Eloisa · Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Letter LXXXVI. To Eloisa.
My enquiries had no sooner taken this turn, than I began to discover a thousand advantageous particulars in the very women who before appeared so insupportable. Indeed all strangers are agreed, that, provided you exclude the fashionable topic, there is no country in the world whose women have more knowledge, talk more sensibly, with more judgment, and are more capable of giving advice. If from the Spanish, Italian, or German ladies, we should take the jargon of gallantry and wit, what would there remain of their conversation? and you, my Eloisa, are not ignorant how it is in general with our country-women. But if, with a French woman, humour to reject it. I perceived also that their natural graces began insensibly to efface the artificial airs of the city: for, without design, our manner is generally influenced by the nature of our discourse: it is impossible to introduce much coquettish grimace in a rational conversation. They appeared much more handsome after they grew indifferent about it, and I perceived, that if they would please, they need only throw off their affectation. Hence, I am apt to conclude, that Paris, the pretended seat of taste, is of all places in the world, that in which there is the least; since all their methods of pleasing are destructive of real beauty. Thus we continued together four or five days, satisfied with each other, and with ourselves. Instead of satirising Paris and its innumerable follies, we forgot both the city and its inhabitants. Our whole care was to promote the happiness of our little society. We wanted no ill-natured wit or sarcasm to excite our mirth, but our laughter, like your cousin’s, was the effect of good humour.
I had yet another reason to be confirmed in my good opinion of these females. Frequently in the very midst of our enjoyment, a person would come in abruptly and whisper the lady of the house. She left the room, shut herself up in her closet, and continued writing a considerable time. It was natural to suppose, that her heart was engaged in this correspondence; and of this one of the company gave a hint, which, however, was not very graciously received; a proof at least, that though she might possibly have no lovers, she was not without friends. But, judge of my surprize, when I was informed that these supposed Parisian suitors were no other than the unhappy peasants of the parish, who came in their tribulation to implore the protection of their lady; one being unjustly taxed, another enrolled in the militia, regardless of his age and family, a third groaning under a lawsuit with a powerful neighbour, a fourth ruined by a storm of hail, was going to be dragged to prison. In short, each had some petition to make, each was patiently heard, and the time we supposed to be spent in an amorous correspondence, was employed in writing letters in favour of these unhappy sufferers. It is impossible to conceive how I was astonished to find with what delight, and with how little ostentation, this young, this gay woman, performed these charitable offices of humanity. Oh, says I to myself, if she were even Eloisa, she could not act otherwise! From that moment I continued to regard her with respect, and all her faults vanished.
My enquiries had no sooner taken this turn, than I began to discover a thousand advantageous particulars in the very women who before appeared so insupportable. Indeed all strangers are agreed, that, provided you exclude the fashionable topic, there is no country in the world whose women have more knowledge, talk more sensibly, with more judgment, and are more capable of giving advice. If from the Spanish, Italian, or German ladies, we should take the jargon of gallantry and wit, what would there remain of their conversation? and you, my Eloisa, are not ignorant how it is in general with our country-women. But if, with a French woman, a man has resolution to sacrifice his pretensions to gallantry, and to draw her out of that favourite fortress, she will then make a virtue of necessity, and arming herself with reason, will fight manfully in the open field. With regard to their goodness of heart. I will not instance their zeal to serve their friends; for, as with the rest of mankind, that may partly proceed from self-love. But, though they generally love no body but themselves, long habit will frequently produce in them the effects of a sincere friendship. Those who have constancy enough to support an attachment of ten years, commonly continue it to the end of their lives, and they will then love their old friends with more tenderness, at least with more fidelity than their new lovers.
One common accusation against the women of France is, that they do every thing, and consequently more evil than good; but it may be observed in their justification, that in doing evil they are stimulated by the men, and in doing good are actuated by their own principles. This does not in any ways contradict what I said before, that the heart has no concern in the commerce between the two sexes; for the gallantry of the French has given to the women an universal power, which stands in no need of tenderness to support it. Every thing depends upon the ladies; all things are done by them or for them; Olympus and Parnassus, glory and fortune, are equally subject to their laws. Neither books nor authors have any other value or esteem than that which the ladies are pleased to allow them. There is no appeal from their decree in matters of the nicest judgment or most trivial taste. Poetry, criticism, history, philosophy, are all calculated for the ladies, and even the bible itself has lately been metamorphosed into a polite romance. In public affairs, their influence arises from their natural ascendency over their husbands, not because they are their husbands, but because they are men, and it would be monstrous for a man to refuse any thing to a lady, even though she were his wife.
