I am tempted to exclaim here: Oh, you mortals who place too much
reliance upon your virtue, tremble at this example! Whatever may be
your strength, there are, unfortunately, moments when the most
virtuous is the most feeble. The reason for this strange phenomenon
is, that nature is always on the watch; always aiming to attain her
ends. The desire for love is, in a woman, a large part of her nature.
Her virtue is nothing but a piece of patchwork.
The homilies of your estimable Countess may be actually sincere,
although in such cases, a woman always exaggerates, but she deludes
herself if she expects to maintain to the end, sentiments so severe
and so delicate. Fix this fact well in your mind, Marquis, that these
female metaphysicians are not different in their nature from other
women. Their exterior is more imposing, their morals more austere, but
inquire into their acts, and you will discover that their heart
affairs always finish the same as those of women less refined. They
are a species of the "overnice," forming a class of their own, as I
told Queen Christine of Sweden, one day: "They are the Jansenists of
love.
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