The Art of Seduction (31 page)

she raised the same old subject: his youth would make his love for her a
he had begun that he did
passing fancy. Instead of denying it he looked dejected, and continued to
finish, and she to boot,
keep a polite distance, so that she finally exclaimed, with obvious irony, "If
with such content as that
after taking three or four

it were known that you were here with my consent, that I had voluntarily
turns up and down the
arranged it with you . . . what might not people say? And yet how wrong
alley, they did presently
they would be, for no one could be more respectful than you are." Goaded
start afresh. Anon, coming
into action, Meilcour grabbed her hand and looked her in the eye. She
forth into another, open,
alley, they did see in

blushed and told him he should go, but the way she arranged herself on the
another part of the garden
sofa and looked back at him suggested he should do the opposite. Yet Meil-
the other pair, who were
cour still hesitated: she had told him to go, and if he disobeyed she might
walking about together just
as they had left them at

cause a scene, and might never forgive him; he would have made a fool of
first. Whereupon the lady,
himself, and everyone, including his mother, would hear of it. He soon got
well content, did say to the
up, apologizing for his momentary boldness. Her astonished and somewhat
gentleman in the like
condition, "I verily believe

cold look meant he had indeed gone too far, he imagined, and he said
so and so hath played the
goodbye and left.

silly prude, and hath given

his lady no other

entertainment but only

Meilcour and Madame de Lursay appear in the novel
The Wayward Head
words, fine speeches, and

and Heart,
written in 1738 by Crébillon fils, who based his characters on
promenading."
•
Afterward
libertines he knew in the France of the time. For Crébillon fils, seduction is
when all four were come
all about signs—about being able to send them and read them. This is not
together, the two ladies did

fall to asking one another

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The Art of Seduction

how it had fared with each.

because sexuality is repressed and requires speaking in code. It is rather be
Then the one which was
cause wordless communication (through clothes, gestures, actions) is the
well content did reply she

most pleasurable, exciting, and seductive form of language.

was exceeding well, indeed

she was; indeed for the

In Crébillon fils's novel, Madame de Lursay is an ingenious seductress
nonce she could scarce be

who finds it exciting to initiate young men. But even she cannot overcome
better. The other, which

the youthful stupidity of Meilcour, who is incapable of reading her signs
was ill content, did declare

for her part she had had to
because he is absorbed in his own thoughts. Later in the story, she does
do with the biggest fool and

manage to educate him, but in real life there are many who cannot be
most coward lover she had

educated. They are too literal and insensitive to the details that contain
ever seen; and all the time

seductive power. They do not so much repel as irritate and infuriate you
the two gentlemen could

see them laughing together

by their constant misinterpretations, always viewing life from behind
as they walked and crying

the screen of their ego and unable to see things as they really are. Meilcour
out: " O h ! the silly fool!

is so caught up in himself he cannot see that Madame is expecting him to
the shamefaced poltroon

and coward!" At this the

make the bold move to which she will have to succumb. His hesitation
successful gallant said to his

shows that he is thinking of himself, not of her; that he is worrying about
companion: "Hark to our

how he will look, not feeling overwhelmed by her charms. Nothing could
ladies, which do cry out at

you, and mock you sore.

be more anti-seductive. Recognize such types, and if they are past the
You will find you have

young age that would give them an excuse, do not entangle yourself in
overplayed the prude and

their awkwardness—they will infect you with doubt.

coxcomb this bout." So

much he did allow; but

there was no more time to

remedy his error, for

4.
In the Heian court of late-tenth-century Japan, the young nobleman
opportunity gave him

Kaoru, purported son of the great seducer Genji himself, had had nothing
no other handle to seize

her by.

but misfortune in love. He had become infatuated with a young princess,

— S E I G N E U R DE BRANTÔME,

Oigimi, who lived in a dilapidated home in the countryside, her father
LIVES OF FAIR & GALLANT

having fallen on hard times. Then one day he had an encounter with

LADIES,
TRANSLATED BY A. R..

