Why does a woman desire a man? Why does a man desire a
woman? What is the explanation of that mysterious attraction
which draws the two sexes toward each other?
Will anyone ever be able to explain it? Will anyone be able to
exhaust the subject?
One fact is certain: Even aside from the physiological aspect
of the problem, the effeminate man does not attract a woman;
she makes fun of him, finds him ridiculous. So too the
masculine woman weakens her power of attraction for a man,
and ends by losing it entirely.
The age-old spell which each sex casts upon the other is
closely allied to the fidelity with which each exactly fulfills
its role. If woman copies man and man copies woman, there
can be comradeship but love does not develop. In reality,
they are nothing more than two caricatures, the woman being
degraded to the rank of a man and a second-rate man at that,
and the man to the rank of a manikin in woman's disguise.
The more feminine a woman's soul and bearing, the more
pleasing she is to a man; the more masculine a man's soul
and bearing, the more pleasing he is to a woman.
We do not mean to say that between two poor specimens of
either sex there will never be any casual or even lasting
sexual appeal and experience. But we can hardly, if ever, call
it love. If men and woman are no more than two varieties of
the same sex, a sort of neuter sex, the force which creates
love disappears. Normally, as we say in electrical theory,
opposite charges must exist before any sparks will shoot
forth. Bring into contact two identical charges and there will
be no effect; electricity of opposite polarities must be used;
then and then only will there be reaction.
In the realm of love, the general rule is the same. In fact, man
and woman are two different worlds. And that is as it should
be, so that the eternal secret which each of them encloses
may become the object of the other's desire and stimulate
thirst for a captivating exploration.
That is love's strange power. It brings two secrets face to
face, two closed worlds, two mysteries. And just because it
involves a mystery, it gives rise to limitless fantasies of the
imagination, to embellishments in advance of the reality. So
that
One finally loves all toward which one rows.
Whether that toward which one rows is an enchanted island or
one merely believes it is, what ecstasy!
Comes the meeting, the consecration of the union by
marriage; each brings to the other what the other does not
possess. In the one, delicate modesty and appealing reserve;
in the other, conquering bravery. A couple has been born.
Love has accomplished its prodigy.
Yet, how true it is, that having said all this, we have said
nothing. The reality of love is unfathomable.
Could it be perhaps because it is the most beautiful
masterpiece of God?
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