WOMAN’S LOVE.
Reading edition
What a gift, or rather what a fatal necessity is the temperament which leads to the living out of one’s self, and becoming bound up in the existence of another, over whose will, passions, and conduct, one has no controul! This faculty of devotedness is, I suspect, peculiar to females. It is quite possible that a woman, to whom honour and reputation are dearer than life, should risk them a thousand times for the man she loves (particularly if he be her husband), to save his life and honour. The attachment of a man, however strong and tender, would not reach this. We women love the person beyond all abstract principle; and the error (for it is an error in morals) is seated in the organization which makes us wives and mothers. Men love principles, and even prejudices, more than the persons they love best; that is, they love themselves best of all, and love themselves in that point of honour on which the world’s opinion depends.
“I could not love thee, dear, so well, Loved I not honour more.”
Ah! this “honour more!”
Every woman has not the “cœur aimant” of Julie: women of gallantry never,—coquettes and prudes rarely. Still, woman may be defined a loving animal, and tant pis pour elle.