Love Is an Art — André Maurois Studies Its Principles

André Maurois Studies Its Principles

The homeland of love, today as ever, is France. Tradition has fastened upon the Frenchman the title of model lover, and love — and the fine art of it — has become one of that country's most prominent exports. So it was no strange thing that a man of letters, a storyteller, and a historian whose books sweep the markets — André Maurois — should come forward to broadcast weekly talks on the state radio, in the form of short plays and dialogues, in which he offers his advice to the young concerning the delights of love and the stumbling blocks that may lie across its path.

Let us listen to this expert as he speaks, and follow him as he draws pictures of present-day love and comments upon them.

The talk begins — say rather, the class opens — and behold, the lover Philippe is still a bachelor. We see him lying in his bathing suit on the seashore, his friend Maryse at his side.

Maryse: How strangely you behave, Philippe. For two weeks past you have been courting me, and yet you do not court me. You draw me to you, you try to kiss me — but you say nothing to me.

Philippe: And what would you have me say? What I need is not words...

Maryse: Then we differ. For I — I need words. What do I want you to say? Say at least that you love me. You know the signs of love, but you never utter the word itself. Why?

Philippe: Because if I tried to pronounce it, it would stop on the tip of my tongue. Because I see it as an old, worn-out convention. Because I can make no sense of it. Only, I find you beautiful, poised, finely made.

And he goes on in that vein of his, and she in hers, for a while. A little later the show develops within the same scene:

Maryse: Hold me close; how I long to kiss you when certain phrases come from your lips.

Philippe (transported with delight): Certain phrases? Such as?

Maryse: For instance, when you speak with enthusiasm about your work and your projects. When you told me a few days ago about Africa and those vast forests, your description of them was magnificent, and you made me feel your love.

Philippe: Really? While I was telling you about them you listened in silence, and I said to myself: I am boring her!

A little later.

Philippe: The sight of your body so very near me stirs such feeling in me that I fear I may faint, as happened to me this morning while I was battling the waves.

Maryse: Ah, Philippe, my adored Philippe, how sweet these ravishing things you say.

Beware, and beware again! He stands at a dangerous crossroads, as we shall see... Maryse lets her fancy roam to the wide world she loves to wander through, and recites what she would like to see in New York and the other great cities. Philippe rushes in, saying with ardor:

Come with me, Maryse, and we shall see them together.

Wrong! And Maryse seizes the opportunity with fingers of steel:

God forbid! My family would never allow me to travel about with a young man who is not my husband.

After that dialogue the expert Maurois adds: "Silence!" Philippe has been felled: and so he proposes marriage to her...

*

There follows another scene, concerning this time the honeymoon.

Philippe (on the train, shortly after the wedding): Who was that old fool who kept repeating in my ear the whole time: Make her happy, my friend, make her happy?

Maryse (coldly): That is my uncle — my aunt's husband. A very prominent personality — have you never heard of him? He was formerly professor of constitutional law at the University of Caracas.

There follows a tedious dialogue about the hats the bridal couple's female relations wore at the reception. The dialogue ends in sobs...

Maurois comments: This is the wrong method. And he adds: the right method is that when the train pulls away, leaving the city behind, the bridegroom draws his bride to him:

Philippe: Ah, my darling! If you keep uttering such sweet talk, my lips will never be able to leave yours!

Maryse: That does not frighten me! I adore long kisses, Hollywood style. I love to close my eyes —

Philippe: Why?

Maryse: To enjoy your kisses all the more. (A series of kisses.)
Ah, excellent, perfect!

Philippe: You shall taste sweeter ones yet. Together we shall found an institute of kissing! I forgot to tell you, darling — your parents were charming at the reception; how young they both looked.

*

Then a new scene: a week later. In the course of their travels they stopped in a certain city, and the hotel where they put up stood in the middle of town, the noise casting a gloomy air over it.

Maryse (sadly): Bear with me patiently. My eyes have not closed these two nights past.

Philippe: And what of me? How could I sleep with the din of the trains deafening one's ears?

Maryse: You! You slept. What is more, you even snored...

One reproach of this kind leads to a second like it, and then to a third. And Philippe blunders once again: he lets Maryse know that he has brought along some dossiers connected with his business.

Maryse: What? You brought your work with you? On our honeymoon? Philippe!...

Philippe (heatedly): Yes! In my case I have three dossiers of the utmost importance!

In a flash he draws the chair up to the table, takes the papers out of the case, and begins to turn them over. A train passes. Maryse's sobs mount. But not long goes by before Philippe rises and goes to her, and takes her in his arms.

Maryse: I feel easier now. Perhaps I need the open air. I believe that sitting with you under the trees would do me good. And besides, that way we give the servants a chance to put the room in order. Come along, my dear.

*

The honeymoon ends. The couple settle in the "institute of kissing" we have heard about. And the wife takes to scolding her husband now and again for his conduct at table: showing him how to chew and how to do this and that. She insists that he is in poor health. She goes over to him to feel his stomach.

Philippe: Gently! You have hurt me!

Maryse: What — I barely touched you. Truly, you are not in good health.

*

Then comes the bedroom scene. Here the lover will prove his mettle!

Maryse: Don't throw your clothes here and there into the four corners of the room... What are you trying to do? Surely you don't mean to open the window!

Philippe: You know I need fresh air.

Maryse: True, but do not forget that it is November, and I am afraid I shall catch pneumonia... Never mind, I shall add another blanket.

Philippe: I will not permit any extra blanket on my side; add it on your side only!

*

And a final scene. The lover realizes that his marriage has failed, and so one day, years later, he thinks of a surprise for his wife. The doorbell rings; Maryse opens it and comes back with a bouquet of flowers in her arms.

Maryse: Who do you suppose sent them, Philippe? Today is not my birthday, and there is no card...

Philippe: Can't you guess?

Maryse: Of course not. Can you?

Philippe: I do not guess; I know.

Maryse: You don't mean — that you sent me expensive flowers, in wintertime, without the slightest reason...

Hysterical tears rise to her eyes, and she screams:

Ah, Philippe, you must have been deceiving me!

*

And Mr. Maurois, the expert in the art of love, adds with all gravity: "You perceive, gentlemen, the error of the method this husband followed. I have no further comment to add."

Long live love!