t to
which man directs it. A boxer expends it in blows of the fist, the baker
in kneading his bread, the poet in the enthusiasm which consumes and
demands an enormous quantity of it; it passes to the feet of the dancer;
in fact, every one diffuses it at will, and may I see the Minotaur
tranquilly seated this very evening upon my bed, if you do not know as
well as I do how he expends it. Almost all men spend in necessary toils,
or in the anguish of direful passions, this fine sum of energy and of
will, with which nature has endowed them; but our honest women are all
the prey to the caprices and the struggles of this power which knows not
what to do with itself. If, in the case of your wife, this energy has
not been subdued by the prescribed dietary regimen, subject her to some
form of activity which will constantly increase in violence. Find some
means by which her sum of force which inconveniences you may be carried
off, by some occupation which shall entirely absorb her strength.
Without setting your wife to work the crank of a machine, there are a
thousand ways of tiring her out under the load of constant work.

In leaving it to you to find means for carrying out our design--and
these means vary with circumstances--we would point out that dancing is
one of the very best abysses in which love may bury itself. This point
having been very well treated by a contemporary, we will give him here
an opportunity of speaking his mind:

"The poor victim who is the admiration of an enchanted audience
pays dear for her success. What result can possibly follow on
exertions so ill-proportioned to the resources of the delicate
sex? The muscles of the body, disproportionately wearied, are
forced to their full power of exertion. The nervous forces,
intended to feed the fire of passions, and the labor of the brain,
are diverted from their course. The failure of desire, the wish
for rest, the exclusive craving for substantial food, all point to
a nature impoverished, more anxious to recruit than to enjoy.
Moreover, a denizen of the side scenes said to me one day,
'Whoever has lived with dancers has lived with sheep; for in their
exhaustion they can think of nothing but strong food.' Believe me,
then, the love which a ballet girl inspires is very delusive; in
her we find, under an appearance of an artificial springtime, a
soil which is cold as well as greedy, and senses which are utterly
dulled. The Cala