ave doubtless spoken of the love of
a young man. Well, if you wish to act up to the scope which you give to
your work--in the word ec--elec--"

"Eclectic," I said, smiling, seeing he could not remember this
philosophic term.

"I know the word well!" he replied. "If then you wish to keep your vow
of eclecticism, you should be willing to express certain virile ideas
on the subject of love which I will communicate to you, and I will not
grudge you the benefit of them, if benefit there be; I wish to bequeath
my property to you, but this will be all that you will get of it."

"There is no money fortune which is worth as much as a fortune of ideas
if they be valuable ideas! I shall, therefore, listen to you with a
grateful mind."

"There is no such thing as love," pursued the old man, fixing his gaze
upon me. "It is not even a sentiment, it is an unhappy necessity, which
is midway between the needs of the body and those of the soul. But
siding for a moment with your youthful thoughts, let us try to reason
upon this social malady. I suppose that you can only conceive of love as
either a need or a sentiment."

I made a sign of assent.

"Considered as a need," said the old man, "love makes itself felt last
of all our needs, and is the first to cease. We are inclined to love in
our twentieth year, to speak in round numbers, and we cease to do so at
fifty. During these thirty years, how often would the need be felt, if
it were not for the provocation of city manners, and the modern custom
of living in the presence of not one woman, but of women in general?
What is our debt to the perpetuation of the race? It probably consists
in producing as many children as we have breasts--so that if one
dies the other may live. If these two children were always faithfully
produced, what would become of nations? Thirty millions of people
would constitute a population too great for France, for the soil is
not sufficient to guarantee more than ten millions against misery and
hunger. Remember that China is reduced to the expedient of throwing its
children into the water, according to the accounts of travelers. Now
this production of two children is really the whole of marriage. The
superfluous pleasures of marriage are not only profligate, but involve
an immense loss to the man, as I will now demonstrate. Compare then
with this poverty of result, and shortness of duration, the daily and
perpetual urgency of other needs of our existence. Natu