful； and inexhaustible things of life。
I can recall the day； now nearly fourteen years ago； when I embarked
on a life of self…sacrifice with the despair of a shipwrecked mariner
clinging to the mast of his vessel； now； as I invoke the memory of
past years； I feel that I would make the same choice again。 No other
guiding principle is so safe； or leads to such rich reward。 The
spectacle of your life； which； for all the romance and poetry with
which you invest it； still remains based on nothing but a ruthless
selfishness； has helped to strengthen my convictions。 This is the last
time I shall speak to you in this way； but I could not refrain from
once more pleading with you when I found that your happiness had been
proof against the most searching of all trials。
And one more point I must urge on you； suggested by my meditations on
your retirement。 Life； whether of the body or the heart； consists in
certain balanced movements。 Any excess introduced into the working of
this routine gives rise either to pain or to pleasure； both of which
are a mere fever of the soul； bound to be fugitive because nature is
not so framed as to support it long。 But to make of life one long
excess is surely to choose sickness for one's portion。 You are sick
because you maintain at the temperature of passion a feeling which
marriage ought to convert into a steadying； purifying influence。
Yes； my sweet； I see it clearly now； the glory of a home consists in
this very calm； this intimacy； this sharing alike of good and evil；
which the vulgar ridicule。 How noble was the reply of the Duchesse de
Sully； the wife of the great Sully； to some one who remarked that her
husband； for all his grave exterior； did not scruple to keep a
mistress。 〃What of that？〃 she said。 〃I represent the honor of the
house； and should decline to play the part of a courtesan there。〃
But you； Louise； who are naturally more passionate than tender； would
be at once the wife and the mistress。 With the soul of a Heloise and
the passions of a Saint Theresa； you slip the leash on all your
impulses； so long as they are sanctioned by law； in a word； you
degrade the marriage rite。 Surely the tables are turned。 The
reproaches you once heaped on me for immorally； as you said； seizing
the means of happiness from the very outset of my wedded life； might
be directed against yourself for grasping