Yet this authority implies neither attachment nor esteem, but merely politeness and compliance with custom; for it is as essential to French gallantry to despise the women as to oblige them; and this contempt is taken as a proof, that a man has seen enough of the world to know the sex. Whoever treats them with respect is deemed a novice, a knight-errant, one who has known woman only in romances. They judge so equitably of themselves, that to honour them is to forfeit their esteem; so that the principal requisite in a man of gallantry is superlative impertinence. Let the ladies of this country pretend what they will, they are, in spite of themselves, extremely good-natured. All men who are burthened with a multiplicity of affairs, are difficult of access, and without commiseration; and in Paris, the center of business of one of the most considerable nations in Europe, the men of consequence are particularly obdurate: those, therefore, who have any thing to ask, naturally apply to the ladies, whose ears are never shut against the unhappy; they console and serve them. In the midst of all their frivolous dissipation, they do not scruple to steal a few moments from their pleasure, and devote them to acts of benevolence; and though there may be some women mean enough to make an infamous traffic of their services, there are hundreds, on the contrary, who are daily employed in charitably assisting the distressed. However, it must be confessed, that they are sometimes so indiscreet, as to ruin an unfortunate man they happen not to know, in order to serve their own friend. But how is it possible to know every body in so extensive a country? or how can more be expected from good-nature destitute of real virtue, whose sublimest effort is not so much to do good, as to avoid evil? After all, it must be allowed that their inclinations are not naturally bad; that they do a great deal of good; that they do it from their hearts; that they alone preserve the remains of humanity, which are still to be found in Paris; and that without them, we should see the men avaricious and insatiable, like wolves devouring each other.
I should have remained ignorant of all this, if I had not consulted their comedies and romances, whose authors are, perhaps, too apt to stumble upon those foibles from which they themselves are not exempt, rather than the virtues they happen not to possess; who, instead of encouraging their readers by praising their real virtues, amuse themselves with painting imaginary characters too perfect for imitation. Romances are perhaps the last vehicle of instruction that can be administered to a corrupt people. It were to be wished that none were suffered to prepare this medicine but men of honest principles and true sensibility; authors, whose writings should be a picture of their own hearts; who, instead of fixing virtue in the heavens, beyond the reach of our nature, would, by smoothing the way, insensibly tempt us out of the gulph of vice. But to return to the Parisian ladies; concerning whom, I do not by any means agree in the common opinion. They are universally allowed to have the most enchanting address, the most seducing manner, to be the most refined coquets, to possess the most sublime gallantry, and the art of pleasing to a most superlative degree. For my part, I think their address shocking, their coquettish airs disgusting, and their manner extremely immodest. I should imagine that the heart would shrink back at all their advances, and I can never be persuaded, that they can for a single moment, talk of love, without shewing themselves incapable of either feeling or inspiring that tender passion.
On the other hand, we find them represented frivolous, artful, false, thoughtless, inconstant, talking well, but without reflection or sentiment, and evaporating all their merit in idle chit-chat. But to me, all this appears to be as external as their hoops or _rouge_. They are a kind of fashionable vices, which are supposed necessary at Paris, but which are not incompatible with sense, reason, humanity and good-nature. These ladies are, in many cases, more discreet, and less given to tattling than those of any other country. They are better instructed, and the things they are taught have a stronger effect upon their judgment. In short, if I dislike them for having disfigured the proper characteristics of their sex, I esteem them for those virtues in which they resemble us; and, my opinion is, that they are better calculated to be men of merit, than amiable women. One word more and I have done. If Eloisa had never been, if my heart had been capable of any other attachment than that for which it was created, I should never have taken a wife or mistress in Paris; but I should gladly have chosen a friend, and such a treasure might possibly have consoled me for the want of the others. [33]
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.