iest people on earth, simply because of their artistic temperament,
which makes them take all their pleasures in discreet moderation, like
epicures, and, by making the companionship of man and woman most
pleasant and attractive, enables them to enjoy domestic relations in
all their beautiful fulness.

But, some people will say, is not an artistic temperament conducive
to unfaithfulness? Will not a man with an artistic temperament, for
example, constantly have new 'artistic' aspirations, and constantly
fall in love with beauty? Not at all necessarily. If you will allow
me to repeat an expression, of which I cannot say I am particularly
proud, but the truth of which I insist on, that woman is a beautiful
instrument and man a good or a bad instrumentalist, I will answer: No,
not at all necessarily. I am not aware that Sarasate or Joachim require
more than one violin to give their marvellous performances on, and I
know that when Paderewski goes on tour, he insists on always playing on
the same piano, which follows him everywhere.

It is not only on moral but on artistic grounds that I object to
polygamy, and that I advocate monotony--I mean monogamy. And on this
subject another question might be put: Should a woman prefer to marry a
man to whom woman is an enigma? I know that most people who belong to
the retinue of Mrs. Grundy will at once exclaim: Most decidedly a woman
should expect to find the man as he expects to find her. There goes
again the old saying: 'What is good for the goose should be good for
the gander.'

Well, there is something in that; but when I consider that the whole
happiness of a married life may depend on the start, I would fain
reply: Remember that the first time a man whispers words of love he is
a fearful stammerer.

Mrs. Grundy is a very moral person for whom I cannot help feeling some
respect; but she is the cause of a great deal of happiness being missed
in Anglo-Saxon lands. My greatest grudge against that lady is that she
is the bitter, implacable enemy of the artistic, the beautiful, and the
truthful, of which she has succeeded in denuding art, literature, and
life itself. Anglo-Saxon intelligence--'the intellectuals,' as we call
them in France, are dead against her, loathe her, but the masses of the
people are crawling on their knees before her. All the conventionalities
of English life have been invented to suit her tastes, and to please
her the most innocent pleasures have had to be t