Oigimi's sister, Nakanokimi, that convinced him she was the one he actuALLINSON

ally loved. Confused, he returned to court, and did not visit the sisters for some time. Then their father died, followed shortly thereafter by Oigimi herself.

Now Kaoru realized his mistake: he had loved Oigimi all along, and she had died out of despair that he did not care for her. He would never meet her like again; she was all he could think about. When Nakanokimi, her father and sister dead, came to live at court, Kaoru had the house where Oigimi and her family had lived turned into a shrine.

One day, Nakanokimi, seeing the melancholy into which Kaoru had

fallen, told him that there was a third sister, Ukifune, who resembled his beloved Oigimi and lived hidden away in the countryside. Kaoru came to life—perhaps he had a chance to redeem himself, to change the past. But how could he meet this woman? There came a time when he visited the shrine to pay his respects to the departed Oigimi, and heard that the mysterious Ukifune was there as well. Agitated and excited, he managed to catch a glimpse of her through the crack in a door. The sight of her took his breath away: although she was a plain-looking country girl, in Kaoru's eyes she was the living incarnation of Oigimi. Her voice, meanwhile, was like
The Anti-Seducer • 141

the voice of Nakanokimi, whom he had loved as well. Tears welled up in his eyes.

A few months later Kaoru managed to find the house in the mountains where Ukifune lived. He visited her there, and she did not disappoint. "I once had a glimpse of you through a crack in a door," he told her, and

"you have been very much on my mind ever since." Then he picked her up in his arms and carried her to a waiting carriage. He was taking her back to the shrine, and the journey there brought back to him the image of

Oigimi; again his eyes clouded with tears. Looking at Ukifune, he silently compared her to Oigimi—her clothes were less nice but she had beautiful hair.

When Oigimi was alive, she and Kaoru had played the koto together,

so once at the shrine he had kotos brought out. Ukifune did not play as well as Oigimi had, and her manners were less refined. Not to worry—he would give her lessons, change her into a lady. But then, as he had done with Oigimi, Kaoru returned to court, leaving Ukifune languishing at the shrine. Some time passed before he visited her again; she had improved, was more beautiful than before, but he could not stop thinking of Oigimi. Once again he left her, promising to bring her to court, but more weeks passed, and finally he received the news that Ukifune had disappeared, last seen heading toward a river. She had most likely committed suicide. At the funeral ceremony for Ukifune, Kaoru was wracked with guilt:

why had he not come for her earlier? She deserved a better fate.

Kaoru and the others appear in the eleventh-century Japanese novel
The
Tale of Genji,
by the noblewoman Murasaki Shikibu. The characters are based on people the author knew, but Kaoru's type appears in every culture and period: these are men and women who seem to be searching for an ideal partner. The one they have is never quite right; at first glance a person excites them, but they soon see faults, and when a new person crosses their path, he or she looks better and the first person is forgotten. These types often try to work on the imperfect mortal who has excited them, to improve them culturally and morally. But this proves extremely unsatisfactory for both parties.

The truth about this type is not that they are searching for an ideal but that they are hopelessly unhappy with themselves. You may mistake their dissatisfaction for a perfectionist's high standards, but in point of fact nothing will really satisfy them, for their unhappiness is deep-rooted. You can recognize them by their past, which will be littered with short-lived, stormy romances. Also, they will tend to compare you to others, and to try to remake you. You may not realize at first what you have gotten into, but people like this will eventually prove hopelessly anti-seductive because they cannot see your individual qualities. Cut the romance off before it happens. These types are closet sadists and will torture you with their unreachable goals.

