To attempt to describe woman without this element of our complex nature, which constitutes her peculiar fascination, is like trying to act the tragedy of Hamlet without Hamlet himself,—­an absurdity; a picture without a central figure, a novel without a heroine, a religion without a sacrifice.  My subject is not without its difficulties.  The passion or sentiment I describe is degrading when perverted, as it is exalting when pure.  Yet it is not vice I would paint, but virtue; not weakness, but strength; not the transient, but the permanent; not the mortal, but the immortal,—­all that is ennobling in the aspiring soul.

“Socrates,” says Legouve, “who caught glimpses of everything that he did not clearly define, uttered one day to his disciples these beautiful words:  ’There are two Venuses:  one celestial, called Urania, the heavenly, who presides over all pure and spiritual affections; and the other Polyhymnia, the terrestrial, who excites sensual and gross desires.’” The history of love is the eternal struggle between these two divinities,—­the one seeking to elevate and the other to degrade.  Plato, for the first time, in his beautiful hymn to the Venus Urania, displayed to men the unknown image of love,—­the educator and the moralist,—­so that grateful ages have consecrated it by his name.  Centuries rolled away, and among the descendants of Teutonic barbarians a still lovelier and more ideal sentiment burst out from the lips of the Christian Dante, kindled by the adoration of his departed Beatrice.  And as she courses from star to star, explaining to him the mysteries, the transported poet exclaims:—­

“Ah, all the tongues which the Muses have inspired could not tell the thousandth part of the beauty of the smile of Beatrice as she presented me to the celestial group, exclaiming, ‘Thou art redeemed!’ O woman, in whom lives all my hope, who hast deigned to leave for my salvation thy footsteps on the throne of the Eternal, thou hast redeemed me from slavery to liberty; now earth has no more dangers for me.  I cherish the image of thy purity in my bosom, that in my last hour, acceptable in thine eyes, my soul may leave my body.”

Thus did Dante impersonate the worship of Venus Urania,—­spiritual tenderness overcoming sensual desire.  Thus faithful to the traditions of this great poet did the austere Michael Angelo do reverence to the virtues of Vittoria Colonna.  Thus did the lofty Corneille present in his Pauline a divine model of the love which inspires great deeds and accompanies great virtues.  Thus did Shakspeare, in his portrait of Portia, show the blended generosity and simplicity of a woman’s soul:—­

       “For you [my Lord Bassanio]
     I would be trebled twenty times myself;
     A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;”

or, in his still more beautiful delineation of Juliet, paint an absorbing devotion:—­

     “My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
     My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
     The more I have, for both are infinite.”