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5.
In 1762, in the city of Turin, Italy, Giovanni Giacomo Casanova made the acquaintance of one Count A.B., a Milanese gentleman who seemed to like him enormously. The count had fallen on hard times and Casanova lent him some money. In gratitude, the count invited Casanova to stay with him and his wife in Milan. His wife, he said, was from Barcelona, and was admired far and wide for her beauty. He showed Casanova her letters, which had an intriguing wit; Casanova imagined her as a prize worth seducing. He went to Milan. Arriving at the house of Count A.B., Casanova found that the Spanish lady was certainly beautiful, but that she was also quiet and serious. Something about her bothered him. As he was unpacking his clothes, the countess saw a stunning red dress, trimmed with sable, among his belongings. It was a gift, Casanova explained, for any Milanese lady who won his heart. The following evening at dinner, the countess was suddenly more

friendly, teasing and bantering with Casanova. She described the dress as a bribe—he would use it to persuade a woman to give in to him. On the contrary, said Casanova, he only gave gifts afterward, as tokens of his appreciation. That evening, in a carriage on the way back from the opera, she asked him if a wealthy friend of hers could buy the dress, and when he said no, she was clearly vexed. Sensing her game, Casanova offered to give her the sable dress if she was kind to him. This only made her angry, and they quarreled.

Finally Casanova had had enough of the countess's moods: he sold the dress for 15,000 francs to her wealthy friend, who in turn gave it to her, as she had planned all along. But to prove his lack of interest in money, Casanova told the countess he would give her the 15,000 francs, no strings attached. "You are a very bad man," she said, "but you can stay, you amuse me." She resumed her coquettish manner, but Casanova was not fooled. "It is not my fault, madame, if your charms have so little power over me," he told her. "Here are 15,000 francs to console you." He laid the money on a table and walked out, leaving the countess fuming and vowing revenge. When Casanova first met the Spanish lady, two things about her repelled him. First, her pride: rather than engaging in the give-and-take of seduction, she demanded a man's subjugation. Pride can reflect self-assurance, signaling that you will not abase yourself before others. Just as often, though, it stems from an inferiority complex, which demands that others abase themselves before you. Seduction requires an openness to the other person, a willingness to bend and adapt. Excessive pride, without anything to justify it, is highly anti-seductive.

The second quality that disgusted Casanova was the countess's greed: her coquettish little games were designed only to get the dress—she had no interest in romance. For Casanova, seduction was a lighthearted game that people played for their mutual amusement. In his scheme of things, it was fine if a woman wanted money and gifts as well; he could understand that desire, and he was a generous man. But he also felt that this was a desire a
The Anti-Seducer
•
143

woman should disguise—she should create the impression that what she was after was pleasure. The person who is obviously angling for money or other material reward can only repel. If that is your intention, if you are looking for something other than pleasure—for money, for power—never show it. The suspicion of an ulterior motive is anti-seductive. Never let anything break the illusion.

6.
In 1868, Queen Victoria of England hosted her first private meeting with the country's new prime minister, William Gladstone. She had met him before, and knew his reputation as a moral absolutist, but this was to be a ceremony, an exchange of pleasantries. Gladstone, however, had no patience for such things. At that first meeting he explained to the queen his theory of royalty: the queen, he believed, had to play an exemplary role in England—a role she had lately failed to live up to, for she was overly private.

This lecture set a bad tone for the future, and things only got worse: soon Victoria was receiving letters from Gladstone, addressing the subject in even greater depth. Half of them she never bothered to read, and soon she was doing everything she could to avoid contact with the leader of her government; if she had to see him, she made the meeting as brief as possible. To that end, she never allowed him to sit down in her presence, hoping that a man his age would soon tire and leave. For once he got going on a subject dear to his heart, he did not notice your look of disinterest or the tears in your eyes from yawning. His memoranda on even the simplest of issues would have to be translated into plain English for her by a member of her staff. Worst of all, Gladstone argued with her, and his arguments had a way of making her feel stupid. She soon learned to nod her head and appear to agree with whatever abstract point he was trying to make. In a letter to her secretary, referring to herself in the third person, she wrote, "She always felt in [Gladstone's] manner an overbearing obstinacy and imperiousness . . . which she never experienced from
anyone
else, and which she found most disagreeable." Over the years, these feelings hardened into an unwaning hatred.